Catching Air (29 page)

She listened for another minute, then withdrew the phone.

“Kira called,” she said. “She’s okay.”

Dawn squeezed her eyes shut. “Thank God. Where is she?”

“She didn’t say,” Alyssa said. “But she asked me to tell Peter that she’s safe.” Alyssa was already dialing his number on her phone.

“Did she say when she was coming back?” Dawn asked, but Alyssa shook her head. “Oh, I wish there was something we could do!”

“We can,” Alyssa said, smiling at Dawn. She was holding the phone to her ear, waiting for Peter to answer. “We can try to pull off the wedding.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

IT WAS GROWING DARK
now, the temperature cooling by a few degrees. The air was softened by humidity, and palm trees rustled in the gentle breeze, sounding like pages turning in a book.

Kira hadn’t eaten in hours, but she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry or tired. After leaving the restaurant, she walked down the street, watching people devour ice cream cones and sip white wine in outdoor cafés. She felt neither aimless nor intent; she was just waiting to see what would unfold next, as if she were a bystander in her own life story.

She hailed a cab and asked to be taken to a certain intersection, then she got out and stood there for a moment, orienting herself before she began to walk. She passed under the yellow glow of streetlights and stopped to pet a gentle old dog resting in his front yard. She wandered by a house where a half dozen newspapers had piled up in front of the door, and was doused by a sprinkler someone had set to water their flower borders. The air grew thicker, and she heard a rumble of thunder as she walked on. Her feet felt heavy and sore, but the rest of her was still numb.

She turned up a front walk and climbed the steps to the house, feeling as if she were in a trance. There was a new mat, one that didn’t say “welcome,” and the front door was shut. A big pot of lavender sat on the top step. She could see a light on somewhere in the house, but no noise came from within. She lifted her hand to knock, then dropped her head against the door instead.

She didn’t know why she’d come, or what she’d say if she saw her father again. The last time they’d gotten together was a few weeks before she left. She’d picked him up here, but she’d waited at the curb until he came out. They’d gone to a crowded diner and had both ordered coffee and sandwiches. Kira had swirled a spoon around in her mug while they made conversation that was so stilted Kira had been grateful for the noise and bustle around them. It helped camouflage the fact that she couldn’t think of anything to say to her dad.

The door opened.

Kira nearly fell inside the house, but she managed to jerk back and regain her balance.

“Kira,” he said. “I thought I heard someone— Why are you . . .”

He held open the door wider. “Come in.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by. I need to get going, actually.”

“Are you sure?” Her dad stepped outside. “It’s so late.” He wore a navy-blue bathrobe, belted over his thickening waist, and glasses that caught the reflection of the light over the front door. Those were new, she thought.

“I heard about the wedding,” she blurted.

“Oh,” he said. His forehead wrinkled, then smoothed out. “Well, I hope you can come.”

“Probably not,” she said. “I live in Vermont now, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “The B-and-B, right?”

“Yep,” she said.

He looked at her closely. “You seem tired,” he said. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Sure. But I do need to go, so . . .” She turned and started to walk away, but her father put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hang on one second, okay?” he asked. “Let me just get you . . .” His sentence trailed off as he went back inside, and she wondered what he could possibly bring her. Maybe an invitation to the wedding. She’d stick it in her purse without looking at it, then tear it up and toss it in the trash.

But when her dad came back, he was holding a tall, clear glass filled with water. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “It’s so warm out.”

She stared at it as if unsure what to do with it. Then she raised it to her lips and took a sip. The moment the cool fluid trickled into her mouth, she realized she was parched. Her lips felt cracked, and her tongue was thick from dehydration. The plane ride, the heat, the long walk, her heavy clothes . . . she gulped greedily until the glass was empty.

“You need more,” her father said. “Come on.” He opened the door, and this time she followed him inside, through a small living room that was cluttered but clean and into the kitchen, where a light over the stove illuminated the middle of the room but not its corners. Her father refilled the glass from the tap, and she drank it all down again, more slowly this time.

“That’s better,” he said.

There was a red teakettle on the stove, and a small wooden table with two matching chairs alongside the wall, and a Far Side calendar hanging by the sink. The refrigerator was covered with magnets and photos. Kira moved closer to look. There was a picture of his stepdaughter, Margie—she must’ve been ten or eleven—building a sand castle on the beach. Kira had met her briefly a few times; she was a pretty girl, with dark hair and a sprinkling of freckles. There was another photo of her dad’s wife caught dozing on the couch, her mouth slightly open and a calico cat resting on her chest. There was a whole row of his stepdaughter’s school pictures, capturing her progression from year to year, including a college graduation photo. And one of Kira exiting the church on her wedding day.

She reached out and pulled away the magnet, freeing the photograph. She’d never seen it before; it wasn’t one of the shots taken by the professional photographer she’d hired.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded, shaking it at her father. “Who gave it to you?” Had her mother sent it—perhaps as a way of shaming her dad for not coming?

“I took it,” her father said.

“You weren’t there,” she protested.

“I sat in the last row,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I, ah, came in late and I left early. Same for your high school graduation. I’ve got a picture of that somewhere, too. I think it’s in an album in the living room.”

She stared at him, the contours of the room suddenly becoming sharp and crisp, the languid sense of her day evaporating.

“You said your leg was hurt and you couldn’t come!” she cried. Her voice was too loud—she’d probably wake his wife—but she didn’t care.

“Ah, Kira,” he said. “Do you want to sit down?” He gestured toward the table, but she shook her head. She was clutching the photograph so tightly her fingertips were turning white, and her heart was pounding.

“Things with your mother and me . . . Well, I don’t have to explain to you, do I?” He managed a smile. “No love lost there. I figured it would make things awkward if I showed up. Unpleasant, on a day that’s supposed to be a happy one. Easier all around if I stayed away.”

Easier for who?
Kira wanted to cry. For her mother, yes, and for her father, too. But not for her. Why hadn’t anyone asked what she wanted?

But her father was a man who’d always taken the easy way out, so it shouldn’t have surprised her that he’d selected that path again. Maybe he wasn’t solely responsible for their fractured relationship; she’d turned away from her father, too. But she’d been a child. She was trying to be loyal to her mother; she was angry and confused. He should have tried harder. But for the first time she acknowledged that she should have, too. It wasn’t solely his fault they’d lost each other.

She put back the photograph, carefully, centering it just so and pinning it with the magnet. She gave it one final look. In it she was smiling, her veil fanning out behind her, her face shining. And there was something else in the photograph, something vitally important, that she hadn’t noticed until just now.

“I’m glad you were there,” she finally said. Her father didn’t say a word, but she felt his hand on her shoulder again. She stayed perfectly still for a moment, then leaned her cheek against it. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him whisper her name.

“It’s late, like you said.” She finally spoke up. “I need to get going.”

“Where are you staying?” he asked. “Do you need a ride somewhere? Or you could sleep on the couch here, if you want. It’s supposed to rain, so . . .”

She nodded. “If you could take me to the Holiday Inn, I’d really appreciate it.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll go change.”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs, then the creak of a door opening overhead. She stepped back outside to wait. She breathed in the scent of lavender and felt the first few warm raindrops splash onto her hair. She didn’t yet know that when her father came downstairs, he’d bring a fresh Band-Aid to wrap around the finger she’d cut that morning, or that when she woke up tomorrow, she’d call and ask him for a ride to the airport. She didn’t yet know that he’d kiss her on the cheek when they pulled up in front of the terminal, or that she’d get out of the car, then lean back in through the open passenger’s-side window and invite her father and his wife to visit the B-and-B for a weekend. She couldn’t foresee the rebirth of their relationship, which would slowly unfold in the future.

She was only feeling a sense of wonderment about the fact that she’d thought she needed to confront Thomas Bigalow, but she’d been wrong.

This
was the ending she’d been yearning to rewrite all along.

Chapter Thirty

THE DAY OF THE
wedding dawned bright and clear, with a chance of flurries in the late afternoon—exactly as Jessica had wanted it. Apparently even the weather didn’t dare defy her wishes. She’d look like a snow princess in her full-skirted dress and floor-length veil, surrounded by towering pine trees and sloping white drifts, Alyssa thought.

Miraculously, the streets were clear and all of the food had been delivered as promised, with the exception of the salmon. But Dawn had headed into town with a huge cooler in the back of Rand’s Jeep, going from restaurant to restaurant until she’d picked up eighty-four fillets. They were short by four, but Alyssa figured they’d manage somehow.

The tent was set up in the parking area. It had arrived six hours late, but Dawn had had the idea of asking the waiters to come for a few extra hours last night, and they’d not only arranged the round tables and chairs and bar but set all the tables with the rented china and glassware and tied gauzy bows onto the backs of the chairs.

Alyssa reclined on the couch, a pillow under her knees and another one propped under her head, her growing belly up in the air, helping as best she could by trying to fill in the last-minute organizational gaps. She flipped through Kira’s three-ring binder, thankful that her sister-in-law had left such detailed instructions.

“We should move the beer and wine into the tent now,” she told Rand. “But keep the heaters on low, so the ice doesn’t melt and the beverages stay cold.”

Inside the tent, the tables were draped in blush-colored cloths, the dance floor was in place, and the DJ was coming to arrange his speakers and microphone. Rand had snapped pictures with her camera and shown her the images. They were
ahead
of schedule, unbelievably.

“The flowers!” Dawn looked at Alyssa. “Wasn’t the florist supposed to have been here twenty minutes ago?” Alyssa reached for her cell phone, but before she could dial, she spotted a white van climbing the driveway. “They’re here!” she cried out.

A few minutes later, the driver was carrying the first of ten centerpieces into the B-and-B. Alyssa checked over the flowers: She wasn’t sure what Princess Diana roses or ranunculus looked like, so she couldn’t say if the bouquets were what Jessica had ordered, but they were gorgeous.

“Please put them on the tables in the tent and leave the bouquets and bouttonnieres in the master bedroom upstairs,” Alyssa said. “Dawn, can you show them the way?”

Peter came into the room and immediately looked at Alyssa. His expression went from hopeful to disappointed, just as it did every time he searched her face and realized there was no news. Kira hadn’t been in touch since she walked out the previous day, save for that one brief message.

“Okay,” Peter said. He inhaled and rubbed his hands down the sides of his jeans. “What’s next?”

“Cheese,” Alyssa said.

She peered at Kira’s handwriting. “There should be a few rounds of Brie, wedges of smoked Gouda, and blocks of sharp cheddar in the fridge. And there’s some goat cheese that needs to be topped with fresh raspberries. It should all be arranged on two big platters, and she wrote that the empty spots should be filled up with clusters of red grapes and rows of crackers.”

“Got it,” Peter said.

“Don’t forget the fig spread.”

Alyssa was lying on the couch with her back to the door, so she couldn’t see Kira, but she could hear Peter’s exclamation of surprise, then a quick rustling sound, and a long murmuring. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she caught the whispered word “Sorry.”

After a few moments Kira walked into Alyssa’s line of view. “Hey,” she said. “I’m back.”

All the questions that had been on the tip of Alyssa’s tongue—
Where’d you go? What have you been doing? Why didn’t you call again?
—disappeared when she saw Kira. Her sister-in-law was smiling. The pinched look was gone from her face.

“I’m glad” was all Alyssa said instead.

“So!” Kira said. She rubbed her hands together. “Put me to work. Apparently we’ve got a wedding to run.”

“How about helping Peter with the cheeses?” Alyssa suggested.

“I can do that,” Kira said.

She turned and followed her husband into the kitchen, the swinging door fluttering behind them.

• • •

Kira’s foot skidded on a patch of ice, and she nearly fell before managing to restore her balance and lose only a single cracker off the cheese platter she was holding. She delivered it to the tent and took a long look around. It was spectacular. Little white lights snaked through the ceiling supports, and lush green topiaries softened the corners. The dance floor was already set up in front of the bar, and crystal and silver gleamed on the rich linens draping the tables. In the corner, the florist’s assistant was using a helium machine to blow up white balloons.

Kira returned through the back door into the kitchen, which was a disaster—wine was still stockpiled in crates everywhere, though Rand was moving it case by case into the tent, and a big metal contraption containing racks of warming trays filled a corner. Cutting boards and bunches of romaine lettuce and dribbles of sauces cluttered nearly every inch of the countertops, but everything smelled and tasted wonderful. The aromas of roasted garlic and lime and the buttery crusts of baking sun-dried tomato tarts filled the room.

“Should I start boiling the water for the next batch of rice?” Peter was asking.

“Sure,” Kira said. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. She wanted to say it hundreds of times, to try to erase the hurt of not just her recent absence but of the last few months, too.

She thought again of the wedding photo on her father’s refrigerator. The picture had been of her alone, but she was holding on to Peter’s hand as she walked down the steps of the church. You could just see his fingers clasping hers, and part of his thin, pale wrist, at the very edge of the photo. That was why her face was shining. Peter was the reason she hadn’t minded coming down the church aisle alone. She knew she would look straight ahead, into his eyes, and that he would be all she’d be thinking of in that moment.

He was the finest man she’d ever met.

Tonight she’d throw away her birth control pills and let him see the half-full packet in the trash can. She’d tell him about the visit to her father, and try to explain why she’d been so scared. Her parents may not have done the best job raising her, but she wouldn’t repeat their mistakes. She could almost hear Peter’s joke:
We’ll make new mistakes of our own!
She squeezed him tighter, breathing in his scent.

“Excuse me?” Kira reluctantly let go of Peter and turned around. A man was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a camera slung around his neck. It was the backup photographer they’d hired when Alyssa learned she couldn’t do the job.

“Hi,” Kira said. She introduced herself and steered the photographer toward the tent to set up his equipment and snap some photos, telling him she’d give a shout when Jessica appeared.

Then she returned to the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves. It was time to get to work.

• • •

Dawn filled the glasses on one table with ice water and added a slim round of lemon to each, then walked back to the kitchen to refill the pitcher for the next table. Rand had asked the tent guys to help him erect a temporary structure to shield everyone from the wind and snow as they ferried things back and forth. It wasn’t much more than a few plastic tarps attached to stakes and shaped into a tunnel with rubber mats placed atop the shoveled footpath, but the makeshift shelter would provide some protection and might prevent people from slipping while carrying trays of food.

When she started to enter the kitchen, Dawn saw Kira walk up to Peter and give him a lingering kiss as his arms wound around her waist. Dawn quickly turned and walked the other way, toward the front of the house.

She wasn’t in love with Peter. She’d known that all along. She’d just been craving what he and Kira had with an intensity that left her aching. Even when Kira got tense and snapped, or when Peter withdrew—and Dawn had seen both things happen more than once—their love was apparent, shimmering just below the surface.

She was lost in thought, her head ducked low, which was why she almost walked straight into Tucker.

She saw his boots first; then she slowly raised her eyes up over his jeans and black coat before looking at his face. As they stared at each other, she realized that he’d changed his appearance, too. But she doubted Tucker’s transformation was deliberate, even if it was also born of desperation. He was painfully thin, his cheekbones jutting out in sharp triangular planes, and his hair had grown past the point of flopping charmingly into his eyes. His left arm seemed to be at an awkward angle, and she realized it must still be in a cast. She blinked, wondering if he was an apparition, then she saw him exhale a little puff of white.

Of course he’d found her. Kay had overheard the comment about the Pickle Barrel, and Killington was only a half day’s drive from New York. Dawn had left clues like bread crumbs around town when she’d canvassed all the restaurants in search of salmon fillets and waiters. Tucker had only needed to follow her trail.

“I don’t have the money,” she blurted.

He took a step closer, and she flinched. “Where is it? Where’d you hide it?”

She forced herself to stand her ground, even though everything in her was begging to retreat. She tested the weight of the water pitcher in her hand, in case she needed to use it as a weapon.

“I gave it back,” she said. She hoped he couldn’t tell that she was shaking.

Anger swept across his features. “You bitch,” he said. He lurched forward and grabbed her arm. Tears flooded her eyes, more from shock than from hurt. She thought she’d steeled herself against Tucker, but seeing him again conjured a complicated swirl of emotions in her. She’d laughed with this man, memorized his features while he slept, and made love with him. She couldn’t completely disconnect the part of herself that had once cared so deeply for him.

He lifted his hand, and she braced herself for the feel of his fist cracking into her face, but it never came. Instead, he did something that shocked her into momentary silence.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he yelled.

His tone was furious, but there was something else mixed in, too. Despair.

Somehow, she realized, they’d reversed positions. Now Tucker was the one who was trapped. New York was probably no longer safe for him. She didn’t know why he’d needed the money, but he must be so desperate. Maybe he’d have to be on the run from now on. She wondered how long he’d be able to hide.

“I really loved you,” she said. She let the pitcher slip down onto the thick layer of snow because she knew she’d never be able to strike him with it.

He blinked, taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Then you’re even stupider than I thought.”

His words stung, but not as much as they would’ve a few weeks ago. “I guess I was,” she said. “But I was smart enough to FedEx the money back to the firm. You can check with your friend Kay; I had the box delivered to her.”

What was holding him back from hitting her, or trying to drag her off somewhere? That was what she’d always imagined he’d do if he found her. She hadn’t foreseen this encounter ending any other way than in violence. But he was just standing there, staring at her, his expression inscrutable. The note of despair in his voice still seemed to echo between them.

Toward the end of their relationship, there had been one night when Tucker had awoken, sweaty and frantic, from a nightmare. He’d told her he’d dreamed about his father hurting him when he’d been a boy. She knew now that was probably a lie, like most of the other things Tucker had said. But they’d curled up together in the darkness, her head resting on his shoulder, his rapid heartbeat growing slower and steadier beneath her cheek, and Tucker had talked for hours. He’d confessed that he’d been a screwup for most of his life, but he felt powerless to change. He’d lost most of his friends, and his family barely acknowledged him. She’d listened to his words as they poured out, sensing he’d never talked about all this with anyone else.

That
was what she’d responded to, because it had been real. There was still a bit of goodness in Tucker, and she’d brought it out in him. At least a small part of their relationship wasn’t manufactured. She had to believe by the end, not everything had been a game for Tucker. Maybe that was why he couldn’t hit her now, because he remembered, too.

“I loved you,” she repeated. She felt warm tears roll down her cold cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away, because she had nothing to be ashamed of. “I felt so alone after my parents died. I was lost. And I think that’s why I didn’t recognize you were using me. I was just so happy you wanted to be with me . . . But I’m not the same person anymore, Tucker. I’ve changed.”

She slid her arm out of his grasp. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you,” she said. “You can go somewhere new, too. Maybe you can start over like I did.” She couldn’t believe it; she actually felt sorry for him.

Unlike Tucker, she knew exactly what she was going to do next. Once the wedding was over, she was going to climb aboard another bus—hoping it would be the last one she’d ride for a while—and return to New York and walk into the investment bank. She’d repay John Parks the final bit of cash, with interest, using money from her father’s life insurance policy. She’d accept whatever punishment came her way.

And then she’d begin again. Maybe she’d stay in New York, or maybe she’d move somewhere new. She’d been hesitant to leave because the city held so many precious memories of her parents, but now she knew she’d feel their presence no matter where she went. Eventually she’d find a good man, someone kind and warm and gentle. Someone like Peter. He’d shown her that they existed.

I forgive you
, Dawn thought as she stepped backward, away from Tucker. She didn’t say the words aloud, though, because they weren’t meant for him. She’d finally forgiven herself.