Mind of Winter Read Online Free PDF Page A

television. And Bethany had confided in Tatiana that “we don’t have Internet at our house because my parents don’t want me to see it.”
    What sort of message did that send? That the outside world was obscene? That you should hide your child from it rather than give her the tools to protect herself?
    “Tatiana, you’re at the age when you might have things you don’t want your parents to know about!” Holly had said to her daughter, wishing she didn’t sound as animated as she knew she sounded.
    Tatiana didn’t miss a beat. She said, “I thought you said I never needed to keep any secrets from you.”
    Holly could no longer recall how she’d responded to that, but Tatiana had never, it seemed, used that hook and eye, and whenever Holly knocked on her door Tatiana said, “God, Mom. Just come in. It’s not locked. I’m not ever going to be doing anything in here you’re not going to be able to witness.”
     
    NOW HOLLY TURNED the doorknob, and pushed her daughter’s door open to find that Tatiana had already changed out of her white tank top and yoga pants into the hideous red velvet dress that Grandma Gin had given to her for Christmas the year before. Eric’s mother was, unfortunately, a seamstress. And a knitter. And for every birthday and for every Christmas she made clothes for her loved ones, and loved to see her loved ones dressed in those clothes.
    “Oh, Tatty,” Holly said. “You don’t have to wear that! Grandma Gin won’t even remember!”
    “Maybe I want to wear it,” Tatiana said, turning to glare at her mother. “Maybe I love it.”
    Holly stepped all the way into her daughter’s room to the familiar clash of scents—the sweet natural smell of Tatty’s hair and skin mixed with the perfumes and lotions she used, fruits and flowers and oils, and something else this morning, something slightly fetid, or rotten. Maybe Tatiana had left a banana or an apple in a drawer? Something fermented. Not putrid, but headed in that direction.
    Her bed, at least, was neatly made. On her floor and desk were dozens of photographs of Tommy that Tatiana had printed up from her phone and left strewn and curled everywhere, but that was the only messiness. Everything else was folded, dusted, tucked away—tidying that Tatiana must have done because there were guests coming over. Although Tatty had grown testy and impatient with her parents in the last year or two, she was ever respectful of the other adults in her life, adhering strictly to all the codes of conduct one followed in deference to them—even the ones Holly found ridiculous, like calling Tommy’s father Mr. MacClean after all this time. Holly and Eric had insisted right away that Tommy, and all of Tatiana’s friends, call them by their first names.
    Holly made a little circuit around her daughter, looking at the red dress:
    The velvet was cheap, heavy—not really velvet. Some kind of polyester Gin must have bought at some thrift fabric shop. She would have bought a whole bolt of it, Holly knew, and made napkin rings or placemats with the leftovers. The dress went down to Tatty’s ankles like some kind of Old World costume. No neckline. Fake pearl buttons up the back. And the shoulders were ruffled. The pattern must have been from the eighties. It was awful.
    “Honey, how can you even get into that? You’ve filled out so much since last year—” Her daughter had gone from an A cup to a C in the last twelve months, and they’d had to buy all new bras, and had taken half a dozen of her old tops to Goodwill since then.
    “Obviously, I let it out,” Tatiana said, shaking her head.
    “What?” Holly asked.
    “I let it out ,” Tatiana said. “You know, with scissors, with thread?” She pantomimed sewing, and then Holly looked at the dress. It looked, in its way, flawless. Ginny was all about precision. The clothes she made were ugly and out of fashion, but they were meticulously constructed.
    “How?” Holly asked.
    “Jeez, Mom. Like