Catching Air (30 page)

Tucker wavered, and Dawn could see the turmoil raging in him. His eyes looked tortured. She waited for him to say cutting, terrible things, to lash out and make her suffer the way he was.

But then someone yelled, and they both turned toward the sound.

“Get away from her!” Kira shouted. She came running up beside Dawn and stood there holding, of all things, a metal spatula. Rand and Peter were following close behind.

“Everything good here, buddy?” Rand asked, stepping in front of Dawn and Kira as Peter approached from the other side.

“It’s okay,” Dawn said. She didn’t want Tucker to get hurt. She just wanted him to leave.

Tucker held Dawn’s eyes a beat or two longer, then he shook his head. She heard him mutter something, but she couldn’t make out the words. He turned around and walked away, and she noticed the sole of his boot was coming loose and flapping with every step. His foot must be frozen, she thought, and she felt a surge of pity that made her realize she was finally, truly free. Tucker climbed into an old brown car in the driveway, started the engine, and sped down the hill, skidding on a patch of ice before regaining control of the vehicle. Dawn watched until the car was out of view, the tears drying on her cheeks.

“If he didn’t leave, were you going to sauté him?” Rand asked Kira, gesturing to the spatula. “I’m not sure our bride approved that entrée.”

Dawn took a deep breath and turned to Kira. She’d been anxious when Rand and Alyssa had learned her story, but facing Kira was the hardest of all.

“I’m sorry,” Dawn said. “I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah,” Kira said. She looked at Dawn steadily. “You should have. Peter filled me in on everything a little while ago.”

Peter put a hand on his wife’s arm. “I didn’t want to put you in a position of having knowledge of a crime,” he said.

“I get it,” Kira said. “You were trying to protect me.”

“If you want me to leave—” Dawn began, but Kira cut her off.

“Are you kidding? We’ve got a hundred guests coming, and you’re the only other one here who knows her way around a kitchen.”

Dawn felt her body sag with relief when Kira smiled and put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll go with you to talk to the police again tomorrow and let them know if they have any more questions, they’ll need to come through me.”

Kira looked at Peter. “Did I tell you I got licensed to practice in Vermont before we moved here? I figured it would be good to have a backup plan, just in case.”

Peter laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“And we can work on how to approach your old boss, but I doubt he’ll be pressing charges,” Kira told Dawn.

“You don’t think so?” Dawn asked.

“For a hundred thousand bucks that you’ve mostly returned?” Kira shook her head. “That’s like pocket change to those guys. They’re not going to want any publicity either, trust me. I can call him for you, if you want.”

“You’ve done too much for me,” Dawn said. “I know I keep saying that, but it’s true . . .”

“Hey,” Kira said. “I don’t mind. I’d like to close out my law career this way. End it on a high note.”

Rand looked at Peter. “Ever notice how nothing gets in the way of women gabbing? It’s twenty degrees out, there’s a heated house fifty feet away, yet here we are, freezing our asses off.”

Kira wasn’t sure if Peter would acknowledge his brother—he’d been avoiding Rand ever since their fight—but he finally smiled, and they all began to walk toward the B-and-B together.

Chapter Thirty-one

“CAN I GET YOU
anything?” Kira asked her sister-in-law. Alyssa was in bed by now, safely out of the way of the wedding chaos, a magazine spread out on her lap. Kira caught the title of the magazine and hid a smile:
Organic Mothering.

“Are you kidding? Like you don’t have enough to do?” Alyssa was laughing.

“I’ll bring by your dinner as soon as the guests are served,” Kira said. “We’ve got a little Do Not Enter sign on the hallway door, so no one should come down this way and bother you. I have to get back now, but just call if you need anything, okay?”

“Kira?” Alyssa called out as Kira began to leave. “Could you leave my door open?”

“Of course,” Kira said.

“I’d like to listen,” Alyssa said. “It makes me feel like I’m a part of things.”

• • •

Alyssa could hear Rand playing an acoustic version of “Isn’t She Lovely” and she knew that Jessica was about to walk down the white silk runner that was serving as an aisle. Rand was warming up the crowd, putting everyone in a good mood with his songs. He looked so handsome in his white dress shirt and black pants. She could hear the murmur of voices, an occasional laugh.

Kira and Dawn must be busy in the kitchen, Alyssa thought. They’d be stirring the huge pot of savory soup and stuffing the last few figs and making sure the tarts were being kept toasty on the rented warming trays while the waiters poured wine, poised to head into the living room moments after the minister pronounced Scott and Jessica man and wife.

The living room would be filled with creamy flowers and candlelight, the high, exposed ceiling beams glowing amber, the big arched windows showcasing mounds of snow.

Jessica’s friend had been right when she’d said, on that long-ago night, that the B-and-B was a spectacular place for a wedding.

What was a wedding, after all, but a new beginning, a pathway into a different sort of life, the linking together of a brand-new family? She hadn’t gotten married here, but the B-and-B had supplied all of that for Alyssa, too. Its magic had wound around her like an embrace.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she listened to Rand’s rendition of “Here Comes the Bride.” She heard a big rustling and knew everyone was turning around to see Jessica; then came a wolf whistle—Scott’s stoner cousin was the most likely suspect—and the minister began to speak. He had a deep, strong voice, and Alyssa made out snatches of what he was saying:
gathered today . . . share in the joy . . . joining together of two souls.

She closed her eyes, wondering if people could ever truly change. She thought about a friend she’d met years ago when she lived in Chicago, a fit and healthy size ten who ran marathons several times a year. Over cocktails one evening, the woman had revealed she’d once weighed 350 pounds. Then one day she decided to run. She’d made it a block before she bent over, heaving and gasping. But the next day she ran a tiny bit farther. Within a month she was logging a mile a day, and a year later, she completed her first 10K. It wasn’t so much that first decision to jog around the block that had changed her life, Alyssa’s friend had said. It was the decision she still confronted every single day, just before she laced up her shoes and renewed her commitment. She hadn’t changed her habits; her habits had changed her.

Grace would be here in a few weeks, and the baby in a few months. Alyssa had been thinking about moving to live near her mother once her children arrived. She wouldn’t be of much help in the B-and-B with two small children, and their presence would be off-putting to guests. Kira and Peter could decide whether they wanted to stay on and run the B-and-B themselves, or whether to hand it off to a professional innkeeper.

She’d miss them, Alyssa thought. But she’d invite them to come visit often. She closed her eyes and visualized being in the kitchen with Kira again, cooking a holiday dinner, the scents of roasted potatoes and melted butter and apple pie swirling around while they listened to squeals and laughter coming from the living room as Rand and Peter played with the children. They’d pour wine for themselves and grape juice for the kids, and they’d all gather at the table and raise a toast to their time at the B-and-B, reminiscing about Hugh the inspector’s visit, and Kira’s attempt to learn how to ski, and the wedding they’d somehow managed to pull off.
It was fun
, Alyssa would say.
I’m so glad we did it.
And she’d reach for Rand’s hand under the table.

Sickness and health,
the minister was saying.
Love and cherish.

Alyssa opened her eyes and looked at the rocking chair, placed precisely where she’d imagined one would go the first time she saw this room. She thought about how Rand had volunteered to help Peter look for Kira, driving late into the night even though he’d been exhausted. He hadn’t been there for his brother in the past, but Alyssa could see him trying to change that, too.

She knew now, without a doubt, that she wanted Rand to move with her when she left the B-and-B. To be her coparent and partner. She’d tried to imagine going forward without him, but the thought made her heart ache. It would be like leaving a part of herself behind. They belonged together, along with Grace and the baby. Maybe the road wouldn’t be a perfect or easy one, but when did life ever promise anyone a smooth course?

In two days, her husband would go to the airport, carrying the bag she’d packed for Grace. Rand would be the one to give their daughter a bath, and tie on her ducky robe, and tuck a blanket around her while she slept. Alyssa also wanted him to be the one to teach Grace to play the guitar, and to change the oil in a car. She needed Rand by her side when she panted and groaned, pushing their baby into the world. She wanted him to place both of their children in her arms for the very first time. She yearned to see the look on his face when it happened.

Sometimes love exploded in your heart, and sometimes it grew slowly. But the end result was the same. Did it really matter so much, after all, which path you took?

She had faith in her husband, and right now, that was enough.

I pronounce you man and wife
, the minister said.

The living room erupted in applause and cheers.

To love
, Alyssa thought, and she didn’t try to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

• • •

The appetizers were a hit!

The waiters kept returning to the kitchen and refilling their trays and dashing back out.

“How’s the cheese display?” Kira asked Peter, who ducked into the tent to take a look.

“It’s hanging in there,” he reported when he came back. “There’s some left, but people are tearing through it.”

Kira checked the schedule taped to the wall, even though she had it memorized.

“We need to start toasts in a few minutes,” she told Peter. “Can you pull out the bread and put it on a warming rack as soon as the oven buzzer sounds?”

She headed into the tent. It was stunning, with votive lights circling the table centerpieces and dozens of helium balloons drifting overhead, looking almost like clouds against the tent’s ceiling. She searched the crowd for Jessica and spotted her leading Scott around by the hand.

“Kira!” Jessica squealed, letting go of Scott and reaching out her arms for a hug. “Everything’s so pretty!”

“I’m really glad you’re happy,” Kira said, meaning it. “Is it okay if we ask people to sit down now to dinner?”

After a lot of thought, Kira had decided Rand would be the best person to manage the toasts. He could wrangle a long-winded brother-in-law away from the microphone and make it seem funny. Where was Rand, though? She looked around. He wasn’t behind the bar mixing drinks alongside the bartenders they’d hired. His guitar was sitting on a chair up by the stage, with a beer on the floor next to it, but Rand wasn’t there either . . .

“It’s Jessica-tini time!”

She turned around to see Rand holding a pink beverage aloft. “I’ve got a Scott scorpion here, too,” Rand was saying to Jessica. “Why don’t you guys go sit down and I’ll carry them to your table?”

Relief flooded through Kira’s body. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen,” she said to Rand. “Remember, three minutes for the toasts. Her dad gets five.”

Kira had met Jessica’s father briefly before the wedding and had suppressed a shudder. He was exactly as she’d feared—a crushing handshake and sharp, narrow eyes. He was a barracuda in an Armani suit. He probably tore up witnesses in court, made drug dealers and murderers beg for mercy. But he hadn’t said a word about the bill. He’d already sent a check over for half of the total amount, and he was supposed to give Kira a second check tonight.

“On second thought, let her father talk as long as he wants,” she told Rand before she hurried off.

All that was left to do was ladle Caesar salad onto eighty-five small plates—fifteen of the guests hadn’t shown up—then they’d serve the salmon and pasta primavera. And dinner would be done.

Just as she took a step out of the tent, she heard a crashing noise. A collective gasp rose.

“Oh, no!” she heard Jessica wail.

Kira made herself turn around. The wedding cake, which had been perched atop a small table, was lying ruined on the floor, and one of the waiters was sprawled out next to it, his tray of figs overturned beside him, his face turning red.

“I tripped,” he said to no one in particular, his voice loud and disbelieving. “The floor was slippery! I grabbed for the table and the cake just fell!”

Kira froze. She could make more appetizers. She could get a liquor store to rush in a delivery of more wine. The one thing she couldn’t do was create a three-tiered wedding cake! Her mind spun and came up empty. She felt as if everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to take charge. Why couldn’t she think of what to do?

“Ladies and gentlemen, that kicks off the entertainment portion of tonight’s events.” Rand’s voice boomed over the microphone, his warm tone inviting everyone into the joke while drawing attention away from the debacle on the floor. “If you’ll please find your seats now, we’re going to begin toasting the gorgeous bride and her dashing groom . . . Jessica and Scott, can you come up here so your family and friends can all talk about how wonderful you are? Don’t worry; we paid them extra to do so.”

People laughed and took their seats, and the waiter rushed out of the tent and came back with a broom and oversize dustpan. Kira exhaled and went back into the kitchen to plate salads.

• • •

The wedding was going by so quickly. Dinner had been served—raves had poured back for the entrees—and dishes had been cleared away. The waiters were scraping the plates and stacking them in crates to return them to the rental company, which would wash and sanitize them.

Kira had thrown together a vanilla dump cake—you dumped all the ingredients into one bowl, mixed, and stuck it in the oven—with vanilla icing. She’d found four round pans and had stacked up the layers. Luckily she had plenty of butter, eggs, and confectioners’ sugar on hand. She’d decorated the top of the cake with fresh flowers, and had wound a pink ribbon around its base. It hadn’t looked half-bad, and Scott and Jessica took their first taste while the photographer snapped a flurry of shots.

Kira did a final check: The DJ was spinning Beyoncé’s latest hit, and writhing bodies filled the dance floor. The furniture was back in the living room now, and some guests were gathered in front of the fire, finishing their slices of cake and sipping coffee.

Kira sank onto a kitchen stool and took a sip of coffee herself. Her feet ached, her throat was sore, and it would take her days to get the smell of onions out from under her nails.

“Here,” Peter said, handing her a champagne flute.

She smiled and clinked it against his. “Never again,” she said, rolling her head around on her neck and hearing it crack.

“Think about how much money we made, though,” Peter said.

“Maybe in another six months,” she joked.

“I offered to pay the waiters an extra hundred bucks each to stay around for another hour and clean everything up,” Peter said.

“I love you,” Kira said, and this time her voice was serious.

“Has Jessica’s father given you the check yet?” Peter asked.

Kira shook her head.

“We need to pay out the waiters and DJ,” Peter said. “Don’t you think we should collect it?”

Kira sighed and pushed herself to her feet. She opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a plain white envelope, then headed for the tent. This was the moment she’d been dreading for weeks.

She found Jessica’s father sitting at his table, chatting with another guest. She waited until the conversation broke up, then forced herself to smile.

“Jessica looks radiant,” she said. “I hope she’s having a wonderful night.”

“She seems to be,” he said. Bruce was his first name, but Kira knew she’d never be able to bring herself to call him that.

“I have the final bill for you here,” Kira said, handing him the envelope.

“Ah,” Bruce said. He reached into his breast pocket for his reading glasses and withdrew the sheet of paper. He read through it silently. Kira felt her armpits grow sweaty.

“Of course, you can’t possibly bill us for the wedding cake one of your waiters ruined,” Bruce finally said. “There should be a little compensation for that, in fact. And we had eighty-five guests, not a hundred.”

“Yes, but . . .” Kira’s voice trailed off. It was true that not all of the guests had shown up, but she’d been asked to prepare dinner for a hundred!

“We drank a lot less alcohol than you budgeted for, given that we had fifteen percent fewer guests,” Bruce said. He folded the paper back up.

“I think we should go over this in the morning, given all the changes,” he said.

Kira’s cheeks flushed. That wasn’t the agreement! He was supposed to write a check tonight, and Rand was going to rush to the bank tomorrow to deposit it, so that the checks
they’d
written to the florist and grocery stores and waiters wouldn’t bounce.

Were people staring? Kira was wearing a white apron while Bruce was clad in a tuxedo, leaning back in his chair and sipping espresso. The balance of power clearly tilted in his direction. Jessica’s fake tears and veiled threats suddenly made a lot more sense to Kira; it was clear where she’d learned her tactics. Kira began to tremble, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Bruce could be Thomas Bigalow’s twin brother.