Catching Air (13 page)

Alyssa hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket.

She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck,” she said. “Lunch.”

Chapter Ten

KIRA LADLED BUTTERNUT SQUASH
soup into a big serving tureen and filled a basket with thick slices of her homemade honey-wheat bread. She hesitated, then went to the freezer and pulled out a dozen of the tomato-and-cheese tarts she’d made as a test for wedding appetizers. Dawn hadn’t eaten any lunch at the lodge. She must be hungry.

Alyssa had filled her in on Dawn’s story while their surprise guest took a bath, but Kira’s mind still buzzed with questions.

“Where did she come from?” Kira asked as she slid a tray of the tarts into the oven.

“I didn’t ask,” Alyssa said.

“There’s got to be some organization that can help her,” Kira said. “Can’t the police do anything?”

Alyssa shook her head. “Even with a restraining order, she isn’t safe.”

Kira nodded, remembering the news stories she’d heard about abused women and the law’s inability to protect them. “So she just ran? With nothing but a change of clothes?”

“She said she didn’t have anyone to turn to,” Alyssa said. “Maybe she was worried if she went to her family or a friend’s house, the guy would track her down.”

“How awful,” Kira said. “What is she going to do next?”

“Keep running, I guess,” Alyssa said.

Kira found some butter for the bread and uncorked a bottle of red wine. The wine was intended to relax Dawn, who’d nearly jumped out of her seat when Peter walked up to the table at the lodge, wearing dark sunglasses and brushing snow out of his thick blond hair. But Kira was craving a glass, too; her muscles were sore and shaky after just a few hours on the slopes.

Kira hadn’t spent much time with Dawn, but she’d always had a good sense about people, and she knew Dawn wasn’t crazy, or on drugs. Her story had the ring of truth.

“Let’s get some food into her,” Kira said. “Then we can think about the next step.”

Alyssa looked up at the sudden sound of water rushing through the pipes overhead. “I think she just pulled the plug on her bath. I was worried she’d fallen asleep in there.”

“She did look exhausted,” Kira said.

Peter came into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of bread out of the basket, devouring it in three huge bites. “Skiing always makes me hungry,” he said.

“Is that why I can’t stop eating?” Kira asked. “I’ve already had two pieces.”

“Clearly my stomach bug isn’t catching,” Alyssa said. “Though come to think of it, I feel a lot better now.”

She reached for a slice of bread, too. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you guys before offering her a room,” Alyssa said. “I should’ve checked, but I just kind of blurted it out.”

“Hey, I would’ve done the same thing,” Peter said. “She’s obviously at the end of her rope.”

“As long as she’s cleared out when Jessica and her bridesmaids arrive tomorrow, it’s fine,” Kira said. “They booked all the rooms, so we don’t have any to spare.” She frowned. “But I hate the thought of just sending Dawn off without doing anything to help her.”

“Me, too,” Alyssa said. “Maybe we can think on it tonight.”

Peter went to set the table, and Alyssa made a salad while Rand built a fire. By the time Dawn came downstairs, everything was ready. Their unexpected guest stood on the threshold of the dining room, staring at the food heaped on the table. Her hair was still damp, and she wore another pair of black stretchy pants and a gray waffle-knit shirt. Dark colors, Kira noted. Maybe she’d chosen them in an effort to blend into crowds. Oddly, Dawn’s purse still hung from her shoulder.

“This looks wonderful,” Dawn said. She blinked hard and looked down, appearing on the verge of tears until Peter stepped forward and handed her a glass of wine. “Unless you’d like water?” he offered. “Or juice?”

Dawn took a sip and sighed. “This is perfect,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Come and eat!” Kira urged. “I’m the house chef, and I get offended if people don’t gobble down food. If you don’t feel like soup, I can throw together a sandwich. And I think we’ve got some chicken in the fridge . . .”

“Soup sounds really good,” Dawn said. She took a seat at the end of the table and carefully set her purse beneath her chair. Alyssa filled her bowl, and Dawn dipped in her spoon and closed her eyes as she savored her first taste. She ate reverently, Kira thought, wondering how long it had been since the young woman had had a proper meal.

The only sounds in the room were the clinking of spoons against bowls and requests to pass the butter or bread. Kira found herself at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in her life. Or maybe so many words were bubbling up inside of her that she had to cork them for fear she’d ask the wrong question. Then Rand reached for a second helping of soup. “I wouldn’t want to offend Kira,” he said, tossing Dawn a wink. Her only response was a brief smile.

She was being very careful, Kira thought. With her purse, with the way she slowly ate her soup, with the few words she parceled out . . .

Suddenly Alyssa exclaimed, “It’s snowing!” She pointed to the fat flakes drifting down outside the window.

“You brought us good luck,” Peter told Dawn. “The more snow we get, the busier we’ll be.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to stay here,” Dawn said. “It’s the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.”

“Just for that you get the last piece of bread,” Kira said, putting it on Dawn’s plate. She added another splash of Merlot to Dawn’s glass. Dawn protested, but Kira noticed she ate and drank everything.

When dinner was over, Kira stood to clear her plate, but Dawn jumped up quickly. “Can I clean up?” she offered.

“It’s usually a group effort around here,” Kira said. “And you’re our guest!”

“Please?” Dawn asked. “I’m not a real guest, and it’s the least I can do. You made me this wonderful dinner, and you’re letting me spend the night . . . I would really like to contribute something.”

Kira hesitated. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

She sat back down and caught Peter’s eye as Dawn collected her purse from under the table and put the strap on her shoulder before she began clearing the table. Peter raised his brows, and she shrugged. It was clear Dawn didn’t want the purse out of her sight for even a second. It made Kira intensely curious: What could it possibly hold?

• • •

Alyssa awoke early the next morning to the smell of coffee. She climbed out of bed, slipped on her robe, and went into the kitchen. It was spotless; Dawn had spent a long time last night wiping down cupboards and mopping the floor, and according to Kira, she’d even scrubbed the inside of the refrigerator. They’d decided not to protest, since everyone sensed Dawn craved the activity, and not just as a way of providing compensation for the night’s lodging. Sometimes physical work gave one’s mind a rest, and Alyssa suspected cleaning had provided Dawn with a temporary peace.

She was relieved to see Dawn sitting at the counter, her ever-present purse beside her. She’d been secretly worried the young woman would slip away during the night.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Dawn said. “I made coffee for everyone.”

“Thanks,” Alyssa said. She noticed Dawn hadn’t poured herself a cup, so she took down two mugs from the cabinet above the stove. She filled one and set it on the table before the young woman, then grabbed a carton of cream from the refrigerator and slid the sugar bowl in front of their guest.

“You’re not having any?” Dawn asked.

“I’m a tea drinker,” Alyssa said as she switched on the burner beneath the kettle. She breathed in the sharp, earthy aroma of coffee and felt her stomach twist. She clenched the edge of the counter to steady herself.

“Are you okay?” Dawn asked. “You just got a little pale.”

“Yeah,” Alyssa said. She eased herself onto the stool next to Dawn, grimacing. “Weird. I thought I’d kicked this stomach bug, but it seems to be back.” She took in a few slow, deep breaths.

Dawn took a sip of coffee. “You’re nauseous again?” she finally asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” Alyssa said. “A bit dizzy, too.” She gave a laugh. “No snowboarding for me today. Maybe I’ll go sit in the hot tub and get out the toxins.”

“I don’t know if I should say anything,” Dawn began. “But maybe the hot tub isn’t a great idea.”

“Why not?” Alyssa asked.

Dawn hesitated. “Is it possible . . . Do you think you might be pregnant?” she finally asked.

Alyssa’s mind went blank as she stared at Dawn. She’d heard the word, but her mind was incapable of processing it.

“I only asked because my mother was a, ah, in the medical field, and sometimes female patients came to her thinking they had the flu, only they were actually pregnant,” Dawn said. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have said anything . . . I was just worried because hot tubs aren’t good for fetuses . . .”

Alyssa braced herself against the counter again as she stood up. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

As if in a trance, she walked into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed where Rand still slept, her mind spiraling back over the previous weeks. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had her period. It had always been irregular, and she’d stopped tracking it a long time ago, as part of her acceptance of her infertility.

Six weeks, maybe?

There had been something odd about her last period, whenever it had been, she suddenly recalled. It was much lighter than usual, and had lasted only two or three days. Alyssa hadn’t thought much of it at the time, other than feeling vaguely grateful.

Pregnant,
she thought.
Could it actually be possible?
An image of one of Rand’s sperm wearing a bright red cape and pumping its fist triumphantly in the air popped into her mind, and she suppressed a hysterical giggle.

A couple of years ago, the possibility would’ve sent exhilaration shooting through her body. But now Grace was coming, and Alyssa had made peace with her infertility. She’d not only accepted the change in her life’s course but truly believed it was her destiny.

She started to lean over and shake Rand awake, then paused. She could be going through early menopause, or her nausea really could be the onset of the flu. Her symptoms could be rooted in a dozen causes, even though the one Dawn had suggested seemed the most likely.

Alyssa closed her eyes and sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to quiet her racing mind. She needed to absorb this possibility before she did anything else. Later she could decide whether to pick up a pregnancy test in town, or maybe phone a doctor. But she wouldn’t say anything to Rand just yet. Jessica and her bridesmaids were coming today, and their giddy energy would be overpowering. She’d talk to Rand in the morning, after she’d centered herself.

After a few minutes she felt calmer. She opened her eyes, uncrossed her legs, and stood up. She’d take a little time today to do yoga, or meditate, she decided. Or perhaps she’d take a long walk outside in the clear, crisp air.

But as she reached for the water glass she kept on the nightstand, she noticed something: Her hand was shaking.

Chapter Eleven

DAWN METHODICALLY REMOVED EVERY
trace of her existence. She scrubbed the toilet and sink, washed out the tub, and mopped the bathroom floor, then moved on to the bedroom. She stripped the sheets, dusted the furniture, and straightened a glorious photograph of a tide pool reflecting the sunset.

Last night’s sleep, after the good soup and rich wine and cheesy tarts, had been the best one in her recent memory. When she’d awoken this morning, the view from her window had revealed strong-looking trees spreading their branches under a lightening sky, as if they were saluting the day ahead. She’d felt a glimmer of something that it took her a moment to recognize as happiness.

But now she had to go. She’d washed out her change of clothes in the sink using a few squirts of hand soap last night, and even though they were still a little damp, she folded them carefully and tucked them into her backpack. She took a last turn around the room to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, then put on her coat, slung her purse and backpack over one arm, and picked up the bundle of dirty laundry with the other hand.

She was still unsure if she should have said anything to Alyssa about her hunch, but she’d thought the news would be welcome. It was clear Alyssa and Rand’s marriage was a happy one: His hand had rested on his wife’s thigh during dinner, and she’d leaned into him and given him a kiss when he refilled her wineglass.

As Dawn was bumping her sack of laundry down the stairs, she ran into Peter.

“Where are you off to, you Santa Claus impostor?” he asked, and she smiled despite herself.

“I figured I should head out,” she said. “I can walk to town and see about getting a bus somewhere.”

Peter studied her face for a moment. “Tell you what,” he said. “It’s gorgeous out and I was about to go for a short hike. Come with me, and then if you still want to go, I’ll drive you to a bus station.”

Dawn didn’t know how to say no, or maybe the truth was she didn’t want to. She wasn’t ready to head off into the unknown again. Peter went into the kitchen, saying he wanted to grab some granola bars and water, and she put the bundle of sheets into the washing machine and turned it on. She left her backpack in the closet by the front door but kept her purse strap firmly in place on her shoulder. She saw Peter notice, but he didn’t comment on it. Another reason to like him.

They walked in silence for a while, with Peter leading them to a trail a short distance away from the B-and-B. A few determined leaves still clung to the trees despite the frost in the air, and Dawn pushed her hands deeper into her coat pockets, making a mental note to pick up mittens the next time she came across a secondhand store. At first the woods seemed too quiet, but after a few moments, Dawn realized it was full of noises: Squirrels rustled, birds twittered and called, twigs snapped underfoot . . .

“The anniversary of my mother’s death is coming up soon,” Peter said without preamble.

“Oh,” Dawn said after a surprised moment. “I’m really sorry.”

She almost blurted out that her mother had died too young as well, but she held back. The fewer details Peter and the others knew about her, the better.

“What was she like?” Dawn asked instead.

“Amazing,” Peter said. The trail was just wide enough for them to walk side by side, so she couldn’t see Peter’s expression, but she heard a catch in his voice. “She stayed home with my brother and me when we were growing up, but as we got older, she began to volunteer. She worked at an animal shelter for a while, and she delivered Meals on Wheels. Things like that.”

Dawn wasn’t sure what to say. “She sounds . . . like she was really nice.”

“And she worked at a shelter for abused women,” Peter continued. “It was the last big thing she took on before we found out about the cancer. She told me it was the most important thing she’d done with her life, besides getting married and having children.”

The rush of guilt Dawn felt was so powerful she nearly gasped. Peter thought she was like one of the women his mother had helped—maybe he wanted to help her as a kind of tribute to his mom, a way of honoring her good deeds. If only he knew.

“It isn’t—like that with me,” she blurted.

He gestured to a large gray rock by the side of the path, and they sat down. He passed her a granola bar and bottle of water, and she was glad to have something to occupy her hands even if holding the chilled water made them feel even colder.

“I don’t know exactly what happened to you,” he said. “I don’t need to know. But you need help and we all want to give it.”

Dawn finally found the courage to look him in the eye. How had she mistaken him for Tucker when he’d first walked up to the table at the ski lodge? Aside from being tall with blond hair, the men were opposites. Peter had a gentle voice and an unassuming manner, and he was being better to her than she deserved.

“Here,” he said, taking off his gloves and giving them to her. “Your hands must be cold.”

That did it; guilt ripped through her again, and she knew she couldn’t trick him any longer. She’d tell Peter her story, then grab her backpack and go.

“I fell in love with the wrong guy,” she began. “He was really handsome and charming and—and I thought he loved me, too.”

A blue jay swooped down to land near them, and Peter tossed it a bit of his granola bar.

“He was involved in this . . . scheme . . . at the place where we both worked,” Dawn went on. She couldn’t bear to see Peter’s expression flip from sympathy to disgust, so she looked down at her sneakers, which had been white at the beginning of her journey but were stained and dirty now. “I didn’t realize he was trying to steal money. I thought . . . Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I got involved in the theft. It was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it. But I loved him so much.”

She watched the jay eat his breakfast, feeling her own rise up in her stomach.

“And then when I realized he’d tricked me, I ran away. I didn’t give him the money he was trying to steal. But he chased me. This cabdriver tried to make him stop, but he hurt the cabdriver. I got away, though. I’m still running. Sometimes I think I always will be.”

She waited a moment to see if Peter had any questions, but he didn’t say a word. She slid off the rock and removed the gloves and placed them next to Peter. She’d taken only a step or two in the direction of the house when he spoke.

“So he hurt you,” Peter said. “Just like you said.”

Dawn was stunned. “But . . . not that way,” she protested. “He didn’t hit me—it wasn’t—”

“There are a lot of ways to hurt a person,” Peter said. “Is he still after you?”

Dawn nodded. “He wrote me an e-mail implying that he was.”

Peter was turning his bottle of water around in his hands, and she could almost see him turning her dilemma around in his mind, too.

“I really appreciate you not being angry with me,” she said. “But I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.”

“You can’t go to the police?” Peter asked.

She sat back down. “I was involved in taking the money,” she said. “Actually, I was the one who took it.”

“Ah,” Peter said.

“I was supposed to give it to Tucker, and then he was going to double it and give it all right back, but . . .”

It sounded so foolish now. “Please don’t tell the others,” Dawn begged. “They were so nice to me. I don’t want them to hate me.”

“I promise they won’t hate you,” Peter said. “I won’t tell them, though. Not until you’re ready.”

He took a long drink of water. “Look, this is too complicated for us to figure out today. Stay a little longer.”

“But you have guests coming,” Dawn protested. “Kira said something about a bachelorette party . . .”

“There’s a little space up over the garage,” Peter said. “I think the previous owners used it for storage. It isn’t fancy, but we all talked about it last night and agreed it’s yours for a while if you want it. I’ve got a sleeping bag you can borrow, and there’s a space heater somewhere in the house.”

For a moment, the tantalizing possibility floated before her: another good meal, a warm bath, sliding into a soft sleeping bag and feeling enveloped by a sense of safety rather than dozing upright on a hard bus seat and jerking awake in a panic every time someone coughed . . .

The blue jay took off, and she watched it soar away. At first she’d admired its beauty, but now she thought about its typical day: It was constantly in search of its next meal, always trying to evade predators . . . Such an exhausting existence.

“I would really love to stay for just a little longer,” she finally told Peter, and she bowed her head so he wouldn’t see her tears of relief.

• • •

It was one of the few times Kira had ever been alone in the B-and-B. Alyssa and Rand had gone into town, and Peter had invited Dawn on a hike, hoping to draw out a little more information. They were all worried her life could be in danger, and no one was comfortable sending her off yet, so Kira hoped Dawn would take them up on the offer of staying in the little storage space for another few days. Kira glanced over at the backpack Dawn had left by the front door. She’d never violate Dawn’s privacy by peeking inside, even if she was curious about their too-quiet guest.

The house was very clean—Dawn must’ve gotten up early and straightened the living room, too—so Kira curled up on the sofa with a new cookbook she’d picked up at the Book King in nearby Rutland. Jessica and her friends were arriving in a little while, but they planned to go out to dinner and then barhopping, so all Kira needed to do was serve cocktails and appetizers tonight and breakfast tomorrow morning, and she had plenty of supplies for that. Rand and Alyssa were making a run into town to pick up champagne and white wine, and the fridge was stocked with cheese and crudités and other nibbles.

Tomorrow, though, every bedroom would be filled again with a family of four and two couples. All eight guests wanted the après-ski package, which meant Kira needed to hit the store. Maybe she’d make three-bean chili in mini–sourdough bread bowls, or baby potato skins smothered with cheddar cheese and chives, she mused as she turned the glossy pages of her cookbook.

She could, of course, rotate the same few appetizers since the guests would never know, but this was pure fun: reading recipe books like novels and fantasizing about how she’d tweak the ingredients. Her days were scheduled around the creation of meals now, ruled by the length of time it took to bake a squash, or allow a loaf of tarragon-and-olive-oil-infused bread to rise. It was such a sharp contrast to her years at the law firm, where she’d always worn a watch and had a clock on her desk, as well as a larger one hanging on the wall in her office.

True, here in Vermont she was aware of the pressures of time in a different sense. She and Peter still hadn’t come to an agreement about when to have children, and she knew his considerable patience was running out. Unspoken words simmered between them, thick and oppressive as the air just before a summer thunderstorm.

Kira sighed and glanced out the window, seeking solace in the view: a swath of blue sky and pristine snow capping the evergreen trees. Her life had changed so dramatically in the past few months. Some mornings she woke up and automatically stumbled toward the shower before realizing that she didn’t have to rush to make it into the office by 7:00, and that her days were no longer a series of competitions to see who could stay at the firm longer and make the partners more money.

She’d been very good at her job, excelling at research and billing a minimum of sixty hours a week—sometimes much more. But it never seemed to be enough. In the office next door, a guy named Rich, who was a sixth-year associate like her, always came in later than she did and regularly left earlier. He went to happy hours and took weekend trips and even boasted a golf handicap of seventeen.

Yet Rich had billed two hundred more hours than she had during her final year at the firm, a fact that the firm’s managing partner had pointed out on more than one occasion. Obviously Rich padded his hours, even if some of those hours on the golf course were spent with clients. Everyone at the firm stretched out numbers like taffy on their time sheets; it was as routine a practice as the firm’s weekly softball games for summer associates. Yet Kira couldn’t bring herself to join in; she was like a vegetarian at a pig roast, watching everyone happily gorge themselves while she worried about whether the animal had been humanely treated. The eraser she’d made a classmate return back in elementary school, her inability to ask her father to contribute a little more when she and her mother needed it most, her refusal to peek at the calculus final exam the rest of the senior class passed around after a student broke into the teacher’s desk and made a copy—it hadn’t started with the law firm culture; she’d been this way her entire life.

Even so, she still might’ve made partner, if it hadn’t been for the firm’s twentieth anniversary party. She’d been wedged in a corner of a fancy country club’s ballroom, sipping a gin and tonic and watching a few tipsy lawyers attempt the macarena, which was disturbing on too many levels to count. The firm’s managing partner—a red-cheeked, florid-looking guy named Thomas Bigalow—had walked past her, his arm slung around the shoulders of one of their clients.

“Here she is!” Thomas had bellowed upon spotting Kira. “One of our rising stars!”

She wasn’t flattered; he doled out praise and criticism with an equally heavy hand, which meant his words canceled each other out.

“I’m Kira Danner,” she’d said, extending her hand to the client and wondering if Thomas had forgotten her name. It was possible, depending on whether the empty glass in his hand had contained his first martini or his fifth.

“Chris Woods,” the client had said. He was completely unremarkable: gray hair, gray suit, bland face. How could she know her brief encounter with him would torpedo her career? He should’ve looked more menacing.

“Skyrim Holdings,” Thomas added meaningfully. One of the firm’s biggest clients.

“Of course!” Kira said. “I worked a bit on the government lawsuit.” She’d been one of the folks in the trenches, digging through thousands of pages of research, while Thomas handled the client interaction—he was like the elegant hostess who met diners at the door of a fancy restaurant while the cooks sweated and scrambled in the kitchen.