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"Thats because most women cant remember why they fell in love with their husbands. Without that . . . " Anita let her voice trail off. "You have to work to remember the good things sometimes. "
Elizabeth wasnt sure whether this conversation was idle chitchat or not. It didnt matter. Anitas comments were getting too close to the truth. It was bad enough that Elizabeths marriage had gone stale. She wasnt about to add insult to injury by talking to her stepmother about it. "Did you notice the snow? The backyard looks beautiful," she said, scouting through the obviously empty box, looking for a not-there ornament.
"Ah, the weather. Always a good topic for us. Yes, Birdie, I saw the snow. Edward thought wed all go down to the pond tonight. "
"I think--"
The doorbell interrupted her. She glanced back at Anita. "Are you expecting anyone?"
Anita shrugged. "Benny, maybe? Sometimes when he has a hot date, he does his deliveries at the crack of dawn. "
"Who in the sweet bejesus is that?" came Daddys voice from upstairs.
Elizabeth went to the front door, opened it.
Jack stood there, looking rumpled and tired. His hair was an adolescent mess. Tiny pink lines crisscrossed his cheeks like an old road map. His blue eyes were narrowed by puffy skin. "Hey, baby," he said, giving her a lopsided grin. "I woke up the news director at midnight and gave him the tape. Then I flew all night. Forgive me?"
Elizabeth smiled up at him. "Just when I think Im going to trade you in for a newer model, you do something like this. "
She let him pull her into his arms, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she kissed him back.
SIX
The frozen pond looked like a pane of mirrored glass tucked into a mound of cotton batting. At the silvery edge, a tractor was parked; its engine was running. Two bright headlights shone toward the ice. A boom box played Elviss "Blue Christmas. "
For as long as Elizabeth could recall, ice-skating on this pond had been a Christmas day tradition. In the attic, there were dozens of pairs of skates, some dating back a hundred years.
They always did it the same way: first, a lazy morning of gift opening, then a late afternoon holiday dinner of turkey with all the trimmings, then a pot of hot, mulled wine made in the huge fireplace in the living room. Once theyd transferred the wine to thermoses, they climbed onto the slat-sided, tractor-drawn wagon and rolled through the snow-blanketed pasture toward the wood whose Native American name had been long forgotten. Daddy always attached a string of bells to the back of the wagon.
This pond was magical. Here, when Elizabeth was four years old, her mother had taught her to skate. It was one of her favorite memories. One single day, barely more than an afternoon, but never forgotten. Her Mama had been underdressed and freezing; when she reached down for Elizabeths hand, her touch had been icy cold. You just hang on to Mama, darlin. I wont let you fall.
Elizabeth had often remembered that promise in the empty years that followed, especially when Anita moved into Sweetwater.
Now she sat on top of the picnic table, wrapped tightly in a multicolored woolen blanket. On the ground beside her, a bonfire crackled and snapped and sent gray ash into the slowly darkening sky.
Out on the ice, Jamie was teaching Jack to skate backward. His ungainly movements and uncharacteristic lack of coordination kept his daughters laughing. When he fell hard, Jamie rushed toward him, made sure he was okay, then immediately broke into a fit of the giggles.
Anita skated toward Jack and helped him up. They skated off together, Adonis and Dolly Parton on ice.
A minute later, Daddy skidded to a stop in front of Elizabeth. "You quit awful early," he said, huffing and puffing. White clouds of breath accompanied his every word.
"I was watching. "
"You do too danged much o that, sugar beet. Now, come on out here and skate with your old man. "
She unwrapped the blanket and eased herself off the picnic table. Steady on the blades, she walked to the ice and put her gloved hand in his.
As theyd done a thousand times before, they glided across the ice. Moonlight glittered on the frosted surface. In the background, "Frosty the Snow Man" was playing. For a single, perfect moment, she was a little girl in pigtails again, skating in a puffy pink ski suit that was two sizes too big, while her mama and daddy stood watching from the shore. . . .
"You always were a good skater," Daddy said, sweeping left at the end of the pond. "You were good at a lot of things. "
It depressed her, that observation, made her feel old. She thought of the conversation shed had with Meg: Lets be martini-honest, here, Birdie. You used to be a lot of things--talented, independent, artistic, intellectual. . . . We all thought youd be the next Georgia OKeeffe.
"Life is short, Elizabeth Anne. When was the last time you traveled someplace exotic? Or scared yourself silly? Or took up some crazy thing, like hang gliding or skydiving?"
Theyd had this discussion a dozen times in the past few years. It stung more each time. "I prefer to scare myself in ordinary ways, Daddy. Like letting my children cross the country for college. Why bungee jump when you can put a kindergartner on a school bus? Now, thats real terror. " She laughed, as if it were a joke.
Daddy twisted Elizabeth around until she was skating backward in front of him. "Im only gonna say this once, Birdie; then we can pretend I kept quiet if you want. " He lowered his voice. "Youre missin out on your own life. Its passin you by. "
