#winter 6

Cheers! Thanks, Winter 6. Enjoy the full pdf'd copy available in my public Mega folder starting today!

“My body is soft like the smell of amber, but I strain to thin it into nothing.”

It might’ve taken him most of his life to do it, but Harold Ward would find his way to Ethan Hill’s house again eventually.

He knocked on the door just as Ethan set down his romance novel, a private pleasure he enjoyed on cold, lonely nights such as this one.

He opened the door, then an involuntarily reflex from deep inside his chest made him cry out: “Harold?!”

And Harold sighed his ex-lover’s name as though he had just climbed an impossibly large mountain and there at the top was just one man to greet him. “Ethan!”

Closing the door behind his new guest, Ethan asked, “What’re you doing here? Is everything alright? How did you know where I live?”

“I have my connections. You forget, I’m a big fish in these parts.” Harold looked around the modest living room where a warm, crackling fire and soft jazz played quietly together behind their voices. “This is nice.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” Ethan pointed out.

“Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘Harold, please!’ first?”

“You don’t look like you need emergency attention. You look alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Surely there must be a good reason for you coming over this late, or at all.”

“Heh, right.”

Harold told Ethan his idea of starting a senior care home in Whibley and gave a compelling proposal for the two of them to run it together. Ethan seemed to receive what he said thoughtfully before sighing a difficult to interpret “Hmm,” and then wandered away into the kitchen. Harold didn’t want to over-impose any more than how his fateful spark of inspiration had lead him here tonight, so he poked at the fire while he waited patiently for Ethan’s ruminating answer.

Harold was lost in a trance looking down at his hands again when he heard Ethan say, “Here.”

Ethan casually tilted his head as he offered a cup of fresh coffee. “You are staying, aren’t you?”

“Is that your way of saying ‘yes’?”

“Just take it, will you? It’s hot.”

He took Ethan’s coffee with a winning grin. “Well? What do you say? There’s plenty of details to work out yet, I know, but all that comes second: are you with me?”

“I say,” Ethan stressed, “running away with you would’ve been a dream come true if you had asked me thirty years ago.”

Ethan's eyes fell to the glowing embers between them. “I know, I know. You did ask me back then and I only ever told you ‘no.’” He swallowed. “Whibley, huh?”

Harold followed Ethan’s gaze to the fire and smiled to himself. “Whibley,” he agreed with a nod. “Turns out some bridges don’t stay burned forever. That is, if you don’t want them to.”

“I’m not sure which I’m more troubled by, your blatant assumption that I have nothing keeping me in Feverfew — that despite many years living here, or my career successes, all the French I had to learn, my home, my peace!, that I’m somehow deeply unhappy here — or the fact that you’re right.”

“Even after all these years apart, I still like to think we’re one in the same, you and I.”

“Same as it ever was, anyway,” he sighed.

The couple paused to hear what the crackling wood had to add.

Then Ethan extended his hand so their cups clinked together.

Harold lit up. “You’re in? You’ll come with me?”

“Did you enjoy yourself at the tree lighting?” Kathy Rose asked her daughter with a knowing smile; she saw Kate’s face light up at the tree, and her visit with Santa was equally adorable.

Kate loved their night out together, and it was precisely the unusually happy and fun change of pace between the mother and daughter that gave Kate enough courage to ask, “Mom, is Allan Murphy really my dad?”

“Oh, Catherine, not this again.”

“But if he’s my dad, where is he? Why doesn’t he live with us?”

“What does it matter?”

“He missed the tree lighting!”

In a dramatic exhale the mother sighed, “Yes, he is really your father. And no, he can’t live with us because he lives in Feverfew.”

Kate gasped, “He lives with Aunt Vivian?!”

“No,” the mother sighed again, “they just live in the same city.”

“So how come we don’t live with them in Feverfew then?” Kate pouted.

“Because Whibley is our home, dear.”

“Well, can I meet him at least? My Dad?”

“Maybe when you’re a little older.”

“Why? I mean, if he’s my Dad now, why doesn’t he live with us now too?”

“Because your father and I broke up a long time ago. Please, just drop it.”

“But—”

“Catherine Rose, that is quite enough. Just—go upstairs and get ready for bed before you ruin this evening any further.”

“Hmph!”

From that day on, Kate turned against her timid nature and started acting out. If she wasn’t going to be heard by being good and following all the strict rules her mother demanded, then what did any of it matter? The first thing Kate rebelled against was Mom’s stupid piano lessons.

Kate eagerly swung open the front door when her aunt arrived irritatingly perfectly imperfect. She adjusted her grip on the full bags of glittery and colourful party supplies, and sang, “Happy birthday!”

Vivian Rose brought along everything she had to make this birthday especially special to win Kate’s affection. Balloons, arts and crafts, homemade pickles and jams and other Feverfewian treats, but most damning was her ability to speak to Kate like they were best friends. She kept up with Kate’s fleeting interests so effortlessly (and on her first real attempt talking to the child!) when all Kathy managed to do was continuously fumble their losing relationship.

Damn her!

Vivian also brought along powdered jello mix, whipped cream and candied cherries. She said flippantly, “Oh, this’ll be much more fun than a boring ol’ birthday cake.” Damn her! “It’s no trouble, Kath, besides it’s cheaper than the store-bought stuff; you’re welcome, by the way.” Damn her! “Kate, honey, would you like to make your own wiggly cake with me?” Of course she did. Who cares if Kathy — Kate’s rightful mother, who earned that title! — got a store-bought cake special this year.

Damn her, damn her, damn her.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Kate muffled into her aunt’s shoulder.

“I know, honey, I know. Me too. I had a lot of fun with you today.”

“You’ll miss your train back if you don’t hurry along,” Kathy muttered from her father’s old, faded throne.

Vivian confirmed with a somber nod. “I know, I’m going.”

“But I was only just starting to get to know you,” Kate pouted.

“Oh, honey, I’m not dying! We can stay in touch if you want.”

“Really?”

“Of course! You can email me anytime.”

“We don’t have a computer; I won’t allow it.” There was a mutely smug undertone in Kathy’s words as she blocked Vivian’s attempt to gain free-range contact.

“Well, unless times have seriously changed, the high school still has computers. So write to me on your lunch break, or on spare periods. Do kids still get spares?”

“Yep! I was just reading about that actually, because class registration will start—"

Kathy cleared her throat. “That time is reserved for studying, Catherine.”

“Write to me anytime,” Vivian repeated in a low voice. “All one word: [email protected].”

“Got it!”

Finally, Kathleen had enough. She stood behind them and said, “I think that really ought to be goodnight now, Vivian,” which finally ushered her clingy sister out the door.

As Sam Weseman spent more and more time at the Payne townhouse, his absence at home did not go by unnoticed.

“Mooom,” Brandon whined. At the same time, his younger brother Nick also cried out, “Mama! Mama!”

“What is it, Brandon?” she sighed.

“You said you’d help me with my homework.”

“Right, okay, I’m here,” she said in a hurry as she moved further away into the kitchen. “What’s the question?”

“Two plus two or A-B-C?” Frank Wesemann joked in a muttering breath to himself, mostly.

“Umm.” Brandon tried to read the question but he couldn’t. “I don’t know, I need your help.”

“Those darn ABC’s,” the grandfather teased.

“I’ll be right there, sweet pea, just need to get Nick’s bottle ready.” She said this while setting their microwave timer.

“Baba!” Nick cried.

“I know, baby, it’s comin’.”

“It’s due tomorrow,” Brandon stressed.

Once again the old man chirped, “Not tomorrow! Whatever will we do? If only there were two parents around who could properly look after these dumb brats.”

The microwave dinged just as Bonnie stomped back into the room. “What was that, Frank?”

He laughed a wicked laugh, and suddenly Brandon regretted asking for help. “He’s got you good,” the old man snickered.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just talkin’ to the TV, lots of drama.” He was watching a televised poker tournament.

“Ha-hah! This is brilliant!”

“That little Marion worm thought she could win while you were down, eh? Well, look at her now!” Diane Green-MacDonald was almost dancing as she laughed. “You’re a shoe-in as my successor now! Congratulations, Mr. Mayor.”

“This really is some remarkable timing,” Collin MacDonald agreed with a big smile.