In Winter's Grip. Brenda ChapmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
this morning, by the way.” Jonas ran his hand back and forth along the wood, feeling for rough spots.
“I left Sam a message on the kitchen table that I was coming. He’d gone to New York on business, and I didn’t want to bother him.” My voice came out false in my own ears. In fact, I’d tried calling Sam in his hotel room the night before I’d left and again in the morning before leaving for the airport, but both times he hadn’t answered. Perversely, I’d chosen not to leave a voice mail. It struck me that I hadn’t thought of Sam since I’d stepped off the plane in Duluth.
“Have you eaten?” Jonas asked.
“Yes. Why don’t you finish what you’re working on and I’ll go amuse myself.”
“Okay. I’ll be up to the house in a bit.”
“Take your time,” I said as I turned to leave.
Sam answered on the second ring. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you got the news,” he said. “Is it very bad being there?”
“No. It’s okay.”
“Still, it’s always a shock when a parent dies. It must have been sudden?”
I could have told him then that my father had been murdered, but for some reason, I didn’t. “It was...unexpected. The funeral’s in a few days so I’ll stay till then. Can you call Judith to let her know to cancel my patients for the next week?”
“Okay. Will it take that long?”
“I think so. There’s a bit to straighten out.”
“Was it a heart attack or stroke?”
“No. They’re still not certain. The autopsy will show the exact cause. How was your trip?”
Sam’s voice lightened, “Great. I sealed the deal, and it means a big bonus. I was hoping to take you out to celebrate, but that will have to wait.”
“Yes. But we can do that when I get home.” I heard a voice in the background saying something to Sam. “Is someone with you?”
There was muffled speaking then Sam removed his hand from over the receiver. “Lana stopped by with some papers I have to sign. George should be here any minute.”
“Well, I won’t keep you then,” I said, suddenly not wanting to keep the connection any longer.
“I’ll call tonight,” Sam said. “Try not to let your dad’s death get you down.”
“No,” I said. “That’s the last place I want to go.”
Around two thirty, Claire, Gunnar and I decided to drive up the mountain to go cross country skiing. Claire more than any of us was showing signs of stress, and she’d leapt on my suggestion of an outing. She was unable to convince Jonas to leave the sanctuary of his workshop, to which he’d retreated after Claire and Gunnar had returned home early afternoon, and by the rigid way she held her neck and shoulders, I knew she was angry. It wasn’t until after we’d parked in the empty parking lot backing onto Christie trail, unloaded our equipment, fastened our skis and started down the path, that she started to relax.
Claire had been a champion skier in her late teens and early twenties, even trying out for the U.S. Olympic team. Although she hadn’t made the cut, she’d been first on the waiting list—no small accomplishment. Marriage to Jonas, a child and the need to make money had ended her Olympic dream. I sometimes wondered if she regretted the decisions she’d made. I’d known Claire in high school but hadn’t been in her circle. Her father was a lawyer who started up a practice in Duved Cove when Claire was in tenth grade. By then, she was away training most of the year and back in the summers. We’d both worked as life guards one summer at the community pool, and through me, she’d met Jonas. I was still baffled as to how they hooked up, because Jonas was as far from self-assured and competitive as a dove from a hawk. Claire must have seen him as a gold-medal challenge, because she’d done all the pursuing.
“I’ll meet you at the lookout,” Claire called over her shoulder just before she picked up speed crossing the field and disappeared onto the trail into the woods. She was wearing navy spandex pants, a turquoise shell and a red toque and made a vibrant splash of colour against the white snowscape and the darkness of the trees ahead. Gunnar was well in front of me, dressed completely in black with a grey toque. His gangly limbs couldn’t match his mother’s smooth strides, but he managed to widen the distance between himself and me with every ski stroke.
I’d borrowed Claire’s old set of skis and boots that pinched. It had been twenty years since I’d last skied, and I struggled to find my rhythm. After a bit of awkward trial and effort, my strokes felt natural enough that I could enjoy the swoosh swoosh of my skis in the ruts of the trail and the reach and push of each arm as I jabbed the ski poles into the snow.
I entered the dark silence of the waiting forest. Snow weighed heavily on the overhead boughs and swooped in graceful arcs against the tree trunks. I raised my eyes at intervals to look up through the gaps in the trees. Since we’d left the van, the sky had changed from a silky blue to grey as snow clouds moved in from the north. I felt protected in the woods. Noises were muffled, and row upon row of giant pines encased the trail like a cocoon. I began to enjoy the solitariness of my path and the cold wind on my forehead and cheeks. The physical exertion felt good, even when I had to struggle up hills. I gained confidence on the downhill sections, invigorated by rushes of adrenalin. Time passed without me noticing. I rounded a long looping curve and climbed another hill. At its crest, I met Claire and Gunnar leaning on their poles and looking out over the cliff and the sharp rise of the mountain across the gully. They both turned their faces towards me as I glided alongside.
Gunnar’s eyes flashed dark and angry. “I’m going back, Mom,” he said.
“I’d like you to wait until we all head back together,” Claire said, her body angled towards him, her face looking down at his.
Gunnar pretended not to hear. He adeptly rotated his skis and levered himself forward. One thrust with his ski poles, and he shot down the hill and out of sight.
Claire straightened and shrugged. “He’s not very sociable these days. I think it’s a phase. We’ll rest a few minutes and then I’ll start after him. He’s mad that he can’t keep up with me.”
I looked across the fence that was strung along the edge of the precipice towards the snowy peak on the other side of the valley. The clouds had thickened, and I felt stray wet snowflakes land on my face. “Looks like we’ll be getting another storm,” I said.
“It was an early winter and could be a late spring.” Claire hesitated. “Maja, has Jonas said anything to you about...about your father?”
I shook my head. “Jonas has hardly said anything to me about Dad. Why, is there something I should know?”
Claire began tracing a pattern in the snow with her ski pole. “Jonas was very angry with your father lately, but you know Jonas. He’s not good at expressing his feelings. He just withdraws.”
“What caused him to get angry? Jonas doesn’t usually get worked up, or at least not so you’d know.”
It was Claire’s turn to shake her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Maja, how come Jonas never talks about your mom or why you stopped speaking to your dad? He’s never said boo about anything, even after all our years together. It’s like there’s a wall of silence between us that keeps me shut out.”
“The things that happened were a long time ago and were hard to talk about back then. Jonas has his reasons for not wanting to bring them up again.” As did I. “Jonas never liked reliving those days or speaking badly of our father.” I didn’t know whether or not to be surprised that Jonas hadn’t talked about our parents to Claire. I guess it put his relationship with Claire in a new light. He hadn’t trusted her enough to