Catching Air (15 page)

Sometimes she’d watched her mother or father struggle for a word or phrase, and when salespeople or customer service representatives were impatient, she’d bristled internally. “How well would
you
get by in Poland?” she’d wanted to snap, but she always held her tongue. Her parents were unfailingly polite—too deferential to others, she thought—and she didn’t want to embarrass them.

A year after she’d baked that meat loaf, her parents had died while driving home from visiting a distant cousin who’d recently emigrated from Poland to New Jersey. A moonless night, a sharp curve, maybe a deer in the road, or maybe her father had been exhausted from another long week on his feet at work and had nodded off . . . Sometimes when she woke up in the morning, she didn’t think about them for a few minutes. But never for longer than that.

Dawn reached across to turn off the lantern and pulled Peter’s sleeping bag up over her shoulders. She lay in darkness that was so quiet she could hear her own whispery breaths, and hoped for sleep to come quickly.

Chapter Twelve

KIRA HAD TO CONCEDE
that Rand was the reason why the bachelorette party had gone off without a hitch. He’d entertained the women and kept their drink glasses topped off and had even chauffeured them around. But most important, he’d kept Jessica happy. Kira had secretly worried that with every visit, Jessica would come up with a new list of Miranda Priestly–like demands, dictating that the B-and-B needed to be repainted in her wedding colors or something equally ludicrous.

Sometimes Rand shirked his work duties a bit—or not exactly shirked, but cherry-picked the best chores, like raking leaves on a glorious fall day instead of being stuck inside scrubbing bathrooms. And when the family with the sick little girl and the baby had arrived, he’d essentially disappeared into the garage until they left. But right now Kira felt grateful for her brother-in-law. Last night Dawn and Peter had finished cleaning up while Rand drove the girls into town and Kira indulged in a long, steaming-hot shower before changing into her flannel pajamas and watching a little TV. Later that night, she’d woken up briefly to hear the girls shrieking in the hot tub. She’d thought about braving the cold to check on them—a drowning wasn’t the kind of publicity the B-and-B needed—but then she’d heard Rand’s deep voice blending with their higher ones, and she’d rolled over with a grateful sigh and fallen back asleep.

Kira had been in such a good mood this morning that she’d made her special banana-pecan pancakes and granola-yogurt parfaits for the queasy-looking bridesmaids, who were, she was grateful to notice, a good bit quieter than they’d been the previous evening.

“Keep the coffee coming,” she’d instructed Dawn. “I think it was a late night for them.”

The girls had left around ten to go to a spa for massages and manicures, and Dawn had insisted on cleaning two of the guest rooms while Kira straightened the kitchen. Alyssa and Peter had tackled the other rooms, and everyone had agreed Rand was off the hook.

A fresh houseful of guests was due this afternoon but things were under control now. Kira was just topping off her coffee mug when Alyssa came into the kitchen.

“Would you mind if Dawn did the grocery shopping today?” Alyssa asked. “I’m still not feeling that hot.”

Her sister-in-law did look pale, Kira noticed, and she’d been quiet this morning, turning down Kira’s offer of an omelet and only nibbling on a slice of toast.

“Of course,” Kira said. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

Alyssa shook her head. “Rand’s taking me to the doctor in case I need antibiotics or something.”

“Good idea,” Kira said.

She took a closer look at Alyssa. Were those tears shimmering in her dark eyes, or just the reflection of the light? “Sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Alyssa said. “It’s probably just a bug.”

Something told Kira not to press it. Alyssa was usually serene and steady as a cool, clear lake, but she seemed emotionally fragile right now.

Kira thought again of the giggling girls in the hot tub. She’d assumed Rand had just been hanging out nearby, but now she wondered: Had he joined them? The Jacuzzi was large, but with seven bodies, it would’ve been a tight fit. Maybe Alyssa was upset about that, even though she didn’t seem like the jealous type. But a hot tub full of pretty, tipsy girls could make even the most secure wife uneasy.

“We’ll be back before the guests arrive,” Alyssa was saying.

“Take your time,” Kira urged. “Everything’s under control here.”

Kira leisurely finished her coffee, then puttered around the B-and-B for a while, flipping the last load of sheets from the washing machine to the dryer and kneading some dough so she could make mini–bread bowls to go with the chili. Her cell phone interrupted her just as she was replenishing the stock of toilet paper in the guest rooms. She was surprised to hear her mother on the other end. They’d talked less than a week earlier, and they rarely chatted more than twice a month. Their phone calls always covered the same basic ground—the weather, the B-and-B, her mother’s book group and receptionist job. Their relationship was pleasant enough, but it wasn’t what Kira would call close. They always talked about events, not emotions, and as soon as they’d covered the facts—a fresh snowfall, this month’s literary bestseller, the raise her mother was hoping to get—their conversation ran dry.

“Your father phoned me this morning,” Kira’s mother began.

Kira felt a little electric shock. She didn’t think her parents ever spoke. Their divorce had been like a blazing wildfire that left nothing but charred wreckage behind.

“He did?” Kira finally managed to say.

“He wanted your new address,” Kira’s mother said. “Apparently his stepdaughter is getting married, and you’re invited to the wedding. She’s only twenty-two, if you can believe it. I have no idea why people get married that young nowadays.”

Kira held on to the phone for a long moment, feeling her breath stick in her lungs. Why hadn’t her father wanted to phone her directly? she wondered.

“Of course you don’t have to go,” Kira’s mother said, a comment that could probably be translated to mean that Kira’s mother didn’t
want
her to go.

“Did you give him the address?” Kira asked.

“I did,” her mother confirmed. “I probably should’ve asked you first, but he caught me off guard. As you can imagine. He walks out almost twenty years ago and now, all of a sudden, he wants to be back in touch? The arrogance of this . . . this
person
is breathtaking.”

“Mom,” Kira broke in when her mother paused to take a breath. “It’s fine.” She knew from experience her mother could continue on in this vein for a while.

“Well.” Her mother seemed to gather herself. “I just thought you should know, so you wouldn’t be surprised when the invitation arrived. I wonder where he’s throwing the wedding. He’ll probably spend more than he can afford, trying to impress everyone, and—”

“Oops, the doorbell just rang. Our guests are here. I’ll call you later!” Kira managed to keep her voice cheery as she ended the call.

She held on to the phone for a long moment after hanging up, the cold receiver pressing against her cheek.

A wedding, she thought. She wondered if her father would walk his stepdaughter down the aisle, and raise his glass in a toast while everyone watched and wiped away tears. Probably, she thought. That was what dads did at weddings.

She had met her stepsister twice, both brief encounters, but she knew what her laughter sounded like from that long-ago night when Kira had sat on the front steps of her father’s home, unable to knock on the door.

Her own relationship with her father was more stable now. He’d taken her to a baseball game once when she’d come home from college for spring break—she knew nothing about the sport and had suffered through nine sweaty innings, praying something would finally happen on the field—and they’d had lunch a handful of times, including shortly before she’d left for Vermont. His life seemed quieter now that he’d found what appeared to be real happiness with his third wife.

She’d invited her father to her wedding. She’d fretted about it, not knowing how her mother would respond, but Peter had urged her to do so. “They’re adults,” Peter had said. “And it’s not fair of them to put you in the middle.” So she’d sent off the invitation, still with a knot in her stomach.

But her father hadn’t come. He’d injured his leg in a fall the day before the ceremony, he’d said, which smacked of an excuse to Kira. He probably just hadn’t wanted to face her mother, or to answer questions from all the people who might wonder why he was largely absent from Kira’s life. Her father wasn’t good when it came to dealing with difficult emotions—he was the party guy. He’d sent her a check for a thousand dollars, which she’d briefly thought about tearing up (after also briefly wondering if it would bounce), but in the end her practical side had won out and she’d deposited it.

He was throwing a wedding for his stepdaughter, but he hadn’t even bothered to show up for Kira’s. She sank down on the edge of the bed in the guest room and wrapped her arms around herself.

She barely ever thought about her father nowadays. Why did it sting so much?

Chapter Thirteen

ALYSSA LEANED BACK ON
the exam table, trying to appear nonchalant as a doctor—one far more handsome than an ob-gyn had any right to be—reached for a pair of gloves and prepared to take a look.

“So this was a surprise?” the doctor asked. His white coat was crisp, his shoes polished, and his eyes slate blue under dark, well-shaped brows. Alyssa half-expected him to turn toward an unseen camera to give viewers a meaningful soap-opera-star stare. The only thing that didn’t fit his image was his name: Ernest Natterson.

“Definitely a surprise,” Alyssa said. “I thought I couldn’t get pregnant. We’re on the verge of adopting a little girl from China. Her name is Grace. So I guess we’re going to have two kids this year.”

“Double congratulations, then,” Dr. Natterson said.

Everything had happened in a rush that day: After Jessica’s gang had left and they’d finished cleaning up, she’d pulled Rand aside and he’d waited outside the bathroom door while she took the pregnancy test. He’d been remarkably calm upon seeing the double blue lines, but maybe shock was overpowering his emotions, as it was hers.

She’d found an ob-gyn through an Internet search and had scheduled an appointment for the following week. Then she’d thought to mention to the receptionist that she’d had a bad fall on the ski slopes, and she wasn’t quite sure how far along in her pregnancy she was, but that she hadn’t had her period in a long time, and suddenly, an appointment had opened up for that very afternoon.

Two children, after so many years without any!
Pregnant.
The word had become steeped in hope and pain and then resignation for her through the years. After all this time—at the strangest possible time—she was with child. Thirteen or fourteen weeks along, according to the doctor.

While she’d been waiting to see Dr. Natterson, Alyssa had asked the nurse why her morning sickness was beginning now instead of during the first trimester. The woman had shrugged. “Pregnancy doesn’t follow any specific rules,” she’d said. “Some women have it for nine months, and for others, it comes and goes.”

Dr. Natterson finished making a notation in Alyssa’s chart and gave her another dazzling smile. “Any questions for me before we get started?”

“Not really,” Alyssa said. She looked at Rand, who shook his head.

“I mean, I’ve been having wine almost every night,” she said. “Is that okay?”

“How many glasses?” Dr. Natterson asked.

“One or two. Well, sometimes more.”

Rand cleared his throat. “Remember that time at the Wobbly Barn a few weeks ago?”

Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut. “Once I smoked a little weed, too.”

“Do you plan on continuing to drink and smoke marijuana?” Dr. Natterson asked.

“God, no,” she blurted. “I never would have, if I’d known . . .”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Dr. Natterson said. “That doesn’t mean I’d recommend you continue, though.”

Alyssa laughed, relieved. She’d phoned her mother before they left for the doctor’s because Rand’s nonreaction had left her wanting to talk to someone. She knew Rand probably just needed time to absorb the possibility, as she had, but she’d been gripped with the urge to share the worries that had sprung up in her mind despite her best efforts. Bee had assured her that she’d sipped gin and tonics throughout her pregnancy. “Oh, how I craved the lime!” Bee had said, adding that she even knew women who smoked cigarettes as a method of weight control back then, before the dangers of smoking and drinking during pregnancy were understood. Still, getting an official pass was the only thing that completely eased Alyssa’s fears.

Alyssa sat back up and tugged the gown over her knees, suddenly feeling cold in the sterile white room.

“Maybe just one more question,” she said. “I’d always planned to breast-feed, back when I used to think about getting pregnant. I know that’s healthiest. But . . . is it—” She struggled for the right word, finally coming up with “fair?”

The doctor used his heels to gain traction on the floor and wheeled his stool closer to her. “Fair to Grace?” he asked.

She nodded, feeling grateful that he understood. That he remembered her daughter’s name, even if she wasn’t the focus of this visit.

“Because you think it will take time away from her?” the doctor asked. “Or because you don’t think she was breast-fed?”

Alyssa bit her lip. “Both, I guess. I could read to her while I nurse the baby, but what if she’s learning to walk and I have to chase after her or something? I mean, I know it’s all going to work out. Plenty of women have more than two children and they manage . . .”

“It’s going to be a major life adjustment, so don’t minimize it,” Dr. Natterson said. His gaze took in Rand, who was standing in the corner, looking as shell-shocked as Alyssa felt. “For all of you. No matter how badly you want children, no matter how long you’ve waited for them, your life is going to change in the next few months. Dramatically. You’re going to deal with sleep deprivation, and hormonal changes that can affect your mood. Do you work outside the home?”

“Actually, our home is our work,” Alyssa said. “We run a B-and-B.”

Dr. Natterson nodded. “One word of advice? Schedules,” he said. “It’ll be easier on all of you if you can get your children to nap at the same time.”

“We’re not really schedule people,” Alyssa said. “I guess we could try, though . . .”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let me check things out, and then I can give you a list of some good information sources: books, websites . . . You’ve still got plenty of time to prepare.”

Alyssa took a deep breath and tried to relax as Dr. Natterson bent down between her legs. Her regular gynecologist always chatted during her Pap smears, but this doctor was silent.

After what seemed like an unusually long time, Rand began to hum the theme song to
Jeopardy!
and Alyssa laughed, glad to have the tension broken. But Dr. Natterson didn’t join in. He straightened up and took off his gloves.

“Everything looks good with the baby,” he said. “He or she seems to be growing fine, based on how you’re measuring.”

His voice was somber, out of sync with his words, and in the pause that preceded his next sentence, Alyssa felt an electric twinge work its way down her spine.

“Have you heard of an incompetent cervix?” the doctor asked.

“Incompetent?” Alyssa echoed.

“It’s a terrible term. It sounds pejorative, when in fact it’s just a quirk of anatomy,” Dr. Natterson said. “Basically as a baby grows and puts weight on the cervix, the cervix can weaken.”

“Is that normal?” Alyssa asked.

“It’s not all that uncommon,” he said. “But it’s not desirable. We want to keep your cervix closed up tight until the baby’s big and healthy and ready to come out.”

“Is it starting to open?” Alyssa asked. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked them away. She wished Rand were closer. Why was he standing so far away?

“It’s thinning a bit,” Dr. Natterson said. “So we’re going to keep it closed.”

“Okay,” Alyssa said. They had a solution. “Let’s keep it closed. What do I need to do?”

“You’ll go to the hospital for a transvaginal ultrasound, and then they’ll put in a stitch around your cervix. It’s called a cerclage. We’ll keep the cerclage there until you’re ready to deliver.”

“Do I have to stay overnight or anything?” she asked. “Is it a big procedure?”

“You’ll probably need to stay just one night,” he said. “So you and the baby can be monitored before and after the procedure. It’s not terribly complicated, but you will need anesthesia. An epidural, probably.”

Alyssa inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. “When do we need to go?”

“I’m going to try to schedule it for tomorrow morning,” he said.

“That soon?” Rand asked.

“It’ll be better to get it done quickly.” The doctor stood up and put a hand on Alyssa’s shoulder. “I’ll give the hospital a call. I’d like to see you back here after the cerclage.”

Don’t go!
Alyssa wanted to wail. Was it unreasonable to ask Dr. Natterson if he’d consider moving in with them for the next year or two, perhaps sleeping on the floor by the foot of their bed, so he could answer all of their questions in his reassuring doctor voice?

By the time Alyssa had gotten dressed, the nurse had come back into the room with a prescription for prenatal vitamins and the information on the cerclage, which Dr. Natterson had scheduled for 9:00 the next morning. They’d have time to go home and pack a few things, but then Dr. Natterson wanted them to go straight to the hospital. Alyssa and Rand rode the elevator down to the lobby and went out to the parking lot and found their Jeep. Alyssa shivered, even in her puffy down coat. She rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms while she waited for the heat to kick in.

She was pregnant. Grace was coming. There was an abused woman hiding out at their B-and-B. Her cervix wasn’t competent. They had a houseful of guests arriving today. She needed a “procedure.” So many thoughts swirling through her head—she grabbed on to the one that seemed most manageable.

“Do you think the Jeep’s safe?” she blurted. She double-checked her seat belt to make sure it was latched and found herself scanning the side of the road for any deer that might leap into their path and crash through the windshield.

“Huh?” Rand turned to look at her. He had the wheel in a death grip, but that wasn’t the way he usually drove. He typically leaned back in his seat, one hand low on the wheel and the other thumping out a bass line on his thigh, the picture of relaxation. She’d loved his driving style back when they lived in D.C., where everyone else seemed to be jockeying for position, measuring triumph in an extra inch or two gained, or a fellow motorist cut off. But now it seemed a little . . . irresponsible.

The day of his accident rushed back to her, vivid and sharp: the phone call from the hospital; her frantic, burry race to get there; the plastic bag containing Rand’s wedding ring and wallet, which she’d clutched while he was in surgery. She remembered kissing his bruises and scratches as gently as possible, and throwing his bloody clothes into a trash bin, knowing that even if the stains came out, she’d never want to see them again.

“Okay, don’t laugh, but what would you think about trading in the Jeep for a minivan?” she suggested.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Or a station wagon,” she said. “A Volvo!”

“That’s even worse,” Rand said.

“I know you love your Jeep,” she said. “But it was totaled. What if Grace and the baby had been in the back?”

“That was a fluke,” Rand said. “One in a million. It’s not gonna happen again.”

You don’t know that for sure
, Alyssa thought.

“Let’s focus on one thing at a time, okay?” Rand said.

“Okay,” Alyssa said, and she put her hand on his leg. They never squabbled, and this was a ridiculous time to start. There was a person inside of her, the size of an orange, with fingernails and a heartbeat and a spinal cord. It was unfathomable. Grace was going to be a big sister. They’d need more diapers! Would life ever feel calm again?

Then she looked down and realized that somehow, during the last mile or so, her other hand had moved to gently rest on her belly.

• • •

Dawn steered her shopping cart down the aisle of the grocery store, searching for the black beans Kira needed to make her chili. It felt good to help, to step in and take over the task for Alyssa—especially since Dawn had enjoyed eight glorious hours of sleep. After a hot shower and a veggie omelet for breakfast, she felt some of her strength returning. The only awkward moment came when she realized she’d have to ask Peter for a ride to the store. Kira had raised her eyebrows at that.

“You don’t drive?” Kira had asked.

“I . . . used to, but my license expired,” Dawn lied. Outside, it was flurrying again and the roads were slick; she couldn’t risk losing control of an unfamiliar car and crashing. Or what if the police pulled her over for a faulty taillight and she had to reach for the New York driver’s license in her wallet, then wait while they ran her name through a database?

“No problem,” Peter said. “I need to hit the bank anyway.”

Kira didn’t ask any more questions, but Dawn could see them lingering in her eyes.

Another lie. They seemed to be tightening around Dawn, ensnarling her like a thick vine.

She found the beans and continued checking items off Kira’s list, filling her cart with a packet of fresh chives and cheeses—
a block of good aged cheddar and a Gruyère, or if they don’t have that, smoked Gouda
, Kira had written in her precise script. Dawn passed by a display of wine and hesitated. She yearned to add a nice bottle as a gift for Kira and the others. But spending the stolen money when it wasn’t essential for her survival felt like she was tempting bad karma.

She finished her shopping and checked out, making sure to keep the change from the cash Kira had given her in a separate envelope in her purse; then she went outside to wait for Peter, who was running errands of his own. Killington was such a pretty town, with its well-kept shops and unique restaurants lining the streets like jewels tucked into a necklace. A recent snowfall had dusted the treetops, and overhead, the sky was a dazzling blue.

She began to wander down the street, a bag of groceries in each arm, gazing into the windows of a snowboarding shop and a bookstore. Dawn passed by a family of five—one of the little kids was on the verge of a tantrum and the parents were cajoling her out of it with promises of pizza—and then a couple strolling hand in hand. The sight made her pull up short, her throat aching. Tucker had been the first man she’d loved, but everything about him was an illusion. She wondered if their kisses and lovemaking, which felt almost sacred to her, had been repulsive to him.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the next store window she passed. Even with her new glasses and dark bob, anyone who looked closely would recognize her. She couldn’t change her body shape, or the curves of her features, or those tiny but distinctive scars on her cheek.

She was about to move on when something inside the store caught her eye: a display of electronics, including disposable phones.