“Yeah,” her dad said. “But God, am I getting sick of poinsettias.”
This was something that Nita had heard repeatedly for the last few weeks. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “When do you think you’ll be done today?”
“Probably five,” her dad said. “I don’t see any point in working late hours this week. I know what orders I’ve got due out and I’ve got enough time budgeted for them. If it gets busy toward the end of the day, Mikey can keep the shop open a little later. I don’t want to miss the excitement.” He smiled a little. “When do people start getting here again?”
“Not till about four,” Nita said, and yawned. “That’s when Filif’s coming: we’ll take him over to Kit’s and get him settled in. Or get Kit’s pop settled, anyway…”
“Not still nervous, is he?” said Nita’s dad. “I’ve told him once or twice already, you couldn’t ask for a nicer house guest. Should I call him and calm him down?”
“Might not be a bad idea, if you get a moment today.”
“Will do.” Her dad kissed her goodbye. “Tell Dairine I said to put the garbage out.”
“I’ll tell her.” And Nita made a small face, since telling Dairine to go anywhere near a garbage can was rarely all that effective. There were few chores she hated more.
Her dad headed out. After a few minutes she heard the car starting up, and (as it pulled out of the garage into the driveway) the snow tires whining and slipping in the new snow, even though her dad had salted the driveway last night. Wet snow, Nita thought. Whatever we get, it’ll stick. The thought of that snow piling up on Filif’s branches made her smile. Do they even get snow on Demisiv? she thought. I know so little about the place…
Something to look into. Meanwhile… She stretched. Breakfast. And then… Christmas!
***
She spent the first half of the day just puttering around the house and relaxing, rejoicing in not even having to look at the clock, despite the low-level buzz of anticipation already building inside her as time for the arrival of friends and guests got closer. It was the first real day of the holidays for her, the first weekday that Nita didn’t have to go to school, and wouldn’t have to go again until the first week in January; and the calm of it felt like heaven. Miraculously (or actually due to hard work and some forethought) she was all sorted out for her between-semesters work: no reports to write, no projects to agonize over. And nothing to procrastinate over, either! Or to get stressed over because you know you’re procrastinating. It was perfect.
…Well, nearly perfect. Every now and then the thought of the one person who wouldn’t be there for Christmas this year came up to meet her as she looked at some window decoration that wasn’t quite right and needed to be straightened, or some spot where another traditional Christmassy item—that glass bowl full of fake poinsettia flowers, the other bowl full of shiny ball ornaments—was dusty and needed attention. Nita kept waiting for one or another of these moments to turn into pain, and kept being surprised when they didn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t miss her mom. Because I do, every day. It was just that for some reason, her sense that her mom was okay was stronger than usual. Initially Nita was tempted to spend more time trying to figure this out. But why? Why do I want to keep poking at it like a tooth where the filling fell out? Mom would tell me to let it be. So I will.
She had more tea, and after a while wandered upstairs to her bedroom again and put a few last wrapping- or ribbon-touches on a couple of gifts she’d picked up for other party guests. It wasn’t mandatory for people to bring each other things, but along the line she’d seen a thing or two that seemed right for one or another of the people who were coming. And there was one special gift that she kept stealing peeks at, half in admiration and half in nervousness that he wouldn’t like it. Finally, she laughed at herself—very softly, so as not to wake Dairine, who apparently still wasn’t up yet—and closed the little box. Then she felt around underneath her bed for the bedroom slippers with the waterproof soles, the ones that wouldn’t mind being out in the snow. What the heck, she thought, garbage is garbage, it needs to be out…
She pulled the full plastic bag out of the kitchen garbage pail and quietly went outside to where the big garbage cans sat next to the garage. The snow was still falling gently out of a solid gray sky, mostly straight down, in a persistent, purposeful kind of way. Only the occasional tiniest breath of breeze stirred it around and made it swirl as it came down. Then it straightened out again, doing a credible imitation of snow globe snow. I meant to look at that weather report, she thought, as she put the kitchen garbage in the big can, shook the snow off the garbage can lid, and quietly put it back in place. In a moment. Right now, despite the way the cold bit at her through her bathrobe and the flannel nightgown, Nita was quite content to stand in the snow—maybe two inches deep, now—and let the silence soak into her bones. There was no sound anywhere; even the normal traffic noise that would have drifted over from the nearby Southern State Parkway was completely muted.
She glanced down at the tracks her dad’s car had left in the driveway snow. They were already filling up again, and the salt underneath them didn’t seem to be having much effect. Nita briefly considered doing a small wizardry to talk the driveway into believing it was warmer than its surroundings so that the snow would stay melted. But is it really necessary? she thought. Sometimes it was harder for wizard to wait a little while and not spend energy that might not have actually been required to improve a situation. Then she grinned at herself. And maybe, she thought, I’m just feeling lazy. And every now and then, why not?
She went back in the house, took off the outside slippers and left but by the door to melt their snow off on the doormat; then found her other slippers which had somehow migrated to the dining room, put them on, and wandered into the living room. It was bright enough, even though no lights were on; the picture window was letting in that pale gray snow light, restful. Perfect to read by, she thought. She went upstairs very softly, pulled a book out of her to-read pile, went downstairs again into the kitchen for more tea, and curled up on the couch with the book and just read.
The next thing she knew the kitchen door was opening.Her dad had come home for lunch, and even two rooms over Nita could tell from the sound of the way he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter that he was in a bad mood. Oh great, she thought, what’s this about?
She put the book down and picked up the empty tea mug sitting by her, and wandered into the kitchen. Her dad was staring into the refrigerator, scowling. Nita leaned around him and peered into his face. “What?”
“Don’t get me started,” he muttered.
“About what?”
“Football.”
Nita rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, the miracle…”
“Not miraculous,” said her dad, and started rummaging around in the fridge a lot harder than he needed to.
Nita snickered. For her, the only sport of interest was baseball. But come the end of baseball season her dad normally started paying attention to football, for which Nita had no time whatsoever. Apparently the Philadelphia Eagles had played the Giants at the Meadowlands over the weekend and had abruptly come from behind in the last quarter to badly beat the Giants, her dad’s favorites. Now, every time he heard the local news teams on TV or radio referring to this as “the Miracle in the Meadowlands,” he positively growled.
“Daddy, you really want to shake this mood,” Nita said. “If Fil turns up here and sees you upset like this, he’s going to want to know why you’re upset! And then you’re going to have to explain football to him. And he always gets freaked when he thinks he hasn’t done enough research in something.”
“Well,” her dad said, and sighed. “I take it that on this visit your job is going to be explaining Christmas to him?”
“Well, he’ll have arrived doing the basic reading, you know that.”
Her dad laughed a little. “Not sure how basic basic is, but the subject can get complicated…”
“Tell me about it,” Nita said. And then the front doorbell rang.
Her dad glanced at her. “And you not dressed yet,” he said. “Let me get it. Probably it’s the first batch of kids wanting to shovel the driveway.” He went past her to answer the door.
Nita heard him open it, and then something unexpected happened; her dad started laughing. Curious, she went into the living room and peered around towards the door to see what was going on. Then she understood his surprise, because standing there in bright red ski coveralls and big boots and a parka and a woolly Christmas hat was Tom Swale, with a snow shovel over his shoulder.
“I don’t even know what the going rate for this is anymore,” Nita’s dad said, and laughed again, feeling around in his pockets. “Is five dollars enough, or has inflation hit this too?”
Tom roared with laughter. “Just leave that they are, Tom,” said Nita’s dad. “Come on in. Coffee?”
“No, it’s okay, I won’t be keeping you,” Tom said, leaning the snow shovel up against the side of Nita’s front porch underneath the mailbox. He stepped in the door that Nita’s dad held open for him, and all the snow obligingly fell off him before he crossed the threshold.
“You sure,” Nita’s dad said. “I mean, that trick has to be good for at least a ten if you’ll do it to the sidewalks and the driveway. Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
Tom followed her dad into the dining room,smiling at Nita. “It’s okay, Harry, I’m not shilling for business. At least, not this kind of business. I was just doing our sidewalk, and then it occurred to me to wonder whether Nita had seen the weather report, and I thought I’d just walk over and check.”
“Yeah,” Nita said. “Bobo did mention something about a storm coming.”
“The storm,” Tom said. “The snowstorm of the decade, if not the millennium… a category 2 nor’easter with snow. There won’t have been a snowstorm this powerful since the sixties, if our own weather forecasters are worth their salt. Even the non-wizardly forecasters are starting to get really concerned, and with reason. The temperatures are going to drop quite hard on the twenty-first, and the wind’s going to pick up. Blizzard conditions at the very least, and super-blizzard at worst.” He sighed. “A lot of us are having to change our schedules at the last minute, because all the local services are going to be under tremendous pressure and the going to need all the help they can get on this one, at least from wizards expert in handling this kind of weather.”
Nita followed them into the dining room and sat down with them. “Does that mean you won’t be able to make it to the party?”
“Oh, we’ll be looking in,” Tom said. “But we won’t be able to stay long.” And then he gave Nita an amused look. “The joke is that it turns out we wouldn’t have been able to stay very long anyway, because a few days ago the airline changed our flights to Banff and left us looking at an earlier departure.” He brushed a little ruefully at his ski coverall. “But now that’s not an issue. Here Carl and I were already to go to the snow, and all of a sudden it turns out the snow is coming to us. With a vengeance. So we canceled, and the slopes will have to wait for us until the new year.”
“Sometimes you just can’t catch a break,” Nita’s dad said.
“The Eagles,” Tom said. “Tell me.”
That made Nita’s dad laugh. “I’d have thought you guys would just try to push this storm away, though,” he said, “if it’s going to be so much trouble.”
Tom shook his head. “We don’t usually fight with the weather unless we have to. And even if you want to, with the biggest storms there’s almost no point; there’s so much kinetic energy already bound up in them that it’s like trying to stop an atom bomb. This one’s got its mind made up—it’s coming through. All we can do is try to mitigate the worst circumstances, help the emergency services quietly where helping won’t get noticed, and generally just make ourselves useful.”
Nita swallowed, because a thought had just occurred to her. “You don’t need any of us, do you?”
“That’s really thoughtful,” Tom said, “and the answer is, in a word, no. None of you are in the required specialty groups, and we’ve got plenty of people stepping up to handle this. So you enjoy your party. We’ll stop in sometime this evening for a while, have an eggnog, and then head out to do our thing.”
He got up, and so did Nita’s dad, walking him to the front door. “But Tom, if you change your mind about the driveway, let me know. We local small businessmen have to stick together…”
Their laughter mingled as the door closed. “I’ll let you know. See you two later.”
***
A little while after hearing the doorbell, and just after their dad headed back to the shop, Dairine materialized in old jeans and an oversized sweater, demanding tea and food. For the time being Nita ignored this. “You have a late night last night?”
“Working out some software issues with Spot,” she said.
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t angle for details,” Dairine said rubbing her eyes. “Party stuff. You’ll find out. How did it get to be two o’clock already?”
“Ten of,” Nita said, glancing at the clock. But it was a fair question. “And you know what? I don’t care. Everything is moving in slow motion today, and I love it.”
Dairine flopped down at the dining room table and stretched. “For once we’re in agreement.”
“’For once,’” Nita said in good-natured mockery. It was interesting to notice that she and her sister had lately been in agreement a lot more than they used to. Maybe it’s the wizardry, Nita thought. And even if it’s not, I really don’t care why it’s happening. It’s better than fighting. “I took out your garbage,” she said.
“My garbage! It’s the garbage. I’m just the one who gets stuck taking it out.” Dairine wrinkled her nose.
“Doesn’t matter. You owe me one,” Nita said.
Dairine rolled her eyes as if in scorn at this bourgeois concept. “I’m not even up ten minutes and you’re trying to push your simplistic barter economy stuff on me? Please.” She got up and went to get some tea.
Nita laughed at herself. Well, that lasted five minutes. “Shower time,” she said, levering herself up out of the chair and heading upstairs. “Make another pot, okay?”
She didn’t even hear Dairine’s answer, and didn’t particularly care what she’d said. The tone of the day was remaining unbroken; slow and easy, building toward something good. That soft snow light was filling the upstairs hall from the window down at the end, and filling the bathroom too. Nita showered, then went and got changed into her party clothes—nothing dressy, just dark leggings and low black fluffy-lined elf-boots, and what Nita had started referring to privately as the Christmas Sweater of Doom. It was a ridiculous hairy angora-knit crewnecked construction adorned with fake Icelandic patterns in red and white, and scattered all over with revolting embroidered green yarn Christmas trees with little sewn-on Mylar ornaments. Kit had stumbled across the thing somewhere online and ridiculed it so mercilessly that Nita had decided she had to have it. It had taken entirely too much of her disposable income for that month, but it would be worth it for the look on his face when he saw it on her. And it’s going to be hilarious explaining it to Filif…
Nita glanced at the clock radio and realized to her shock that it somehow said three-thirty. Whoa, how’d that happen, she thought, where’d the time go all of a sudden! Maybe I had a little too much lazy. He’s going to be here soon…
She gathered up the goodie bag with her Christmas cards and small presents in it from where it had been sitting on her desk for a while. Then Nita headed downstairs, noting in passing the sound of Dairine thumping around in her room, apparently going through her drawers or her closet. Last-minute decisions, Nita thought, smiling as she headed down the stairs. Dair always tries to be so organized, but when it comes to clothes she can never make up her mind…
In the living room, Nita paused briefly, glancing around. T
he place looked tidy enough, so she didn’t have to worry about bringing anybody over if for some reason they needed to see something of hers. Fine, she thought. She headed into the kitchen, noted a few dishes in the sink, and stopped just long enough to wash the and put them in the rack. Then she grabbed her parka off the hook by the back door, threw it over the crazy Christmas sweater, and carefully headed out the back door, down the steps, and through the gate into the back yard.
The snow was deeper out here; she had to step carefully to keep the boots from getting wet. Nita looked around and saw that the silvery snow light was already getting a bit dimmer. Above that gray ceiling, sunset was already coming on. She paused by the tree growing out of the middle of the yard between house and the garden, and put a hand on its trunk. “You awake?” she said.
Liused’s answer took a few moments in coming. A little.
“Got a guest incoming,” she said. “Want to talk to him? Or if this is a bad time, he can stop by earlier tomorrow, when the light’s better.”
…Tomorrow might be best. In the morning?
Nita patted his trunk. “No problem,” she said. “I’ll talk to you then.”
She headed on down the garden—all the flower beds covered over with mulch or burlap bags this time of year, and those in turn covered with the new snow—and finally under the bare trees in the furthest part of the back yard, where the surface of the snow was patched and dappled with little lumps of it that had slid off the branches above. The stillness was very deep back here, and Nita just stood there a while, not caring how cold her feet were getting, and appreciated it.
Around her she thought she could almost see the sky’s light dimming moment by moment. Bobo, what time’s sunset?