Dead of Winter

CHAPTER 44

He had to leave the Mustang at the bottom of the hill and walk the rest of the way up. When he reached the cabin, he paused.

What was he afraid of? That she would look different now? What was a woman supposed to look like after her husband was shot to death? Was he afraid of what she would say? What did a woman say to the man who had killed her husband?

He knocked. For a long time, there was no answer but then the door opened and she stood before him. Her eyes narrowed against the bright sunlight as she looked at him.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Zoe nodded and moved away. He came in and she closed the door. The drapes were closed, the lights low. As his eyes adjusted, he made out the cardboard boxes stacked near the door. The paisley sofa was gone, and most of the other furniture. He looked to the fireplace. The Manet print had been taken down.

“What’s going on?” he asked, turning to her.

“I’m closing the cabin,” she said.

“Why?”

She rubbed the sleeves of her baggy red sweater, looking around, at anything but him. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right here anymore.”

“Zoe…”

“Don’t call me that, please,” she said softly.

She moved away, going to a table to pick up some books. He watched her as she stacked them in a box. She moved slowly, as if something hurt deep in her bones. He heard a sound, a soft mewing and turned. Two animal carriers sat by the door. He could see the white cat behind the grating.

“You’re going away?” he asked. “Where?”

“Chicago.”

“When?”

Her eyes met his. “Tomorrow, after the funeral.”

“Zoe, we have to talk.”

Her eyes brimmed. “About what, Louis? What can we say to each other now?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She spun away, covering her face with her hands.

He was rooted to the floor by the sound of her crying. He wanted to hold her but he was afraid she would push him away.

“I don’t blame you,” she said.

He closed his eyes.

“Brian died a long time ago,” she said. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

Louis took a quick step toward her, touched her arm but she pulled back. She wiped her face with her sleeve and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. She looked around the room, her eyes dark with fatigue and confusion.

“She’s gone,” she said softly.

Louis felt something cut into his chest. “Zoe…”

“I have to find her.”

She knelt to look under a chair then rose and pulled back the curtains. Louis watched her, suddenly afraid she was breaking down.

She looked up at him suddenly. “I can’t leave her here,” she said, her eyes bright with tears. “Help me find her, please.”

Suddenly, he understood. The other cat. She was looking for the other cat, the black one.

She went into the studio, calling her name. Louis drew in a slow breath and scanned the room, looking for the animal.

Zoe came back into the living room. “Isolde, I can’t find her,” she said, her eyes frantic.

“She’s here somewhere,” Louis said.

“I have to find her now. I’m leaving tomorrow, there’s no time. I have to go, I have to — ”

Louis grabbed her shoulder. “Zoe, stop. Come on, stop. Calm down.”

She stared up at him then started crying again. He held her, stroking her hair, letting it all pour out of her, even as he struggled to hold his own emotions in. He held her until the crying dwindled and stopped.

Finally, she pushed gently away from him, wiping her face, unable to meet his eyes.

“I have to go, Louis,” she whispered.

She moved away and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was standing by the door, wearing her coat. She was holding one of the carriers, waiting.

He went to the door and she opened it. They stepped out into the bright sunlight. She didn’t look back as she went down the snowy walk, the carrier bumping awkwardly against her leg. She didn’t look back at him as she opened the door of her Jeep and put the carrier in the back. He waited, standing with his hands in his pockets. Finally, she faced him.

“I loved you,” she said softly. “Was it wrong?”

“No,” he said.

She hesitated then nodded slightly. Her dark hair glistened in the sun, her eyes locked on his.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

The question was there, in his head, but he knew there was no need to ask it. Nothing was possible for them. He had known that when he walked up the hill.

He focused on her eyes, on her lips, her face, her hair, focused on every detail so he would remember. He would remember the taste of brandy on her mouth, the curve of her hip, the smell of patchouli.

She got in the Jeep. She looked back at the cabin, then at Louis.

“She might have gotten outside,” she said absently.

“I’ll look. I’ll find her for you.”

She nodded and started the engine.

“Goodbye, Zoe,” he said.

She smiled slightly. Then she put the Jeep in gear and pulled away.

He watched the Jeep disappear down the hill. He turned and looked back at the cabin. He let out a breath, so long and raspy that it hurt his lungs. He was so tired, a sudden hollow feeling overtaking him, as if the last of his emotions had drained out of him with Zoe’s departure. He started down the hill.

He didn’t know what made him stop and look back at the cabin. But when he did he saw something at the window. A small black form. A cat.

It sat there calmly, staring back, its eyes luminous slits in the sun.

He stared at it, transfixed. Its tiny pink mouth moved, a silent meow behind the glass.

Damn…

He went back into the cabin. The black cat came right to him, rubbing against his legs.

“Damn,” he murmured.

Picking it up, he put it in the empty carrier sitting by the door. Moving quickly, without looking back at the dim room, he left with the carrier, stepping back out into the sun.