Wintertide: A Novel (11 page)

I walked over to the dresser on her
side of the bed and pulled open the tiny drawer by its ornate gold handle. There
were torn pieces of paper scattered inside with my mother's mostly illegible
handwriting, old grocery lists and telephone numbers. After rummaging in the
messy drawer for a moment, I found the white bottle I was searching for. I
opened the cap and dispensed two, white pills into my palm. I replaced the
bottle, and as I did so, I inadvertently moved aside a white piece of notebook
paper. Beneath it there was an orange prescription bottle. I withdrew the
plastic bottle and peered at the typed writing on the label. Dr. Lowenthal, her
doctor's name was on it. The prescription was for forty pills, thirty
milligrams each of Restoril to be taken at bedtime for insomnia. I opened the
container. The capsules were blue and red. She had at least half of them left.

These tiny pills were the
explanation I had been lacking for her sleeping late in the mornings and always
appearing rather drowsy. I knew a little about sleeping pills. At school any type
of drug you could want was readily available at all times for the right price. During
my freshman year, the last week of finals, I was so high on caffeine and sugar
after staying awake three days in a row to study, that I had insomnia the night
before the exam. My roommate had a drawer full of illicit pills. He suggested I
take one to get some much needed sleep. I'm not against doing drugs exactly. I
just never had the extra cash, and I had always preferred the tried and true
effects of alcohol. That night I took a sleeping pill, slept peacefully
throughout night and nearly overslept for my test. I dragged myself out of bed,
feeling drowsy and hung over, unable to keep my head up.

Why did my mother need sleeping
pills? I nearly put the pills right back. Then I thought better of it and
pocketed a few, recalling last night and my own fear of the sleepless nights to
come. I closed her drawer and walked back to my bedroom where I hid the pills
in the deep satin-lined pocket of my wool coat at the back of the closet. I
knew it was not beyond my mother to curiously rummage through my things. Then I
went downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water with which to swallow the
aspirin.

Mom was puttering about in the
kitchen, placing pots and pans noisily onto the green countertops when I
returned. I filled a glass at the sink and waited until she turned away to
swallow the aspirin.

"Did you call Seth back?"
she asked as she bent down to retrieve something from a low cabinet.

"No. I will later."

She stood and looked at me. "Did
you two have a fight last night?"

"No."

"What time did you get
in?"

I really wanted to change the
subject. "Not too late. So what are you making for dinner?"

"What I always make. Ham and
some vegetables. And there's your favorite double chocolate chip ice cream in
the freezer for dessert.” She pulled the heavy ham from the refrigerator and
placed it next to the pot. "That was awfully nice of your professor to let
you come home early."

"He offered me a job for next
semester."

She turned to me smiling. "Oh
that's wonderful. You should buy him a little something to thank him."

"I wasn't planning on spending
his money on
him."

"I'm not saying to spend a
fortune. You could get him something small, like a neck tie or a cute mug with
one of those sayings like Have A Nice Day."

"I don't think so, Mom."

She pursed her lips together in
disapproval. "It doesn't hurt to show you have some manners, Daniel. Just
because the rest of the world has lost them, that doesn't mean you have
to."

"But I don't have manners. You
do,” I said giving into my grumpiness. “So in reality I would only be showing
any manners because you told me to. Actually, why don't we just cut out the middle
man here and tell Professor Sheffield to go ahead, take my salary, and buy
himself something nice."

She shook her head. "Well you
don't have to get sarcastic. I may be old-fashioned, but it would be the right
thing to do."

I didn't even buy my parents
Christmas gifts, just ridiculously corny cards with reindeer and obnoxiously
joyful elves. But her words didn't bypass me completely. I didn't want
Professor Sheffield to think I was without manners. I supposed I could buy him
a new pipe. How much did those cost? In the end I forgot all about it.

Seth did not call again that day,
and I still wasn’t all that eager to speak to him. There seemed to be no word
about any homes being broken into or any dead rich residents. Maybe the whole
thing would just go away. During the course of the day, I’d decided that I was
going back to school early, right after Christmas. Someone had to have a couch
I could crash on until the dorms reopened. I could take the professor’s
notebooks back with me and continue working. My mother was going to be
heartbroken when I told her. I leaned back into couch and closed my eyes. My
headache was not getting any better.

More people commit suicide during
the holidays than any other time of year. As I lay on the couch in a semiconscious
state, I half listened to a news story about this phenomenon. The TV glowed,
the daylight waned, and the smell of the ham cooking overwhelmed the scent of
mothballs that lingered in the house. I shifted position lazily and looked
under the tree. My cards were there in white envelopes labeled Mom and Dad. There
were two presents wrapped in green paper. I assumed one was for me from my
parents, but I wasn't quite sure who the other one could be for. My mother
informed my aunt of what Dad had done with her check so long ago, and she never
sent another gift.

Dad came through the door just before
seven, loosening his tie and shouldering off his heavy coat. The table was set,
and bubbling pots sat on the stove. I tiredly leaned back against the door
frame in the kitchen and watched my father sit himself down at the head of the
table. The rubber bottoms of the chair squeaked across the linoleum as he slid
over to his place setting. Mom was spooning various foods into serving dishes. She
slipped a green Kermit the Frog oven mitt over her hand and brought the
steaming plates to the table.

She looked over at me. "Aren't
you going to sit down, Daniel?"

I silently pulled out my chair and
sat myself down. I immediately picked up the scent of cigarette smoke lingering
on my father's clothes. It mixed with the cooked carrots and green beans. Mom
then placed the perfectly cooked ham onto the table and ceremoniously handed my
father a carving knife. Dad stared at the knife for a moment before picking it
up in his large rough hand.

As he stood and began to work on
the carving, Mom took her seat, wiping her hands off onto her apron and smiling
joyfully. She reached over and placed her delicate hand onto mine. "It's
so nice to have you home. Isn't it, George?"

At the sound of his name, Dad
looked up at her. "What?"

"I said it's nice to have
Daniel home with us."

"Oh. Of course it is.” He
looked over at me and smiled.

I returned the gesture.

We ate mainly in silence, Mom
making attempts at conversation, my father and I answering monosyllabically.

"Daniel's professor asked him
to come work for him next term. Isn't that nice?"

"Very nice.”

"Tell your father what you'll
be doing."

I glanced up at him. He was
engrossed in his meal, chewing loudly. "I'm transcribing his notes onto a
computer for a book he's writing."

"A book. Did you hear
that?" Mom asked.

"Yes, I’m sitting right here,"
he remarked without looking up.

Mom continued to eat and talk
happily. "So how was work today?"

"Fine," he answered.

"Were you very busy?"

"No.” He was spooning food
into his mouth as though at any moment someone might take his plate away.

"How was Tom today?" Mom
asked nonchalantly.

I looked up. That was a trick
question, I thought.

"He's fine."

"So you saw Tom today? Even on
Christmas Eve you have to go to that bar with your friends."

Dad put down his fork, looked up
and sighed. "Maggie, I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Well, aren't we honored. His
highness has graced us with his presence."

The muscles in my stomach tightened.
I dropped my fork. "Please, can you not fight for one night?” I pleaded. Ordinarily,
I would not have said anything, but I couldn't help myself. I couldn’t deal
with this tonight.

They looked at me. My father wore a
resigned expression, but my mother, her eyes filled with tears.

I tried to diffuse things. "Please
don't get upset. Dad came home in plenty of time for dinner. Let's just finish.
Okay?"

She nodded her head, sniffling
quietly. I looked over at my father. He was staring down at his plate again but
he’d stopped eating. I wished I were anywhere but here right now.

We finished the annual Christmas
Eve meal in strained silence. Then Mom cleared the table and Dad relocated to
his favorite chair in the living room. Next on the agenda was opening the gifts
and cards. We had decided to do it tonight instead of tomorrow morning. My
father said he had to meet with a potential client tomorrow, on Christmas day. I
don't think Mom believed him.

I helped to dry the dishes, and
then I followed Mom into the other room where the yellow tree lights sparkled,
reflected back a thousand times over in the bevels of the tiny glass animal
figurines she kept everywhere. I pulled my cards out from under the tree and
handed each of them one. I received a kiss on the cheek from one parent and a
nod from the other. I sat on the couch while they opened them. I hadn't written
much, just the ordinary merry wishes and so forth.

"I'm sorry I couldn't buy you
any gifts."

My mother waved my apology away. "Don’t
be sorry. We know you have to save your money.” She stood, took a present from
under the tree and handed it to me.

It was a square box, but it was
very light. It felt as though there was nothing in it. I pulled the wrapping
off quickly, ripping it carelessly. A brown cardboard box was revealed. I
opened the top and saw a white envelope sitting inside. I withdrew the envelope
and looked over at my mother curiously.

"I didn't want you to only
have an envelope under the tree. So I put it in that nice box. Go on, open
it."

I cringed, knowing that was exactly
what I had done for them but realizing that my mother had not meant it as a
dig. I ripped open the envelope and found a gift certificate for thirty dollars
to a bookstore. "Thanks. This is great."

"You don't like it."

I sighed. I hadn’t thanked her
enthusiastically enough. I stood, walked over to her chair and gave her a hug. "I
love it. This was a great idea. Thank you. Really."

"Well, I thought you’d like it.
But it was so hard to decide what to get you. I really don't know what your
interests are anymore. But if you don't want it...."

"Mom, I want it. It's perfect."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm really really
sure."

She smiled, finally satisfied. She
picked up the next box and brought it over to my father. The box was pretty big,
and it definitely was not as light as mine had been. He looked up at her
surprised. I too stared in amazement. Neither my mother nor my father had
exchanged gifts on Christmas for as long as I could remember. She placed it on
his lap and stepped away.

He fingered it gingerly, staring
from the gift to her. "Maggie, I....well I...."

"Open it," she urged.

He hesitated for a moment, but then
he carefully took off the red bow and peeled away the paper. When the box was
visible, I recognized the logo of the local hardware store on it. He pulled
open the top and lifted out a new tool belt. It was made of heavy beige leather
with lots of pockets and hooks and a big adjustable metal clasp. I knew Dad
needed a new one, but he would never spend the money. I watched him examine it
carefully. Mom looked on with pride. It was a nice moment. I was nearly
overwhelmed by the quick glimpse of happiness I saw in my father's eyes. But
then his expression changed. The beginnings of a scowl became apparent. I had a
sinking feeling in my stomach.

"How much did this cost?"
he asked, holding it up.

She backed away slowly and sat down
in her chair. "Not much. It was on sale. I wanted to buy you a Christmas
present. Is that such a terrible thing?"

"We can't afford it."

"I saved the money
myself."

I sat back on the couch and sighed.
Dad put the belt back in the box. "What do you mean
you
saved the
money? Whatever money you have I give you."

"It came from the grocery
allowance.” Her voice was trembling slightly. "I clipped coupons and saved
a little extra here and there."

He sat forward. "And you
wasted it on this? We've got bills to pay. What the hell were you
thinking?"

"I'm sorry.” She was crying
now.

Her tears seemed to deflate his
anger. "Well, you'll just have to take it back. There's no need to get
upset."

That fleeting moment of happiness
and normalcy had completely disappeared without a trace.

"How much money do you spend
drinking with your friends every night, Dad?” I demanded, unable to stay silent.

He looked at me, at once surprised
and angry.

"How much?” I repeated
daringly.

"Be quiet, Daniel,” Mom
whispered.

"No. I'd like to know how much
money he spends on alcohol."

He stood and pointed a finger at me.
"Every dollar I make goes toward the bills and your school. You have no
business speaking to me that way."

My mother rose quickly from her
chair and walked over to him. "He doesn't understand, George. There's no
reason to be angry with him."