Escape (5 page)

Dusk had fallen by the time I passed under that covered bridge, and the arms of the town opened. Bell Valley was a place of benches, luring takers to the green, the fringe of stores, the church. At this evening hour, it was also a place of soft light spilling from windows, brightest at The Grill, where dinner was in high gear. Cars were parked diagonally there, though the only movement came from a handful of walkers on the sidewalk that circled the green.

Ten years later, this was still familiar to me. And that brought pain. My last memories of this place were of breaking up with Jude. He had been my first love, different from any man I’ve known to this
day. As I pictured him as he was then, so blond and wild, my eyes filled with tears, and for a split second I wondered if I was crazy to have come.

You didn’t come here for Jude ten years ago
, I reminded myself as I brushed at the tears,
and you’re not here for him now. You’re here for you
.

Back then, my burnout had been from finals, senior theses, even graduation parties. The cause was different now, but Bell Valley’s arms were still open.

The town was a haven, from its protected spot between mountains to its spirit. Settled by the eponymous Jethro Bell in the late 1700s, it had been conceived of as a sanctuary for non-fishermen, and though agricultural interests had never fully caught on, its identity as a shelter had. The Bell Valley Refuge was known worldwide for taking in puppies from puppy mills, injured and abused cats, unwanted horses and donkeys, as well as pets that had been victimized by earthquake, tsunami, and war.

I hadn’t been victimized as those animals had. But I did need rescue. My tears told me that. I was wiping with both hands but couldn’t stop them, and it was terrifying, this loss of control. For the past two days, I’d been in check. For the past ten years, I’d been in check. Suddenly not.

Then came a sign. I had barely started around the town green, eyes welling still, when my car—that high-end marvel of foreign engineering—stalled. Coasting to the side where spaces in front of the General Store were empty for the night, I turned the key and tried to restart it once, twice, three times.

Nothing.

I might have laughed through my tears, if I hadn’t been so upset. I could call the service station just north of town, but if it was still there, it would be closed for the night. I could call James and crow,
Reliability? Hah!
But I didn’t want to talk with James, especially not when I was holding it together by a thread.

The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to my return, yet
here I sat, stalled in an expensive piece of automotive bling in a town of trusty pickups. Ah, the irony of that.

But I was where I needed to be. My car must have known that.

Besides, the bed-and-breakfast was right across the green, and though my composure was gone, my feet still worked.

I was pulling my bag from the trunk, fighting the memory that came with the smell of pine sap in the air, when a couple approached. I didn’t recognize them, which was good. Some of those I did know in town wouldn’t be pleased to see me back.

“Problems?” the man asked.

“Seems it,” I said, pressing the back of my hand to my nose as I shot a despairing look at the car. “It can wait ’til morning, though. I’m only going to the Red Fox.”

“Do you need a hand with the bag?”

Whether it was his kindness or the fact that he reminded me of my father, the offer choked me up more. Mortified, I forced a smile, shook my head, shouldered the bag, and set off.

Only to the Red Fox, I thought, only that far, but my heart beat faster as I crossed the grass. I had burned bridges since leaving here, the worst being the one linking me to my college roommate, Vicki Bell.

Except she wasn’t Vicki Bell anymore. She was Vicki Bell Beaudry, owner of the Red Fox with her husband, Rob, whose family was nearly as rooted in Bell Valley as the Bell family was, hence a questionable welcome there, too.

But I couldn’t retreat. My car had ensured that. And the Red Fox beckoned. A bona fide farmhouse, it had been moved here from the outskirts of town in the early 1900s, over time gaining wings and inching close to the woods. Like the town, where carpenters and painters commonly exchanged services for goods, the Red Fox, I guessed, had provided many a blueberry scone in exchange for the fresh yellow paint I saw now, the smart white trim, and the hand-etched sign at the head of the walk that sported a new logo in crimson
and gold. A wide cobblestone path led to the porch, which was partially hidden behind a stand of rhododendron whose buds were ready to pop.

I had raised a foot to the bottommost step, when I was suddenly hit by fatigue. It was as if I’d been driving not for three days but for ten
years
of hours, and now that I was here, just about to let down my guard, the exhaustion beat me to it.

If Vicki wasn’t home, I didn’t know what I’d do.

Likewise, if she didn’t want me here.

Taking the steps slowly, I crossed the porch, but it was a minute before I could muster the wherewithal to open the screen. When I did, a soft bell tinkled somewhere inside.

The front hall was empty. From the threshold, it looked familiar—same furniture, same floor plan—yet different. No longer shabby, the stuffed armchairs were now a dozen shades of green. No longer old and dim, the oils on the wall were vibrant. And not only had the antique writing table been refurbished, but between a tall lamp and a vase of yellow roses, albeit discreet, stood a computer screen.

Vicki Bell had left her mark.

Heart pounding, I stepped inside, at which point the emotion was too much. Unable to move, even to drop my bag, I stood with my hands steepled at my mouth and my eyes awash with the greens of sea, grass, and forest, until an image intruded. Tears couldn’t hide its identity. Though Vicki was blond, we were so alike in other regards—same height, shape, New England roots—that people took us for sisters, which we might well have ended up being, had Jude not messed up.

“Emily?” she asked, sounding shocked.

Brokenly, because the single word said nothing of my welcome, I wailed a soft “I need you to be home.”

After staring for another disbelieving second, she threw her arms around me. “I should absolutely not know who you are. You haven’t been here since that day with Jude, and okay, you were at my wedding,
but only because it wasn’t in Bell Valley, and even then only because
he
wasn’t there. After that you stopped answering e-mail or returning phone calls, just drifted away like a stranger.” She drew back, scowling. “It’s like you dropped off the face of the earth—more like I dropped off the face of
your
earth—and I don’t want to hear about how busy you are down there in New York, because I’m busy, too, my husband’s busy, my friends are busy, we’re
all
busy, but that is not the way you treat people you love. After a while, friends think that you just don’t care—that we’re
annoying
you—so we give up—and suddenly you show up here without a word of warning?
That’s
some nerve.” She scowled more darkly. “What are you smiling at?”

“You.” I couldn’t help it. She was so familiar, so dear. “How much you talk. How
New Hampshire
you talk.”
Suddenly you show up hea without a weud of wauning
.

“That isn’t funny.”

“It is.” It was warm and real, enough to stop my tears. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, so people know where you stand. Do you know how refreshing that is?”

She made a disparaging sound. “Everyone here talks like that. You used to talk like me, too, until something happened to your speech right along with your loyalty to friends.” Feature by feature, she searched my face. “You look awful. What’s wrong?”

Where to begin? My eyes filled again, but all I could think of to say was “My car died.”

“Your car?”

“In front of the General Store.” Of course, I wasn’t crying over the car. Vicki Bell knew me well enough for that. She knew me as well as anyone did, which wasn’t saying a whole lot right now, but she was the last really good friend I’d had.

She glanced warily at the door. “Where’s James?”

“In New York. I ran away.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You’re too responsible.”

“I did it.”

Her brown eyes grew larger “
Left
him?” Her eyes shot to my left hand, but my wedding band was still there. It hadn’t occurred to me to take it off. Hadn’t
occurred
to me.

“Not left him, like maritally. I needed a break from work, the city, my life.”

“If you’re here for Jude—”

“I’m not.”

“Good. We don’t know where he is. He’s never been back—and I’m not blaming you for that, he was the one who cheated—”

“And broke up, Vicki. He didn’t want to be tied down.” I just then heard what she’d said. “You don’t know where he is?”

“No. He cut every tie. No cards, no calls. Hasn’t been back in ten years.”

He will be
, I thought, and wanted to say it aloud, but that would require sensitivity, picking words that would go easiest on Vicki Bell, and I just didn’t have the strength.

Vicki studied me a minute longer. If she had questions—which, going back a ways with Vicki Bell, who was curious to the extreme, I knew she did—she was wise enough not to ask. Instead, in a gentle tone, she said, “We were just having dinner, Rob and me. Are you hungry?”

“More tired than hungry. I need a place to sleep.”

“When did you sleep last?”

“Last night. For maybe an hour.” I sputtered out a half sob. “Pretty pathetic, huh? I was fine on the road, but it’s like now that I’m here, I can’t
move.
”

Taking the bag from my shoulder, she guided me up the stairs. We passed the second flight and went to the third, where there was only one room. It had dormers front and back and skylights above, the latter the first thing Vicki had added when turning the attic into a guestroom. She called this room a little piece of heaven, and yes, when she lit a small lamp, I was vaguely aware of billowing sky and clouds, everything blue and white, but I was too weak to see more.
She put my bag on a bench at the foot of the bed, pulled back a voluminous comforter, and opened the sheets.

I sat tentatively in the space she’d made. “This could be awkward for you.”

“Yes.”

“You’re still angry.”

Her frown was begrudging now. “Wouldn’t you be? You were my very best friend. I know Jude hurt you, but he hurt us, too, just vanishing. Okay, so you couldn’t talk about it—”

“I still can’t,” I cut in by way of warning, then, softening, pleaded, “Maybe later?”

She stared at me, sighed, and hitched her chin toward the bed. Sliding out of my flip-flops, I pulled my legs up and lay down. Once there, I didn’t move.

Vicki must have left, because the next thing I knew, she was putting a small tray beside the bed. It held a glass of orange juice, pastries that I was sure were homemade, and a pitcher of well water.

“Will Rob know the car?” she whispered when I cracked open an eye.

“Oh yeah,” I whispered back. “Black BMW. Can’t miss it.”

She touched my head. “Sleep.”

Chapter 4
 

I slept. If there were sounds from other guests, I heard none. Nor did I dream. I was too tired for that. When I awoke, the window above was a wash of azure sky and Norway maple red. The sheets smelled of sunshine, and the billows of clouds and sky I had glimpsed the night before went beyond the voluminous comforter to a blue ceiling and walls, a white dresser and chair, and plaid floor pillows stacked in the corner under the eaves. The tray by the bed now held an aromatic blend of scones and tea.

Heaven? Absolutely.

Vicki sat in a ladder-back chair by the bed. “Much longer, and I’d have called the EMTs,” she remarked.

I turned onto my side to fully take her in: Vicki Bell—not just Vicki, but Vicki Bell—both names affectionately spoken as one through our college years. Medicinal to me now, she wore a sweater and jeans, and had her hair tacked back, ends sticking out at odd places, as they always had. Her skin was scrubbed clean, another down-to-earth Vicki trait. But her cheeks were pink and her features soft.

“You look amazing,” I said.

“Amazing good, or amazing familiar?”

“Both. What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

Eleven
. I bolted up and, with a moan, fell right back.

Vicki was alarmed. “Easy does it. How do you feel?”

Thick. Logy. “Hungover.”

“Drinking?”

“Crying. Maybe sleeping too much.” I shut my eyes tight, but they popped back open. “Eleven Monday morning? Oh boy.”

“What?”

“Work.” The old tension returned. “I was there one minute and gone the next. A friend covered for me Friday, but the partner-in-charge has been e-mailing all weekend. I didn’t read any of it.”

“Nothing new there,” Vicki remarked dryly as she poured me some tea.

“No, I do read everything you send,” I insisted. “But you’re a good friend, and I can’t send short answers. So I save it all up until I have time to call on the phone, and then I never … never find the time.”