Catching Air (5 page)

Alyssa clutched the phone closer to her ear. “But one of our moves was just from D.C. to Virginia. A dozen miles, and only because the owner of the house we were renting decided to sell.”

“I see.”

“Did we do something wrong?” Alyssa asked. “We had this great business opportunity in Vermont, and we’ll be up here at least a year—”

“A year?” Donna asked.

Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut. “Probably longer,” she said quickly.

“It’s just that you understand the Chinese government has some rigid requirements for adoptive parents,” Donna said.

“I know,” Alyssa said. She and Rand had needed to show proof that they’d graduated from high school, and they’d been fingerprinted, and demonstrated that they had a stable income . . .

The salary requirements. Would they be in violation if the B-and-B didn’t earn a good income this year?

“When we did the home study, you were living in Virginia,” Donna said. “Obviously we’ll have to do another one now.”

“Of course,” Alyssa said. “That would be fine!”

“So, a B-and-B . . . Will you have any long-term guests?” Donna asked.

“Um . . . no, I don’t think so. Most people will just stay for a few days,” Alyssa said. “Can I ask why?”

“If they stay a certain amount of time, we’d need to consider them as living with you. Which would mean they’d also have to undergo background checks, as you did.”

“A week. Tops,” Alyssa said. “No one will stay longer. I’m certain of it.”

She cringed as she thought of something. “Except my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. They’re moving here to help us run the B-and-B. But she’s a lawyer! And he’s a really nice guy.”

“We’ll still need to do checks on them,” Donna said. “And we’ll be back in touch about the home visit.”

“Wait!” Alyssa said, sensing Donna was about to hang up. “Um, is there anything we can do? I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you about the move . . . I wasn’t trying to hide anything, it just never occurred to me . . .”

Donna’s voice finally softened. “Look, this process is difficult and time-consuming, as you’re well aware. It’s best to avoid major changes while the adoption is ongoing . . . After you have your daughter, you’ll be free to do whatever you’d like.”

Your daughter.
No one had ever said those simple, beautiful words to Alyssa before. Her breath caught in her throat as the twelve letters seemed to float around her, soft and downy as tufts of cotton.

“We won’t move anytime soon,” Alyssa said. “Nothing will change.”

“Good,” Donna said.

“When you said we were getting closer . . . how close, exactly?” Alyssa asked. “Another year, or two?”

“It’s probably more like a matter of months,” Donna said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Alyssa kept holding on to her phone long after Donna had hung up. All the preparations they’d made for the adoption had been so sterile and academic that it was hard to equate them with a warm, living child. Maybe, too, she hadn’t let herself believe the adoption would ever go through, because she’d been so badly disappointed once before. She’d closed off her heart until this very moment.

Grace.
The name blossomed in her mind like it had been waiting for permission to surface all along—a prayer, a blessing, a promise.

She was going to be the mother of a little girl! Her daughter already existed. She was probably asleep now, since it was nighttime on the opposite side of the world. Maybe Grace was curled up in a crib with her little hands tucked under her cheek.

Something miraculous happened: The new aisle Alyssa had turned down was filled with things for babies. There were impossibly tiny sleep sacks in pink and blue and yellow, teddy bears, soft-looking blankets, and little rubber bathtubs. There were even miniature bathrobes with pockets made to look like ducks. They had to be the sweetest things she’d ever seen.

“Oh,” Alyssa breathed, reaching out to touch one.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” An obviously pregnant woman picked up a bathrobe, too.

“I can’t stop buying stuff,” the woman confessed. Her ankles looked painfully swollen, and after she put the robe into her cart, she began rubbing her knuckles into her lower back. “I’m due next week, and suddenly I had this urge to run to the store and get more things for the baby! I don’t even know why; we have everything we need. Nesting, I guess.”

“Next week?” Alyssa said. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, and as she smiled, Alyssa realized the cliché was true: Despite her apparent discomfort, the woman really was glowing, as if she’d been lit from within.

The woman’s eyes flitted down to Alyssa’s flat stomach, then back to the baby items.
It’s okay
, Alyssa wanted to say.
I’m part of the club now, too!

“We’re expecting a little girl,” Alyssa blurted. “Do you know what you’re having?”

“We’re having a girl, too!” the woman said. “Wow, you look amazing. I started showing at eight weeks.”

“Oh, I’m not pregnant,” Alyssa said. “We’re adopting.”

“Oh,” the woman said. “Well, congratulations!”

“Thanks. We’ve been waiting a long time,” Alyssa said. She felt a lump form in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She wouldn’t have this—the swollen ankles and pink cheeks and the feel of that glorious, curving belly under the palm of her hand—but she could still be a mother. That was the important thing.

“Maybe you should get one of these, too,” the woman said, gesturing to the bathrobes. She smiled and briefly touched Alyssa’s hand: “For good luck.”

As the woman headed off, Alyssa sorted through the robes until she found one labeled
12–18 months.
Grace would fit inside of this, Alyssa marveled, smoothing the robe and tying its sash into a floppy bow.

Grace
. She whispered the name to hear it aloud for the very first time, and her heart swelled. She’d fashion a sling from printed fabric and tie her daughter close to her chest when she went out for walks, like she’d seen women do in Africa. She’d teach her little girl to go sledding, and run behind her holding the seat of her bike until she was steady enough to pedal off on her own. They’d practice tying shoes, and bake banana bread together, making the kitchen steamy and warm and wonderful-smelling on winter afternoons. Suddenly, the emptiness of the preceding years crashed over Alyssa, stealing her breath away. She felt the ache of missing her daughter so sharply she could hardly bear it.

Oh, my sweet baby Grace,
she thought as she cradled the robe in her arms.
I cannot wait to hold you.

Chapter Three

DAWN CRADLED HER OVERSIZE
purse in her arms, holding it as she would an infant. The cash it contained felt as heavy as a cement brick, and she was worried the shoulder strap would break, spilling the money out onto the street. She hurried down Sixty-second Street, knowing guilt was as visible on her face as a sunburn.

She’d been unable to sleep the previous night. Every creak in the hallway was the police coming to break down her door, and the shrill cut of her phone ringing had nearly caused her heart to stop. She’d been so grateful to hear the voice of a telemarketer that she’d stayed on the line for ten minutes, then agreed to send in two hundred dollars to a charity she’d never heard of. It was her penance.

Then this afternoon, when she’d left early for a “doctor’s appointment” and had gone to the bank to withdraw the money . . . Well, the only way she’d managed to get through it was by taking an old, crumbly Xanax from a prescription she’d gotten years ago after her parents had died. She’d felt so woozy that she’d needed to lean on the counter to keep her balance.

But now Phase One of the plan was complete. She needed to get the money to Tucker quickly, so he could invest it in the initial public offering of his college classmate’s company. The funds would triple, quadruple, or more . . . and then Tucker would stride into his father’s office to show him the profits he’d made for their clients. To prove that he had what it took to succeed.

“What if the IPO doesn’t work?” Dawn had asked, her voice hesitant, when Tucker had first mentioned the idea, one week earlier. The pain washing across his face felt like a knife twisting in her stomach.

“So you don’t have any faith in me either,” he’d said and turned away from her.

“No!” she’d cried. She’d wrapped her arms around him, but he hadn’t yielded. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble!”

“It was a stupid idea,” he’d said. He’d wiped his eyes with a quick, rough movement. “You’re right.”

She’d felt him slipping away, and she’d panicked. She’d ruined their relationship by doubting him; it was the single cruelest thing she could’ve done to a man who desperately needed to be believed in. No one else understood that beneath Tucker’s golden looks lived a wounded little boy.

Besides, she knew the IPO
would
work. He’d showed her his old roommate’s e-mails listing the investors already lining up to pour money into the electronics company. Even she recognized a few of the names. He’d printed out an article from an industry trade publication raving about the company’s potential. His college friend was doing Tucker a huge favor by letting him in on the deal.

Then there was the safety net that Tucker didn’t know about.

If something catastrophic happened and the money was lost, Dawn could just barely cover it. She was the beneficiary of a small life insurance policy from her father, his final gift to her. She’d held on to it all these years, letting the interest accumulate, thinking that she’d use it for her wedding someday. And she would: her wedding to Tucker. He was planning to propose. She’d seen the ring box on his bureau one night, just before he’d observed her noticing it and had quickly pulled a shirt over the box.

Three more segments of time to endure, she thought. Today Tucker would give the money to his roommate. Tomorrow, the company would go public. And the day after that, they’d cash in the profits and bring his father a six-figure check. Maybe even seven figures!

Dawn turned in at the entrance of Tucker’s apartment building. It was a plain, run-down building, with a dirty floor and rusty metal mailboxes lining the wall. Tucker lived in a tiny studio because he refused to accept any money from his father, which only made her admire him more.

As she climbed the stairs to his fifth-floor walk-up, she heard men’s voices. One of them was Tucker’s, but there were at least two others—loud, angry voices. She hesitated on the landing.

“Tucker?” she called out, her voice sounding unnaturally high.

She heard a quick murmuring, then he appeared.

“Hey, baby,” he said, and she almost fell into his arms before she noticed his eye.

“What happened?” she cried, reaching out to touch the puffy skin. It was so swollen it looked like a baby bird’s eye.

“This?” he said. “I walked into the edge of a bookcase. It’s nothing.”

“We need to get some ice on it!” she said. She started to move toward his apartment, but he grabbed her arm.

“The money,” he said. “Where is it?”

He was squeezing her arm too tightly, and her head was still a little fuzzy from the Xanax. Was that why Tucker seemed so different all of a sudden?

“The money?” she repeated.

Two men came into view. One was big and rough-looking, but it was the smaller, well-dressed one who made Dawn’s heart pound. Something in his expression . . . Were they robbers?

“Jesus, Dawn.” Tucker exhaled. “You’ve got it, right? The hundred grand?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the smaller man take a step closer to her.

“I’m about to go to the bank,” instinct made her say. Her mouth was bone-dry, and she tried to swallow but couldn’t. Something was off. The air around her felt thick and oppressive.

“You didn’t bring the money? The bank’s about to close!” Tucker had turned into a stranger. He always looked so put together, but now his shirt was untucked and his face was sweaty. The smaller man’s gaze drifted down to the purse she was cradling in her left arm. Her bulging, heavy purse. Then the man looked at her and smiled.

“Is this your old roommate?” Dawn asked.

“Yeah,” Tucker said. “My roommate.”

The men were too still. They were staring at her without blinking. Just like the dogs in Mrs. Rita’s living room all those years ago right before they attacked.

This time Dawn ran first.

She twisted out of Tucker’s grasp and tore down the stairs, hearing a shouted curse behind her as the men came clattering after her. She cast a look behind her as she spun around the fourth-floor landing. Tucker was leading the way in pursuit. He was with
them
, not her.

She knew they would hurt her; she’d seen it in their faces. Her panty hose shredded and she heard a rip in the fabric of her skirt, but she kept her right hand on the railing, using it to swing herself around like a gymnast. Terror had given her the coordination and strength she’d been denied most of her life, but it had also robbed her of her voice. She wanted to scream—they were in New York, surrounded by people—but her voice had dried up.

She burst through the outer door and ran straight into a miracle. A yellow cab was letting a woman off at the building next door.

“Wait!” Dawn called, her voice finally returning. She imagined she could smell the hot breath of the men behind her, feel their fingers clawing at her. The woman by the cab turned to look at her, one hand still on the open door, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise. Dawn leapt into the back of the cab and slammed the door and locked it just as Tucker grabbed the handle.

“Drive!” she screamed, and the cabbie obeyed, tearing away down the street. Dawn glanced behind her. The two men were getting into a black car parked on the street, but Tucker was still coming, his face grim as he sprinted behind the cab. Who was he, this man who’d whispered he’d loved her, who’d held her in his arms and kissed her so sweetly?

The cab turned a corner, and the driver slammed on the brakes as they encountered a traffic jam.

“Your boyfriend?” the cabbie was asking. “He hurts you?”

“Yes,” Dawn said, because how else could she explain?

“I have three daughters,” the cabbie said. He got out of the car and locked his door, then put the keys in his pocket. He was an older man, with white hair and a big stomach. He stood there with his hand out like a stop sign as Tucker approached, and Dawn prayed that Tucker would listen, that the cabbie would somehow talk her sweet boyfriend into coming back. But Tucker just reached out his fist and punched the driver in the face.

“No!” Dawn screamed. Bright red blood streamed from the cabbie’s nose.

Dawn opened the door—she wouldn’t be trapped, not again, not ever again—and began to run. She looked back and saw Tucker pulling away from the cabdriver to resume the chase.

She tore down the street, her lungs growing tight, weaving through taxis and delivery trucks. She turned down another, busier avenue lined with cafés and stores, and she stepped on something sharp and almost screamed at the burst of pain; she’d lost one of her Keds. She limped a few steps, then ducked inside a restaurant, hurrying toward the back. She found the bathroom and locked herself inside and waited, her breath loud and ragged in the small space. Someone knocked on the door, and she flinched. She curled up into a ball and hid behind the toilet, thinking it might protect her in case the men had guns and tried to shoot their way inside.

She heard an odd noise, and it took a moment to realize it was coming from inside her purse. Why hadn’t she thrown it off when she’d been racing down the stairs? They might’ve left her alone then. But terror had stolen her ability to think clearly.

She pulled out her phone and stared at it.
Mr. Wonderful,
read the display. She hit the Talk button but didn’t say a word.

“Hey, baby,” Tucker said, like nothing had happened.

“Tell me where you are.” He was panting and she imagined him pacing the street outside the restaurant, peering into windows.

She saw the ruby-red blood running down the kind cabbie’s face. She shook her head.

“I need the money,” Tucker was saying. His voice had been soft and cajoling, but now it grew rougher. “You’ve got to get it for me, understand?”

“He wasn’t your roommate, was he?” she whispered.

“What? Dawn, come on. You can’t hide from me forever.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you, baby,” Tucker said.

“No,” she whispered. “I won’t do it.”

She could feel the darkening in Tucker, like a blind snapping shut over a sunny window.

“Your fingerprints are on everything,” he said. “Understand, Dawn? I know you’re not too bright, but think about it. You wired the money. You
stole
it.”

“I did it for you!” she burst out, but he continued, speaking in a low, calm voice that scared her more than a shout.

“I barely even know your name,” he said. “Ask anyone at the office.”

“But . . .” Her head swirled.
Her secret lover
.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door again, then rattled the handle. “Is anyone in there?” a woman called out.

She had to think. She had to find a way out of this.

“I’ll tell your father!” Dawn cried.

“Sure, you do that,” Tucker said. “My father lives in Michigan, Dawn. He’s a plumber.”

Everything had been a lie. She dropped her head onto her knees as nausea roiled in her gut. Tucker had tricked her, used her for money. He’d never cared about her. Was there even a ring in that jewelry box? She’d seen enough Lifetime movies to know this sort of thing happened to women like her—silly, trusting women. They dated charming serial killers, they fell for con artists, they swallowed lie after lie because they were so desperate for love . . .

“I use disposable phones,” Tucker was saying. “So it’s going to be hard to prove I ever called you. But you can tell all that to the police when they arrest you.”

Her head snapped up at a sudden thought: Could Tucker be tracing her location through this call? Maybe the men with him had the means. She lifted the lid of the toilet tank and dropped her phone inside, then did the scariest thing possible: She stood up and opened the bathroom door.

At the sharp clatter of a dish smashing against the floor, her knees buckled; then she realized it came from the kitchen, just a few feet away. She rushed through the swinging doors, running past the chefs in white aprons, nearly crashing into a waiter holding a tray full of plates, and then she found the back exit and spilled out onto the street. She waited to feel hands pull her into the black car as she walked briskly, favoring her injured foot, keeping her head low and trying to blend into the crowds. Someone bumped into her and she stifled a cry, but it was just a woman pushing a baby stroller.

She came to a corner drugstore and went inside and gave the clerk five dollars and begged him to call her a cab. She hurried through the aisles, grabbing a pair of flip-flops, a plastic blue rain slicker that came in a small rectangular packet, and a box of Band-Aids. She began to pull out her credit card to pay, then she realized: It would be another way to track her. She had seven dollars in her wallet, not enough for her flimsy disguise and the cost of the cab she’d just called. She slid a hundred-dollar bill off the top of the cash brick in her purse.

It’s starting,
she thought. If she hadn’t been a criminal before, she was turning into one now.

She pulled on the slicker and covered her hair with its hood and stayed in the doorway until she saw the bright yellow taxi pull up outside. She ran for it and kept her head low, beneath the window, once she was safely inside.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

She had no idea how to answer. Tucker was probably waiting at her apartment. Maybe if she found her boss’s home address and went to him, begging him to understand . . . But he was a brusque, busy man. She didn’t think he’d help her; he’d just call the police. When she didn’t show up for work tomorrow, her absence would cause questions. How long would it take for the firm to notice the missing money and report her?

“Lady?” the cabbie asked.

She’d never missed her parents so desperately. She thought of her father in his red apron at his cashier’s job at the neighborhood grocery store, slipping her a piece of gum or a soda when she went in to say hello, and her mother coming home from a long day as a nurse’s aide, where she’d tried to dispense comfort by singing to her youngest patients as she tended to them. They were such good, dear people, and all they’d ever wanted was for her to be happy. She remembered the way they’d always reached out their arms for a hug, even when they’d seen her only the day before, and she choked back a sob.