Snow Angels (20 page)

A month went by and I heard nothing from Randy. Two weeks after my meltdown in the garage, I became the assistant manager at Season’s Greetings. CeCe practically begged me to take the job when she found out that I had bookkeeping skills. In only a few weeks I had gotten the employees more motivated and had reorganized the stockroom. I still didn’t feel comfortable decorating displays, but I was getting there, experimenting with designs, ordering unusual things from our supply catalogs.

CeCe insisted I had good taste, that I could be a decorator. But I had always leaned toward a country style that I knew wasn’t hip or artsy or something designers appreciated. I came to realize that the country part of me was just because I’d been living in a log cabin my entire adult life. Having logs for walls sort of limited the types of decorating you could do and Randy’s taste had run to mounted dead animals and the occasional print of a barn or a river. He’d liked his comfortable lounge chair and the country kitchen table set we’d inherited from his parents. I’d never really had the chance to find out what my own style was. I had been thinking that if I did get the house in the divorce that I would sell it and move into Asheville. Living in town had appeal and I realized that I enjoyed being around people who were into the arts, people who liked to socialize and eat out and go to community events.

But I was still responsible for my mother and even though I saw a lot of interesting things going on in Asheville I wasn’t able to connect with any of the fun. I was also in limbo about Randy. I tried to put the fact that I hadn’t received divorce papers out of my mind. I bounced back and forth between being really enthusiastic about my new life and wishing I could see Randy again. I still had feelings for him and I found it hard to believe that he could just wipe away all our history, just dismiss all those feelings he had for me. I wasn’t sure that I wanted him back, but I did need some closure and without seeing Randy face to face it seemed impossible.

I knew that if I contacted a lawyer and drew up papers that he would be forced to make contact with me. But something kept me from being the one to make the first move toward divorce. Something in me felt that if he hadn’t taken up with another woman that we could put our lives back together again. But then the next day I’d be indignant and resolve to end his bullshit and move on with my life.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. At night, his soft snores were now replaced with the rumble of lumber trucks on the road. I still couldn’t bring myself to sleep in the middle of the bed, although I’d read in a magazine that it was therapeutic to spread out. Life was lonely without Randy sitting at the table with his cup of coffee and his newspaper in the morning. It wasn’t that we ever had in-depth discussions about the current day’s events or religion or politics, but there was a void without the rustle of the paper and his man noises.

Some mornings I would reach into the medicine cabinet and take out his razor and look at the little bits of beard he’d left behind. I’d smell his cologne and look at his dress shoes on the floor in our closet, waiting, like me. Once I went into the garage and retrieved a garbage bag I’d filled with his clothes and I’d thrown into the johnboat. I opened the bag and smelled his Randy smell.

My mother had seen my melancholy a few times, but stayed quiet on the subject of Randy. She respected my privacy and didn’t offer up her opinion on my situation during our drives into Asheville. Instead we both preferred to look forward to our days in town. My mother and I had slipped into our new routines. I’d drop her at the adult day care where the social scene was surprisingly active. She’d been getting attention from an older gentleman and never one to shy away from a man’s attention, my mother began to be more concerned with her appearance.

“Why, Miss Edwina, don’t you look fine today,” the director would purr when she arrived after a trip to the salon. “Is that a new scarf you’re wearing?”

“Oh, this thing? I’ve had it for years,” Mother would say.

I was so relieved that she was having a good time. Most days I couldn’t wait to drop her off so I could get on to work. Christmas season for retailers started with the fall festival and the influx of color-seeking tourists.

This day I was apprehensive. CeCe was going to Atlanta on a buying trip and I was in charge for the first time. The outdoor displays tended to sell the fastest and it was my job to see that new displays were up and ready for the weekend. I’d come to really love the teenage girl who had been there the first day I came in. Her name was Renee. She was a skinny little thing with droopy hair and unfortunately one of those nose rings that made her look like she was trying too hard to be something she’s not. I’d complimented her appearance a couple of times and she perked up and became helpful.

On this day, CeCe was packing and giving me last minute instructions on what needed to happen that day. It was a Friday and I had to make the front lawn display, do the time cards and place an order. Since we were close to Christmas we had boxes of merchandise delivered every day and I had to reconcile the box content with our orders. We didn’t open until ten and with so much to do I had intended to wait until the afternoon to do the front display, but as soon as I came in CeCe pulled me and Renee out on the front lawn and started making suggestions.

“Now, honey, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but experience has shown me a couple of things that work and a couple of things that don’t.” I was listening intently when a beat-up blue van pulled across the street and a tall man with a head full of curly brown hair and a goatee started to unload from the back. CeCe’s words faded in my ears as I watched this guy pull sculptures from the van and carry them into the art gallery across the road.

“Oh, hey, are you listening to me?” CeCe said.

“She’s watching that dude in the van,” Renee said. “He’s hot.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Renee said.

CeCe ceased to talk and we three stood silent as he returned to the van. The gallery owner, who had followed him out, propped the gallery door open and then came to help.

“My, he
is
a nice-looking fellow,” CeCe said. “In a rugged sort of way.”

“I like manly men,” Renee said. “Hey, Michelle, go on over there.”

“What? No way. I’m still married.”

“So?” CeCe said. “I agree with Renee. What that missing husband of yours doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I’m
not
going over there.”

The guy came back out and unloaded again. I wondered if he was the artist. The sculptures were wall hangings and garden art. They were metal branches with spiky pinecones, sprays of leaves, and vines.

We moved to the swing on the porch and watched him. He never looked our way. Once his van was unloaded the gallery owner handed him what appeared to be a check. They shook hands and then he got into the van and drove away.

“So,” CeCe said. “If I didn’t have to leave for Atlanta right now I’d take a little break and stroll on over to that gallery and find out who that artist is.”

“He might just be the delivery guy,” Renee observed. “Which would be fine, because, you know, I dig the FedEx guy.”

“Well, it would be good to know,” CeCe said. “Because after all, Michelle, it’s important we use local artists.”

Both of them looked at me like cats with mouthfuls of feathers.

“I’m not going over there. I don’t want to know who he is.”

“Whatever,” Renee said and rolled her eyes.

But by midafternoon I found my thoughts drifting across the street. When we had a slowdown in traffic I told Renee that I was going to step out for a while. She gave me a knowing grin as she waited on a customer.

The art gallery was called Handmade and inside was a perfect hushed world. The smell was heavenly—leather and spices and evergreen. Textiles and quilts hung the walls. Hundreds of forms of pottery were mixed in with hand-hewed cutlery, blown glass, and woven pillows. There was so much beautiful jewelry that it made me gasp. And there, among the most unusual furniture I had ever seen were some of the sculptures the mystery man had carried into the gallery.

I ran my hand over the coppery surface of one of the sculptures and felt the smoothness of the metal.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” The man who had helped carry in the sculptures appeared. “He’s our most popular sculptor.”

“It’s wonderful,” I said. I wanted to touch the shiny leaves again, but suddenly, I felt as if I shouldn’t.

“I’m Gray. The gallery manager. I’ve seen you across the way. I think we’re neighbors now.” He offered his hand, so soft. He was tall, slender, and immaculate. Gray was most definitely gay.

“Oh, hi. I’m Michelle. I’m the new assistant manager over at Season’s Greetings.” I asked casually, “Who is this artist?”

“Baxter Brown. His work sells really well, especially during the holidays. He’ll bring us more work every couple of weeks until Christmas.”

“It’s really lovely.”

“Um, yes,” Gray said.

A sales assistant touched Gray on the arm and he leaned over so she could whisper in his ear. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I have to attend to something. It was nice to meet you.”

I looked around for a while and bought myself a beautiful pair of pearl earrings. I bought my mother a new scarf woven with glistening fibers in pink that would match her soft complexion. I was on my way out, enjoying the adrenaline rush of a nice purchase when I saw Season’s Greetings was packed. I dashed across the road. As I clattered through the entrance I saw relief wash over Renee.

“I’m so sorry,” I said as I slid behind the counter.

“Well?” Renee said as she rang up a customer.

“Well what?”

“Did you find out who he is?”

“That wasn’t why I went over there.”

“Right.”

“Well, if you must know, I did find out his name. It’s Baxter and the gallery manager said his work is some of the most popular the gallery carries.”

“This is bad,” she said as she wrapped a delicate glittery ornament in tissue.

“What’s bad?” I asked as I handed her a box.

“Now that you know his name you won’t be able to stop thinking about him.”

Renee was right. I did have a hard time shaking thoughts of Baxter Brown. Who was he really? Was he one of those elusive artists who lived in the mountains and only came down to deliver his goods? Was he married with a house full of children, barefoot little imps who climbed trees and made their own artwork from their father’s scraps of metal? Or was he a member of one of the hippie communes that flourished in the mountains, one of the tambourine-and-guitar crew that had little use for modern conveniences like television and health insurance?

CeCe, Renee, and I spent slow times coming up with these and dozens more scenarios to explain our mystery sculptor. I had never thought about anyone I didn’t know as much as I thought about Baxter Brown. I wasn’t exactly sure what drew me to him, but I thought it had something to do with the way he moved. He had a smoothness almost like an animal. He was strong and sure and masculine and I’d dreamed about him, although I had not admitted that to my coworkers.

We all kept a wary eye out for the arrival of the beat-up van, but I was the one who happened to be outside, stringing lights in one of our fir trees, when the vehicle slid into a space in front of Handmade. I stepped behind the tree so he wouldn’t see me. Like before he got out and began to unload his art. I was frozen there, sprays of evergreen tickling my nose as I watched him through the limbs.

He went inside and I realized I’d been holding my breath.

“Good God.” I jumped at CeCe’s smoky voice. “How do you expect him to ever notice you if you hide behind a tree?”

“I don’t expect him to notice me. I can’t go flirting with him. I’m still married.”

“That, my dear, seems like a technicality at this point. How long has it been since you’ve seen your husband?” she whispered loudly behind me.

“Months. But if I want a clean divorce I can’t be seen carousing.”

“Who said anything about carousing? You could just start out by talking to him.”

“No.”

“Oh, you’re pathetic.”

Nothing like this had ever happened to me at the mulch company. I never had crazy friends before and I knew that if Baxter came out and CeCe was still there that she would march over to his van and introduce herself. Then she would make a big deal out of introducing me, which would then spoil the moment. Surely he would know that we had been spying on him.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, but you have to go back inside.”

“You’re going to do it?” She raised a thin, painted eyebrow at me.

“Yes. I’ll do it. Now just go inside.”

She nodded with satisfaction and returned to the cottage. I was left with a sinking feeling I hadn’t had since elementary school when we used to have friends pass notes to boys with little boxes that read: I like you. Do you like me? Check yes or no.

Waiting for that checkmark was agony.

Just like now.

The gallery door opened and Gray came out with Baxter, a complication I hadn’t expected. I went to stringing lights again, stuffing them in randomly as I watched Baxter out of the corner of my eye.

Then something miraculous happened. Gray called my name.

“Michelle? Michelle, come on over here. I’d like you to meet someone.”

I turned as though startled at my name. It wasn’t much of an acting job since I was truly discombobulated. I walked over to where they stood at the gaping backdoors of the van.

“Baxter, I’d like you to meet my new neighbor across the street. This is Michelle. She’s the assistant manager over at Season’s Greetings.”

“Hi. I’m Baxter.” He extended his calloused hand and his grip radiated heat.

“Nice to meet you.” As we shook hands I heard a merry little tinkle and realized with horror that I was wearing a pair of our jingle bell earrings.

“Michelle is quite the admirer of your work,” Gray said.

“Is that so?” His goatee pulled into a smile. Laugh lines surrounded hazel eyes like the fallen leaves of December.

Silence.

Gray interjected. “Yes. Well, Baxter, why don’t I run inside and get you your check. I won’t be a minute.” As he turned to go Gray gave me a look that said everything. I could have kissed him.

“I do like your work,” I said.

“Really, which pieces?”

“Oh, the coppery ones with all the leaves. And the pinecone pieces too. They’re lovely.”

“Thanks. Those are a lot of work. I can’t make nearly as many of them as I would like. They’re complicated and take time.”

“Oh.”

We stood there, it was awkward for a while.

“So, you work over at the Christmas shop?”

“Yeah, I’m new.”

“Oh.”

“Just learning the ropes.” God, that sounded dumb.

He nodded and then slammed the doors on the van.

“Well, I, um,” I stammered. “I’d better get back. It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. Me too. Nice to meet you,” he said.

As I walked back to the cottage my head said,
Dummy
. How dumb could I sound? I pushed against the giant door wreath and made the jingle bells dance when I slammed the door behind me.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. What did he say?” Renee was on me as soon as I came through the door.

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What? You have to tell us. What did you say to each other?” CeCe was now in my face too.

“Nothing. We didn’t say anything much. Really. Just hi. How ya doin’? Nice day. Yadda. Yadda.”

Both women looked dejected.

“That was definitely a bad idea,” I said. “If you need me I’ll be in the break room looking for a knife to slit my wrists.”