Catching Air (21 page)

She heard a car horn toot and spun around to see a blond man waving at her. Her heart galloped faster before she recognized Peter. She took a step toward him, then realized she couldn’t put him at risk, or Alyssa and Rand and the baby, or Kira—any of them. A broken arm; it must’ve been caused by the men who’d been threatening Tucker that day in the hallway. Tucker would be so desperate.

She turned and began running again.

• • •

Where was Peter?

Kira had just returned from the grocery store, and while she was carrying four bags in from the car—too many, but didn’t everyone overload themselves rather than bothering to make an extra trip?—she slipped on a patch of ice and broke her fall with her hip and elbow. She lay there for a long moment, feeling her joints throb and knowing the pain would only intensify.

This never would’ve happened in Florida
, she thought, struck by an unexpected pang of longing for her home state and its beaches and bright wildflowers that bloomed in highway medians.

A hot bath was what she needed, she thought. A hot bath and some Advil and, in an ideal world, a nap, since she’d woken up at 4:00
A.M.
feeling panicky about the proposal she’d sent Jessica. Usually Jessica responded to her e-mails immediately, but not this one. Was she going to question the fees?

Kira pulled herself up, wincing, and dragged her groceries into the kitchen. Unfortunately she had time for only the painkillers. More guests were coming today, and she seemed to be the only one around. Rand and Alyssa were excused, obviously—but where were Peter and Dawn? It would be nice to have some help.

She popped three pills and washed them down with a glass of water, then put away the groceries and checked her cell phone in case a call had slipped through when she’d been driving through a dead zone on the way in from town. Kira had phoned an adoption agency for an “interview,” and the receptionist had promised the head of the agency would call back, but she hadn’t yet. There was just one message, from Peter: “Hey, sweetie, Dawn and I are running an errand. Back soon.”

Kira felt a surge of irritation. True, the upstairs rooms were all clean and ready, but it rankled her that she’d been left alone to greet their guests while Peter and Dawn went out for a latte or whatever they were doing. Her irritation was probably compounded by the fact that she’d skipped lunch and was starving, she realized as her stomach gave a loud growl.

She called Peter back, but it went right to voice mail. “Call me” was all she said.

She started to make herself a sandwich, then put down the knife she was dipping into a jar of peanut butter and walked toward Alyssa’s room. She lifted her hand to knock and ask if Alyssa wanted lunch; then something made her pause. She could hear Rand’s muffled voice, and she was gripped by an instinct that warned her not to interrupt.

Maybe they were talking about Grace. Peter’s initial computer search had shown that adoption agencies had different rules about pregnancy—some didn’t have any limitations, but others wouldn’t proceed if parents became pregnant during the process. It was unclear where Alyssa and Rand’s agency stood. They wouldn’t have an answer until Kira talked to the agency directly.

But the most crucial bit of knowledge Peter had gleaned was this: There was no rule or law preventing a father or mother from going to China alone to pick up their child—as long as he or she had been granted power of attorney by the other parent. Now everything depended on the policy of Alyssa and Rand’s agency.

Kira went back to the kitchen and fixed her sandwich. There were a few dirty coffee cups in the sink, and Kira started to stack them in the dishwasher along with the sticky knife she’d used; then she realized it was already full of clean dishes. She sighed, her annoyance building. She’d made everyone French toast this morning and had done the shopping, so was it unreasonable to expect someone else could’ve handled this simple task? Ever since Hugh the inspector’s surprise visit, she’d been fanatical about keeping the kitchen clean, and she knew it would gnaw at her if she left dirty dishes in the sink. So she clattered clean silverware into drawers and stacked plates and glasses in the cabinets before carrying her lunch to the coffee table.

She reached for her sandwich, craving the first bite. But before she could take it, she heard her phone buzzing. She ran for it, but instead of a call from the adoption agency or Peter, it showed a new text from Jessica. That wasn’t surprising—Jessica texted Kira every day, often as many as three or four times.

But this wasn’t one of Jessica’s usual lengthy, emoticon-filled missives. The text contained two words:
Call Me
.

Kira stared at it, thinking that it was the identical message she’d just left for Peter. She’d been short because she was annoyed. Maybe Jessica was, too.

Suddenly Kira’s appetite vanished. Even though the room was cool, she felt sweat gathering in her armpits. Was it better to call Jessica back immediately, or wait awhile?

Before she could make a decision, her phone buzzed again. This time, to her relief, it was Peter.

“Hey,” she said. “Where are you?”

“Are you okay?” Peter asked. “You sound stressed.”

“Jessica just texted,” Kira said. “She wants me to call her back. I don’t know why she had to text to tell me to call, instead of just calling herself in the amount of time it would take to type a text, but that’s Jessica for you. Nothing’s ever easy. I don’t know what she’s going to say. What if she asks for a breakdown of all the costs?”

“Give me her number,” Peter said. “I’ll call her back.”

“What are you going to say to her?” Kira asked.

“I’m just going to breathe heavily and hang up,” he said.

“Peter!”

“What do you think I’m going to say? I’m going to ask if she got the proposal and see if she has any questions.”

“I don’t know,” Kira said. “I mean, I’m the one who sent it over, and she might think it’s weird if someone else calls about it.”

“Just give me her number,” Peter said. “Come on.”

“No.” Kira sighed. “I need to do it. Just come home, okay?”

“Sure,” he said. Was Peter upset with her? Something in his tone made her feel as if she’d failed some sort of test.

“Dawn’s coming out of the drugstore,” Peter said. “See you soon.” She could hear the toot of his horn, then he hung up without saying good-bye.

Kira needed to call Jessica and get this over with. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, she reminded herself for the dozenth time. Maybe she should tell Jessica about the surcharge, though—casually weave it into the conversation. The simple contract she’d drawn up for the rental of the B-and-B didn’t mention the extra fees because they hadn’t come up with the idea yet. They’d been focused solely on getting a down payment in case Jessica changed her mind.

Would tacking on a hidden charge be considered theft if both parties didn’t expressly agree to it? They
were
doing a lot of extra work for the wedding, but it had taken only about fifteen minutes for Peter to locate the rental company, so she could hardly justify adding twenty percent onto that bill for that.

But they’d have to coordinate with all the vendors, and arrange for the return of the tent and dishes, and tell the florist to bring some damn bows for the front porch, and manage the flow of events all evening . . . They’d earn the extra money!

As she dialed Jessica’s number, Kira realized her hand was shaking.

“Hey there!” Jessica said, her voice as high and bright as ever. “So I was thinking about the timing of the toasts. I went to this wedding last year and people were still eating dinner during the toasts, so they weren’t really focusing the way they should have been, and it was awful and I don’t want that to happen to us. I need you to make sure that doesn’t happen, okay?”

“Jessica? Did you get the proposal I e-mailed over?” Kira finally got the chance to ask.

“Hmm?”

Tell her about the surcharge
, Kira thought, but the words refused to come out of her mouth. The time to discuss it would’ve been before she’d put it in the proposal. Then it wouldn’t have appeared sneaky. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

“The proposal,” Kira repeated. “With the cost of all the stuff for the wedding.”

“Oh, sure,” Jessica said. “I forwarded it to my dad. He’s the one who’s paying.”

“Okay.” Kira breathed. Had Jessica even looked at it?

“Scott’s brother is going to give the first one because he’s the best man, and you have to watch him, because he cannot hold his liquor. For a big guy he gets drunk faster than anyone I know, and sometimes he spits when he talks, which is a huge problem, but I doubt there’s anything we can do about it. I told him he only has three minutes because a lot of people are doing toasts, but I’m still worried he’s going to go over it. So just be ready to kind of . . . oh, I don’t know, discreetly usher him away from the microphone, okay? You did arrange to have a microphone there, right? And after Scott’s brother we’ll have the maid of honor, then my dad.”

“Microphone,” Kira repeated. “Three minutes. Got it.”

“My dad can go a little over three minutes, though,” Jessica said.

How generous of you
, Kira thought.

“But we still have to be careful, because I’m his only daughter, and he might ramble on. You know how daddies are about their little girls.”

No, I don’t,
Kira thought.
I used to, but not anymore.

“I’m sure your dad will give a wonderful toast,” she said. She cleared her throat and tried to make her voice casual. “What does your father do for a living, by the way?”

“He’s a prosecutor.”

• • •

“I can’t stop thinking about what the doctor said.”

Those were Rand’s first words upon walking into their bedroom. He was standing four or five feet away from Alyssa, but the distance between them felt greater, and she drew up the covers, suddenly chilled.

“The baby could be blind and deaf, maybe intellectually impaired, if it comes too early,” he’d continued. “I mean, Jesus . . . that’s a hell of a lot to deal with, Lyss.”

“It is,” she’d agreed. “I’m scared, too.”

He’d begun to pace. “I thought we’d give this place a run for a year. Then maybe bike through Italy or something. Travel for a while. Settle down somewhere new. Like we’ve always done.”

A few months ago, she would’ve been okay with that plan. She would’ve
embraced
it. So much of their relationship had been cultivated by doing things together, chasing the exhilaration that came from plunging into the unknown. They never read travel guides or even booked hotels beyond their first night of a new trip—they embraced serendipity, courted adrenaline. How many camping trips had they taken over the years, pitching tents in Idaho or New Mexico, watching sunsets, roasting a veggie dog for her and a hot dog for him before zipping their sleeping bags together and making love under the stars? They’d traversed to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, ridden a boat down the Amazon, and eaten fresh-picked pineapple on the beaches of Honduras while sweet juices dripped down their wrists.

That chapter of her life was over now, but Alyssa didn’t mourn it. What waited beyond felt much richer.

Alyssa looked at the man she’d loved above any other. He’d always be the handsomest guy she knew, she thought as her eyes grazed over his dark eyebrows, his blunt nose, and that strong chin.

“I’m worried if you stay, you’ll resent me,” she said. It cost her quite a bit to say those words, to reveal her deep vulnerability at the time when she felt so helpless.

Rand started to protest, but she cut him off. “Maybe not next week, or next month. But you will, eventually. And I’ll start to resent you, too. It will poison our relationship.
I’m
the one who wanted children. We never even talked about it much. I just plowed ahead and you went along with it.”

He stopped pacing and came closer to her. “Look, Lyss, I know I freaked out . . . I’m still freaking out. But I’m not going to abandon you.”

He hadn’t mentioned the kids, though. Grace’s biological parents had already given her up. Alyssa couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—risk the chance that Rand would do that to her daughter someday, too.

Rand looked like the bad guy, but she knew she was every bit as complicit, a hidden accomplice in their mutual subterfuge. He’d never packed a suitcase for China, never asked for a copy of Grace’s photograph to carry in his wallet. Another detail she’d forgotten until now: Years ago, when the social worker had come for their first home visit, Rand had been late. He’d gone out for a motorcycle ride and had come in fifteen minutes after the appointment began.

The signs had always been there; she’d just refused to see them. She was ashamed of having been so shortsighted when it came to their children.

What should I do?
Alyssa wondered. Should she try to work things out with Rand, even though she’d looked into his heart and had seen an absence of something, and she would always love him a little less for it?

But then again, some parents didn’t feel an immediate bond with their children. Alyssa’s own father, after an extra martini or two one evening, had talked about how he’d been surprised to discover that one of his cronies at a poker game had boasted that he’d never changed a single diaper—things were different for that generation, but still!—and another had said it wasn’t until his son began to play Little League that the child became interesting to him.

If they managed to get Grace, could Rand rise to the occasion? She wondered if he’d take Grace for walks in the sling Alyssa had already ordered, and play his guitar to her, and read her storybooks. If the baby was born early, would he be by Alyssa’s side in the hospital? She couldn’t bear the thought that he’d disappear when she needed him most.

“I just need to ask one thing of you,” she said. “If I can still get Grace, you have to be the one to pick her up. Please promise to do that for me.”

She saw Rand nod and begin to say something, but his voice seemed to fail him.