Catching Air (6 page)

She wanted to go home, but her home had disappeared when her parents died. “Penn Station, please,” she finally said. She curled up on the seat and buried her face in her hands and cried as quietly as she could.

• • •

Kira cut a small piece of a banana-pecan pancake, chewed slowly, then sprinkled more cinnamon into the bowl of batter on the counter. It needed something else, but what? Vanilla? No, the pancakes were verging on too sweet already, she decided. Maybe a bit of bran, to add heft and texture. She scribbled a note in her new cookbook.

“Breakfast in ten minutes,” she called out to the others. She and Peter had arrived at the B-and-B three days ago, and this would be her first test meal.

“You’re killing me,” Rand called back. “It smells insane.”

“Hand soap!” Alyssa said, coming into the kitchen. Her wavy hair was tied back in a red bandanna, and her skin was nut brown from so many hours in the sun. “I knew I forgot something. The guests will need it for their bathrooms. And we’re low on milk. Do you want me to pick up anything else while I’m out?”

“I think I’m good,” Kira said as she used a small measuring cup to pour more batter onto the sizzling griddle.

“A measuring cup?” Alyssa asked.

Kira shrugged. “It makes all the pancakes come out a uniform size.”

“Right!” Alyssa said, nodding, and Kira smiled. She’d been pleasantly surprised by how much she found herself liking Alyssa. When Alyssa and Rand had come to Florida a few years back, Alyssa had remained in the guest room meditating one morning while everyone else had coffee, which Kira had found a little rude. And Alyssa and Rand had stayed up late the first night, giggling and whispering, then Kira had heard the rhythmic creaking of their bed, which made her intensely uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine having sex with Peter with their relatives just a thin wall away.

But the moment they’d arrived at the B-and-B, Alyssa had come running out to the car to meet them. She’d given them a tour while Rand carried in Kira and Peter’s bags, and when Kira had commented on the fresh blue paint on the kitchen cabinets, and the pretty yellow-and-orange countertop tiles, Alyssa had said she’d picked out the color palette.

“Do you like it?” she’d asked, looking so hopeful that Kira had smiled.

“It’s perfect!” she’d answered.

Now Alyssa picked up a pancake with her fingertips and began nibbling on it. “Oh,” she moaned. “These are incredible. Do you know what I usually eat for breakfast?”

“What?” Kira asked, opening the oven door to check on the bacon.

“A granola bar,” Alyssa said. “And lunch is sprouts and hummus in a pita with canned soup or something boring like that.” She shrugged. “I’ve never gotten the hang of cooking.”

“It’s not as hard as you think,” Kira said. “You could do it.”

Alyssa hoisted herself up onto the counter. “Maybe sometime you could show me,” she said.

“Sure,” Kira said. “I’ve got a bunch of gourmet dinner recipes you can make in under half an hour.”

Alyssa hesitated. “Well, I was thinking we could start with mac ’n’ cheese, or spaghetti and meatballs. Just something basic.”

“Okay,” Kira said. Spaghetti and mac ’n’ cheese? Those were entrées from the kiddie menu. Why in the world would Alyssa—

Kira looked at her sister-in-law more carefully. Could she possibly be pregnant? Alyssa sure didn’t seem to be suffering from morning sickness, given the way she was gobbling down that pancake. Kira had once asked Peter if he thought Rand and Alyssa would have kids. “I dunno,” he’d said, shrugging. “Rand’s never mentioned it.”

Peter, on the other hand, had mentioned it twice on the drive up alone. Kira’s stomach clenched remembering it. They’d just upended their lives; the timing was all wrong, no matter what Peter said. Kids needed stability, and right now, the ground felt very wobbly under her feet—

“Are those pancakes okay?” Alyssa asked.

Kira jerked back to the present and stared down at the smoking mess on the griddle. She lifted up two blackened pancakes and flung them into the sink.

She could feel her cheeks turning pink. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Rand’s voice came from the living room: “Is something on fire in there?”

Kira turned off the burner and waved around a potholder to dissipate the smoke. What if this had happened when the dining room was filled with hungry guests? She’d secretly envisioned visitors raving about her cooking, posting glowing reviews on Yelp and the B-and-B’s website:
Kira’s eggs Benedict are the best I ever had! Go taste Kira’s homemade raspberry scones—they’re worth the trip!
Now she saw a different kind of review:
Keep 911 on speed dial during breakfast—this place is run by amateurs.

The stress she’d been pushing away since she quit her job came snapping back at her like a rubber band. She and Peter had made a mistake; she was certain of it. She should’ve swallowed her pride and accepted her punishment and stayed at the law firm. She and Peter weren’t anything like Alyssa and Rand—why had she pretended they could be?

“These ones are perfect.” Alyssa’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Kira turned to see her lifting up the platter. “And I can’t believe you warmed up the maple syrup to go with them! Should I carry this into the dining room?”

“Sure,” Kira said, feeling her spirits lift a fraction. She pointed to a blue-and-white china pitcher on the counter. “I squeezed some orange juice this morning, too.”

“Fresh-squeezed orange juice is my favorite thing in the world, but I’m too lazy to ever make it,” Alyssa said.

Kira reached into the refrigerator for the bowl of hulled strawberries she’d spiked with fresh mint, welcoming the rush of cool air on her warm face. She walked back out to the dining room, noticing the acrid smell hadn’t completely dissipated, and sat down at the table.

“Did you seriously cook all this for just us?” Rand asked.

“You should’ve seen her in the kitchen,” Alyssa said. “It was like watching a . . . a musician or something. It was art!”

Everyone was being so kind to her; it was amazing how grateful people became when they were served good, hearty food.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Kira asked.

“I’m going to take more photos for our website,” Alyssa said. “And run into town for supplies.”

“I’m going to shower,” Peter said.

“Thank God for that,” Rand cracked, and Peter threw a piece of bacon at him. Rand picked it up off the floor and ate it.

“I was thinking,” Kira began. Peter’s cell phone rang, and he got up to take the call.

“Alyssa, would you want to offer photography services to our guests?” Kira continued. “I bet a lot of them will come here for special occasions . . . anniversaries or whatever. Maybe you could snap pictures and people could buy them if they wanted?”

Alyssa looked at her. “What a great idea!”

“And I could offer an après-ski package for folks,” Kira said. “Spiked rum drinks and nibbles, things like baked Brie with apricots . . . just something that would taste good after a day out in the cold. We could charge extra for it.”

“Do you have any more ideas?” Rand asked. “Because you’re batting a thousand.”

“Maybe I’ve been a frustrated innkeeper all my life,” Kira joked as Peter came back to the table.

“I’ve got a little announcement,” he said, holding up his cell phone. “We just booked our first guests.”

“What?” Alyssa squealed. “How did they even know we were open?”

“Peter’s been doing some marketing,” Kira said. “He got us listed on the chamber of commerce’s website.”

“You’re amazing!” Alyssa said. “So when are they arriving?”

“Today,” Peter said. “They’d booked some other place, but there was a reservations mix-up, so we got them. They asked how much we charged and I had no idea what to say, so I made something up—one twenty-five a night for the big room, and a hundred for one with a queen bed. Sound about right?”

“Actually, that’s too low,” Rand said. “No way will we make a profit with those rates.”

Alyssa saw Peter stiffen. The pride on his face slipped away.

“Call them back if you want,” Peter said, his voice tight. “I didn’t want to lose customers by revealing we didn’t have our act together.”

Rand folded his arms in front of his chest. “Hey, little bro, I’ve been busting my ass for three weeks to make sure it’s together.”

Whoa,
Kira thought.
They’re fighting already?

Alyssa placed a hand on Rand’s arm. “Honey?” Her voice broke the tension arcing between the men.

“You probably made the right call,” Rand finally said, and Kira let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “They’re our trial run. They should get a discount.”

“Cool,” Peter said. And just like that, their spat was over.

Maybe her concern about getting along with Alyssa was misplaced; it was their husbands she should’ve worried about, Kira thought. But Rand was probably just tired from working so hard these past few weeks; she’d noticed dark circles under his eyes and the thumbnail that was turning black from where he’d banged it with a hammer. Peter must still be exhausted from the long drive, too. That was the cause of the momentary tension between them.

Surely the brothers wouldn’t be bickering all the time.
No!
Kira thought. This was going to be a wonderful year—for all of them.

• • •

The B-and-B had never looked better. Alyssa sat in a rocking chair on the front porch, feeling the late-summer breeze tickle the fine hair on her arms. Dusk was beginning to settle, and solar-powered torches illuminated the sweet gale and chokecherry bushes hugging the edges of the house. The windows were thrown open, and James Taylor was singing about going to Carolina in his mind.

A Toyota 4x4 began to climb the long driveway, and Alyssa poked her head inside the front door, calling, “They’re here!”

The bedrooms looked warm and welcoming. Pitchers of water with floating lemon slices were on the bureaus, and bouquets of violets brightened the bathrooms. In the living room, Kira was setting out a tray of goat-cheese-and-walnut-stuffed figs and a crusty loaf of French bread with a warm artichoke dip. There was also a pitcher of pomegranate martinis—a complimentary spread for their first guests.

Alyssa opened the door to the two young couples, and Peter and Rand hurried out to help them with their bags.

“Oooh! Are those snacks for us?” squealed one of the women. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, like the other three, and was petite and blond enough to be Kira’s little sister. “We munched all afternoon when we were wine tasting at the vineyards, so we never ate a proper dinner and suddenly I’m hungry again!”

“Of course,” Kira said. “Help yourselves. And we’ve got plenty of pomegranate martinis.”

Alyssa grabbed two of the suitcases and carried them upstairs. She took a moment to turn back the covers on the beds and to switch on the nightstand lamps. When she came back down, she ducked into her room to find her camera before heading into the living room, where the couples were settled on the sectional couch and Rand had pulled up a chair to join them.

Rand looked like he’d been an innkeeper for decades. He had one foot up on the coffee table and was enthralling their guests with the story of the time he’d bumped into a member of Coldplay in a men’s room at a little dive bar in New York.

“Kind of weird that he was singing one of his competitor’s hits in the stall— Oh, hey, babe,” Rand said, patting the chair next to him. “Come say hi.”

Alyssa extended her hand to the blond woman, who was the closest to her. “I’m Jessica,” said the woman. She had a slightly squeaky voice, skin so pale it appeared almost translucent, and a pink tinge to the tip of her pert little nose. If she were an animal, she’d be a hamster.

“This is Scott, my fiancé.” Jessica put a little emphasis on her last word as she nudged the knee of the beefy, ruddy-cheeked guy sitting next to her.

“Jessica and Scott just got engaged last weekend,” said Rand. Jessica held out her hand so Alyssa could see her ring, which looked huge against her tiny finger.

“Congratulations!” Alyssa said as she sat down next to Rand.

“And meet Maria and David,” continued Rand, master of ceremonies, as he gestured to the other couple. “They’ve all been best friends since college.”

“This is our celebratory trip,” Jessica explained. “Maria and David are going to be our maid of honor and best man.”

“Wow,” Alyssa exclaimed, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She’d never understood the fuss some people made over weddings, or why they focused more on the celebration than the meaning behind it. She and Rand had gotten married in a friend’s living room, with her mother, who’d been ordained for the occasion, serving as minister. Everyone had eaten pasta off paper plates and sipped glasses of wine. Alyssa had woven white flowers into her hair, and Rand had been barefoot and in jeans. It had been absolutely perfect.

“Mmm . . . try one of these,” Jessica said as she grabbed a fig and popped it into Scott’s mouth. Alyssa raised her camera and captured the moment.

“Did you just take a picture of us?” Jessica asked.

Alyssa called up the digital photo on the screen and handed the camera to Jessica. “Take a look,” she said.

“I love this!” Jessica squealed. “This may be the best photo we’ve ever had taken. See, Scott . . . the candles behind us and the expression on our faces . . .”

“I’ll print it out and give it to you before you leave,” Alyssa said. “As an engagement gift.”

“Alyssa’s a professional photographer,” Rand said.

The sound of a guitar being strummed made everyone look at David, who’d found Rand’s guitar leaning against the side of the sofa.

“Do you play?” Peter asked.

“Not since seventh grade,” David said. “I thought about taking it up again, but I don’t have the time. Maybe after I’m done with my medical residency.”

Rand reached for the guitar and began accompanying James Taylor. “I needed the shelter of someone’s arms, and there you were,” Rand sang, his low voice caressing the words. “I needed someone to understand my ups and downs, and there you were . . .”