At the barn door we find a wall of snow up to my thighs. Whatever force scoured the path before is gone. We’ll have to tunnel our way back to the house. I think of that boy who froze to death two feet from home. “Maybe we should stay in the barn,” I say to Mattie. “Start a fire to keep warm.”
Mattie chuckles. “And burn the whole thing down? Besides, I’m not sure there are any matches out here . . .” Her voice falters. “Do you see headlights or am I imagining things?”
At first I think the stress of the night has finally unhinged her, but then I see them too, two lights piercing the snow-filled gloom. As I squint at them I hear a roaring sound.
“It’s a snow plow!” Oren cries.
“What the hell?” I say. “Who’s showing up now? Should we hide?”
“I honestly think we’ve run out of people who wish me ill,” Mattie says. “So unless you’ve got anyone else on your tail . . .”
“No,” I say, “no one I can think of.”
So we stand in the barn door, waving at the lights like shipwrecked sailors as the plow shovels a path toward us. When it’s cleared a lane from the barn to the house it backs up and a silhouette gets out: a tall, rangy man in a hooded parka. I shine my flashlight at him but the hood hides his face until he reaches us and pushes it back.
“Wayne?” Mattie says. “Wayne Marshall?”
The man, who’s got thick gray hair and lines around his eyes, smiles. “I didn’t know you knew my last name, Ms. Lane. Are you people all right? Whatcha doing out in the barn on a night like tonight? I was heading up to the house when I saw your flashlight beam.”
“What are you doing here?” Mattie asks. Her voice is flat. I can’t tell if this is a friend or not, and I tighten my grip on Oren’s arm.
“Well, that’s kind of embarrassing,” he says, ducking his head and rubbing his neck. “Looking for my dumbass brother-in-law, basically. Have you seen him?”
“What made you think he was here?” Mattie asks. I notice she’s not answering his question. I bet that’s something she learned at the hotline.
“Well . . . my sister asked me to track him down. He’d been mouthing off about you . . . and she has this gizmo on her phone that shows his location.”
“How’d she know this was where I live?” Mattie asks.
“Wow,” Wayne says, rocking back on his heels. “Anyone ever tell you you’d make a fine lawyer?”
“Yes,” Mattie says curtly. “Answer the question, please.”
“She didn’t,” Wayne admits, “but when she told me the location I knew it was where you lived. I grew up in this town. Everyone knew where old Judge Lane’s house was. I headed right out here, but I passed three cars that had gone off the road that I had to winch out. City folk, mostly.” He shrugs, like, What can you say? “So here I am. Is Jason here? Has he done something stupid?”
“I’m afraid so, Wayne, but it’s a long story and this woman and child are cold. Let’s get back to the house.”
As we walk I hear Mattie talking in a low voice to Wayne. I can’t make out everything that she’s saying, but from the bits I do I gather she’s filling him in on the events of the night. By the time we get to the house she’s gotten to the part where we tied Jason up in the basement.
Wayne whistles. “What an idiot! I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ve been telling my sister for years to leave him. Is that where he is now? I hope he’s trussed like a turkey and feeling every ache.”
“Let’s get the woodstove going and I’ll tell you the rest of the story. Alice, why don’t you put that chili back on the stove and fill the kettle. Let’s get something warm in Oren and get those wet clothes off both of you. There’s plenty of clothes in the parlor. I’m going to go down in the basement with Wayne for a moment.”
She’s talking fast, rattling off chores like Lisa used to do, only her voice is kinder. “Do you want me to come with you?” I ask.
She looks up, surprised. “I’ll be fine,” she says. “I think Wayne is a good guy. You came out here in a blizzard to find your dumbass brother-in-law before he did something stupid, didn’t you, Wayne? That makes you a good guy in my book, so I’m sorry that I’ve got some bad news for you.”
Their voices fade as they go down the stairs. I put some wood in the woodstove and make Oren sit down in front of it. I peel off his damp Star Wars sweatshirt and for once he doesn’t complain. Mattie’s old dog comes lumbering into the kitchen and huddles up next to Oren. I leave him there rubbing the dog’s ears and hurry into the parlor, grabbing clothes as fast as I can, not wanting to leave Oren alone for long.
When I get back Oren is staring at the basement door. “That man is sad,” he says. “I heard him crying.”
“Oh,” I say, “that’s too bad.” I don’t know what else to say, so I busy myself putting the chili pot and kettle on the stove, washing bowls and spoons. When the water boils I make four cups of hot chocolate and take one to Oren. He’s still staring at the basement door.
“Mattie will be all right,” I say, wondering if I should check on her.
“It’s not that . . . I can hear them talking. She’s trying to make Wayne feel better.”
I listen, but I can only hear the faintest murmur. Maybe Oren just has super-powerful hearing . . . or super-powerful sensitivity. I look at him closely. He looks small and miserable in the too-big hand-me-down clothes I’ve brought him. “What is it, buddy?” I ask. “You can tell me.”
“It’s . . . I wonder . . . is it okay to feel bad for someone who was bad?”
It takes me a second to understand what he’s asking, and then I sink straight to the floor, kneeling in front of him. I put my hands on either side of his head and turn him to face me. “Of course it is, sweetie. We all of us have good and bad inside. And the bad parts . . . well, likely they got there through something bad that happened to that person. That’s not an excuse not to try to be your best . . . but it can help you to understand and forgive the people who are mean to you. And as for your father . . .” I try to think of something good to say about Davis. I remember those crappy Happy Meal toys Oren would play with and recall that Davis would bring them home for him. I remember how proud he was of Oren when he first came up with the game. The boy gets his smarts from me. It was a self-centered kind of love, but still . . . “Your father loved you,” I say firmly. “And it’s okay to feel bad that he’s gone.”
Oren nods, a couple of tears sliding down his face, and then he falls into my arms and fits himself to my body. “Can I stay with you, Alice?” he asks after a few minutes.
“Of course, buddy,” I say, hoping it’s true. “I won’t let anyone take you away.”
MATTIE AND WAYNE come up a few minutes later. Wayne is wiping his eyes. “I’m only crying on account of my sister and her kids,” he says to me, as if he needs to apologize for grieving.
“I get it,” I tell him, handing him a cup of hot cocoa.
“It’s okay,” Oren says, patting Wayne’s hand. “Everybody’s got good and bad inside of them.”
Wayne looks at Oren as if he’d just heard the Dalai Lama’s voice come out of him. I’m amazed and ridiculously proud to hear my own words coming out of Oren’s mouth.
While Wayne sits down next to Oren, I jump up to help Mattie fill bowls with chili. “We need to call the police on Wayne’s cell phone,” Mattie says in a low voice. “I’ll tell them there are two bodies in the house and one in the barn. I imagine they’ll be out here by morning. I plan to be forthright in what I tell them. Except for one thing.”