X - Snowbear

Snowbear

She drove up to her family's home and could see the old, weathered
garden ornament on the front lawn. He was leaning over to one side, his
right hand resting in the snow, supporting his weight as the other hand
waved high in the air in an attempt to restore his balance. He was not
made of snow and she was unsure why she thought of him as the Snow
Bear, but that was his name and until now it had never occurred to her
to question it.

Someone must have put him there only a short time ago. The snow had
come down in thick, soft flakes all night, and had he been there any
longer he would have been covered with it.

Susan killed the engine but left the headlights on. The car door
opened with a click that seemed to disturb the night's silence. Susan,
not wanting to wake anybody up, left it open as she walked to the front
of the car and knelt to look more closely at the Snow Bear. He was
smaller than she had remembered, his colors looked faded in the white
light of her car, but it was definitely the same bear. She resisted the
temptation to pick him up and disturb the perfect scene for the sake of
holding him in her arms like she used to.

"Susan?"

She had not heard her brother's soft steps behind her and spun around,
surprised more than frightened at the sudden voice. "Martin," she said
and held her arms out for him to hug her. For a moment she thought he
was going to decline the invitation. Then he took a step forward and
pulled her toward him. "It is so good to see you," she whispered and
was dismayed to find tears choking the clich?d sentence.

Martin gave her a brief, firm squeeze and released her with an
embarrassed look on his face. "Yeah. Well," he said. He didn't continue
the sentence, and he didn't have to. A hundred accusations shot through
Susan's head, some of them voiced by her family on countless previous
occasions, some of them of her own making. She blushed, angry at her
brother for the frosty reception, angry at herself for feeling she
deserved it.

Her hair wes getting wet from the snow, and with a shaking hand she
brushed it aside. "Shall we go inside?" she asked and attempted to make
her voice sound more confident than she felt. She turned off the
headlights and the sudden darkness added to her discomfort.

"I think we'd better," Martin said. He did not offer to help her with
her luggage, and thrusting his hands deep into his coat pockets, he
turned around and walked away. Susan picked up her case and followed
him.

"Where is father? I hope he didn't wait up for me," she said as they
entered the house they grew up in.

"No," Martin said, "he didn't wait up for you." Susan did not fail to
notice the slight emphasis he placed on the last word. Not for the
first time, she wondered if it had been a good idea to come.

"How is he?" she asked. She quietly put her suitcase down and followed
her brother into the kitchen. Nothing had changed since she left. For a
moment she felt like she had never been away. Twelve years seemed to
disappear in an instant, and she remembered clearly the night she ran
away. She had forgotten many things that happened since that day, most
of them deliberately, but right now she felt again like the young woman
she had been when she left.

Martin opened the refrigerator and without a word poured her a glass
of orange juice. "How do you think he is?" he answered her with a
question.

Susan looked at the juice. She was yearning for a cup of coffee, but
decided that this was not the time to ask for it. She put her hands
around the glass as if it was a hot cup and thanked her brother with a
nod. He sat down opposite her.

"Looking forward to seeing me, I hope," she said. Her voice sounded
weaker than she had intended, and she lowered her head. Martin did not
answer, and to fill the awkward silence she drank some juice. It was
delicious, and before she knew it she had finished it. Martin did not
offer her a refill and she was not going to ask for it.

"Why did you come back?" Martin asked.

His frankness shocked her. She knew that he did not want her here,
knew that he had advised their father against inviting her. She had
hoped that seeing her would change his mind, bring back some of the
feelings he used to have for her when they were children, when they
grew up together, but it appeared that she was wrong. Abruptly, she
pushed her chair back and stood up.

Martin followed suit. "Oh, this is rich!" he said, and his face
reddened with anger. "What are you going to do, run away in the middle
of the night again? Didn't you get in enough trouble last time? What is
it with you, can you never see anything through? The letter to father
begging him to let you come home after your release, your assurances
that you have changed, that you are a different person, honest,
reliable - was that all a lie again? Go on, prove it, prove that father
was wrong to invite you here, run away, show him what a trusting fool
he is! I told him as much, but he wouldn't listen to me. Run, Susan.
And this time, don't bother coming back."

Susan looked at Martin and found herself struggling to recognise him.
She wondered how much of the change in him was her fault. Bitterness
had drawn deep lines on his face, and Susan was acutely aware of the
strain she had put on her family.

Slowly, she sank back onto her chair. "I'm not going anywhere," she
said quietly. "Father invited me, and if he is happy for me to be here
then I will stay."

"He is your father, Susan," Martin said coldly. "It was irresponsible
of you to ask him to let you come, but I didn't expect any better of
you. What did you think he was going to say? He is an old man. What you
did crippled him, crippled the whole family. You shouldn't have come
back. You should never have come back."

The tears were stinging and Susan no longer made any attempt to hold
them back. Martin was right, it had been a mistake to come. She had
traveled halfway across the country knowing that it was the wrong thing
to do. She should have got herself a job, at a store checkout perhaps,
or if she was lucky she might have got work as a waitress. She might
have found a small apartment to rent, far away from anyone who knew her
and her past. Nothing grand, just an existence. Anything would have
been better than this.

Martin watched her cry, and after a moment he pushed a box of tissues
across the table.

Susan took a tissue and held it in her hand. "You're right," she
whispered. "I don't belong here. I..."

"Susan?"

She heard her father's voice behind her and was suddenly afraid to
face him. She glanced at Martin, but his emotionless stare offered no
support.

"Susan, you're home! Why didn't you wake me? I tried to wait up but I
was tired, I get tired early these days... my girl, my little girl!"
Her father had reached her and despite his obvious frailty pulled her
off the chair she was sitting on and swept her into his arms, hugging
her tight.

Susan found herself unable to speak. She cried harder thinking that a
moment ago she had doubted her decision to come home.

"I put Snow Bear out on the lawn for you," her father said when he
finally let go of her. "To welcome you home. Did you see him? I kept
him in the garage for years but tonight I put him out for you. Welcome
home, Susan."