Catching Air (8 page)

“Um,” Kira said. “There was this . . . incident.”

“That sounds bigger than a champagne cork misfiring,” Alyssa said.

“Yeah.” Kira gave a little laugh and rechecked the butter supply.

“So,” Alyssa prompted.

“So, Peter and Rand kind of got into a . . . dispute.”

“An argument?” Alyssa asked.

Kira shook her head. “A fistfight.”

“Are you kidding me?” Alyssa gasped. “What happened?”

Rand should have been the one to tell her—so why hadn’t he? Kira wondered. She felt uncomfortable revealing the story, especially after she’d just put her foot in her mouth, but she’d never believed in keeping secrets.

“You know they didn’t speak for a while after their mother died, right?” Kira asked.

Alyssa just nodded, so she continued. “Peter took a semester off from college to care for her while she had chemo and radiation,” Kira continued.

Alyssa blinked. “Really? How wonderful of him.”

“She and their dad were separated by then, and he completely checked out. And when Rand didn’t come around much, and then their father got married again six months after their mom died . . . well, Peter felt abandoned. By everyone in the family. Even their mom, for dying.”

Alyssa nodded. “I can understand that.”

“At the funeral he and Rand sat separately,” Kira continued. “They didn’t talk for a while after that, but then we invited him to our wedding.”

She looked at Alyssa. “You know what? I’m not sure I should be the one to tell you all this, after all . . .”

“Go on,” Alyssa said. “Please.”

Kira sighed. “At the reception someone opened a bathroom door and gave a little shriek, so of course everyone looked. And there was Rand . . . with one of my bridesmaids. Anyway, Peter flipped out because he was friends with the bridesmaid’s boyfriend, who was home sick. So Peter started shoving Rand and he knocked him into a wall and Rand began pushing him back. Everyone turned and stared. Finally a few guys got between them and held them apart.”

“Oh my God,” Alyssa said. “That’s horrible!”

“I know,” Kira said. “But then they snapped out of it. Rand apologized to Peter . . . he said something about knowing he’d screwed up. But the way he said it, it seemed like he was really apologizing for leaving Peter to deal with all the stuff with their parents. Anyway, Rand stuck out his hand and Peter shook it and the DJ put on the song ‘Wipeout’—that part was pretty funny, actually—and it was like nothing ever happened.”

She looked at Alyssa, wondering how much of Rand’s past his wife knew, and if the story about the bridesmaid would come as a surprise. But Alyssa didn’t seem like the jealous type, and Kira suspected her sister-in-law had a pretty spicy past of her own.

“I’m glad you told me,” Alyssa said. She sipped her tea and seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Did you know their mother well?” she finally asked.

Kira shook her head. “I remember her being around. Bringing cupcakes into the classroom one year for Peter’s birthday—you know he and I went to school together, right? Seeing her pick him up, and cheering at the football games when Rand played, that sort of thing. But she died before Peter and I got together.”

“I always sensed she was the glue of the family,” Alyssa said. “Rand doesn’t talk about her much, though. I think it’s too hard.”

“Peter still has one of her crossword puzzles. She never finished it. That always kind of broke my heart,” Kira said.

“I think that’s part of the reason Rand wanted you guys to come live here,” Alyssa said. “To get closer to his brother.”

“Oh,” Kira said, surprised. She looked out the window as she thought about it. She’d figured Rand wanted them for more practical help. But maybe what Alyssa said was true. Rand could still be trying to make amends; it could be the reason for the generous financial deal he’d offered them.

Kira had always assumed the reason Rand and Peter had fought so much growing up and weren’t close now was that their differences formed a wedge between them. Rand had been athletic, popular, and a terrible student, which Kira had attributed to his being lazy, since he was certainly bright enough to rebuild a carburetor or rewire a lamp. But there were always girls eager to do his homework, or classmates who tilted test papers so Rand, the star athlete, could see their answers. Peter was smaller, shy, and uncommonly bright, with little interest in sports. Even their coloring was different, but if you looked closely, you could see a faint echo in their almond-shaped eyes and strong jawlines.

If they’d had something—anything—in common, or if their mother had lived, things might have been different. On a superficial level, the brothers got along well enough—they exchanged wisecracks and shared occasional meals. But neither man seemed to want to deepen their relationship. Rand was always working outside, while Peter stayed glued to his computer.

A flash of color outside the window caught Kira’s eye—the leaves on the big sugar maple tree in the backyard were beginning to turn, with gold and red patches weaving through the green. Already a few nights had been cold enough for the ski resort to make snow. Soon it would be time for roaring fires and bulky sweaters and toasted marshmallows. And, of course, the wedding.

She sighed and looked back down at her grocery list.

“How about I make dinner for us all tonight?” Kira suggested. “Kind of a taste test for the wedding meal.”

“Only if I can help,” Alyssa said. “You need to start training me!”

“Okay,” Kira said. “You’re in charge of the side dishes.”

Steak filets,
she wrote on her list.
Broccoli rabe. Wild rice with cranberries and slivered almonds.

No. Wasn’t one of Scott’s cousins allergic to almonds? And Jessica would probably object to broccoli since it wasn’t fancy.

She sighed, crossed out, and started over again.

Chapter Five

RAND TURNED UP THE
music, singing along with the Killers, as Alyssa watched the scenery rushing past. She never tired of Vermont’s vistas: the white-capped mountains, the dreamy, low-hanging wisps of clouds, the picturesque restaurants they drove past on their way through town. Finally they turned onto the street that led to their secluded B-and-B, climbing the long hill toward their pretty home.

There was a minivan parked outside the B-and-B’s garage, with stick-figure stickers depicting a family on the back window. There was a father, a mother, a little girl, a smaller boy, and two dogs.

“Who’ve we got today?” Rand asked.

“A family,” Alyssa said. “They’re just in for a night.”

“Tell me they didn’t bring the dogs, too.” Rand pulled into his spot and cut the engine.

Before they saw their guests, Alyssa and Rand heard them. As they opened the front door, sounds poured out: A baby was crying—no,
yowling
—and someone was screeching, “Watch the juice! The juice! Oh no! Honey, can you—”

Alyssa closed the door, stepped into the living room, and surveyed the scene. A young mother was walking across the room, patting the back of a plump, red-faced baby draped over her shoulder. On the sofa was a young girl, maybe three, who was clutching her stomach and looking miserable. The father—who appeared far less cheery than his waving stick-figure representative on the back of the minivan—was bending over to pick up a glass that had fallen onto the carpet, sloshing out its contents.

“Shit,” Rand breathed.

Alyssa elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Hi,” she said loudly. “We’re the co-owners . . . What can we do to help?”

The mother turned to look at Alyssa with grateful eyes. “We had a little spill,” she said over the noise of the baby, who was hitting an impressive new octave. “I’m so sorry. And my daughter’s sick . . . I think it was the food we got on the drive up here. She said her hot dog tasted bad . . .”

“Hot dog,” the little girl said with a frown. Then she promptly threw up all over herself as well as the couch.

“Sweet Jesus,” the father moaned.

“Paper towels!” the mother yelled, but before anyone could move, Peter came in from the kitchen holding a small plastic trash can containing a plastic liner.

“Oh, hey, Alyssa and Rand.” He looked down at the couch. “Guess I’m a few crucial seconds too late.”

He put the trash can down next to the little girl, then walked over to the mother. “Here, why don’t you give me Freddie,” he said, reaching out his arms for the baby, who sounded like a furious cat. “You can take your daughter to your room and give her a bath, and we’ll clean up in here.”

“Are you sure?” the mother cried. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t know she’d get sick . . .”

“Of course you didn’t.” Peter settled Freddie into the crook of his elbow. By the sound of things, Freddie wasn’t any happier in his new position. “Could he be hungry?” Peter asked.

“Probably,” the mother said. She sighed and pushed her hair off her face. “Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what it is. I was about to feed him, and then I got distracted when . . . Anyway, I think I’ve got a banana in the diaper bag.” She rummaged through it, pulling out a juice box, a bag of crushed Goldfish crackers, and a single tiny blue sock before locating the banana, which looked like it had seen better days.

“I found some saltines!” Kira said as she swung through the kitchen door. And then, “Oh. Oh dear.”

“This is why we Scotchgarded the sofa,” Peter said. “Look, everything’s going to be fine. A little throw-up never hurt anyone. Let’s get your daughter taken care of first, then we’ll fix up the couch.”

He sat down on a chair opposite the sofa, balancing the baby while peeling the banana. “K? Can you get me a spoon? Maybe one of the tiny ones you use for measuring will work.”

Alyssa felt a slow smile spread across her face.
Look at you!
she wanted to say to Peter. She’d never seen this side of him before.

The father picked up his daughter and headed upstairs, with the mother trailing close behind, as Peter began talking to the baby: “Now, you’re not going to puke on me, are you? Because we’re getting along so well. Let’s make a deal: You don’t throw up on me, and I won’t throw up on you. Okay?”

Miraculously, the baby’s yells were decreasing in volume. And when Kira came back with a plastic teaspoon and Peter scooped out a bit of banana and popped it into Freddie’s mouth, a surprised look came over the little guy’s face and he stopped crying completely.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Peter said. “More where it came from if you remember our deal.”

“Come on,” Alyssa said to Rand. “Let’s get the couch.” Kira had brought out paper towels and fabric spray cleaner along with the teaspoon, and Alyssa began to mop up the mess and toss the soiled towels into the trash can.

“Eww,” Rand said, scrubbing at a spot on the carpet. “This stinks. What did that kid eat, turpentine?”

They got up the worst of the mess, and Rand went to bring the trash can back into the kitchen while Alyssa sprayed cleaner onto the couch and left it to soak in.

“You, my friend, would probably like a new diaper,” Peter was saying to Freddie. He talked like he was chatting with a peer instead of using the high voice most adults put on when faced with a baby. “I’m going to let your parents handle that one, though.”

Alyssa leaned back on her heels, considering Peter. He scooped out a little more banana, fed it to Freddie, and used the edge of the spoon to wipe away the excess from the baby’s chin. He was a natural. No—it was more than that.

He’d done this before.

Of course, she thought. His mother had been ill, and he’d cared for her while she was dying. Alyssa watched the easy movement of the spoon Peter held as it carried nourishment to the little boy, and the scene blurred and was replaced by one in which she saw him feeding soup to his mother, wiping her chin, and settling blankets around her more securely. What a comfort he must have been to her.

Peter looked up and caught her eye. “He’s cute, but he’s a little porker,” he said of the baby.

“Can I try?” Alyssa asked.

“Sure,” Peter said.

Alyssa straightened up and walked over to the chair, and Peter started to hand her the baby boy. “You know what?” he said. “You might want to wash your hands first, so he doesn’t get his sister’s germs.”

“You’re so right!” Alyssa said. Something else Peter had probably learned during that painful time, she thought. She ducked into the kitchen, where Kira was busy at the stove, and scrubbed her hands with antibacterial soap.

“Can you bring a dish towel?” Peter called. “We’ve got a little spit-up.”

She grabbed a clean one and walked back into the living room.

“Why don’t you take my seat?” Peter offered.

“Okay,” Alyssa said as he started to hand her the baby. Suddenly she felt nervous. She’d held babies before, but not recently. “Do I have to support his neck or something?”

“Nah, he’s holding it up well himself,” Peter said. He handed her the baby, then stood and took Alyssa’s elbow to help guide her down into the chair.

“Hello there,” Alyssa said, staring into the little boy’s impossibly wise blue eyes. “Oh, aren’t you gorgeous.”

Freddie broke into a gummy smile, and Alyssa squealed. “He smiled! I think he likes me!”

“Oh, sure, forget all about who fed you the banana,” Peter joked. “I feel so used.”

Alyssa adjusted the baby into a more comfortable position in her left arm, then reached out with her right hand to smooth his downy, dark hair.

She began to sing: “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are . . .”

“You’re a natural, babe,” Rand said from behind her. He bent down and kissed her forehead, then picked up his guitar from its spot next to the couch and began to accompany her.

Freddie’s eyes were growing heavy, and he felt deliciously warm in her arms. Alyssa segued into “Rock-a-bye, baby,” despite Peter’s whispered protest that it was a sadistic song involving innocent babies tumbling down from treetops, and Rand was still strumming his guitar.

By the time Freddie’s mother came downstairs, he was sound asleep, his rosebud lips parted, his long lashes resting against his plump cheeks.

“You are miracle workers,” the mother said. She approached the chair and looked down at her son.

“He’s the miracle,” Alyssa said.

The mother put a hand on Alyssa’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said and gave a little laugh. “I must look as tired as I feel. I think that’s why my in-laws gave us a night here as an anniversary present. They thought it would be a break for us. Some break, huh?”

“You don’t look any more tired than any other mother with young kids,” Alyssa assured her, even though the woman had bluish gray smudges under her eyes and her face was drawn. “I’m Alyssa, by the way.”

“Susan.”

“Is your daughter okay?” Alyssa asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch her name either.”

“It’s Katie.” Susan sighed and sat down on the edge of the sectional couch, close to Alyssa. “She’s watching a video right now. We brought along an iPad for that.” She rolled her eyes. “Before I had kids I vowed they wouldn’t get exposed to television too soon. But not three weeks after I had Freddie, I was begging Katie to watch
Barney.
She’s got the theme song memorized by now.”

Rand strummed a few more chords and set down his guitar. “I’m going to head out to the garage,” he said. “See you in a few.” He exited the room, and a moment later came the sound of the front door closing.

“Was that your husband?” Susan asked, and Alyssa nodded.

“I hope we didn’t scare him away,” Susan joked. “We’re probably not your favorite guests.”

“Hey, real men don’t mind a little puke,” Peter said.

Alyssa was staring at Freddie, marveling over the sweet creases at his wrists, but she lifted her head at Peter’s tone. Was there an edge in his voice?

She must’ve imagined it, she decided. Peter was smiling at Susan now, and Kira was coming into the room with a bottle of wine, and the baby was warm and deliciously heavy in her arms.

Everything was fine here now, she thought. Everything was good.