Jennifer Greene - Wintergreen

“The best.” Lorna leaned back against the rail fence to look at Stan. Dinner was over, and it was dark out; only the yard lights made it possible for Johnny to ride the horse under Stan’s watchful eye. “It was kind of you to invite him.”

“No problem. I like kids. And I always feel the more exposure a young child has to a large animal, the less he’s likely to be afraid as he gets older.” Stan hesitated, drawing his coat collar closer around his throat. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your doing this work for my mother. She’s like a new woman, with an active interest, for a change.”

“She’s a darling. Two more weeks and it’ll be done, Stan.”

She knew what was coming and had known from the minute she’d stepped out of the car. The way Stan looked at her now, his eyes as warm as they were questioning, the slight tension in the way he’d held his shoulders…“And would you say yes if I asked you out to dinner, Lorna, when we didn’t have the excuse of my mother’s business?”

Lorna glanced down. “I’m afraid…” She didn’t directly say no, because she had no desire to hurt a very nice man. “But thank you,” she said very softly, “for asking.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that he understood, that she didn’t have to say any more.

A very nice, nice man. And she did not know if Matthew was going to call. She’d been condemned on the basis of strong circumstantial evidence a long time ago, and Matthew had once told her that as an attorney he set great store in circumstantial evidence. He was a believer in facts, not blind trust. She didn’t expect in her heart…

But it didn’t matter, as far as Stan was concerned. Another man wasn’t going to soothe the heartache. If common sense told her she should keep an open mind-for Johnny’s sake if not her own-her heart violently rejected the idea. Her heart, so very big, still had only room for one man.

Lorna was lying on her stomach in front of the Christmas tree in a white wool skirt and emerald-crepe blouse, her stockinged feet crossed absently in the air behind her. On a sheet of newspaper in front of her were the dozens of parts that made up a Zoid. The instructions informed her that any child could easily put it together.

“If you want me to help you, Mom…” Johnny offered.

“Thank you, no, ” Lorna said crisply. His Zoid was done, its beady little plastic eyes gloating at her unfinished project. Santa had delivered two. Two plastic replicas of a robotic creature from a sci-fi fantasy film that Johnny had seen three times. That alone had given it status in Johnny’s eyes. It didn’t do much in hers. Johnny had taken fifteen minutes to assemble his Zoid. She was on step two of nineteen.

“Look, I know you can do it, Mom. If you just take this part here-”

And she hated it when Johnny was tactful. He grinned at her, understanding her baleful gaze far too well for a nine-year-old.

“Give up, Lorna,” Freda suggested from across the room.

“That would show lack of character.” She frowned, snatching up the part Johnny had pointed to…once he’d gone on to the chemistry set in front of the tree.

“Honey, you’ve got to have the courage to admit when you’re licked,” Freda began, then suddenly wailed, “Brian, you’re supposed to play with the presents, not the boxes!”

“I’m building a fort, Mom.”

Lorna’s living room was a disaster zone of tinsel, wrapping paper, bows and boxes. The tree was a spruce, because she loved live Christmas trees, although very little of its green showed. Melted-down candies hardened in molds and strung with wire caught the open light from the windows. Quilted ornaments, decorations made of baked flour and salt and water and paint, small framed pictures, popcorn, cranberries, lights, Christmas cards… Every branch of the tree was laden with colorful decorations.

Lorna and Johnny had opened presents with Freda and Brian on Christmas morning for the past two years. Later, the Noonans were going to a Christmas dinner with Freda’s father, but Lorna had backed away from the enthusiastic invitation to join them. She had bought a six-pound turkey and all the trimmings for herself and Johnny. Christmas had always been a lonely time for her, particularly since her father’s death, yet Johnny went a long way toward making up for that. She’d tried to set up their own rituals, to make it a special day for him. Just playing and being with him, trying out all his new toys. Caroling, a walk in the woods, a drive to see the Christmas lights, just talking, a special renewal of the relationship with her son…

She clicked two plastic parts together and reached for another, glancing unobtrusively at Johnny. He was still in pajamas, his cowlick sticking straight up, his bright eyes engrossed in the instructions for his chemistry set. She loved that little urchin more than life. And though she tried hard not to be overly dependent on him, Lorna knew she needed Johnny this day.

Matthew hadn’t called.

Eight days… She’d stopped expecting him to. One part of her was never going to forgive her for bringing up the subject to him that night, when everything had been going so well, when she had still been in the burst of unbelievable excitement over being with him, just loving him, needing nothing else… Why had it mattered so much? His respect and trust…the loneliness clawing at her insides certainly didn’t give a damn.

“Mom. Do you have any objection if I make some fire water?” Johnny asked absently.

Freda groaned.

“It’s like a volcano,” Johnny explained, with a careful glance at Freda. “Brian and I can do it together.”

“Exactly how much fire is involved in fire water?” Lorna queried, picking up another plastic part and studying it from both sides.

“It says, ‘will make a magical colorful flame.’”

Freda groaned again.

“Go to it,” Lorna acquiesced. Johnny leaped to his feet with a beaming Brian in his wake and headed for the kitchen. Her son patted Lorna consolingly on the shoulder as he took the time to nudge his toe at part nine of her Zoid. She snatched it up, no longer proud.

While the boys were chattering in the kitchen, Freda sat down on the carpet, picking up instructions on the Zoid. “Honey, you smell like dime-store perfume.”

Lorna grinned, not looking up from parts ten, eleven and twelve. “So do you.”

“I tried to talk Johnny into buying you a less…overwhelming scent.”

“ I tried to talk Brian into giving you a less…overwhelming scent.”

They laughed, comfortable with each other. The boys had both presented their mothers with huge bottles of cologne, colorfully wrapped, with great pride. As far as Lorna was concerned, that made up part of the smell of Christmas. Johnny had chosen Lily of the Valley this year. Actually, she almost liked it. Last year the scent reminded her of a Detroit hooker on Twelfth Street; it might even have deterred potential customers.

Freda studied the half-assembled Zoid and handed her a part. “You can turn off that big smile for a few minutes,” she said absently.

“Pardon?” Lorna glanced up.

“You’ve lost weight in the last week.” Freda glared balefully at her. “It takes me a year to lose three pounds on a strict diet. If they ever clone people, I hope you’re not on the list.”

Lorna smiled absently; once, Freda’s remarks would have elicited a full-hearted chuckle at the least. “This fits. Have you got the next one?” she asked. The Zoid now had clawlike hands and looked properly ferocious; it was only missing parts of the body and legs.

“I want you and Johnny to come to dinner with us today.”

Lorna glanced up again. “It’s nice of you to ask us, Freda, but honestly, no thank you. We’re fine here, and Christmas has always been a special time for you and your dad.” She frowned. “We’ve covered all that.”