“Do you think you can get the car out?”
“I’m going to try.” Mary Ellen got the front and rear windshield wipers going, then put the car in reverse. The tires spun, and the car didn’t move. She put it into first. “Sometimes you have to work it back and forth,” she said. But the car seemed to have no interest in going either direction. She shifted a few more times, varying the pressure on the gas.
“Turn the wheel,” Rose said.
“I don’t think it’ll help.”
“Well, this isn’t working.”
“See?”
“Try it in reverse again.”
“Rose, the wheels are spinning. There’s nothing I can do about it!”
“Don’t gun it so hard! Try it slower!”
Mary Ellen tried a few more times, then slammed the car into Park. “It’s not working, okay?” She put a hand on her cheek and tried to calm her breathing. “I think the middle of the car is up on a pile of snow. The tires are barely touching.”
“Maybe we can jam something under them. Like branches or something.”
Mary Ellen stared at the windshield, which was newly blanketed with snow. “I’m starting to think I can’t drive in this.”
“But you said!”
“It’s late… Look how dark it’s getting. And it’s coming down harder than ever.”
Rose huffed and flopped back in her seat.
“Trust me, I want to get out of here as bad as you do. I need to call my…my…”
“Husband? Daughters?” Rose was staring straight ahead.
Mary Ellen looked at her for a moment, calculating. “Did you go through my things?”
Rose laughed and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. A swirl of snow blew in and settled into clear droplets on the dashboard. Mary Ellen switched off the engine and pulled her gloves back on, steeling herself for the blustery walk back to the house.
She didn’t necessarily owe Rose an explanation. So she’d changed a few details of her life. Who didn’t do that when they met someone new, someone they probably wouldn’t ever see again? Rose probably wasn’t being 100 percent honest about everything either. The way she’d been acting since Mary Ellen got back from town—so different from the sweet, vulnerable girl she’d first found in the deer blind—was disconcerting. She was probably as full of secrets and lies as any other teenager.
Mary Ellen tugged her hood around her face and left the car’s warm stillness. The light was fading fast, but she could see enough to tell that the car was once again caught in a wave of drifting snow. She picked up one of the canoe paddles and used it to steady herself as she staggered toward the yellow glow of the living room windows.
Once inside the house, she took a hot shower and put on dry clothes, feeling her agitation soften with the stroke of a hairbrush, the comfortable slip of wool socks on the bamboo floor, the lighting of the stove. Exertion followed by relaxation; cold followed by warmth; disappointment followed by a good drink and a bowl of hearty food. The older Mary Ellen got, the more she appreciated this simple sort of ebb and flow; the more she depended on it, really, for any sort of equilibrium.
Rose was nowhere to be found, but when chopped onions hit the hot oil, she appeared on the stairs.
“I’m making chili if you want to watch,” Mary Ellen said.
Rose hesitated, then came into the kitchen and leaned her hip against the counter, arms crossed.
“Some people add garlic, but I like it without.” Mary Ellen pushed the onion around the pan, watching it relax. She shook some salt and pepper into the pan. “Chili’s one of those recipes you can change to your own taste and it’ll still be good, you know? Beans, no beans. Some people add cinnamon.”
Rose made a face.
“I know! I don’t do that. Can you open this for me?” She handed Rose a can of tomato paste. “My secret ingredient is beer. I didn’t buy any, though, because they only had Budweiser and Coors. That stuff’s terrible. You might as well just use water.”
“I don’t like the taste of beer anyway,” Rose said, pulling the can opener out of a drawer.
“Well, good. You’re too young for it.” Mary Ellen paused her stirring and put the back of her hand against her mouth.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
Mary Ellen scooped tomato paste into the pan and added some chili powder. The fruity, fiery smell filled the kitchen. “I guess you saw the picture of my girls in my wallet?”
Rose shrugged.
“Did you take anything while you were in there? Money?”
“No! God.”
“Okay, it’s just, I don’t know what to think anymore.” Mary Ellen got the ground meat out of the fridge. “You should try to get organic beef if you can. This was all they had.”
“How old are they?”
“My girls? Seventeen.” She popped a finger through the plastic covering the meat and stripped it away. “They were on a ski trip last week, in Colorado. But they got caught buying beer, so they were sent home.”
“Oh man.”
“I was supposed to call them this morning. But I got caught up in buying you that journal, and I don’t know. I forgot.”
Rose’s face clouded over. “Well, nobody asked you to do that.”
Mary Ellen tipped the meat into the pan. “I’m not blaming you.” She shook her head. “They probably don’t even want to hear from me. They’re so much closer to their father. If I yell at them, I’m just going to push them even farther away.”
“You should definitely yell at them.”
Mary Ellen looked at Rose’s face, but she didn’t seem to be joking.
“I mean, how else will they know you care?”
Mary Ellen mashed the beef with a spoon, coaxing it into smaller pieces. She’d never really let loose on the girls—it wasn’t her style. When they misbehaved, she worked hard to remain calm, explaining their transgression in a levelheaded way, encouraging them to use better judgment next time. And when they spoke to her disrespectfully, she simply rose above the situation, refusing to engage.
“My gran used to
