Chin nodded, looking reassured, and went to get the temp readings. They were all over the place, too, from eighteen below in Saskatoon to thirty-one above in Ft. Lauderdale. Nathan ran them against average temps for mid-December and then highs and lows for the twenty-fourth, looking for patterns, anomalies.
Chin wheeled in a big-screen TV on an AV cart, along with Professor Adler’s portable, and plugged them in. "What do you want these on?" he asked.
"CNN, the Weather Channel, Fox–" Nathan began.
"Oh, no," Chin said.
"What? What is it?"
"Look," Chin said and pointed to Professor Adler’s portable. Wolf Blitzer was standing in the snow in front of the Empire State Building. At the lower right-hand corner was the CNN symbol. And in the upper left-hand corner: Storm of the Century.
As soon as Pilar had Miguel’s things packed, she checked on the TV again.
"–resulting in terrible road conditions," the reporter was saying. "Police are reporting accidents at the intersection of Sepulveda and Figueroa, the intersection of San Pedro and Whittier, the intersection of Hollywood and Vine," while accident alerts crawled across the bottom of the screen. "We’re getting reports of a problem on the Santa Monica Freeway just past the Culver City exit and . . . this just in, the northbound lanes of the 110 are closed due to a five-car accident. Travelers are advised to take alternate routes."
The phone rang. Miguel ran into the kitchen to answer it. "Hi, Daddy, it’s snowing," he shouted into the receiver, "We’re going outside and make a snowman," and then said, "Okay," and handed it to Pilar.
"Go watch cartoons and let Mommy talk to Daddy," she said and handed him the remote. "Hello, Joe."
"I want you to bring Miguel down now," her ex-husband said without preamble, "before the snow gets bad."
"It’s already bad," Pilar said, standing in the door of the kitchen watching Miguel flip through the channels:
"–really slick out here–"
"–advised to stay home. If you don’t have to go someplace, folks, don’t."
"–treacherous conditions–"
"I’m not sure taking him out in this is a good idea," Pilar said. "The TV’s saying the roads are really slick, and–"
"And I’m saying bring him down here now," Joe said nastily. "I know what you’re doing. You think you can use a little snow as an excuse to keep my son away from me on Christmas."
"I am not," she protested. "I’m just thinking about Miguel’s safety. I don’t have snow tires–"
"Like hell you’re thinking about the kid! You’re thinking this is a way to do me out of my rights. Well, we’ll see what my lawyer has to say about that. I’m calling him and the judge and telling them what you’re up to, and that I’m sick of this crap, I want full custody. And then I’m coming up there myself to get him. Have him ready when I get there!" he shouted and hung up the phone.
At 2:22 p.m., Luke’s mother called on her cell phone to say she was going to be late and to go ahead and start the goose. "The roads are terrible, and people do not know how to drive. This red Subaru ahead of me just swerved into my lane and–"
"Mom, Mom," Luke cut in, "the goose. What do you mean, start the goose? What do I have to do?"
"Just put it in the oven. Shorty and Madge should be there soon, and she can take over. All you have to do is get it started. Take the bag of giblets out first. Put an aluminum foil tent over it."
"An aluminum-foil what?"
"Tent. Fold a piece of foil in half and lay it over the goose. It keeps it from browning too fast."
"How big a piece?"
"Big enough to cover the goose. And don’t tuck in the edges."
"Of the oven?"
"Of the tent. You’re making this much harder than it is. You wouldn’t believe how many cars there are off the road, and every one of them’s an SUV. It serves them right. They think just because they’ve got four-wheel drive, they can go ninety miles an hour in a blizzard–"
"Mom, Mom, what about stuffing? Don’t I have to stuff the goose?"
"No. Nobody does stuffing inside the bird anymore. Salmonella. Just put the goose in the roasting pan and stick it in the oven. At 350 degrees."
I can do that, Luke thought, and did. Ten minutes later he realized he’d forgotten to put the aluminum foil tent on. It took him three tries to get a piece the right size, and his mother hadn’t said whether the shiny or the dull side should be facing out, but when he checked the goose twenty minutes later, it seemed to be doing okay. It smelled good, and there were already juices forming in the pan.
After Pilar hung up with Joe, she sat at the kitchen table a long time, trying to think which was worse, letting Joe take Miguel out into this snowstorm or having Miguel witness the fight that would ensue if she tried to stop him. "Please, please . . ." she murmured, without even knowing what she was praying for.
Miguel came into the kitchen and climbed into her lap. She wiped hastily at her eyes. "Guess what, honey?" she said brightly. "Daddy’s going to come get you in a little bit. You need to go pick out which toys you want to take."
"Hunh-unh," Miguel said, shaking his head.
"I know you wanted to make a snowman," she said, "but guess what? It’s snowing in Escondido, too. You can make a snowman with Daddy."
"Hunh-unh," he said, climbing down off her lap and tugging on her hand. He led her into the living room.
"What, honey?" she said, and he pointed at the TV. On it, the Santa Monica reporter was saying, "–the following road closures: I-5 from Chula Vista to Santa Ana, I-15 from San Diego to Barstow, Highway 78 from Oceanside to Escondido–"
Thank you, she murmured silently, thank you. Miguel ran out to the kitchen and came back with a piece of construction paper and a red crayon. "Here," he said, thrusting them at Pilar. "You have to write Santa. So he’ll know to bring my presents here and not Daddy’s."
By ordering sopapillas and then Mexican coffee, Bev managed to make lunch last till nearly two o’clock. When Carmelita brought the coffee, she looked anxiously out at the snow piling up on the patio and then back at Bev, so Bev asked for her check and signed it so Carmelita could leave, and then went back up to her room for her coat and gloves.
Even if the shops were closed, she could window-shop, she told herself, she could look at the Navajo rugs and Santa Clara pots and Indian jewelry displayed in the stores, but the snowstorm was getting worse. The luminarias that lined the walls were heaped with snow, the paper bags that held the candles sagging under the soggy weight.
They’ll never get them lit, Bev thought, turning into the Plaza.
By the time she had walked down one side of it, the snow had become a blizzard, it was coming down so hard you couldn’t see across the Plaza, and there was a cutting wind. She gave up and went back to the hotel.
In the lobby, the staff, including the front desk clerk and Carmelita in her coat and boots, was gathered in front of the TV looking at a weather map of New Mexico. ". . . currently snowing in most of New Mexico," the announcer was saying, "including Gallup, Carlsbad, Ruidoso, and Roswell. Travel advisories out for central, western, and southern New Mexico, including Lordsburg, Las Cruces, and Truth or Consequences. It looks like a white Christmas for most of New Mexico, folks."
"You have two messages," the front desk clerk said when he saw her. They were both from Janice, and she phoned again while Bev was taking her coat off up in her room.