Authors: Sarah Pekkanen
“Whoa,” she said aloud, leaning back. Was that right? When she added in a surcharge on liquor and a decent hourly rate for Peter’s bartending and Rand’s music, they’d earn as much from this wedding as they would from a solid month of bookings.
“See?” Rand said, scooping the last bite of salmon into his mouth, still using his fingers. “The surcharge is our friend.”
“It may be the best friend I’ve ever had,” Kira said. “Can we really get away with this?”
“Don’t act like you’re doing something wrong,” Rand said. “If she asks, tell her it’s standard. And if she doesn’t—and trust me, she won’t, because there’s only room in that cute little head for Jessica-related thoughts—we’re golden.”
“Okay,” Kira breathed. He’d made everything sound so simple. “I’m going to have Peter check over my figures when he gets back, and if you can just make sure Alyssa’s okay with it, I’ll send the new proposal to Jessica.”
The extra money would make all the difference. With their share, she and Peter could pay off some bills, tuck more in their savings account, and maybe they could all pitch in a little to buy some advertising to boost the B-and-B’s bookings. One day could turn around their entire year. Rand was right: She wasn’t doing anything illegal.
No, no— he hadn’t said
illegal
! He’d said
wrong
.
Didn’t she deserve to reap the rewards of her hard work for once? She’d found a florist for Jessica, she’d created meal plans, she’d located a mail-order kosher dinner, she’d answered dozens of ludicrous questions, from whether white tulips would be in season in January to the safest placement of candles in a tent (Jessica had an irrational fear of fire, which meant Kira had to add “buy three fire extinguishers” to her growing list).
Haven’t you ever heard of Google?
Kira had wanted to scream at Jessica a dozen times. The wedding was consuming so much of her life.
She gathered up the paperwork and her laptop and headed toward her bedroom. It wasn’t until she was opening the door that the niggling worry in the back of her brain erupted: All four of them would be in on the plan, but Kira was Jessica’s main contact. She’d created the paperwork. If something went wrong, she’d be the one to take the fall.
• • •
“I need to ask you something,” Alyssa said a few hours later. “It’s important.”
“Of course,” Peter said. “Anything.”
Kira sat down at the end of the bed and reached for Alyssa’s hand.
“We didn’t tell the adoption agency that I was pregnant,” Alyssa said. She blinked hard and cleared her throat. “I just— There were reasons. I worried it might affect us getting Grace. I figured the call telling us we were cleared to go to China would be coming soon, and no one would notice.”
Alyssa studied their faces, wishing she could view their thoughts as easily. She knew Kira was scrupulously honest; when a store clerk had doled out an extra dime in change a few weeks ago, Kira had handed it right back. And Peter had once told the story of how a few guys in their high school class stole a big calculus exam. Kira refused to look—and she’d gotten the highest score in the class because she’d studied hard, whereas three of the answers calculated by the cheaters had been incorrect.
What did Kira think of the way Alyssa was gambling with her children’s futures? Alyssa wondered. But Kira’s bright blue eyes stayed fixed on Alyssa, and she nodded for her sister-in-law to continue. For that, Alyssa was grateful. The weight of judgment might’ve caused her to collapse.
“I don’t know what to do now,” Alyssa said. Her voice sounded rough even to her own ears, and she took a swallow from the glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice Kira had brought in. It was piercingly sweet and cold and felt like a salve against her throat, which was raw from all the crying she’d done recently. Kira had remembered how much she loved the treat, another reason to be grateful to her sister-in-law.
“If I call, and they say we can’t . . .” Alyssa stopped, unable to speak the words and tempt fate. “That cannot happen, okay?”
“Of course not,” Kira said. “It
won’t
happen.”
“You’re good at this stuff,” Alyssa said. “Can you find out what goes on in cases like this? I keep hearing stories about women who suddenly get pregnant when they decide to adopt. There has to be some . . . some—”
“Precedent,” Kira finished the sentence. She thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “I’m a newspaper reporter,” she said. “Doing a story on adoptions. I’ll use my cell phone, which still has a Florida area code so our B-and-B’s number doesn’t appear on any caller IDs. No one will make the connection.”
Peter stepped forward. “I’ll do some research, too,” he said. “Check around on the Internet. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thank you,” Alyssa said. “I just . . . I can’t lose either one of them.”
She wondered if they’d noticed she had said “I,” not “we.” She’d summoned them now because Rand was outside snowblowing the parking area clear. She hadn’t spoken to her husband, other than to answer his questions about whether she needed another pillow or help to the bathroom, since they’d returned from the hospital. But he hadn’t brought up anything of substance either. Maybe they were both retreating to their corners, like boxers, and gathering themselves because they knew their next real conversation could be shattering.
“I promise we’ll find a way to get both of your children here safely,” Peter said.
That did bring on her tears. “Thank you,” Alyssa whispered as she wiped her eyes. “Can you do one more thing before you go?” she asked after her breathing was under control. She reached for a small square of paper on her nightstand. “Can you put this ultrasound photo in with the one of Grace? Maybe just stick it in a corner of the frame?”
Peter took the black-and-white image from her hand.
“This is my niece or nephew?” he asked. “God, he’s handsome. Or she’s beautiful. I mean, you don’t see heads shaped like that every day,” Peter said. He put the photo in the frame and stood back to study it. “Have you thought about modeling school? It’s probably not too early.”
Alyssa managed a smile. Kira smoothed the covers over Alyssa’s legs, then she and Peter left.
Why had Peter been the one to say it, instead of Rand? Alyssa wondered. That was all she’d wanted from him, to hear that he’d fight to keep their family intact. But instead he’d withdrawn.
She’d fallen desperately in love with Rand on their very first date, when he’d come to pick her up after her waitressing shift on the same day they met. She’d climbed aboard the back of his motorcycle, and he’d strapped an extra helmet on her, his fingertips making the sensitive skin under her chin tingle as he fastened the buckle, and then they’d taken off down the highway. It had been incredibly sexy, her arms wrapped around his waist, the big machine thrumming between their legs, her breasts pressed against his back. They’d gone to a little dive of a bar to play pool and flirt and drink draft beer. From that night on, they’d been inseparable. They were one of those couples you heard about who basically moved in together on their first date—a vivid example of love at first sight that only deepened with time.
But their relationship had never been truly tested. They’d lived at the behest of their whims, taking jobs that didn’t demand much of them and quitting when they got bored, traveling when the mood struck, staying up half the night and sleeping until the sun was high in the sky. Giving all that up didn’t seem like a sacrifice to Alyssa, but maybe it would to Rand.
She wondered, suddenly, what had been going through Rand’s mind during his mother’s illness. She sensed Kira had whitewashed the story of what had happened. Peter had stayed to take care of their mother. But Rand had disappeared when Elizabeth had needed him most. Then there was the time the family with two small children had come to stay for a night at the B-and-B, and Rand had fled to the garage while she and Kira and Peter took care of the baby and brought the little girl crackers and juice. Maybe Rand was the type of guy who ran at the first sign of trouble.
The realization made her curl up into a ball, her tears coming quickly now.
Memories continued to float by, and she grabbed hold of them, trying to piece together the puzzle that was her husband, the man she’d thought she knew better than any other. She and Rand had invited Peter and Kira to their wedding—Alyssa was excited to meet her new in-laws—but a few days before the ceremony, Peter had sent his regrets along with the excuse of a bad stomach flu. By then, it was obvious to Alyssa that a rift lay between the two men.
She’d asked Rand why he talked so infrequently to his brother. “Things got weird around the time my mom died,” Rand had said.
“So make things un-weird,” she’d suggested, running her fingers through his hair. “Call him and talk it out.”
He’d jerked away from her touch. “Please drop it,” he’d said. His tone was mild—too mild—and she’d been shocked by the darkness that had come into his eyes.
“Okay,” she’d said, lifting up her hands in surrender. “Consider it dropped.”
She’d seen Rand explode a few times, usually over stupid things like hitting his thumb with a hammer, but this time his anger had seemed different—sharper, more raw. It had left her feeling chilled, even though she knew it was grounded in the loss of his mother and not directed at her.
That night, though, he’d wrapped his arms around her, then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her sweetly before leading her to the bedroom.
Make-up sex
, she’d thought, even though they hadn’t really fought. They hadn’t discussed it again either, but then a few weeks later Rand had suggested that trip to Florida to spend Thanksgiving with Peter and Kira. She’d sensed it was his way of extending an olive branch. She’d been proud of him.
She suddenly realized the snowblower had stopped, and she heard heavy footsteps approaching the room.
Okay,
Alyssa thought. It was time for them to talk. She filled her lungs with a slow, deep breath. She used her fingertips to wipe away the last of her tears, then looked up and waited for Rand to come into view.
Chapter Eighteen
DAWN ROLLED DOWN THE
car window to let in a blast of fresh air. It felt crisp and tangy against her skin, like an early-morning swim. After decades of living in New York, where she’d grown accustomed to inhaling exhaust from belching taxis and the aggressive odors of street vendor carts, she couldn’t get over what it felt like to really breathe.
“Is that our exit?” she asked Peter, pointing to a sign.
“Yep.” He put on his blinker and began to edge his Honda over to the right.
She stole a glimpse of his pale, blond profile, admiring the way he drove so steadily, keeping the needle at a constant fifty-five miles per hour. She’d been worried about asking him to take her to a FedEx drop box. He’d already helped her so much! But Peter had been the one to approach her this morning as she’d folded a load of laundry.
“Got a minute?” he’d asked.
As if she had anything but time, she’d thought, but she’d only nodded.
He’d tossed out an idea, suggesting that she make an appointment under an assumed name with a lawyer for a consultation. The possibility intrigued and frightened Dawn in equal measures.
“If you want, I can go with you,” Peter had said. “And if you don’t feel comfortable with the lawyer, you don’t have to say anything.”
Dawn had considered it while she’d smoothed the wrinkles out of a pillowcase and folded it into a neat rectangle. “What about Kira?” she’d asked hesitantly. “Do you think I should tell her? I mean, she was a lawyer, wasn’t she?” Dawn had recently seen a piece of mail from a law firm addressed to Kira Danner, Esq. It had fallen out of the trash can when Dawn pulled out the full bag to replace it with a fresh one.
“She’s not practicing anymore, though. And I think it’s better to go with someone on the outside,” he’d said. “I don’t want her to feel any sort of ethical conflict . . . Kira’s an incredibly honest person. It might put her in a tough position.”
“Oh,” Dawn had said. “Of course!” She’d felt her face flush, and she’d reached into the dryer under the pretext of pulling out more clothes to hide her discomfort. She’d known Peter hadn’t meant to imply that she, Dawn, was dishonest, but she couldn’t help comparing herself to Kira, who never would’ve let herself get tangled up in something like this. Kira would have seen through Tucker from the moment he dropped those papers on the floor—which, Dawn now realized, was as choreographed a move as everything else in their relationship.
“I’ve been worried about the background check,” Dawn had blurted out.
“I’ve thought about that, too,” Peter had said. He’d sighed and leaned up against the washing machine.
“I didn’t give you guys my real last name,” Dawn had confessed. Best to get all the ugly stuff out now. “I’m sorry . . . I got scared.”
Peter hadn’t looked surprised; maybe he’d suspected it already. “Can you tell me what it is? I swear I won’t tell anyone. But in fairness to Alyssa and Rand, we need to do the check.”
Dawn had nodded. “Okay,” she’d said. Her heart had pounded so loudly she worried it would drown out her words. “It’s . . . Zukoski. I’m from New York.”
“Got it,” Peter had said.
Answering Peter truthfully had been a good first step. Now she needed to take another one. “I really want to send back the money,” Dawn had said quietly. “I was thinking I could do it if I found a FedEx drop box. It’s making me feel ill every time I see it.”
“The money?” Peter had asked, then his eyes had landed on the purse by Dawn’s feet and realization had dawned on his face. He’d pulled out his iPhone and clicked a few buttons. “There’s a FedEx just over the border in New Hampshire,” he’d said. “We could be there in an hour.”
“You mean go today?” she’d asked.
“Why not?” Peter had said. “We’ve got guests coming in a couple hours, but we’ll be back by then.”
“Go where?” Rand had asked, materializing from around the corner.
Please don’t tell him
, Dawn had thought, instinctively shrinking back.
“Dawn needs to run an errand” was all Peter had said.
“I can drive you,” Rand had offered. “I’m a really good chauffeur, if you don’t mind me singing along to classic rock.” He’d doffed the baseball cap he was wearing and flashed Dawn a smile, his teeth very white against the dark stubble on his chin. Dawn had smiled back, trying to camouflage the fact that something about him made her bristle. Maybe it was because he used his good looks as part of his charm. She was probably reacting to the fact that Tucker had done the same thing, but suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get away from Rand.
“I’ve got it,” Peter had said. “I need to fill up my car with gas anyway.”
Rand had continued looking at Dawn, waiting for her answer, and she couldn’t hide the relief she felt when Peter responded for her. She’d seen something flicker in Rand’s eyes. Surprise, maybe. He probably wasn’t used to women turning him down.
“Have fun,” Rand had said, and he’d walked away.
Now Peter turned off the exit and began following the directions to the FedEx station. The drive had passed quickly—too quickly, since with every passing mile Dawn’s heartbeat seemed to quicken—and they’d crossed over into New Hampshire a few minutes earlier.
“Ready?” Peter asked, and Dawn nodded, feeling fear grip her throat. This morning she’d counted up the money—a little over $99,000—then slipped $3,000 out of the bundle to tuck away in her sleeping bag as a safety net, in case she needed to keep running. Along with the money, she was enclosing a one-line note on plain white paper saying she’d return the rest of it soon. After a little deliberation, she had decided against signing her name. She was planning to use a false name on the transit label, too, and pay with cash.
After he pulled up the car in front of the FedEx building, Peter gestured to the newspaper-wrapped bundle in her lap. “Let me send it,” he said.
“No.” She shook her head. “They probably have cameras everywhere. And if the police are still investigating—”
“Still?” Peter interrupted.
“I called a friend from the office,” Dawn admitted. “She told me.”
Peter exhaled and thrummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “I don’t want you on camera either. Hang on a second.”
She felt herself blushing from a combination of pleasure and something else she couldn’t quite name. Peter was being so protective of her. It felt lovely.
Peter stepped out of the car and looked up and down the street, then Dawn saw him approach a teenager who was checking his iPhone. The boy listened as Peter spoke, then nodded and went into the FedEx store, coming back a few minutes later with a box and a label. Peter reached into his wallet and handed the kid five bucks.
“What did you tell him?” Dawn asked when Peter returned.
“I just said I was parked down the street illegally, which is true, and I needed to keep an eye on my car so it didn’t get towed,” Peter said. “I told him he’d get another five if he took the box back in there.”
Dawn found a pen in her purse and addressed the box from memory, printing the label in block letters so it wouldn’t resemble her usual handwriting.
“Make sure you check the signature-required box,” Peter said. “You don’t want this left outside a door where anyone can grab it.”
She nodded, tucked the newspaper-wrapped bundle inside the package, and sealed it carefully. She hesitated before giving it to Peter. She’d been desperate to jettison the money. But without it, she felt so vulnerable. Her bank accounts would have alerts on them. Her ability to stay hidden would be threatened.
She felt Peter’s hand pat hers twice. “It’s okay,” he said.
No one had touched her in weeks, not since Tucker had grabbed her upper arm, leaving behind fingertip-shaped bruises. She could feel the warmth of Peter’s hand lingering even after he broke contact.
She let go of the package.
“I’ve got money to pay for the delivery,” she said, reaching into her purse, where she’d tucked one of the remaining hundred-dollar bills.
“Is that from the . . .” Peter’s voice trailed off as he stared at the cash.
“Yes,” Dawn said. She looked down at it like it was a slug in her hand.
“Better not. They might be able to trace it,” Peter said.
She hadn’t thought of that. Were the police tracking those hundred-dollar bills now? She tried to think of the last place she’d spent one. New Jersey, maybe? No, she’d gotten change at the hostel in Boston after paying for her room—she’d used that change to pay for her disposable cell phone, thank goodness. But her trail still felt too close.
Peter took cash out of his wallet and went back out to talk to the teenager, who hefted the box under his arm and disappeared into the FedEx store.
“It’s all done,” Peter said. He smiled at Dawn. “The money will be there tomorrow. I told him the box had a couple of books inside in case anyone asks.”
She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and the tightness in her chest eased. Peter had thought of everything; he’d filled in the gaps she’d missed. “Thank you,” she said.
He started up the car again. “Need anything else as long as we’re out?” he asked. “I’m going to get a bottle of water.”
She smiled ruefully and pointed to her head. “Hair dye,” she said. “In case you hadn’t noticed. Maybe there’s a drugstore nearby?”
Peter laughed. “If we can’t find one you can just wear a hat all the time,” he said.
“Like Rand?” Dawn asked. She meant it as a kind of joke, even though it was true—Rand never seemed to be without a cap. But Peter looked surprised.
“I guess he does. Only lately, though,” Peter said. “He’s probably too lazy to wash his hair. Okay, keep an eye out for a drugstore.”
Two blocks later, they found one.
“Do you mind grabbing me a water?” Peter asked. “I’m going to get some gas.”
“Sure,” she said. He gave her forty bucks as she got out of the car. The shipping costs, the gas . . . someday she’d repay Peter, too, she vowed.
She went into the drugstore and found a box of Clairol Midnight Black and a cold bottle of Evian and took both to the cash register. Behind the cashier were racks of disposable phones, which made Dawn wonder if she should call Kay to tell her a shipment was on its way. Kay wouldn’t recognize the return address, and suddenly Dawn was gripped with worry that Kay might reject the delivery. It would be better to call here than back in Killington, just in case the signal could be traced.
She decided to buy the cheapest phone, cringing at the added expense for Peter. She paid for everything and tucked the hair dye and water into her purse, which felt so much lighter on her shoulder now. She was once again wrestling with the plastic clamshell when the cashier held up a pair of scissors and cut out the package. Dawn smiled her thanks and stepped outside. She pressed the numbers quickly and felt a surge of unease when Kay answered. She’d hoped to get voice mail.
“It’s me,” Dawn blurted. “Listen, you’re going to get a really important package. I need you to give it to—”
“Hey!” Kay said, her voice sharp. “Slow down a second. Dawn, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to leave Tucker alone.”
Dawn froze. Gone was her friendly colleague; Kay sounded like a different person. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Kay exhaled loudly. “Look, he showed us some of the texts you’ve sent him—”
“He what?” Dawn blurted. “I haven’t texted him!”
“A bunch of us were at happy hour and he happened to be there and he was really upset. Finally he told us why. I looked and those messages came from your cell phone number! I know because I have your number programmed into my own phone, so don’t say it wasn’t you. Listen, you’ve got to leave him alone! His arm was in a cast—he said you call him all the time and he can’t sleep and he was so exhausted he missed a step and fell down the stairs. His girlfriend broke up with him because it was stressing her out. He even quit work because he can’t take it anymore!”
The messages were old, but Kay wouldn’t have known that, and Tucker would have deleted his responses. Instead of arguing, Dawn zeroed in on the most critical piece of information. “He’s not there anymore?” She gripped the phone tighter. “Do you know where he went? Kay, please tell me. Did you tell him I’d called you a while ago?”
Kay’s silence was her answer.
“I let him know you were far enough away that he didn’t have to worry,” Kay finally said. Her loyalty had shifted; Tucker had replaced Dawn as her wounded animal now. He would’ve preyed on her compassion, identifying it as a weak link. Dawn could see him following the administrative assistants to the bar—Dawn had told him about their weekly happy hours—and putting on a mask of surprise when he “bumped into” them. He’d be alone, nursing a beer, trying to anesthetize himself against Dawn’s onslaught . . . Of course he felt sorry for her, he’d say as the women drew in more closely around him, but she’d begun to terrify him. Had the others heard the rumor that she’d stolen money from the firm? Who knew what she could do next? Did anyone know if she was still in town? He felt . . . unsafe.
Kay would have taken in his broken arm, his thinness, the haunted look in his eyes. She would’ve had a drink or two or three—Kay always emptied her glass quickly—and her tongue would have been loose from alcohol.
You don’t have to worry,
she would’ve told Tucker. And he would’ve fastened those navy-blue eyes on her and motioned the waitress for another round of cocktails.
Are you sure?
Tucker would’ve said, leaning even closer so their conversation took on a new intimacy.
But how do you know?
Dawn squeezed her eyes shut. “What else did you tell him, Kay? Did you overhear something during our last call?”
“I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” Kay said. “Please don’t call me again.”
She hung up without saying good-bye.
Dawn pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. The phone had Internet access, and she typed three words into a search engine:
The Pickle Barrel.
The first hit was the bar in Killington, Vermont.
She couldn’t breathe.
She dropped the phone onto the ground and then looked around wildly. Tucker could be on his way to Vermont right now. He could be here!