Sarah St.Vincent - Ways to Hide in Winter

“Kathy!” Beth chirped, over the noise of an engine. I could picture her in her dented blue Jetta, steering with one hand. “How’s my baby girl?”

“I’m good. Sorry I didn’t manage to call you back before.” I glanced at the clock on the oven. “Where are you?”

“Driving home from Target—I had to pick up some diapers for Dylan. You want to go out tonight? I can leave him with my parents for a while.”

I looked through the doorway at the back of my grandmother’s head; she was motionless, probably already dozing off. “I don’t know. I mean, I’d like to, but Grandma’s been sick.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Well, whatever you want—I was thinking we’d just pop over to the Joyride, maybe shoot a round of pool, and come home. But it’s up to you.” Her voice had the bright, upbeat tone of the barista she was by day, although I knew her husband’s latest deployment weighed heavily on her.

“All right, sure.” I gave in. “You want me to meet you there?”

“No, I’ll come pick you up. I think you need to have at least two drinks while we’re out. Wait, I take that back—three drinks. At least. ”

“Here you are, a good Christian girl—”

“Yeah—” she laughed.

“A Sunday school teacher even, and yet you’re always trying to corrupt me,” I said, making an effort to smile even though she couldn’t see me. “I can only imagine what you do to those children.”

“Oh, whatever. There’s nothing wrong with me living vicariously through you. Besides, you deserve to have a little fun, in my opinion.” I heard her downshift. “Speaking of which, when I get there, you’d better not be wearing a sweatshirt.”

“Do you have any idea how cold—”

“I don’t care how cold. You’re way too pretty to be dressing like a fourteen-year-old boy all the time.”

By the time she arrived, it was snowing again. When I climbed into the car, she gave me a hug, rocking me back and forth slightly before letting me go.

“There,” she said. “I feel better already.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing—same old. It’s just still tough when Mark’s gone. Of course, it’s also tough when he’s here, but that’s another story.” She pointed at the glove compartment, her short black hair brushing her cheek as she turned her head. “There’s a cookie in there for you. We didn’t sell them all today.”

I pulled it out; it was gingerbread, smelling of cinnamon and cloves. “Not a lot of business?”

“Actually, I lied. I kept that one aside for you.” The wipers beat rhythmically as she looked over her shoulder and swung into another lane. “Did I tell you the kid started running the other day?”

“He’s old enough to do that?”

“Barely. You should see him—he gets all fired up about something and just starts pumping those little legs.” She laughed. “He’s still so tiny—but then, he was pretty much doomed to be short, I guess, given how Mark and I both turned out. He’s gonna be an only child, too, so we’ve probably created a monster.” She swung into the parking lot of the Joyride and stopped under a blinking Rolling Rock sign, its neon-green lights flashing into the night.

The bar was nearly deserted—it was a Wednesday, after all. Beth sauntered over to the jukebox and pushed the buttons for a new country song, something fast and jangly I didn’t recognize. “What’re you having, gorgeous?”

“I don’t know—Jack and Coke?”

“I should’ve known. Would it kill you to try a girly drink?”

“It might.”

“Ha.” She spoke to the bartender, a stout woman in a Rusty Wallace T-shirt, returning with the mixed drink for me and a cherry Pepsi for herself. Even in her heels, she barely reached my shoulder. “Drink up. You want to break, or should I?”

“I can, if you want.” I racked the balls with swift movements and hung the triangle back under the table, breaking with a fierce crack. Behind me, an array of smoke-stained posters hung on the wall—Corvettes and Mustangs and Roadsters. Their edges were curling, but the sunsets behind the cars, the palm trees and bright strips of beach, shone eternal.

“Damn,” she said. “It’s so hot when you do that.”

I laughed. “Oh, please. I didn’t even sink anything.”

“That’s not the point.” She peered under the table, searching for the chalk. “You know, Mark took me to Good-Time Joe’s when he was here on leave—God knows why; I think he just wanted to get out of my parents’ house—and let me tell you, it’s a little alarming how much the army has improved his pool skills. Also poker. I pretended not to notice.” She shot at a striped ball and missed. Straightening, she caught sight of her reflection in a long mirror on the wall. Her face briefly took on a hard, scrutinizing expression as she sucked in her stomach and smoothed her shirt, twisting sideways to look at her hips.

I took aim at the six ball but watched it rebound sharply off the corner of a pocket.

“Boy, we’re great at this game, aren’t we?” she said.

I smiled again and sipped my drink, surprised by how strong it was. The bar, with its reassuringly bar-like smells, was beginning to feel smaller and warmer than before.

“So did you sign up for that master’s program?” I picked up the chalk.

She sighed. “Actually, we just decided to push that off ’til next year. I still want to do it, and Mark wants me to, but I don’t know who’d watch Dylan. I’m sure my parents would, but I hate to put that on them—they’re already doing me a huge favor by watching him so I can go out and work. I think they know I’d go crazy if I didn’t, but still.” She bent to slip a finger into a shoe where it must have been chafing her. “You need a master’s to be a CPA, so I do want to do it someday. It’d be nice to have a life of my own once the kid’s old enough for school. I love him to bits, but right now I feel like my brain’s rotting.”

I missed my next shot, and she took aim again, looking at me surreptitiously. “Do you think you’ll ever go back and finish?” she asked.

“What? My bachelor’s degree?” I leaned against my stick. We’d circled around this question before, but she’d never asked it so directly. I shook my head. “No, not a chance. I mean, I wish I could. But I’m not earning nearly enough. I’m barely saving anything at all, working up there.”

“You know, Mark and I were talking about that,” she said, striking the white ball and sending both a striped and a solid into the pocket. “Shoot—that wasn’t supposed to happen. Anyway, if I go back full-time, I could take Dylan and move into one of those student apartments, at least until Mark’s back from Iraq. If you don’t mind watching him sometimes—the kid, I mean—maybe we could live together and both take classes. You know, like before.” A hesitant but earnest expression came over her face, and I looked away. “Mark and I would take care of the rent. It’d be worth it to us, to have someone besides my parents who can keep an eye on Dylan sometimes. I thought…well, I thought it could be good for both of us. If it’s what you want.”

I bit my lip, gazing behind her at the jukebox. “Oh.” The bartender strolled over to the machine and picked a different song, an older one. “I mean, that’s—that’s an incredible offer, but…” I tried to imagine myself folded into a chair at the back of a classroom, surrounded by chattering nineteen-year-olds. Bending over a textbook at night. Standing up in front of a crowd of strangers to give a presentation, exposing myself to their stares. Inwardly, I shrank away.

Aloud, I said, “I just don’t think I could. My grandmother needs somebody to keep an eye on her. And the tuition is just so much—it wouldn’t really be within reach.”