Page 53 of Jack Frost
"Sure, I like fun," he says feebly. "Got any board games?"
My mother squints at him, like she's trying to figure out if he's joking. "I've got 'Quick and Dirty,' 'Loaded Questions,' and UNO. Might be an old Monopoly game somewhere, but it'll be missing some cards."
Jack clears his throat. "What were you planning for Christmas dinner? I could help you cook—I brought a few things along since we just dropped in."
"Speaking of that—y'all have a car? I didn't see one."
"We got a lift," I intercept before Jack can respond. "And I assume you're doing the usual frozen pizza with a few bottles of wine? We can head out now. Don't wanna cramp your style, Sandy."
Her features sharpen. "Would it kill you to call me 'Mom'? This one," she shrugs helplessly, turning to Jack for sympathy. "No respect. She never has respected me, probably never will. Maybe you'll be good for her. You know how to be polite. Sure, you can fix us some Christmas dinner, sweetie. I got a little matchbox of a stove here, but pull out what you brought and let's see what we can do."
And that's how I end up sitting on the ugly rust-colored couch, watching dumb sit-com reruns on TV and trying not to inhale too deeply lest the cigarette-tainted air make me gag. Meanwhile, my mother and Jack converse while they work in the tiny kitchen area—or rather, my mother talks while Jack prepares the food. At first I listen anxiously, fearful that he'll give himself away—but my mother primarily talks about her favorite subject, herself, so he doesn't have to do more than throw in an occasional comment.
My mood is growing steadily darker. I did not want to spend Christmas—or any other day—in the reek and clutter of this trailer, with memories gnawing at my mind. Now that we're here, I don't see any way out of this, and it pisses me off. I was just starting to feel a hint of seasonal magic, and then Jack had to go and ruin it all with his damn dreadful surprise.
A normal human person would have asked me about my family first, would have felt out the situation before making plans. But Jack isn't normal or human, and he hasn't had a relationship in a couple centuries. I can't really blame him for not thinking it all through and not following social protocols. The idiot thought he was being sweet. He probably thought I couldn't afford to travel to Alabama, or that I didn't have time since the benefit was on Christmas Eve.
At least he had the foresight to bring food with him, or we'd have been stuck with frozen pizza or pork-n-beans from a can. The beautiful dummy packed his bag with thick steaks, and a few potatoes, and some asparagus. It's a simple meal, but delicious; and when we sit down to eat, I can't help but enjoy the flavors in spite of the stale, smoky air. There's no dining table, just a card table with metal folding chairs. My mom has had prints of "Blue Boy" and "Pinkie" hanging on the wall of the eat-in kitchen for as long as I can remember—says it makes the place more sophisticated. Unfortunately the elegant 18th century children have become so discolored and stained with beer splatters, smoke, and mildew that they look more like zombies now. There's a decayed, disturbing charm to the pictures that makes my fingers itch for a camera.
Finally I can't resist any longer—I pull out my phone and snap a couple photos.
"There she goes again." Sandy shakes her head. "Always with the pictures, and the videos. Could you give it a rest and sit down to a meal, Em? Geez. It's Christmas Day. Take a break." She turns back to Jack, still pointing at me with a sharp-nailed finger. "This girl used to work nonstop. No high school fun for her. No boyfriends, no girlfriends, no drugs or booze, no nights out—I used to beg her to do something naughty just so I'd know she was mine!" She laughs uproariously. "Always with the money-making. Always had her eyes on this camera gadget or that. 'You should recycle,' she says. Look around at this neighborhood. You think this is the kind of place that's big on recycling?" She submerges a chuckle in her glass of wine.
Jack meets my eyes as I resume my place at the table. When my mother heads to the bathroom several minutes later, he leans over to me. "Okay, this was a major disaster."
"Understatement," I reply. "Speaking of disasters, how's the fire situation?"
"I'm monitoring it," he says. "I hurt Auxesia during our last fight, so she's probably still recovering. She hasn't spread the fire any further, or started fresh ones anywhere else, so for now, the humans have it contained. I was able to shift a cold front and send some extra rain their way yesterday afternoon, before I picked you up for the benefit. I could do more if I took a few weeks to recharge."
"Like, in your ice pod thingy?"
He nods. "Every so often I need to hibernate and fully replenish my power. More often lately, it seems. The trouble is, whenever I do that, Auxesia uses the time to gain more ground and wreak more havoc."
"Doesn't she have to do something similar?"
"Yes, but it's a lot rarer for her. Humans have already tilted the planet toward global warming and eventual destruction, thanks to pollution and poor management. So her job is way easier than mine, and takes less energy. Plus she's working with the combined powers of two other full-fledged Horae."
"The sisters of hers that she drained," I recall, nodding. "So, why don't you take a few weeks off after Christmas? Seal yourself in the pod and recharge?"
"I don't want to." His fingers dance along my arm. "I want to be with you."
"I'll still be here afterward."
"Will you though?" Anxiety shimmers in his eyes. "I feel as if you might rethink this any minute and decide I'm too complicated, too much trouble, and you'd rather not be with me."
My breath hitches, because his fear is so exactly my own. "I'm afraid you'll do the same to me."
"Ha!" He shakes his head. "No. Never. I'll be your stalker until the day Auxesia finally gets me."
I was starting to smile, but his last words wipe all joy from my heart. My mother returns, making a rude bathroom joke as she takes her seat again, but I barely hear it because "the day Auxesia finally gets me" is replaying over and over in my head.
If Jack dies—if he turns into a frosty, helpless little ice wraith—the world will burn. I can't doubt that future, not after my encounter with Auxesia. And while the thought of the planet's demise terrifies me, the concept of Jack beinggone—being less than his playful, thoughtful, generous self—that's even more frightening. His death would leave me with a raw, seeping wound that would never, ever heal. Just the thought of it is enough to kick my heart into a faster pace, triggering panic along my nerves.
There has to be a way I can help him.
And here is the truth I've been mentally sidestepping for a few days. Here, at my mother's table, in the trailer where I spent my childhood, I finally force myself to face it.
I could become like Jack.
