11
“You must be Thomas,” the woman spoke, standing with effort to her feet and stepping heavily toward him. She was a slight woman, tall and slender with limbs that seemed to Thomas to be never-ending, but her abdomen was abnormally swollen, and stuck out in front of her like a growth, flawless and spherical. She extended one of her slender hands, and Thomas scrambled to take off his mitt in order to shake it. “My name is Genevieve,” she said.
He didn’t offer his name in return, as it was obvious she already knew it. He just nodded twice, and cast his eyes downward to stop from staring at her midsection.
“Genevieve is going to be a Mommy,” his grandmother said, noticing his awkwardness. “Very soon, I might add.”
“Congratulations,” Thomas muttered, staring at the puddle forming beneath his feet as the snow on his boots began to melt.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” his grandmother whispered, leading Genevieve back toward the fireplace. “He doesn’t socialize very often.”
“Don’t worry,” the woman responded under her breath. “I can imagine he’s confused.”
Thomas continued to stare at the puddle beneath his feet. He had remembered, just now, the body he’d discovered in the woods. He wondered about how he should approach the conversation now that his Grandmother was entertaining an unforeseen guest.
“I’ve got biscuits in the oven, Tommy,” his grandmother said. “Why don’t you take off your boots and coat and come sit, I can make you some hot chocolate if you’d like.”
“It’s okay,” Thomas mumbled in response, still refusing to look up. “I’m probably going back outside soon anyway.”
“Why’s that, dear? Were you able to bring home anything for supper?”
“No,” he said. “Can I talk to you in private for a second?”
“Now, Thomas,” his grandmother said, in her stern voice, “come and sit down and you and I can talk later. I want you to get to know Miss Genevieve, here. Can you believe she’s only three days away from her due date and with no place at all to go? On Christmas, no less!”
Thomas couldn’t believe it, in fact. Genevieve was wearing the nicest, richest clothes Thomas had ever laid eyes on, made of silk and fur and other such fabrics, and she was clean and well groomed and her hair looked like it had been done by a professional earlier that morning. Why, he wondered, would a woman with so much money, have no place to go other than the rundown farmhouse of a senile old woman and her grandson?
“I really need to speak with you in private,” Thomas repeated.
“Thomas!”
“Please,” he muttered. Behind him, Russell let out a sharp yip. “It’s about something I found in the woods.”
It was Genevieve who spoke next, not his Grandmother. The young woman looked at him, her eyes wide, demeanor shaken. “Quiet now, Thomas,” she said, her icy stare penetrating and intimidating despite his youthful indifference. “Why don’t you clean up that mess you’ve made with your boots and then come have a seat like you were asked?”