A CABIN IN THE WOODS

LIAH PENN

 

 

Well, there it was, not quite as I remembered it; smaller, really, with faded blue paint on the paneled front door, the screen door coming off the hinges. I circled to the side and looked up at the closed shutters of the high loft window, one of them hanging precariously, like a small boy might hang from an apple tree. The house still had the massive trellis which held beach plumbs in the summer months, now only tendrils of dead and brittle vine, weaving through the slats. The snow dusted everything in crystalline splendor. It was December. It was my first Christmas back since my brother’s death.

I stood in front of the cabin, its façade still smiling, though gap toothed, now, with a broken pane in the upper storm window, and paint peeling from the front baluster. There were hatch marks by the front door, tiny slits cut into the frame with initials carved next to them. I found mine, still two inches beneath my chin. The painted deck was marbled by the countless wheels of match box cars, racing down the slope to the other side, the occasional traffic accident, and sometime pedestrian mishap along the way. The faded door, although still in need of work, seemed to wink at me as the screen door flapped in the breeze. It needed so much work. I hoped my family could see past the decay to what remained.

Tommy Harris, Pinky McGraw and Izzy Thomas ran these steps, hung from the railings and sulked, at times, in the dark corner of the front porch swing. Specters, now, swirling through my memory like winged insects we had collected on the beach and in the woods, captured momentarily in mason jars, then set free. I ran my fingers along the porch swing, now dry rotted, the paint chipped and peeling. It was here a first kiss was given, many years later, with Izzy Thomas, running my fingers through her salty hair, our mouths tasting of the brackish lake and beach plumbs plucked from the vine. It was here that they laid my brother’s body, dripping wet, across the planks.

“Phillip?” My wife came up the pathway, an overnight bag trailing behind her in the snow. “Oh my goodness. It looks so…”

“I know. It needs work.” I came to her on the pathway and planted a kiss on her lips, tasting a bit of the past, sweet and salty. She pulled away.

“We need help,” she said. Her voice cut like a finely honed knife.

I took the overnight bag from her hand and plodded up the path to the front door. The lock on the door was old and rusting and it took several tries before I could pry it open. The wood, swollen and abandoned, scraped across the hardwood floor. From behind me, my wife groaned, as if anticipating the damage I had just caused.

“Maybe in the spring…” I said, but she cut me off.

“Just help the boys, would you?”

I deposited the bag a few steps into the cabin and left her there to sort out the light switches and heat. Trudging back down the path to the car, I saw my boys, Alex and Freddy, running up the driveway toward me.

“We met a friend!” They nearly tackled me as they grabbed my arms and tried to pull me down to the roadway.

“Good for you,” I said. “But first we have to unpack.” I shook them from me like squid tentacles and pulled out the key fob. With a click, I opened the trunk and gestured to the piles of luggage, games and sporting equipment the boys had packed. “Start bringing it up to the cabin. Just follow the path.”

Alex and Freddy grabbed the nearest armload of stuff and headed toward the cabin. I poked around the trunk and pulled out the heaviest items. The boys could bring their skates and footballs; I would bring the luggage.

My wife had put the heat on and opened up the dusty curtains to let in light. The whole cabin was layered in a decade’s worth of dust. My parents had been the last to stay here, spending the last summer of my father’s life by the lake. I had stayed away, then, newly married and expecting our first child, Alex. By the time Freddy was born, three years later, both of my parents were gone and the lake house sat empty and unused, mired in probate as my parents’ wealth was allocated among their surviving four children.

They voted to give me the cabin. My siblings, that is.

“You need to spend some time out there. Healing time,” my sister said.

“I don’t need a cabin in the woods,” I replied. But she pushed the ancient keys into my hand and turned away. It was settled. I had the cabin, like it or not.

“I wish you’d told me how dirty it was going to be,” my wife said, her fingers trailing on the table, a wad of dust building on her fingertip.

“I didn’t think.” I turned to leave, to get another load from the car.

“That’s the problem,” she said. “You never think.”

I let the comment hang in the air, unsuspended by any response. This was how she was going to be, I thought. I wondered if coming here had been a good idea after all. From the front porch, looking out across woods and down the hill, I could see where the tree line ended and the lake began. The bitter cold had done its work and the lake appeared frozen solid, like all of those Christmases of my childhood. A vast expanse of ice to play hockey on. Just us boys.

I shook the thought from my mind. It had been a long time since I had skated.

The boys flew past me, their open jackets billowing out behind them like super-hero capes. No hats. No gloves. Their spirit and joy keeping them warm and alive.

“C’mon, Dad!” Alex called over his shoulder. I heard the door slam shut behind me. I followed after them, shuffling like an old man, down the pathway and toward the car.

I pulled my ice skates from the trunk. I’d brought them along because they had asked me to. I had no intention of skating. Not now.

“We should sell this place,” my wife said, throwing another sheet onto a pile on the floor. “We could get a place on the beach with what we get for this.”

I rolled the suitcase into the master bedroom downstairs, ignoring her comment.

“Phillip, did you hear me?” Her voice, now a little shrill, was getting on my nerves.

“We’re not selling.” How could I? I wanted to create new memories here and somehow push past the specters of my past. I dropped the handle of the suitcase on the floor with a thud. The mattress was covered in a giant plastic sheet. It was a double bed. Not even a queen. We would be sleeping on top of one another. I heard her come through the doorway behind me.

“Shit,” she said. “What size is that?”
My parents had slept on a double bed their entire lives. Not like the giant king-bed that my wife and I shared, practically sleeping in different time zones.

“It’s a double,” I said. I turned toward her, the scowl on her face deepening as she looked at me. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She shrugged. “Whatever suits your fancy.” She turned on her heel and left me, staring at the barren mattress.

Loud thuds from upstairs startled me from my reverie. The boys were choosing bunk beds from the upstairs loft. I heard the sound of doors opening and closing. Exploring. Doing what boys do.

“Come get your luggage!” my wife shrieked and the noises stopped momentarily, followed by the patter of their stockinged feet on the stairs.

I went into the kitchen. The refrigerator was not on, so I found the dusty old plug and stuck it in the socket, waiting for the whir of the motor. Nothing. I hadn’t thought of that, either.

“It’s not working?” she asked.

“Nope.” I fiddled with the switches inside. Maybe it was turned off. But nothing seemed to work.

Alex was trying to peer over my shoulder.

“Did you plug it in, Dad?”

“Yes, I plugged it in.”

“Did you turn it on, Dad?”

“Yes, I turned it on.”

Freddy was dumping the groceries onto the counter and separating the snacks from the fruit and meat.

“Why don’t we use the outside? It’s cold enough, isn’t it?” he asked.

I looked over at my wife. Her face seemed to melt when she looked at the kids, not the hard edges and sarcasm that I got treated to.

“What a smart boy, Freddy.” She looked up at me. “We can manage a few days with an outdoor refrigerator.”

I heaved sigh of relief. But she wasn’t about to let me go for my stupidity.

“Daddy should have checked on the cabin before we made these plans. But Daddy doesn’t think.”

I let the comment roll off my shoulders. Disengage, I told myself.

The boys took an armload of “outside groceries” and put them on the old cedar bench on the front porch, lining everything neatly up on the flat surface.

“Now what?” Freddy asked.

“Unpack and then you can go exploring. But not far. You don’t know your way around here yet.”

They flew back up the stairs and I could hear them opening drawers and shoving suitcases under beds. I looked over at my wife.

“I’ll clean upstairs. And make the beds if you want to do the downstairs.”

She grunted her consent. I grabbed a dust cloth and some cleaner and headed upstairs to the room that I had shared with my siblings so long ago.

 

It took about two hours to put the little cabin to right, dusting, cleaning sinks, flushing the blue winterizer down the toilets. I tried the refrigerator again but it still failed to turn on. We would have to leave the food on the porch for this weekend. I could get a new refrigerator brought up in the spring.

The front door crashed open and the boys flew back in, their cheeks rosy, their noses dripping.

“We saw our friend,” Alex said. My wife peeled his jacket off and swiped a tissue under his nose.

“Where?”

“By the lake. He was going skating. Can we go too?”

I shook my head. I pictured my brother, his fair hair trapped under a hat, pushing out from the lake edge. I wasn’t ready. “It’s late. It’ll be dark in half an hour. Maybe tomorrow. But I’ll have to check the ice first.”

Freddy was vibrating with excitement. “Tomorrow? Yay!”

My wife had collapsed onto the old plaid couch, a paper cup of red wine in her hand.

“Did you check to see if the stove worked?”

I shook my head. “No, not yet.”

“Well, could you? Or we’ll be eating out tonight.”

She tossed the wine back in a single gulp and crossed her arms over her chest. She had been a beautiful girl at one time, and she was probably a beautiful woman. But her hard edges and sarcasm destroyed any beauty that I could see. Her long dark hair was held back with a clip and she shook it loose. Maybe this trip would relax her. Maybe the woman I once knew would come back to me.

“Can you?” She crumbled the paper cup in her hand. Her hard edges softened only slightly. “Check the stove, that is?”

Of course the stove didn’t work. The pilot was probably out, but I couldn’t figure out how to start it. We bundled back up into our coats and boots and trudged back down the pathway to the car, the boys leading the way with flashlights. There was one place in town that remained open during the winter months. We piled into the car, shaking snow off our boots, and headed down the road, past the lake, toward town.

“There he is,” Alex said. From the rear view mirror, I could see him pointing.

“Where who is?” I asked.

“Our friend. He said he was going skating.”

I glanced out the window, past my wife’s stiff visage. “Where? I don’t see anyone.”

We passed through a grove of pines and when I looked again, there was no one there.

“Can’t see him anymore,” Alex said. “He’s too far that way.”

I looked over my shoulder at Alex’s gesture.

“For God’s sake, Phillip, watch the road,” my wife shrieked. I jerked the wheel to the right. I had drifted into the oncoming lane. Luckily there was no traffic, but the roads were slick and I ran up onto the snow pile on the right side of the road as I overcorrected.

“Sorry,” I said. The boys thought it was funny the way the snow flew up over the car and they laughed all the way into town.

McRay’s was a diner built in the 50’s with deep burgundy booths of slick vinyl and Formica tabletops. It was a little worse for wear but clean and the food was good. They had old fashioned meatloaf topped by Ketchup, tuna casserole and burgers from the grill. Breakfast was served all day long. I order eggs and bacon and the boys chose burgers. My wife picked at the plastic cover to the menu and tried in vain to find something healthy.

“Do you have salad?” she asked the counter man who had come from behind to wait on us.

“No ma’am. Not this time of year. We got stick to your ribs kind of food. How about the special? Corn and crab soup with a side of fresh French bread. Or our world famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes?”

She wrinkled her nose. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. “This isn’t exactly Manhattan,” I said.

“I know,” she replied, her voice like ice. “How about a turkey sandwich? Can you make that?”

“Yes ma’am. What kind of bread would you like?”

My wife tapped her manicured fingertip on the menu. Tap. Tap. Tap. I wanted to pull the menu from her grasp. I didn’t.

“Do you have a ciabatta bread?”

The counterman visibly rolled his eyes. “No, ma’am. We have white toast, whole wheat toast or a hamburger bun.”

I resisted the impulse to laugh and squeezed the top of my thigh with my hand.

“I’ll take the whole wheat.” She tossed the menu toward him. He scooped it, and the remaining menus, from the table top. “I forgot how pedestrian this place is,” she said.

The boys were unwrapping and re-wrapping their silverware, handed to them rolled up in a napkin with a paper band sealed around the middle.

“This place is cool.” Alex wrapped his silverware again and placed it propped up between his water glass and Freddy’s, creating a little bridge.

“Don’t.” Freddy knocked the silverware off his glass and lifted the tumbler to his mouth. He took a fake sip and put the glass back down.

“Daddy, Freddy just destroyed my bridge!”

My wife fumbled for her purse. “Let me out, Phillip. I need a cigarette.” I slid out of the booth and let her pass by before sitting back down. Alex was arranging the salt and pepper shakers like bridge supports, undeterred by Freddy’s destructive power.

“C’mon guys, there’s an old-fashioned juke box at the back.” I dug into my pockets for some quarters. I found three.

“What’s a juke box?” Freddy held out his hand for a quarter. I placed it in the middle of his palm and closed the fingers over it, the tiny warm fingers, soft and baby-like still. I wanted to kiss the little guy but I refrained. He was shying away from public displays of affection lately and I didn’t want to embarrass him. Instead, I gave his hand a little squeeze and we emptied the booth and headed to the rear of the diner.

The juke box still used old .45 records that popped out of a slot and fell onto a turntable before the needle dropped onto the appropriate track. We used our quarters to select Elvis, Little Richard and Chuck Berry. The boys slid around the linoleum floor, shaking their hips and twirling until they grew dizzy. I watched them from a counter stool until I felt the cold presence of my wife at my elbow.

“You’re getting them all wound up. They’ll never go to bed now.” She walked off, sliding her butt along the booth until she was up against the wall. As if trying to stay as far away from me as possible.

The counter man had returned with plates of hot food traveling up to his elbows.

“C’mon, boys. Time to eat.” I herded them back to their side of the booth as the man put the steaming hot burgers down in front of them. Each of them had a burger, chips and a dill pickle speared by a tiny sword.

“En garde,” Alex said, challenging his little brother to a sword fight of miniature proportions. Freddy met his challenge and they parried until my wife’s frigid fingers plucked the tiny weapons from their hands.

“Aw, Mom,” Freddy said, but he stopped, shrinking in fear when he saw the look on her face.

“Get you folks anything else?” the counter man asked.

“Ketchup,” Alex said.

“On the table,” the counter man and I replied simultaneously. He laughed.

“Where you folks from? Celebrating the holidays here or just passing through?”

“I wish,” my wife said, sarcasm dripping like dew from her lips.

“We’re here,” I said, ignoring her comment. “Staying at my folks’ place.” I hesitated. Would this man know them? Or our history? “The Ellis place.”

“Oh.” He looked me over. “You Phillip Ellis, by chance?”

“Yes, sir.” I unraveled my silverware and smoothed a napkin on my lap, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I remember you,” he said.

I could see it in his eyes. He knew the whole story.

The boys were not ones to let a conversation take place without their input. Alex swished his burger in the ketchup on his plate as if it were a French au jus.

“We’re going skating tomorrow,” he said.

“Really? Now that sounds like fun. Just you two?”

“Nope. Me and Freddy and my dad. And our friend.”

The counter man squinted at Alex. “Friend?”

My wife purse her lips. “They met a little boy from town. He was skating on the pond as we left.”

So, my wife had seen the boy.

“Do you think it’s frozen enough?” I smoothed my napkin again and let the ends curl up over my pinky finger.

“Oh, sure. It’s been cold enough. If someone was skating this evening, you’ll be fine.” He turned to me, his eyes meeting mine. “It’s been colder than that winter—when you were here last.”

The chill that ran over me started at the tips of my ears and travelled all the way to my toes. I could feel myself shiver. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go skating. I’d have to check the ice in the morning. The counterman shoved his sleeves up his forearms and smiled.

“Well, you just call, you need anything else.”

I pushed my plate of food away. I wasn’t hungry anymore.

In the morning, I awoke on the couch with a crick in my neck and my toes sticking out of the end of an ancient sleeping bag. My wife had taken the bed and since I had already volunteered, banished me to the living room. I cranked up the heat and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. There was no coffee pot to be found. Damn, I’d forgotten something else. I dug around the cupboard and found an ancient tin of loose tea. At least I could heat up water, maybe have something hot to drink.

There was no tea kettle but I found a small pot and put the water on to boil. I traipsed out to the porch to get the milk for my tea, shaking in the cold. It didn’t feel quite as cold this morning but the sky was gray, threatening snow with low clouds and a taste of ice in the air. I grabbed the milk and the orange juice which was half frozen in its plastic jug.

There were footprints from the side of the porch to the railing, fresh prints actually. Small shoes. The box of Pop Tarts was missing. One of the boys must’ve gotten up early and sneaked past me in the living room.

I let the door slam behind me as I entered the cabin.

“Guys, get up.” I put the milk and juice on the counter to thaw. From our grocery sack, I pulled out two different cereals and placed them on the table. I plundered the cupboards and found bowls and spoons and placed one at each place setting. As the water started to boil, I dug around the drawers until I found a tea strainer into which I placed a small portion of loose tea. I hoped it still had flavor.

My wife shuffled from the bedroom, her hair wild, her cheeks flushed with a good night’s sleep. My toes were still cold from my night on the couch.

“What’re you yelling for?”

“Trying to get the boys up.”

She looked at the counter, her eyes narrowing as she searched for something.

“Really? No coffee maker?” She turned and walked away.

“I looked for one. Maybe we could run into town and buy one. For tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes. “We won’t be coming back up here, Phillip. This place is dreary. It needs too much work. It’s not the place of your childhood, anymore.” She plopped into an arm chair.

“No, it’s not.” I poured the boiling water into the cup and watched as the tea stems swelled and colored the water. “Not by a long shot.”

The boys were excited about the snow. Pristine, crunchy-on-top snow that lay in deep drifts by the lake and came up to their knees. They ran up and down each virgin area, marveling at the deer and bird tracks which left tiny divots in the snow.

“Watch the branches,” I said, as I ducked under yet another low-lying limb. They moved like ninjas through the snow. By the time we reached the lake, I was exhausted and sat on a fallen log as they scampered along the beach.

“Can we skate?” Alex asked, tossing a pebble across the ice.

“Maybe this afternoon. I’m a little tired.”

Freddy came and stood before me. “You always tired Daddy.”

I nodded. “I know, little man. I’m sorry. Maybe after Daddy finds a coffee maker we can skate.”

The edge of the shoreline amused them nonetheless. They threw rocks onto the lake and tried to break up the thin ice at the beach edge by pounding it with a branch. It crackled and broke free like pieces of lace candy, fragile and clear. The lake ice appeared pristine—not a skater’s track in sight. After giving them free rein for a while, I herded them back up the pathway toward the house.

“Can we play outside?” Alex asked.

“As long as you keep your hats and gloves on, yes. And stay right by the house.”

They cheered and slammed me with mini-hugs. I left my boots on the porch and entered the house in stockinged feet, tossing my jacket and gloves onto the kitchen table. My wife had turned on the gas fireplace and curled up with a book and a cup of tea. Her face was relaxed.

“They’re staying outside a bit longer.”

“You told them to stay by the house?” she asked, tenting her paperback.

“Of course. They promised to stay nearby. They’ll be fine. Do you want me to run into town and get a coffee maker?”

She fingered her book. “Do they have a Walmart?”

“No.”

She picked up her book and began reading again. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t spend a lot of money.”

And just like that, I was dismissed.

I drove along the road to town, the music blaring, my palm keeping beat on the steering wheel. I knew my marriage was a mess but I had no idea how to fix it. And I didn’t want the boys to be the product of a broken home. Right now, they noticed none of the tension. They were happy-go-lucky kids and I wanted them to stay that way.

There was no Walmart, but there was a small general store that specialized in carrying the types of things that lakeside owners would need. And while there wasn’t a selection of coffee makers, they had an adequate one for now. I picked up a packet of filters and a bag of French roast to go along with it. I walked through the store with my armful of possessions and looked at the touristy items: flags, snow globes, bottle openers and T-shirts. I selected a photo frame that looked halfway decent and brought my selections to the counter.

“Up for the holidays?” The cashier smiled at me as she scanned and bagged each item. “You look familiar. You own a place up here?”

“Well, my parents’ place. I just inherited it.”

“Oh, which one is that?” She wrapped the frame in brown paper and slid it into the paper sack on the counter.

“The Ellis place.”

Her mouth opened just a little as if she was going to say something, but she stopped herself. She looked down at the cash register and told me the total. “I’d have thought you’d want to sell it. You know, after. . .”

“Nope,” I interrupted her. “Still in the family.” I looked around the store with exaggerated cheer. “Have any popcorn? I’m thinking the kids would love that.”

She pointed out the aisle and I ambled that way. My God, I thought as I grabbed two pans of Jiffy Pop from the shelf. Would history never die?

Coming over the rise from town, I saw a figure skating on the ice. A child, probably about nine or ten years old, the same age as my kids. He was by himself. He raced up and down the ice in dark jacket, a red cap on his head, playing phantom hockey by himself. My brother and I had done that as children. I lost him through the trees as I neared the cabin. I wondered if the little boy was a visitor or lived here year round. Maybe it was the boy my sons had met.

They scrambled down to the car while I unloaded my packages.

“Alex, carry this one, would you?”

He peeked in and saw the aluminum pan of Jiffy Pop. “What’s this, Dad?”

“Popcorn. We’ll make it tonight.”

They ran up the pathway to the house, their boots churning up twigs and leaves as they ran. I closed the trunk and walked over to the edge of the woods, looking down toward the lake. The boy was no longer in sight.

My wife was holding the Jiffy Pop in her hands when I entered the cabin.

“I didn’t think they even made this anymore.”

I shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea. Since we have no TV, I thought it might be a fun thing to do tonight.”

She didn’t respond and put the packages on the counter. I handed her the coffee maker.

“Did you get filters?” Her tone was like ice. She clearly hadn’t expected me to remember.

“Filters and coffee,” I said, and pulled the items from the bag with a flourish. She pursed her lips, and with a slight roll of the eyes, turned and walked away. There was no pleasing her.

“We’re going back out,” Freddy said. I looked down at his feet and realized they had left their boots on and the snow was falling off in clumps, leaving patches of mud and water in the living room.

“Out, out,” I replied. “Stay close. Lunch in an hour.” I grabbed some paper towels and mopped up the mess. My wife had returned to the chair and sat engrossed in her book. She hadn’t even noticed the mess.

At noon, I made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for everyone. The boys came in pink and glowing, excited about the fox they had seen in the woods and the pinecones they had collected in abundance. Freddy showed me a crooked branch that was completely dried out but had retained the shape of a cane, including the handle part on top. He left it by the front door, bark peeling off in wet, loamy sheets.

“Our friend wants us to go skating. Can we go?” Alex asked.

I shook my head. “Not today, guys. I still haven’t unpacked. And you know what tomorrow is, don’t you?”

They nodded eagerly. “Christmas Eve!” they shouted with delight. My wife ignored the fuss and read her book at the table, dipping her sandwich into the soup and eating in silence.

“Put your skates by the door and we’ll go first thing in the morning.”

Christmas Eve dawned overcast and gray, the clouds still threatening snow, but now with a wind that scoured the snow from the lake and whipped the tree branches free of snow.

“Half an hour,” I told the boys. “It’s very cold outside. I don’t want you getting frost bite.”

They raced to the door bundled in their winter gear and threw open the door.

“Ew, Daddy, it really is cold!” Freddy shrieked. But he laughed as he took off down the hill toward the lake followed by his brother. He was waving the crooked stick/cane and screaming with total abandonment. Alex gave me a look and followed after him. He was my reserved child. Curious, but careful. Not one to take a dare. Like his namesake.

My wife was picking up the breakfast dishes, her hair piled on top of her head, no makeup, looking like the girl I had fallen in love with. She caught me looking at her and turned away.

I took my phone from the charger. I wanted to get a picture of the boys to put in the frame I had purchased in town. My wife may make me miserable, but the boys brought me total joy. They were the only happiness that I had experienced in so many years. They reminded me of my childhood, when things were innocent and carefree. Until my brother died.

I shook the thought away.

I bundled up and headed down toward the lake. In the distance, I could see the boys running along the beach with another child in a dark jacket and red hat. The same boy as yesterday. I was thrilled that they had found a friend. He was about their size, but other than that, they were all too far away to see clearly. I tried to take a photo with the phone but they were mere pinpricks on the screen.

I brought the phone back inside, fearful that the cold weather might ruin it. My wife was ensconced in her chair, the same paperback spread over her knees. I dropped the phone on the table.

“I took a picture of the boys,” I said.

She ignored me.

I went back outside.

In the distance, I could see the clouds gathering on the horizon. It looked very dark, more like rain than snow, but I wasn’t very used to the weather up here anymore. It might simply be the tree line that made it look dark. I looked for the boys and saw a flash of red in the woods. The other boy’s hat.

From around the back of the house, Alex and Freddy came running at full speed.

“I lost my glove,” Freddy said, holding up his hand, waxy and white.

“Inside.” I grabbed his hand and blew warm air on it. “C’mon. We’ll find the glove later.”

We stumbled in together and I held his little hand between my own to warm it. He was fine after a few minutes.

“It’s prickly,” he said. My wife removed the boys’ outerwear and hung it on the chair backs to dry.

“The sensation is just coming back to your fingers,” she said. She swept a blond curl from Freddy’s forehead and kissed him. My heart ached. What had happened to us? I looked down to the floor and closed my eyes.

We wrapped the boys’ Christmas gifts late that night after hanging real stockings on the fireplace screen. The Jiffy Pop had been a hit and we sat on the sofa eating popcorn and telling Christmas stories until the boys nodded off to sleep. I carried each of them upstairs to the bunk room and tucked them in, kissing their warm noses and cheeks as they slept. By the time I came back down, my wife had spread the wrapping paper on the kitchen table along with scissors and tape. They were still of the age for baseballs and board games, and we seemed to have a ridiculous amount of things to wrap. By one o’clock, everything was done and arranged around the fireplace screen.

“I didn’t get you anything,” my wife said. “You said you wanted that thing for your bike.”

“That’s fine. I’ll get it when we get back. I need to order it off the internet anyway.” I didn’t tell her that I had gotten her something: a pendant with two diamonds to represent the boys. I would surprise her in the morning. Maybe I could thaw that heart of hers a little.

I slept on the couch for the third night in a row. By morning, the fire had been reduce to gray coals and my feet were cold again. I stoked up the fire then tapped on the bedroom door.

“Come in,” my wife said. I opened the door to find her holding my phone in her hand. She held it to me. “Who’s this?” she asked.

She had the photo from the day before on the screen.

“I don’t know. Someone they were playing with. You know, their friend.”

She put the phone on the nightstand. “It looks kind of like… oh, nevermind.” She threw the covers off. “Too bad you were so far away. It would have made a great picture.”

We ate a hot breakfast of frozen waffles with syrup before letting the boys tear into their pile of gifts. The wrapping paper was tossed into the fireplace where it erupted in a rainbow of colors much to their delight. They had been given new ice skates and warm wool socks.

“They are very sharp,” I explained, showing them the snap-on blade protector. “And don’t walk on the floor with blades unless these are on. You’ll see when we get home. They pop on and off really easily.”

“Can we play hockey?” Alex had one skate on and one off.

“Anything you want to do.”

“Did you play hockey when you were little?”

My wife looked at me over their heads and gave the tiniest little shake of her head.

“No. I never played. But it will be fun for all of us to learn together.”

We had brought a cold ham and pre-made stuffing and potatoes with us. My wife opened the front door to bring in the Christmas dinner.

“It’s actually a lot warmer,” she said. “I don’t think Freddy has to worry about frostbite.”

I followed her to the porch to help her, but once outside, I took her by the shoulders.

“I have something for you,” I said. I pulled the small box from my pocket.

“Phillip, I thought we were past this.”

“Please open it.” I put it in her hand and closed her fingers over the top. I wanted to kiss her but I knew she would resist.

She gave me a look before opening the box. When she saw the pendant I thought she would smile. “What is this?”

“It represents our children. A diamond for each of them.”

She threw the box at me. “You’re just like your mother,” she said. “Full of Catholic guilt.” She marched past me with an armload of food. I plucked the box up from the porch floor and put it back into my pocket. I just couldn’t win.

We ate Christmas dinner late in the afternoon, silence yawning over us like a canyon. Even the boys seemed to notice. They peered from one of us to another. Finally, Alex picked up his skates.

“Can we go down to the lake?”

As much as I didn’t want to, I had put them off for too long. “Sure. I’ll get my skates and we can go for a little bit.”

I helped clear the table but my wife shooed me off. “Go with them.” It was the only thing she had said to me in hours. I gladly donned my jacket and slung my old skates over my shoulder. Freddy threw his one glove onto the porch.

“I don’t need it anymore. Look, our friend is on the ice!” he yelled. He and Alex ran the rest of the way down the hill. I trudged on behind them. By the time I got to the foot of the path, they had their skates on.

“Can we go?” Freddy asked. In the distance, I could see the other boy skating clear across the middle of the lake.

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up.” I sat down on an overturned tree and began to unlace my boots. I had one boot off and was getting my foot into the skate when I heard the crack. It sounded like a pistol. My head snapped up and I looked around, but I didn’t know what that sound could be.

Boom. It went off again. I fumbled with my laces. I didn’t like the sound of that, whatever it was. I tore my other boot off, then stood, one-legged, to look for the boys.

The lake was separating. A crack the width of a shoelace was spreading across the ice at the speed of sound. I had one skate on and one off. I hobbled to the edge of the lake. The three boys were skating toward me, racing one another. They hadn’t heard it. They didn’t know about the lake.

“Get off the ice!” I yelled at them and began waving furiously. Their heads were down and they pumped their arms, trying to outdo one another. The boy with the red hat was gaining on them. He appeared at the front of the pack and with a sudden burst of speed, he was coming right at me, right to the edge.

The boys disappeared. First Freddy. Then Alex. Through the ice and into the lake without a sound.

I screamed their names as the boy turned to look at them, then back at me.

I hobbled to the edge and my skate plunged through the ice. I brought it up and tried to take another step but the ice broke off in pieces as the lake water flooded into my skate. I dove onto the ice, but the lake cracked under me, and there I was, waist deep in the black water, my feet sinking into the lake mud. I lunged, grasping at the sheets of ice which broke off in my hands.

The boy turned back to me. He was still skating. I didn’t understand how he hadn’t fallen through the ice. He skated up to me, his feet seemingly suspended above the ice.

“Hey, Phillip.” He reached out his hand to me as if to pull me from the lake. Beneath the red hat I saw the face of my older brother, Alex. My dead brother. Forever eleven.

“What are you doing here?” I screamed. I couldn’t feel my legs; the water was so cold. I fumbled for my phone, but it was underwater, in my front pants pocket. This couldn’t be happening. Where were my boys?

“I was tired of skating alone,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “So I brought along some friends.”

He turned around and skated toward the hole in the ice. And in the cold Christmas evening, he disappeared. Just as he had, thirty years ago. When I had dared him to go out onto the ice, alone, and skate.

Here I was, once again, standing in the cold lake. Helpless. I flailed my arms, but there was no use. I couldn’t move. Just like then. Thirty years. To the day.

How could I tell my wife that it had happened again?