Ah! It moves! Oh my God! The window works! This is my car, but he brought it back to life. It doesn’t stall anymore. I don’t have to drive with two feet. It runs, like a real car. I sit there grinning as snowflakes cover the windshield. I’m almost afraid to try it, but I have to. I flick the wipers and they turn on. The wiper blades swoosh up and then down. Then they do it again.
“He fixed everything.” I glance at the passenger seat and figure the seatbelt works too.
I take a deep breath. I can’t stop smiling. I know exactly what I’m going to do. I pull out of the lot and head to the parkway. I drive east as the snow comes down harder and harder. By the time I get there, there’s a blanket of white covering the ground. It’s pristine and perfect.
I turn into the old cemetery. Snow lines the top of the headstones. I drive down the lane to my parents’ plot and shut the engine. I grab my bag and get out. There are a couple of inches of snow on the ground. It isn’t much, but it’s enough. I make a snowball and start rolling it around. It gets bigger and bigger before I roll it over to my parents’ grave.
I talk to them as I do it. I tell them about everything that’s going on, about how my life is getting away from me. I love a man who doesn’t love me back. I’m a call girl. I finally manage to talk about that. “I don’t like it. It’s not what I thought it would be. I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who sleeps around, so it feels really weird. Besides, I hate all the lying. It feels like I’m lying to everyone lately.”
I roll around another snowball as I talk, then bring it over and stack it on the other one. I make a third snowball and roll it around, and then put it on top of the other two when it’s the size of a pumpkin. My snowman is vertically challenged. I pack more snow on his belly and smooth it out. When I’m done, I stand in front of him. The snowman is a little shorter than me. I grab a scarf and the buttons from my bag. I press two hot pink sparkly buttons into his eyes and wrap a pink scarf around his neck. So he’s a transvestite snowman. I like pink. I continue to talk to my parents as I finish decorating my snowman and the flow of words finally dries up.
When I’m done, I straighten, suck in the cold air, and look at their headstone. Memories flicker across my mind. My mom loved the first snowfall. My dad had told me the story of how they meet so many times that I’ll never forget. They were both teenagers and had gone out sledding. Their sleds collided and it was fate. When I was a kid, they’d take me to Cardiac Hill at Sunken Meadow. They’d retell that same story every time. Winter was always filled with warm memories.
I smile to myself. I feel okay right now. I feel like I can bounce back and get on with things. I have to talk to Miss Black later. I wish to God my parents were still alive. I wish I didn’t have to live this way, but wishing never made anything come true. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I can do this. I have to. I will.
I glance up and look past the enormous tree. My gaze lands on Amanda Ferro’s grave. There are footprints in front of it. Sean must have been here. I look around for him, but he’s gone. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m walking toward the grave. I stop in front of it and look down at the blanket of white. I don’t know what comes over me, but I make a snowball in my hand. I roll it around and pack the snow together until there’s a snowman next to her headstone.
Sean would have had a family. They would have gone Christmas shopping. His wife would have been making pot roast and wintery foods that fill the house with delicious scents. Instead, she’s here with their only child, and Sean is alone.
I’m alone.
I turn away and walk back to my car. I drive off before Sean can materialize. I wonder how long he watched me or if he noticed me at all.
CHAPTER 8
I’m sitting in Miss Black’s office. It’s late. She’s wearing a slim black suit that accentuates her thin frame. She looks regal. Miss Black has this air about her that’s completely intimidating. The more I get to know her, the more I don’t like her. The first day we met, she seemed nice, but I think that was a mask. The real Miss Black is a savvy business woman and often has a ruthless look in her eye—especially when it comes to me.
I’m dressed in old jeans with a torn knee and an oversized cream-colored sweater. It hides my figure. My hair is swept back into a sloppy ponytail. I cross my legs at the knee and slouch back into my seat.
Miss Black lifts one of her perfectly plucked brows. She’s not happy with me.
I protest calmly. “You said make them want more. I don’t see a problem here. The only two clients I’ve been with are asking for me. How’s that a bad thing?” I’m trying to keep my voice level. This is about Sean, but she hasn’t said that yet.