Ice Cream in the Snow
Diana Castilleja
Published by Diana Castilleja at Smashwords
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
ICE CREAM IN THE SNOW
Copyright © 2010 DIANA CASTILLEJA
ISBN Not Assigned
Cover Art Designed by Anastasia Rabiyah
www.DianaCastilleja.com
Diana Castilleja
P.O. Box 364
Buda, TX 78640
Jessica Harden has lived her adult life raising and protecting her son. Except her surprises have been lying in wait for her.
With the inheritance of her own business, her ordered life begins to experience the darker side of her ex-husband's history, involving secrets and money. And someone in the shadows knows about both.
Prologue
“Look, I know I said I would get help. And I did, but…” The words trailed off as Arthur desperately searched for a plausible excuse, his gaze erratic, bouncing wildly around the room without finding a single answer. There was little that would save him this time. The truth behind that fact made him shudder. He dragged a damp hand down his pants leg, a nervous gesture that went unnoticed. His mind was running in agitated circles, oblivious to everything but the reason behind the phone call. He ignored the sweat forming over his creased brow.
The voice on the other end was nearing the point of exasperation. “Arthur, I helped you once already. You barely came through with the money then. The loan you’re asking for this time is more than twice as much. I just don’t think it’s a good…” The jerked pause only seemed to amplify the surprise in the other man’s voice. “You got help?”
Acute embarrassment made Arthur’s voice sound small, even in his own ears. “Yeah, I did, but I couldn’t hold it together. I’m a weak man, Donnelly.” He inhaled a deep, shaky breath. His thin hand trembled nervously when he raked it through his dark brown hair. This was his only chance. Desperation wasn’t a new experience, but he had no room to fail this time. His gut coiled hotly as his mind raced.
“Please, don’t make me beg. I can make good on it.” With sudden inspiration, he blurted, “I have the parlor! You can take it if I can’t come through.” He mentally catalogued the improvements he’d made in the last two years to the ice cream shop. It was his pride and joy, the one accomplishment he had achieved without too much blemish. The parlor would cover what he was asking for if he couldn’t pay back the loan. The only part of his world not touched by the seedier side of his lifestyle. A bead of sweat slid down behind his ear, fear making his heart thud like a bucking bronco. The ice cream shop, as incongruous as it was, was the only sane thing he’d done in his entire life. It was a perfect savings for collateral, if Donnelly made the loan.
No, he crudely chastised himself. He wouldn’t think like that, not any longer. He would pay it back. He was a changed man. At this point he had no choice, and he knew it.
Arthur turned slowly, studying the plain white on white one bedroom apartment, acknowledging with a clarity that terrified him just what his addiction had cost him. Blank walls returned a stark, pallid story. No photos of loved ones, no hanging picture frames of birthday parties or of weddings. Nothing that would tell about the man he once had been, before he’d foolishly thrown it all away, literally, on a pair of tossed dice. The ancient furniture was just as lonely and tired, with worn vinyl and faded, stained fabrics. He didn’t own a TV. He wasn’t home enough to watch one. This apartment was a flophouse for one man, a place to shower and maybe eat, if there was anything edible to be found. Usually there wasn’t. Horrified to see it through clear eyes for the first time in over a decade, to see the real threat hanging over his head as visual as the phone in front of him, he knew he had to change.
Arthur was in a real bad spot. If Donnelly couldn’t get him out of this mess, he was as good as dead. His Vegas contact was ready and willing to let the bet house know he was short again, if he couldn’t come up with the money he owed. It wasn’t an idle threat. He’d stretched his credit as far as they’d go. He either paid them back or he’d be lucky to survive with all of his fingers intact. He’d been given ten days, and that was almost gone. Arthur could feel the man breathing hard down his neck every waking moment.
If Arthur didn’t owe Donnelly, then it would just be someone else. He always owed. A vicious cycle. There weren’t many loan sharks out there that would touch him with his track record. Arthur blinked, knowing he didn’t want to go that route. Drenched in sweat and desperate, he still shivered. Donnelly, to his way of thinking, was the least evil of his choices. He was miles away in New England. Arthur had managed to repay one loan already, even if he had been shaky paying it back.
But that was before. Arthur swore to God he’d go straight. He owed too many people, and they were out for blood this time.
His stomach made a tumultuous heave at the thought of how much he owed. The worst part was that he couldn’t withdraw from the bank account. If Arthur touched it, then he would find it, and it would be gone, like so many other things in his life. That account was his last saving grace, his only hope for redemption. He didn’t want to take the chance. He didn’t even know how much was in there. He doubted it was enough regardless. He refused to acknowledge the account other than to make deposits. He couldn’t lead them to it. The money in there was for the only person he ever owed an apology to, an apology that he’d never been able to deliver. He knew he was a coward. Right now, he was a desperate coward. He was only certain there was no way he could pay back what he owed with what he had on hand. And that was nothing.
“Donnelly, I know you don’t owe me a damn thing. Do you think that makes this easier? I’ll be the first to admit I’m a screw up.” Arthur was instantly tortured by sharp flashes of memory, carried by a chilled ache of failure. A beautiful baby boy. The child he had no right to. His only son, the one he’d turned his back on. He slammed the images back into the vestiges of his memory with a relentless hand. One more thing he’d fucked up; one more thing to regret. Some things couldn’t be corrected.
The dragging, humiliating silence on the phone became an answer in itself, deafening as he sat, waiting. Arthur lifted a casino bar napkin to his face with a hand that still trembled, weak with fear, and wiped away the moisture gathering across his face.
When the ice-cold answer finally came across the phone, there was a menacing growl that made the warning distinct and in no way ignorable. “I’ll send it overnight, Arthur. Same arrangements as last time. I’d better see money within the next thirty days. Do you understand?”
Arthur choked back the searing sob scouring his throat as he sagged in relief. His eyes closed for the briefest moment and thanked anyone he could think of for this moment of deliverance. “Same arrangements, Donnelly. And you’ll have the interest in fifteen days.” Arthur had scared himself so badly with his latest incompetent attempt, he could walk into a Gambler’s Anonymous meeting this minute and claim himself free of the urge to gamble. He knew when he had been beaten. This time he had broken bread with the wrong crowd. He might be weak, but even a dumb animal could learn a new trick, especially if it involved survival.
A sound on the other end of the phone snapped Arthur back to the conversation, reminding him with whom he was speaking. “Very well. And Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“This is the last time. Make something of yourself, for God’s sake.”
“Donnelly, thank you,” Arthur answered, but the line had gone dead.
Chapter One
“Jacob, don’t forget your book bag,” Jessie called over her shoulder from the kitchen. She shot an anxious look at the clock on the wall to find they were both cutting it close.
“Got it here, Mom.” Jacob rushed into the kitchen, grabbed his lunch, and stuffed it into his bag. Watching his total disregard for the poor sack, she knew instinctively his lunch wouldn’t resemble food in four hours.
“Did you finish all of your homework?” She screwed the cap onto the juice, and placed it in the refrigerator. She frowned, noticing he hadn’t buttoned his shirt all the way again. She wondered if other parents had problems getting their children to dress themselves. Had to be a teenager thing.
“Yeah, all done. Don’t worry, Mom. The essay isn’t due until the end of the week.” He gulped his juice in seconds, then tossed the cup into the sink. She saw him make a final, searching look before he whipped around, rushing to catch the bus.
Jessie planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “Hey mister, forgetting something?”
Jacob turned, a bashful hue tinting his cheeks. With a quick kiss to her cheek, he made good on his escape.
“Don’t forget to tuck in your shirt!” Jessie yelled after him.
She smiled at his disappearing back, knowing with a mother’s intuition her words would be ignored. The slam of the door echoed through to the kitchen. Going nothing to ninety. She envied his constant energy, and not too secretly either.
Jacob was an incredibly smart young man, at least in her eyes, although twelve wasn’t considered as young as it might once have been. So much more was expected of kids today, far more than she could remember. She was glad he had some good smarts to work with. If Jacob kept his classes in order, and kept his grades up, colleges would be looking for him instead of the other way around. It was a promising prospect for her son’s future, which made her very proud of him.
The two of them were a good team. They both had a say in whatever happened in their world, although when necessary, she did take the ‘Because I’m the mom’ stand. Even then, she took the time to explain the whys if she could. All they had was each other, so their relationship had to be understanding if not equal, as much as possible. It showed in Jacob’s maturity. She was always receiving end of year notes from his school teachers praising him.
She flipped the switch to the light in the kitchen and made her way through the house. She remembered when she'd bought the three-bedroom house, not long after her divorce from Arthur. It wasn’t large, but it was permanent. It exuded that homey feeling she remembered from growing up, a feeling of family. It held a certain appeal she had immediately felt drawn to. There was a warmth in the house, almost a calming quality. It was the perfect house for her when she needed a home to give a stable life to her and Jacob.
The sunlight beaming into the kitchen was what had sold her on the cozy home from the beginning. The way the light shone through the windows over the sink had seemed so perfect, bringing back those moments from her childhood that she’d wanted to impart on Jacob. The bright arcs of yellow warmth scattered across the floor, and late into the day they would almost reach the counter across the table’s width, giving it an enchanted feeling bathed in that glow. She’d fallen in love on the spot.
She’d needed the security the house offered her when Arthur relinquished any rights to her life, the day she caught him in their bed with another woman.
It was a time in her life she didn’t usually dwell on, but for some reason when she had awakened that morning, Arthur had been on her mind. Even after more than ten years without a word from her ex-husband, Jessie could recall his face. Maybe it was because Jacob was nearly a mirror image of him. All she knew for certain was that Arthur had chosen his lifestyle over his wife and son.
After she’d discovered his "other life", there wasn’t any way she could be married to him anymore. He had managed to live a double life, and quite successfully, until the afternoon that had destroyed it all.
She wouldn’t be with a man who held so little regard for the one person he was supposed to care for implicitly. At the end of the debacle, she wasn’t sure what made the whole divorce sadder; the ease with which he just dropped her, or the cold, unfeeling way he gave up his son. To care so little for Jacob; it was more than she could tolerate.
Jessie had never tried to find him, nor had she tried to get money from him. He was supposed to pay child support, but she knew the way he did things. If he had money to buy peanut butter and bread, he was having a good week. Trying to get what was due to her would have caused more stress for both her and Jacob than the money was worth.
She never lied to Jacob about his father. Some days she worried if she was doing the right thing by not holding back, by letting Jacob know exactly what kind of man his father was. Was it harmful to know your father had an addiction? That he couldn’t stop gambling, and that because of his addiction he’d given up everything he’d once known? She had no idea what a psychologist would say on the matter; she only had her own instincts to guide her.
When Jacob used to ask about his father, she had been as honest as she could be, even when he’d asked if she had ever loved Arthur. It hadn’t been difficult to answer. She had loved him, very much, but you can’t make a person love you in return if the other person isn’t capable of the feeling.
Jessica didn’t know if Arthur had really loved her, either. He might have, in the beginning, when it was all so new to them both. But it had been so long ago she couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be held by a man. Since her divorce, she had remained alone on purpose, resolved to avoid relationships that might only confuse or hurt her son further.
She took a deep breath as the morning sunlight warmed her back when she stepped outside. After locking the door, she stepped off the porch, then took the graveled path to reach her car. She loved the smell of the grass in her yard, especially right after the neighbor’s kid came to do his bi-weekly trim.
The light breezes in the morning brought the delicious scents of roses and jasmine from a few yards down. It was just one of those everyday perks that would put a smile on her lips. She had no interest in gardening, but had no qualms in enjoying the neighbor’s talented efforts. She didn’t even know if she had a green thumb.
It was a beautiful day, even if it was just another day to go to work. She had never been the type to complain, and by her standards, today wasn’t going all that badly. She inhaled a deep breath and found the beguiling scent of the roses, letting the sun’s warmth and those scents lift her mood even more.
She closed the driver’s door then started the car with a sure twist of the key. Backing down the length of her driveway, she felt a dragging pull. Irritated, but knowing what the problem was without really having to investigate, she got out anyway and walked to the passenger side of her car. Yep, there it was, mocking her and her time constraints. A flat. And not just a little flat—pancake flat. She kicked it with the toe of her modest pump. Still flat.
She lifted her sleeve cuff and looked at her watch, her lips puckering in dismay. There was no way she’d be on time now. She marched back to the driver’s side and fumbled through her purse for her phone. After informing the office she would be late and why, she flipped the phone back into the car with a disgusted mutter.
Forty-five minutes and one really rusty, stubborn lug nut later, she had the tire changed. She slipped inside the house to wash her hands and to check her make-up. With a final glance in the mirror, she headed off to work, again.
She wouldn’t let a little thing like a flat tire keep her down. Most of her buoyed mood returned on the drive to the office. She heard three of her favorite songs on the way, and the upbeat tempos had her tapping her fingers within a few minutes of leaving her house.
“Morning, Eloise,” Jessie greeted the nurse standing at the desk as she swept into the doctor’s office. She dropped her purse into a bottom desk drawer and turned on her computer.
Eloise glanced up, but went right back to reading the medical file she held in her hands. “Flat tire, huh?” She was a petite woman in her forties, kindhearted and quick to smile.
“Yeah, wouldn’t you just know it?” Jessie griped in a good-natured way. “It isn’t like it’s Monday or anything.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Jessie. There were only two this morning. No rushes, thank goodness.” She smiled in sympathy over Jessie’s morning trials.
Jessie did a prompt check of her schedule and noted the first appointments had already been shown to exam rooms. There was only Mr. Luftin, waiting for his monthly check-up. She returned his smile as he called a kind greeting to her. Sweet old man, but he could talk you into a stupor if you let him.
“Okay. Thanks for holding down the fort for me. Did Doc need anything?”
“Nope. He’s doing great today. I guess he and the Mrs. have finally agreed on the cruise they’re taking. He came in smiling.” She winked, making Jessie laugh. Yes sir, things were looking just fine.
Jessie settled into the rest of her morning, catching up on the hour she lost with skill, answering calls, talking with patients and setting appointments. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but it paid the bills, and she enjoyed the patients. It made her day when a concerned or overwrought patient came in, and with her wit and smile, she could make them more comfortable, or relaxed about the reason they were there in the first place. Once or twice, someone had asked her out on a date, but she always turned them down with a kind refusal. She didn’t want to meet someone through her job—not that it was a bad way to meet people. She could meet a couple dozen men, doctors and patients during a busy week, but to her, it wasn’t an appropriate place to find a personal attachment. She needed the job more than she needed adult companionship. She’d learned to keep the want tucked away, like a sentimental photo. It would always be somewhere, when she was ready to deal with it again.
She was taking a detailed appointment later that morning when the phone rang. Unable to interrupt the lengthy explanation from the patient, she gestured for Eloise to grab the second line.
When Jessie ended her call, Eloise was just getting to the reason behind the phone call. “No, this isn’t Jacob’s mother, but she does work here. Can you wait a minute? Let me see if she’s done.”
Confusion marked Jessie’s brow as Eloise placed the call on hold. “It’s Jacob’s school. They asked for Mrs. Harden then asked to speak with Jacob’s mother. They said it’s very important they talk with you. Seemed pretty formal and adamant about it.”
Suddenly an assortment of troubled thoughts flew through her mind. Was Jacob hurt? Had he been in a fight? He hadn’t been in one yet, but it could still happen. What if he had been playing and had been injured somehow? Were they taking him to the hospital?
Shaking her head to clear the worries that overtook her, she lifted the phone once more and depressed the blinking button.
She took a steadying breath. “Hello? This is Jessica Harden. Has something happened to Jacob?”
“Well, no not really,” came the brisk reply of a male voice. “This is Mr. Settlemeir, Jacob’s English teacher.” She felt a wave of relief when she recognized who it was. Mr. Settlemeir was one of her son’s favorite teachers. The relief was short-lived, unfortunately, because before she could offer a greeting, he continued. “Ms. Harden, the reason I’m calling is to tell you your son will be spending the rest of this week in detention.”
“In detention? For what? What could Jacob have possibly done to need detention?” she asked with dismay.
The teacher on the other end sniffed, sounding offended. “I am requiring it because of his belligerent attitude in class today,” he explained, in his best teacher’s voice.
“Mr. Settlemeir, can you tell me what happened? I doubt Jacob meant—”
“Oh, yes, he did, Ms. Harden. He was very succinct in his explanation.” His voice dropped from being obviously affronted by whatever it was Jacob had done to a condescending tone. “Ms. Harden, your boy had the audacity to call me a liar in front of his classmates. That is reprehensible behavior.”
Jessica hated it when people were rude enough to interrupt. It didn’t help her at that moment though, when she knew she was guilty of doing so when upset. “Can you give me a little better explanation of what happened, Mr. Settlemeir? I’m afraid I don’t have much to go on, if all he’s done is call you a name,” she responded crisply. She felt her temper starting to rise at the man’s attitude, wanting to defend her son. Both sides deserved a chance to explain, but Jacob’s defense would have to wait.
“Why don’t you ask Jacob? I’m sure he could give a very colorful picture of what he did. He’ll be attending detention for the rest of the week. You might want to make sure he has all of his teachers assign class work for those days.” And with a final, brusque "Good day", he ended the call.
She held the receiver for several minutes in quiet shock. Mr. Settlemeir was a good, unbiased teacher. She’d had conferences with him, and they had always discussed her son with ease. His attitude and explanation of what had happened were just not like him at all. He’d sounded completely uncomfortable, using a tone of voice she couldn’t easily imagine coming from Jacob’s English teacher.
Then there was Jacob. What on earth had he done? Looking at the clock, she realized she still had two whole hours before she could find out.
She stared blankly at the patient insurance forms on her desk unable to make sense of them as the words bled together in thin streams of black on white. Running late, a flat tire, and now Jacob was in detention. Her day was just getting better and better. The good mood she’d nurtured all day suddenly felt very flat. And it was only Monday.
After a fretful, impatient day and waiting an hour at the garage to get her tire fixed, she finally managed to drag herself home. The lights were on, and she could see the flickering TV through the curtains. Good. Now she could find out from Jacob just what had happened to put Mr. Settlemeir on the warpath. She slid in through the side door that aligned with the drive and garage, aware that with the TV on Jacob probably hadn’t heard her come in.
Jessica dropped her purse and keys on the kitchen table, ignoring the pile of mail on the polished wood. First things first. “Jacob?” Her voice echoed a little off the walls, raised more than normal in her annoyed mood.
“You don’t have to shout. I’m right here.” He stood behind her shoulder, looking a little uncomfortable, but not ashamed.
She sat down at the kitchen table silently telling him with a sharp look it was in his best interest to do the same. “All right. Tell me why Mr. Settlemeir put you in detention.” She raised a hand to cut in as he drew a breath. “And don’t sugarcoat it. I want all the details.”
His shoulders drooped with her order to talk. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like it did when it came out, Mom, but when he started rattling off dates and writers…well…I kind of told him off.” His gaze fell to his lap where his hands were clasped in a death strangle. “Especially when he tried to use Charles Dickens as an example,” he added.
“What do you mean? Charles Dickens is a classic author.” Her brow shot up in confusion as she tried to follow the details of what had happened between the two.
Relief was evident in his look. “I know! He was talking about nineteenth century England and some of the writers of that time.”
“Comparing them?” she guessed.
“Yeah, versus how things are done today.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I know he was only using Dickens because he’s so well known. What made it worse is we were both right, but because I made him look like he wasn’t telling the truth, I got detention for it.” His expression spoke volumes. He didn’t understand how he could be punished for being right.
“What were you both right about?” Jessie asked, her curiosity piqued.
Jacob’s gaze fell to rest on his toes. “One of the other authors was Oscar Wilde.”
“I see,” she murmured. “And?”
Jacob swallowed. “Well, to compare their writing styles, I pointed out Dickens led a normal life and Wilde was…well…a bit unusual,” he told her. “Mr. Settlemeir didn’t believe I knew what I was talking about. He told the class some bunk story about Wilde I knew wasn’t true.” He let out a sigh. “And that was when I told him he was doing it to avoid saying Wilde had homosexual tendencies. He had even been on trial and convicted for being with young men in the 1890’s. They were both good writers of their eras, as Mr. Settlemeir said, but he wasn’t being fair in his lecture. He was right about Dickens, and I was right about Wilde, but that wasn’t the point he wanted to make. And then came detention.” He ended with a rolled chagrined look in his eye.
Jessica stared back at her son. “You understand it wasn’t about who was right or who was wrong that you got detention? You shouldn’t have spoken back to your teacher. I taught you better than that.” Her frown deepened.
“I know, Mom. But he just kept going on and on, and I knew he was wrong. I tried to let it go, but when he kept going off with the wrong information, it popped out. When I tried to tell him, he didn’t want to hear it.” He looked up at her with baleful eyes as he continued with the story. “It was like he just didn’t care he was telling us the wrong stuff. Or at least not the whole truth.” He sat in somber, dejected silence as she considered what he had been saying.
She studied her son for several seconds. “Why do you know so much about English history?” Wasn’t it still a few years more before they’d get into English Literature? She could barely remember herself.
He ducked his head avoiding her penetrating gaze. His words were subdued in the silence of the kitchen. “I’ve been doing a family tree. I thought I found a connection to Oscar Wilde and read about him.”
“Sweetheart, that’s wonderful. But why on England at all? We’re not related to anyone from English lines.” She heard her own confusion in her ears when she asked him.
He didn’t look up. His hands had moved to the tabletop where he started making random patterns with his fingers. “Dad was, so I thought I should include him.”
Jessica’s heart thudded with a deep, hollow beat, taken by surprise, and that wasn’t something that happened all that often. Jacob’s words, though innocent, had sliced her to the bone. He didn’t make comments like that often. She was equally astounded and disturbed that he had taken such an interest in the man who had effectively kissed them off.
She lifted his face to meet her gaze, her hand a calm, motherly hold on his face. “Jacob, if it helps you to find something about him you can relate to don’t ever feel ashamed of it. But don’t look for him either. He isn’t there.”
A fleeting look of disappointed dejection clouded his expression. “I know.” He sighed and went on. “I guess I really got into the history part of it and when Mr. Settlemeir started saying those things about Wilde, England and Dickens, I knew he wasn’t telling everybody everything. I think it amazed him that I knew about them at all.”
“So, what do you think you should do about it?” She waited patiently, giving him the opportunity to come up with the answer himself.
His shoulders were still a little stooped. “You aren’t mad at me?”
Her lips tilted up at the corners in a sincere smile as she watched him wait for the grounding of a lifetime. This was going to be his first detention, his first week of hard time at school. “I am upset that you spoke back to a teacher and got yourself into trouble. Don’t doubt that. But why would I be angry with you for knowing more than your teacher? You probably know more than I do.” His lips twitched at her jest, only she wasn’t joking about him knowing more than she did. He probably did. If he already understood tenth grade literature…oh, boy. She patted his knee affectionately. “So, what do you think you should do?”
He thought for a moment. “I guess I could write an apology. I could explain why I said what I did, and that it wasn’t to try to make him sound like a liar. I guess if he asks how I know, I could tell him, but I don’t suppose it’s really important. Is it?” he asked her.
“No, probably not. But if he asks, share what you learned with him. Who knows? You may really know something he hasn’t seen or read before.”
As he stood, he told her, “By the way, detention is until Friday. At least I can get my essay done for English.” His grin was lopsided, since it was his English teacher who had given him the detention.
“All right, go do whatever homework you have, and turn off the TV until it’s done. I saw it was on when I got home,” she said, reminding him homework came first as he left the kitchen again. She hadn’t known anyone in honors classes when she had been in school, and she knew she didn’t have the smarts to have been in any. Yet her son was an ace in practically every class, and knew enough to tell off a teacher. She laughed a little at the thought that maybe someone had switched babies at the hospital. Nah… He was way too stubborn to not be hers.
She was still smiling thoughtfully over their conversation while she sifted through the mail. As she divided the bills from the junk, a professionally printed envelope fell from behind the local store ads. She stared at it a moment before picking it up, trying to place the name. Mr. Sandy Coppers on Barron Street. She tapped her chin with a bill envelope. The name didn’t ring any bells, so it could wait until after dinner.