Cold Spell

Cod, a long time ago, then in South Carolina by the beach, and now I live up north.”

“How long will you be here?” Kai asks.

“Not long,” she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “But I’ll swing by your grandmother’s funeral tomorrow, if you want.”

“Yes,” Kai says. “That’d be great.”

“It’s really nice of you,” I say, “but don’t feel like you have to. You’ve already done so much.”

“No, no.” Mora waves me off. “Besides,” she says, eyes flickering to Kai, “I should go pay my respect. After all, she’s the reason I got to meet you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Not everyone can make it to the funeral.

The snow has stopped falling, mostly, but the roads are still thick with ice; the news keeps playing a clip of a man ice-skating down Juniper Street. Still, the funeral home has a decent-sized crowd—Mora and her two young “work friends” included. When Kai plays his violin tears fall among the guests, if not for Grandma Dalia then for the eerie, haunting notes coming from the instrument.

The somber melodies make my heart beat slower, my breath catch in my throat—if I didn’t know Kai at all, didn’t know Grandma Dalia, I would understand him right now. And despite knowing him like I do, I learn something new about him through the melody: The thing I want, the family, the love, the happiness, those are things he’s already had. Things that he’s lost. I reach down and touch the cover of the cookbook in my purse while he plays—I brought it just in case Kai couldn’t get through the song. The cover is uneven under my nails, the material soft and ragged, yet it makes me feel better—as if I’m telling Grandma Dalia not to worry. Kai will be happy again; we’ll be happy together. We’ll make it.

They start a photo montage on the projector; I see Kai tense, the tears building up in his eyes as piano music punctuates black-and-white photos of Grandma Dalia as a little girl. I have to look away, or I’ll cry, too; my eyes land on one of Mora’s companions. He has red hair and doesn’t look much older than me, and his eyes are locked on the screen, which is flashing a photo of Grandma Dalia on her wedding day. He reaches up and touches his temple as if he has a headache. Mora takes his hand and smiles at him, and I’m ashamed to feel something akin to relief wash over me. She’s holding his hand—the strange, jealous feeling that’s been brewing in me over the way she looks at Kai must be for nothing.

I hate myself for thinking like this at a funeral. I swallow, close my eyes, and leave them that way until the service is over.

The coffin is white, and when they remove it from the hearse after a short drive to the cemetery, it blends in with the ground. If it weren’t for the pink roses on top, I think it’d be invisible. It feels wrong, hiding her under the snow, under the very thing that scared her the most.

Mom stands over my shoulder, a few other neighbors beyond that with a handful of our classmates. For all her eccentricities, Grandma Dalia wasn’t disliked—she let people slide a few days on the rent occasionally, and she sent Kai to school with cupcakes every holiday during elementary and middle school. The dry cleaner is here, as is the guy who owns the pizza place that delivers to us. Kai’s aunt isn’t here—she called ahead to say she couldn’t make it through the ice.

Kai climbs out of the car following the hearse alone. He’s freshly shaven, and his skin looks pale. He keeps his eyes downward, only lifting them to meet mine as we follow the hearse across the cemetery toward the grave. The headstone is heart-shaped, in a pinkish hue that matches the wallpaper in Grandma Dalia’s bedroom.

Kai slides into the row of chairs lined up in the front—I step toward him, prepared to take the spot on his right. Now that the business of keeping the violin in tune is gone, I can see the need to occupy his mind swooping in, the want for someone to be near—

“Stop,” my mother whispers in my ear right before I take a second step. “Those seats are for family.”

“But he’s alone,” I answer, astounded. And besides, I want to add, Kai and I are family.

My mother puts her hand on my shoulder, instructing me to stay put. I try to soften my glare, try to relax, but I want so badly to walk forward, sit down next to him, and link my arm through his. He looks back at me as if he wants the same, but seeing my mother’s grip he smiles grimly, then turns to face the coffin. It’ll be over soon, I think toward him. It’ll be over, and then we can run away to New York and forget all this. Just you and me.

Kai asked me to ride home with him after the funeral, so my mother leaves to go to work. Alone, I wait for him to greet all the mourners, meandering around the back of the cemetery, looking at headstones absently. There’s a dime rattling around in my shoe, my own quiet tribute to Grandma Dalia. I run my fingers over the slick marble base of an angel statue, then turn back to see how many people are still here.

I frown when my eyes find her—Mora, talking with Kai and wearing a thick fur coat, mostly white with a few gray streaks down the back. I can tell it’s real because it isn’t glossy and fluffy like the ones they sell at the cheap end of the mall. Her friends are lingering by her Lexus, looking bored. I exhale and walk toward them, my nose red and runny from the cold.

When I’m a dozen or so yards away, Kai and Mora suddenly turn and begin to walk off together—without me—down the hill, back toward the waiting car. Mora’s voice is bright and loud, almost wrongly so given the setting, but I can’t quite make out the words. I hurry to catch up, running around headstones, drawing in breath that freezes in my lungs. Suddenly I slide on the wet surface of a plaque in the ground. I hinge forward and tumble down into the snow and dirt.

“Ginny—are you okay?” Kai is at my side quickly, looping his arms under me to help me up. He’s warm, hot, even, and I relax against him when I stand. My knee is throbbing—I’m sure it’s swelling beneath my dress.

“I’m fine,” I say, brushing off my hands and ignoring the pain. “Really.”

“That looked like it hurt,” Mora says to me. Her eyes are even paler blue out here in the daylight.

“I’ll live,” I answer, sharper than I intended.

“Of course,” Mora says, laughing a little. She looks back to Kai. “Hey, give me a call or something—I’m in town for a while longer.”

“Great,” Kai says, grinning too widely for his grandmother’s funeral. The snow begins to intensify; icy, pelting drops cling to my eyelashes. Kai looks up at the smoke-colored sky.

“See you later then,” I say brightly, and usher Kai away from her.

“Of course,” Mora answers, then turns around and walks away. Kai tugs me closer and supports some of my weight as I hobble to the waiting town car. It’s so warm inside that it burns; I peel off my coat as Kai shuts the door.

“That was weird,” I say as the driver eases the car forward.

“What?” Kai asks.

“Mora. I don’t know. She’s just… weird. I mean, she gave us a ride to the hospital, but… you don’t think she’s weird?”

“I think she’s nice,” Kai says, voice hard—so hard my eyes widen in surprise. “She was telling me about her sister. It was her twin sister, she said. I feel bad for her. She says she’s lost everything more than once.”

“I don’t think she feels bad for herself,” I mutter, though I’m instantly ashamed—why would I fight with him on a day like this? Kai shrugs off my comment. “You sounded great,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says, looking out the window. When I don’t respond, he turns to me, eyes softening a little. “Sorry. I just… I think I’m finally crashing from all the emotion.” He reaches across the seat and takes my hand. “Is your knee okay?”

“Yes,” I answer. “It’ll be fine. How are you doing?”

“Surprisingly fine, right now,” he says, and it’s true—there’s little of the sadness I saw on his face during the service, as if it’s been washed away by the warmth of the car. “If I have a meltdown tonight, though, I’ll signal you.”

The flashlight signal is as old as my friendship with Kai. We always leave the bottom few inches of our