Catching Air (7 page)

“Maybe that should be our wedding song,” Jessica said to Scott. “For our first dance.”

“You know what?” Maria blurted. “You guys should get married here!”

“Here?” Jessica repeated.

“I mean, the food’s great,” Maria said, gesturing to the tray of appetizers. “And it’s so intimate and pretty. You’d have everything you needed in one place—even a photographer. It could be spectacular!”

Jessica was staring at Maria, her mouth slightly open. Maria shrugged. “It’s just an idea.”

“Actually,” Jessica said, drawing out the word, “that could be brilliant.”

“Brilliant?” Kira echoed faintly. She was standing in the doorway coming from the kitchen, holding a tray containing a bowl of warm spiced nuts and a fresh round of pomegranate martinis.

“My mom keeps pressuring us to have the wedding in my hometown, in Connecticut,” Jessica said, leaning forward and speaking even more rapidly. “But most of our friends are out here now. Plus I don’t want to be traveling back and forth to Connecticut all the time to do wedding stuff; I just started a new job a few months ago.”

“And my grandparents think we’re going to do it at their club, which is like retirement central,” said Scott, who hadn’t even spoken until now but suddenly seemed as animated as Jessica. “They’ll probably want to serve dinner at four-thirty and kick us out by six.”

Jessica jumped to her feet and looked around the room. “This could really work,” she said. “We could have the wedding party stay here. Everyone else could drive in for the day or stay at a hotel. Are there any close by?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter said.

“When were you thinking of getting married?” Rand asked.

“We hadn’t really nailed that down,” Jessica said.

“A winter wedding would be cool,” Scott said. “People could go skiing the day before.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a bride in the wintertime! So December? Or maybe January would be better, after the holidays.” Jessica drained her martini. “These are yummy. Should we serve them at the wedding?”

“Nah,” Rand said, and Alyssa turned to look at him in surprise. She’d thought he’d be more diplomatic about turning down their guests for a venture they weren’t remotely qualified to pull off. “We should create a special drink just for your day,” he continued. “A Jessica-tini. Scott scorpions.”

“Ha ha,” Kira said, looking a little pale. She put down the tray on a sideboard instead of bringing it to the guests. “I— Do you think we should talk about it a little more before we decide? I mean, were you thinking about a sit-down dinner?”

“A sit-down dinner sounds great,” Jessica said. “With passed appetizers first, though, right, Scott?”

Scott ate another fig as he nodded. “Can we serve these?” he asked.

Kira cleared her throat. “Um, are you sure you want to have it here?” she began. “There isn’t a ton of space, so you might have to limit your guest list . . . How many people were you thinking of inviting?”

“Our families, so that’s ten. Friends, our parents’ friends . . . Let’s say that brings us to sixty. Oh, and grandparents and aunts and uncles . . . maybe seventy-five?” Jessica said.

Seventy-five wasn’t so bad, Alyssa thought. They could handle seventy-five. She glanced at Kira, who shook her head violently.

“We’ve gotta invite my cousins, too,” Scott said. “That’s another eight right there. No, nine. I always forget about the quiet one. He smoked too much weed in high school.” Scott tapped a finger against his temple. “Never been the same.”

Jessica was counting on her fingers. “Gosh, I guess if you count all our relatives, it might be over a hundred.”

“Over a hundred,” Kira repeated. Alyssa swore she could read Kira’s mind:
Including feuding relatives who’ll resent the location, and a stoner cousin who’ll eat all my appetizers in the first ten minutes!

“I’ll help,” Alyssa whispered.

“You can’t even make mac ’n’ cheese!” Kira hissed. “And you’re the photographer!”

“A heated tent for dancing and eating, a blanket of freshly fallen snow, nothing around you but pine trees and starlight—it’ll be gorgeous,” said Rand as Kira glared at him from across the room. “And if you want to have your bachelorette party here, too, it’s on the house. Our wedding gift to you. You and your girls could have drinks in the hot tub, then go barhopping while Scottie and his crew head to Vegas . . .”

“What a great idea!” Jessica cried. “I’ll talk to my bridesmaids!”

“A toast!” Maria cried, raising her glass. “To the wedding!”

“Wait!” Kira cried. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never cooked for that many people before . . . ,” she began.

Jessica turned her big blue eyes up at Kira. The tip of Jessica’s nose grew even pinker, and she sniffled. “But this is the first time I’m feeling truly happy about my wedding,” she said in her squeaky little voice. “Please?”

Rand moved his right hand down low, so the guests couldn’t see what he was doing, and he rubbed his right thumb across the pads of the index and middle fingers on the same hand. Alyssa saw Kira notice the gesture that meant “money.”

Kira’s shoulders slumped. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll do it.”

“To a winter wedding,” Rand said. “To Jessica and Scott!”

Jessica and Scott clinked glasses with everyone as Kira reached for one of the martinis on her tray and took a big gulp. Alyssa wondered if she was the only one who noticed that Kira hadn’t joined in the toast.

Chapter Four

A HAIRBRUSH. A PACKET
of tissues. Her wallet, which held two credit cards—useless now, of course—as well as a library card, a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, her New York driver’s license, coupons, her bus pass, and the seven crumpled dollar bills.

Dawn continued to remove the contents of her purse, placing each item on the empty seat beside her. The box of Band-Aids. A small cosmetics bag. Hand sanitizer gel. A roll of peppermint breath mints, which she’d taken to carrying so she could pop one in her mouth before kissing . . .

No.
She couldn’t think about him now.

The only thing left in her purse was the brick of cash, but no way was she going to pull
that
out. The grungy-looking guy across the aisle had turned sideways in his seat, and Dawn could sense his stare; it made her feel unclean and even more jittery. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, wishing the driver would turn off the air-conditioning. She was freezing in her silk shirt and torn skirt and thin layer of plastic— or maybe shock was settling into her body.

She looked down at everything she had in the world, then packed it all back into her purse and stood up and limped to the bathroom at the back of the bus. She locked the door, then closed the lid on the toilet and sat down. She twisted her left leg around so she could see the bottom of her foot. It was covered in a layer of black grime, and though the bleeding had stopped, a gash bisected her heel. She dampened a paper towel and cleaned it as best she could, wincing, then she squirted on hand sanitizer and bandaged it before slipping on her flip-flop again. Her toes were growing numb, and she had to clamp her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

What next?
She tamped down her panic by summoning a comforting image of her father: his eyes, soft and brown and a little watery behind his thick glasses, his salt-and-pepper hair, the gentle swell of his belly beneath the suspenders he always wore.

He’d taught her to play chess. She hadn’t been very good at it, but she remembered his advice now: “Always tink more den one step ahead,” he’d say, his voice holding on to the influences of his native Polish. “Dat’s key.”

Maybe her credit cards weren’t useless, after all.

Dawn walked back to her seat and looked out the window. The sky had darkened, but city lights glittered all around them.

“I’m stopping in Baltimore for ten minutes,” the driver announced as he pulled into the Greyhound station and cut the engine. “If you’re not on the bus when I’m ready to leave, we’re going to D.C. without you.”

The grungy guy had fallen asleep, his mouth hanging open as he snored. Dawn stood up and let her Visa card slip out of her fingers and land on the floor next to him. Maybe he’d use it and create a false trail.

Think more than one step ahead
, Dawn reminded herself. She had to keep moving, but how? A rental car would require an ID, and so would train or airplane tickets. Hitchhiking wasn’t safe. She didn’t want to stick with Greyhound; mixing up her modes of transportation would better muddy her trail.

There were other buses linking cities along the East Coast, though—Dawn had seen people lining up on street corners in New York, clutching cups of coffee and overnight bags while they waited to board. The buses all had company names emblazoned on their sides . . . She just needed to remember them.

She pulled up the hood on her rain slicker and walked toward the line of cabs waiting outside the bus station. Cabs were good. The drivers never looked at you, and if you paid with cash, there wasn’t any way to trace you. She slid into the back of one. “Do you know where the closest Megabus station is?” she asked.

The cabbie stopped talking on his cell phone for a moment. “The one at White Marsh Mall?” he asked, and she nodded. A mall? She couldn’t believe the stroke of luck.

Her first stop was Macy’s. She whipped through the sale racks, grabbing black track pants, an inexpensive T-shirt, and a soft, zip-up athletic jacket. She added cheap sneakers and socks and paid with two of the stolen hundred-dollar bills. She found a bathroom and tore off the tags with her teeth, then crammed her ripped skirt and white blouse into the trash can. The new clothes helped a bit, but she felt like she’d never truly be warm again.

What else? She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, studying her round, brown eyes and thin lips. It was the first time she’d ever been grateful that her looks were so forgettable. She used the elastic wound around the bottom of her brush to secure her hair in a ponytail, thinking that she needed to get hold of dark hair dye and scissors as soon as possible.

She walked toward the mall exit and glanced at her wristwatch: 7:45
P.M.
It seemed like days had passed since she’d gone to Tucker’s apartment. What she’d give now to never have met him—to be sliding a Lean Cuisine into her tiny oven and turning on a movie. Even the sounds of the couple fighting next door would be a symphony.

Dawn blinked back tears as she thought about her little studio with the bright yellow curtains she’d taken from her parents’ house because her mother had sewn them, her sunflower plant, her well-loved novels lining her bookcase. She wondered if she’d ever see the place again.

Again she yanked her thoughts forward. She needed to concentrate on getting to a safe place. Then she could try to figure out a way to fix things before the police—or Tucker—caught up with her.
Which would be worse?
she wondered briefly.

The yeasty smell of fresh-baked dough drifted past her like a cloud. She looked to her left and saw an Auntie Anne’s pretzel stand. She watched the server scoop ice into a cup and top it with soda, and she was gripped by a thirst so intense it was dizzying. She’d had nothing but a few sips of tea and bites of toast for the past two days. She bought a Coke and guzzled it, then purchased a bottle of water and a plain pretzel and tucked them into her purse. She wasn’t hungry now, but she had no idea where the next Megabus was heading, and it might be a long ride.

She was going to take the first one out, leave her destination to chance. And if there were no more buses traveling tonight, she’d find a cheap hotel and go in the morning.

She found the bus stop across from the Red Lobster. The next Megabus was an overnight one to Boston, leaving at 8:10
P.M.

Her instinct had been to head south—to warmth and sunshine, where she could move about more easily. So maybe the opposite move was the smarter one because it would be unexpected. Tucker had accused her of being dumb, but she wasn’t. She’d only been too trusting. She wouldn’t ever make that mistake again.

Boston, she decided as she settled onto the bench. She’d never been to the city, and knew no one who lived there.

It would be a good start.

• • •

Soup would be a good start, Kira decided as she reached for her stack of cookbooks and began flipping through the pages of the first one. Everyone liked soup on cold winter days, right?

Plus it could be made a day in advance, in big batches. That would simplify the first course—assuming Jessica approved. Which was far from assured, given that their bride was proving to be a lot more picky when she wasn’t chugging Jessica-tinis. When they’d chatted on the phone last night to discuss possible menus, Jessica had shot down three of Kira’s suggested entrées before deeming chocolate dessert fountains “tacky.” Kira had swallowed hard and refrained from mentioning she’d had one at her own wedding.

Alyssa came into the kitchen as Kira began jotting down a grocery list.

“Butternut squash, vegetables for stock, garlic, and nutmeg,” she read over Kira’s shoulder. “So you’re making cheeseburgers?”

Kira laughed as Alyssa switched on the heat beneath her teakettle—she was forever sipping from a chunky pottery mug that smelled of peppermint or chamomile—and hoisted herself up to sit on the counter.

“I hope we get a lot of snow this winter,” she said. “I’ve been dying to hit the slopes and get in some boarding.”

Kira frowned. “Maybe I should check into the snowplow service,” she said. “Just to make sure people can get through for the wedding.”

Alyssa smiled. “Are you really worried about too much snow? It would be great for business.”

“No,” Kira said, opening the refrigerator to check the supply of butter, realizing they had only two sticks left and adding a notation to her grocery list. “Well, maybe just a little. I don’t have any experience driving in heavy snow. And it just hit me: It’s going to get really cold. I kept picturing Vermont in the fall when we planned to move here. Orange leaves and apple cider and roaring fires. I didn’t think about the depths of winter.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Alyssa said. “We’ll eat a lot and sleep a lot, like bears. Then spring will be here.”

Kira turned to look at her sister-in-law. “You don’t worry much, do you?” she asked.

“Me?” Alyssa thought about it. “No, I guess I don’t. I’ve always believed the universe has some kind of a grand plan, and that things unfold as they were meant to, even if we don’t understand why at the time.”

“See, I think the opposite sometimes,” Kira said. “Take tragedies. How can anyone say an accidental death is meant to be? I knew this girl in college who died—I mean, I didn’t know her well, but she was in a few of my classes—and she was hit by a car as she was crossing a street. At her funeral one of her friends got up and talked about how this girl had walked a dog for a neighbor who was out of town that morning, because she was that kind of person. Someone who did favors for others. And I couldn’t help obsessing for a while. What if this girl had forgotten the key to the neighbor’s house and had to double back to get it? What if the dog had stopped to smell one more patch of grass? So many little things had the potential to save her, and she only needed one of them.”

“Mmmm,” Alyssa said. “I didn’t mean that every single thing that happens to us is positive in some way. It’s more like we’re all on journeys, and there’s something to be taken away from all of our experiences. Good and bad.”

“I worry that I worry too much sometimes,” Kira said, trying for a joking tone.

“About anything in particular?” Alyssa asked. The teakettle began to shriek, and she reached over to turn off the burner.

“Money, where we’re going to live next, what jobs we’re going to get, whether quitting the law firm and moving here was a smart thing to do . . .” Kira’s voice trailed off.
Whether to have a baby
, she thought.

“Is that all?” Alyssa asked lightly.

“But see, you’re in the exact same spot as us,” Kira said. “And you don’t stress about it, do you?”

Alyssa didn’t answer immediately. She poured steaming water into a mug and added a tea bag and some honey; then she asked, “Have you ever been snowboarding?”

“What?” Kira shook her head. “No. I’ve never been skiing either.”

“Then maybe this metaphor won’t make sense,” Alyssa said, “but for me, the best part of snowboarding is going over jumps. You feel like you’re flying. It’s completely exhilarating. The first time I did it, though, I immediately tensed up for the landing, and of course I fell. It’s like the mountain
knows
when you’re nervous. But gradually I learned to just be in that glorious moment of catching air. Once I began trusting that I’d land safely, I always did.”

She shrugged and took a sip of tea. “I try to live life that way, I guess.”

“Huh,” Kira said. It sounded lovely, but completely impractical. What if you fell on your head, or soared right off the edge of the mountain?

Alyssa had probably grown up with money, she thought. People who did never seemed to worry about it much. “What do your parents do for a living?” Kira asked.

“My mother teaches pottery classes. And my father’s a corporate lawyer,” Alyssa said. “He’s worked at the same company his entire life. He just keeps moving into nicer offices.”

“Ah, so you’ll probably get a big inheritance someday,” Kira said. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just—”

“It’s fine,” Alyssa said, but she looked a little taken aback.

“I should probably just take up meditation, like you,” Kira said, her smile an apology.

“Hey, you’re teaching me to cook,” Alyssa said. “We could do a trade. I could lead you through a few meditation sessions.”

“Thanks,” Kira said. “I’ll think about it.”

Alyssa slid off the counter and stretched her arms over her head, arching her back as she released a big yawn. She looked ridiculously fit and flexible, Kira thought. Maybe there was something to this yoga and meditation business, but Kira doubted she’d be patient enough to sit through a single session, even if the reward was washboard abs.

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

“Brace yourself for the excitement: wedding menus,” Kira said. “Jessica wants something called ‘amusements’ during cocktail hour.”

“Seriously?” Alyssa said. “If you drink a lot of cocktails, doesn’t that make it amusing enough?”

Kira pretended to scribble something on her pad: “‘Get Jessica and Scott plastered.’ Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Then maybe they won’t notice when something goes wrong.”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Alyssa said.

“But something always does at weddings,” Kira said.

“It didn’t at mine,” Alyssa said.

“Are you sure?” Kira asked. “Because I’ve tested this theory before, and I’m always right. It doesn’t have to be a huge thing, but it’s usually dramatic.”

“Nope. Oh, wait—someone opened a bottle of champagne and the cork flew out and hit a little kid in the face. He cried for a minute, and everyone freaked out, thinking it had gotten him in the eye, but he was fine. The noise just scared him. Does that count?”

“Absolutely,” Kira said. “It isn’t as good as the groom fainting and landing in the wedding cake, but I’ll take it.”

“So what went wrong at yours?” Alyssa asked.

Kira looked at Alyssa, wondering if she was joking again. Her sister-in-law honestly didn’t know?