Under the Ice Read online

  “Okay, little one.” I gently removed her pacifier, then began to bounce her in time with the rhyme.

  “Trot, trot to Boston,

  “Trot, trot to Lynn.

  “You’d better watch out,

  “Or you might... fall... in.”

  I separated my knees and let her swoop backwards toward the floor in a controlled dip. She giggled when I pulled her back up.

  “Agin?” she said.

  “Okay. One more time.”

  Marion slid off the couch and toddled toward us. Her hands fluttered up and down like a baby bird’s wings. “Turn?”

  Freddie ruffled Marion’s dark curls. “Of course you can have a turn, honey. Just wait a sec.”

  Marion came closer and watched me bounce Celeste again, her eyes wide with excitement. This time, Celeste threw herself backwards before I was ready to “dip” her. I tightened my grip on her little hands to prevent her from throwing herself on the floor.

  “Turn?” Marion repeated.

  I explained to Celeste that it was Marion’s turn. She accepted it and sat down to watch. We frequently played singing/bouncing games. By necessity, the twins had learned to share early in life.

  Marion climbed eagerly into my lap as the exercise began all over again. Thankfully, I noticed Freddie, Adam, and Maddy carrying platters of food to the buffet in the dining room.

  I chuckled to myself. They must be getting hungry.

  Oscar and Millie watched our antics with fascination.

  “Where did that rhyme come from, Gus?” Millie asked.

  “My mother,” I said. “Her mom was born near Boston. My grandmother recited it to her, my mother repeated it to me, and I taught it to Freddie. Now Freddie and I are teaching it to the twins.”

  Oscar spoke up. “Well, I guess ‘Trot, trot to Rochester, Trot, trot to East Goodland’ might sound a tad awkward.” His pale blue eyes sparkled and he pushed aside a lock of silky white hair. He stood and leaned on the handlebars of Millie’s wheelchair.

  Millie snorted a laugh at his joke. She covered her mouth with a gnarled, arthritic hand, tittering. “Oh, Daddy.”

  Oscar permitted himself a wry smile and leaned down to whisper in her ear. She laughed again.

  When Millie’s arthritis had worsened years ago, Oscar calmly quit his career as an international nature photographer and returned home to care for her. Now he documented the Genesee Valley with glorious photography and currently was working on a coffee table book featuring Upstate woodland birds. In his spare time, he took on the unofficial role of East Goodland historian.

  Maddy hollered from the dining room, “Come ‘n get it!”

  I burst out laughing, picturing dogs stampeding to the old Gravy Train commercial.

  On the other hand, I couldn’t quite picture Maddy saying, “Dinner is served.”

  Shelby was still asleep on the chair, in spite of all the noise around her. I decided to let her snooze since she looked so comfortable. Frankly, I didn’t want to deal with her short temper. She was always so grumpy when she first woke up.

  Oscar said, “Shall we ‘trot, trot,’ Lady?”

  She smiled up at him, giggling. “Just to the dining room, Daddy. I’m too hungry to trot all the way to Boston.”

  Even though their son, William, had died in Viet Nam many years ago, I thought it was endearing that she still called Oscar “Daddy.” I smiled at them. I’d always hoped Elsbeth and I would follow their example and grow old together, never losing our passion and sense of humor. Since her death, almost six years ago, I’d been plagued with an acute sense of loss. Camille, however, had helped me heal since we’d met and married last year. I prayed that we’d now follow the Stones’ inspirational example.

  The twins toddled off to the dining room, following Millie, who called to them like puppies. I looked up as Camille breezed into the room with Johnny in tow. Her dark curls were covered in fresh snow.

  “It’s snowing again.” She loved the stuff as much as I did.

  Glancing at her daughter asleep in the chair, she lowered her voice. “She’s still asleep?”

  I smiled. “Yeah. Might as well let her. I worked her hard today.”

  “Good idea.” She shrugged out of her coat.

  Johnny ran to me and threw himself on my lap. “Hi, Opa! Can we make a snowman tomorrow? Oma says we can.”

  Although Camille was too young to be a grandmother in her own right, she’d inherited the honor by marrying me. Siegfried didn’t hesitate in crowning her with the German name for grandmother, and it had stuck as firmly as “Opa” had stuck to me.

  Johnny’s cheeks glowed pink from the cold. I hugged him close and whispered in his ear. “Sure thing, sport. We’ve got all weekend. Maybe we can build a fort, huh?”

  His eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Really.” I tousled his long, honey-colored hair. It was cut like an inverted soup bowl. I loved the shiny mass and ruffled it whenever I could.

  I rose, took Johnny’s hand, and went into the dining room. After filling plates at the buffet, the family settled around the long trestle table. Adam and Freddie sat side by side, between the twins. Adam tended to Marion, and Freddie urged our more finicky eater, Celeste, to taste little pieces of lamb. Celeste tended to find one food she liked, and then wanted it for weeks after. Every meal was a struggle.

  Johnny sat between Camille and me, basking in the attention we gave him. He’d grown accustomed to his little sisters, but still felt neglected and needed extra love from time to time. Joe and Maddy were on my left, across from Oscar and Millie.

  When we’d polished off the lamb, potatoes, asparagus, and salad, I stretched and rose. “Who wants sundaes? We have hot fudge or butterscotch.”

  Adam turned to Freddie. They nodded to each other, and then stood. “Dad? Adam and I would like to say something first.”

  I sat down again. “Okay. Sure. Go ahead.”

  Adam grabbed her hand. A look of excitement flashed between them.

  “Professor LeGarde?”

  I wondered what this was all about. “Yes?”

  “I know we’re a bit old for this custom, but I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t ask. Sir,” he took a deep breath and then looked directly into my eyes with an earnest expression. “I am madly in love with your daughter. She’s agreed to marry me and let me adopt these beautiful kids. But I wanted to be sure you’re okay with it before we make plans. I’m asking for her hand in marriage.”

  I sat in stunned silence, smiling broadly. Okay with it? The man had been a savior to my daughter in her blackest hour two years ago. He was honest, considerate, and great with the kids.

  I stared at them. The silence stretched out as I wondered whether they’d move into their own home or whether Adam would move in with us. I favored the latter. The idea of my grandchildren living somewhere else would kill me.

  “Sir?” He looked worried.

  I came out of my reverie. “Oh, sorry.” I chuckled. “Absolutely. You have my blessing. I was just wondering what took you so long.”

  Laughter filtered around the table. Maddy slipped her arm through Joe’s and batted her eyelashes at him unabashedly. She wanted to be next in line. He avoided her eyes and his ears reddened.

  Something was up with my friend, and I started to worry. Normally, he would blush and smile when Maddy flirted with him.

  Camille ran to the kitchen and brought out one bottle of champagne and one bottle of sparkling grape juice with some fluted glasses. I looked at her in surprise, since we didn’t typically keep such things in the pantry. Joe, a recovered alcoholic, would drink the grape juice.

  “You knew?” I whispered.

  She smiled and brushed past me. A sudden sense of desire rippled through me. I reached for her hand and squeezed gently. She stopped, looked down at me in surprise, and leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Wanna go out with me?”

  “I’ll have to ask my wife,” I said, lightly kissing her lips.

  “Will you t
wo lovebirds take a break and pour the champagne?” Maddy bellowed, snuggling even closer to Joe.

  Camille handed Adam the bottle and opener. “Will you do the honors?”

  “A toast,” I said, after we’d filled each glass. “To Freddie and Adam. May your marriage be filled with joy.”

  After a few moments, Joe said, “Um, I thought you said something about sundaes, Gus? Want some help out there?”

  Maddy raised an eyebrow at him. Joe rarely stepped foot in the kitchen. “That’s mighty nice of you, Joseph,” she crooned. “Aren’t we becoming domestic?”

  “Be back soon,” he said over his shoulder to her.

  I followed Joe to the kitchen.

  Chapter 7

  Joe hurried into the kitchen, glanced furtively over his shoulder, and collapsed on a chair. Sweat beaded his forehead. He mopped it with his shirtsleeve and let out a huge sigh.

  I pulled up a chair beside him. “Joe? What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

  He rolled his eyes nervously and looked into the dining room. “Shh. She might hear us.”

  I lowered my voice. “Who? What the hell’s going on?”

  He quieted, lowering his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just these thoughts I’ve had lately. Maddy’s been pressuring me. Ever since Adam decided to propose to Freddie, she’s been all googly-eyed. I know she wants me to pop the question.”

  I relaxed. This problem was manageable. “You knew, too?” I laughed, realizing I was probably the only person in the house who hadn’t heard in advance about my daughter’s betrothal.

  He massaged his temple with one meaty hand. “I’m not doing so good, Gus.”

  “Listen,” I said. “It’s okay if you’re not ready. You don’t ever have to get married. You just have to be honest with her. Don’t give her false hope.”

  His hand dropped.

  I searched his eyes and found them filled with confusion and fear.

  “It’s not that. I do love her. I love being with her. But ever since she’s started hinting around about marriage, all I can think of is... ”

  I waited.

  His voice cracked. “Jeanne.”

  This wasn’t what I expected. Although we’d hung out a great deal since becoming friends several years ago, he hadn’t mentioned his first wife’s name in a long time.

  “Jeanne?” I repeated.

  His face almost crumpled.

  I began to worry anew. “Joe? What’s going on?”

  He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “I can’t stop thinking about that night. The night I killed her.”

  I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “You didn’t kill her, Joe. It was an icy road, a bad accident. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I was drunk.”

  “I know. But that could have happened to anyone. Anyone. You did everything you could to save her.”

  “I was going too fast.” He stared in the distance now, as if replaying the night in his head.

  The car had slipped on a patch of ice and slid into an icy lake on New Year’s Eve, twelve years ago. Jeanne was trapped in the car under the water, and although Joe got her out and dragged her to shore, she was already dead.

  I laid my hand over his. “Joe?”

  His eyes flickered to the dining room and back.

  “Joe?”

  He finally answered in a gravelly voice. “Yeah?”

  “You never got closure over this whole mess. I’m not trying to push you to a therapist, but maybe if you talked to someone about it, you’d feel better.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  I tried again. “Better yet, maybe we should go up to the lake and have some kind of ceremony. You know. To say goodbye. Something like that?” I was reaching. I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. But I had to say something.

  He looked at me with hope for the first time that night. “You think it would help?”

  Encouraged, I kept going. “It might. How about tomorrow? Just you and me. We’ll drive up to the lake, say a prayer, lay down some flowers, and talk. We can just…talk.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Okay. It’s worth a shot. I’m driving myself nuts.”

  “Then it’s a plan.” Relieved, I stood and patted his shoulder. “Well, we’d better get those sundaes started. They’ll wonder what happened to us.”

  When we began to gather the ice cream and bowls, Shelby shuffled in from the great room, rubbing her eyes. “Hey,” she said, staring at me with a wounded expression. “You started supper without me?”

  I hugged her, kissing the top of her head. “Hi, Funny Bunny. Yeah, we let you sleep. You worked so hard today, Shelby. You earned it. And I saved you a plate. It’s in the oven, see?”

  Joe said hello to her, then disappeared into the next room with a tray of bowls and spoons.

  “I did work hard, didn’t I?” she said.

  “Yup. I’m proud of you, honey.” I took her plate out of the oven and handed it to her.

  She looked hopeful. “Any chance I could get out of the punishment early?”

  I sighed and smiled patiently. “Sorry, Kiddo. Not this time.”

  To my surprise, she accepted the plate from me with a resolute, “Didn’t think so.”

  Chapter 8

  Camille snuggled beside me in bed, her fingers tracing circles on my chest. We’d just made slow and sensuous love, and the first tendrils of sleep tugged at me.

  “Something seemed off with Joe tonight. Did you notice?” she said.

  I stroked her hair, loving the silky feel of it. “Yeah. We talked a bit in the kitchen.”

  “I thought it was weird, him offering to help with the sundaes.” She sat up and frowned. “What’s going on?”

  I paused. Should I tell her? “Um. I’m not sure he’d want me to…”

  “Oh, Gus. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone.”

  I gave in. In our marriage, we shared everything, and she was very good about keeping secrets, evidenced by today’s surprise at dinner. “True.”

  She settled back on my chest and snuggled into me. “He’s not drinking again, is he?”

  “No. It’s not that. He’s stone sober. But for some reason, he’s can’t stop obsessing about Jeanne. Remember his first wife, who died in the accident?”

  “Of course.” She nodded against my shoulder. “Why now?”

  I took her hand from my chest and kissed her fingers. “It’s all this marriage talk. It’s got Maddy hinting for a proposal, and he’s suddenly consumed with guilt. He still feels responsible for Jeanne’s death.”

  She sighed. “That poor man. Should I say anything to my mother? Ask her to back off for a while?”

  I hesitated. Could Maddy be discreet? I thought not. “No. Not yet. Let’s see if he feels any better tomorrow. I’m taking him up to the lake where it happened. We’ll throw some flowers on the water, or ice, as the case may be; we’ll say some prayers, and then bid her memory goodbye.”

  “I hope it works, honey.” She rubbed her finger back and forth on my chin, feeling the stubble. “Your beard grows so fast. I can’t believe you shaved this morning.”

  I laughed. “Razor must be dull.”

  She lifted her lips for a long, lingering kiss, and I obliged.

  “Or maybe it’s just your incredible virility, Mr. LeGarde. All those manly hormones racing around in your bloodstream.”

  My body responded. “Must be,” I laughed, pulling her closer. “Ready for an encore?”

  Chapter 9

  Sunday dawned cold and gray. Not exactly the best day to hold a ceremony to help Joe recover from his long-standing guilt.

  Or maybe it was perfect. Is it better to have a funeral in the bright sun, or an appropriately dismal day?

  Still at home, but ready to run out the door, I crouched down to appease my grandson, who danced at my feet and hadn’t forgotten my promise to play in the snow and build a fort. “I’ll be back by noon, okay? We can play for as long as you want. We’ll m
ake hot chocolate, a snowman, and whatever else you want. Sound good?”

  He looked at me through his long lashes. “And a fort? Right, Opa?”

  I nodded, hugging him close. “I promise. And I’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay.” He trotted off to the living room. Sometimes I wished everything in life was this simple.

  I grabbed my keys and jacket, nodding to Freddie, who was busy washing dishes. “You’ll keep an eye on Sig?”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll take care of him. His fever’s down this morning, and he ate some cereal.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Don’t forget his Advil at... ” I checked my watch. “Ten-thirty.”

  She smiled indulgently, shooing me outside with her soapy hands. “Go. I’ve got it covered. Hurry up before the rest of the household wakes up and wants you.”

  I realized she was right. It was only eight. Camille, Shelby, and the twins still slept peacefully upstairs.

  “Thanks, sweetie.” I headed down the porch steps, shivering. The air felt cold and raw, and it penetrated deep into my bones. Scraping the frost from my windows, I drove through four new inches of snow, glad for my four-wheel drive.

  Joe’s trailer was located a few miles west of our place. I headed down the gentle slope along the east ridge of the Genesee Valley and turned left on Lewis Road. I always recognized his driveway by the battered blue mailbox that stood crooked at the entrance, and more so, by the twenty-foot pine tree stripped of its lower branches with dozens of deer antlers nailed along the trunk. Joe inherited the bizarre landmark when he purchased the property years ago.

  I turned into the snow-packed driveway and pulled up to his rusty trailer.

  He must have been watching for me, because he bolted out of the trailer and quickly settled in the car. Wearing a grim expression, he focused straight ahead. A bouquet of white carnations lay on his lap.

  “Buddy?” I asked. “Are you ready for this?”

  His eyes flashed. “No.”

  I hesitated. “Um. We can do this another day.”

  He sighed and motioned to the road. “No. Just drive, Gus. Let’s get this over with.”