Vision in White

“I guess. You were nice with your sister today. Some families are nice. I observe and so I note. I recall yours being. Didn’t know you and Sherry all that well, but I recall. Nice family. Mine sucks.”

“Okay.”

“Y’know why? Lemme tell you why. You got a sister, right?”

“I do. In fact, I have two. Maybe we should sit down.”

“Two, yeah, yeah. Older sister, too. I never met her. So two sibs. Me? I’ve got one, comprised of two halves. A half sister, a half brother—from each parent—which could be smooshed together into one sib. This is not to count the number of steps I’ve had throughout. I’ve lost track there. They come and go, go and come, as my parents marry willy-nilly.” She took a glug of wine. “Bet you had a big-ass family Christmas thing, huh?”

“Ah, yes, we—”

“Know what I did?”

Okay, he got it. It wasn’t a conversation. He was a sounding board. “No.”

“As my father is . . . somewhere. It might be Vail,” she considered with a frown, “or possibly Switzerland, with his third wife and their son, he wasn’t a factor. However, he did send me a ridiculously expensive bracelet, which did not come from guilt or particularly paternal devotion, of which he has neither. But from the fact that as a trust fund baby he’s just careless with money.”

She stopped, forehead furrowing, and drank some more. “Where was I?”

“Christmas.”

“Right, right. Family Christmas as applies to me. I paid the courtesy call on my mother and Eloisa—that’s the half sister—on the twenty-third, because none of us were the least bit interested in spending Christmas together. No goose for us. Exchange gifts, have a drink, wish you the merry, and escape.”

She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “We did not sing Christmas carols around the piano. Actually, El escaped quicker than I did, to go out with friends. Can’t blame her. My mother’ll drive you to drink. See.” She held out her glass.

“Yes, I do. Let’s take a walk.”

“A what? Why?”

“Why not? It’s starting to snow.” Casually, he took the glass from her hand, set it and his untouched one on the counter. “I like walking in the snow. Hey, there’s your coat.”

She frowned at him when he retrieved it, then came back to bundle her in it. “I’m not drunk. Yet. Plus, can’t a woman have a drunken pity party in her own house if she wants to?”

“Absolutely. Do you have a hat?”

She dug into her coat pocket, dragged out the vivid green cap. “It’s not like I sit around every night sucking down the wine or whatever.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” He pulled the cap over her head, then wound her scarf around her neck before buttoning her coat. “That’ll do it.” He took her arm, led her to the door. And out.

He heard her hiss through her teeth as the cold hit her face, and kept hold on her arm, just in case.

“Warm’s better,” she mumbled, but when she tried to turn around, he just kept walking.

“I like when it snows at night. Well, it’s not night yet, but this looks like it’ll go into it. I like watching it out the window, the white against the black.”

“We’re not watching it out the window. We’re in the damn stuff.”

He just smiled and kept walking. Plenty of paths, he thought, and all of them carefully cleared before this dusting. “Who shovels all this?”

“This what?”

“Snow, Mackensie.”

“We do, or we draft Del or his pal Jack. We pay some teenagers sometimes. Depends. Gotta keep the paths clear. We’re a business here, so we have to maintain it. We get the plow guy for the parking areas.”

“A lot of work, with a place this size, and a business with this many facets.”

“All part of the whole, plus it’s home, too, so we . . . Oh, you’re changing the subject.” Eyes narrowed, she peered up at him from under the cap. “I’m not stupid, just a little buzzed.”

“What was the subject?”

“The enormous suckatude of my family. Where was I?”

“I think you left off with Christmas, and your mother driving you to drink.”

“That’s right, I did. Here’s how she drove me to drink this time. She broke up with her latest boyfriend. I use the term

boyfriend deliberately, as her mind-set is that of a teenager when it comes to men, relationships, marriage. Anyway, drama, drama, and of course now she has to go to a spa to recover from the ordeal and the stress and heartbreak. Which is bullshit, but she

believes it. And since she can’t keep ten dollars in her pocket for more than five minutes, she expects me to front the expense. Three thousand.”

“You’re supposed to give your mother three thousand dollars because she broke up with her boyfriend and wants to go to the spa?”

“If she needed an operation, would I just let her die?” Trying to express her mother’s method of attack, Mac wheeled both arms in the air. “No, no, no, that’s not the one she used this time. It was homeless and on the streets this time. She has a collection like that. Maybe she used both. It started to blur. So, yes, I’m supposed to pay for it. Correction, I

am paying for it because she’ll keep hounding and hammering at me until I do, so I’ll pay for it. Ergo, the wine, because it disgusts and infuriates me that I always cave.”