Blackberry Winter: A Novel (11 page)

“Sure we do,” she said, unaffected by my insecurities. “And look over there.” She pointed to two men standing straight ahead, and I saw, again, the man who had made eye contact with me moments before. He gazed at me with a beckoning grin and I turned away quickly. “Should we go talk to them?” she continued, bobbing a curl flirtatiously with her hand.

“Caroline!” I pulled her arm and whisked her into the room to our left, where people hovered around a grand piano. “What has gotten into you?”

She grinned. “Look, let’s just have a little fun. Besides, I rather fancy the idea of spending the evening in the company of
rich
men.”

I shook my head. “I won’t stand here and—” I paused when I felt a tapping on my shoulder, only to discover the two men from the foyer.

The one in the gray suit smiled. “You won’t stand here and…? Do tell.”

I blushed. “Oh, nothing,” I muttered, sending Caroline a look
of panic, but her eyes had already been swallowed up by the man’s friend.

“I’m Charles,” the taller of the two said, holding his hand out to me. I took it dutifully, but found that once our palms touched, I didn’t want to let go. “And you are?”

“Vera,” I said, looking away so as not to be hypnotized by his gaze. “Vera Ray.”

He gestured to a pair of wingback chairs near a crackling fireplace to our right. “Care to sit down?”

I looked at Caroline for approval, but she was too consumed in conversation with Charles’s friend to notice. “Of course,” I said nervously. The only men I’d associated with were of the working-class variety. This man’s suit and unmarred hands told me he was of an entirely different breed. I worried that upon close inspection he’d find me unsuitable. I appreciated the dimly lit room, where the shabbiness of my dress and the scuffs on my shoes weren’t as obvious.

“Some party,” he said, looking around the room.

“Yes, indeed,” I replied, clutching my purse tightly.

He peered at me for an uncomfortably long moment. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You weren’t at the art museum event last month, were you?”

“No,” I said nervously.

Charles looked satisfied. “Well, you didn’t miss much. It was quite dull.” He leaned in closer to me. “Can you keep a secret?”

I nodded hesitantly.

“I hate these functions. My father insisted that I attend.”

“My friend insisted that
I
attend,” I said with a smile.

Charles sank his chin in his hand and grinned. “Well, aren’t we a pair?”

My cheeks warmed.

He pushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Truth is, I’d rather be anywhere but here.” He pointed to a man about his age wiping a table in the distance. “I envy him.”

I gave him a disbelieving look. “Why?”

“Because he’s free,” he said simply.

“And you’re not?”

Charles tugged on the collar of his crisply pressed shirt as if it were a manacle. “Not really. I’m expected to play a role.”

“Well,” I said, “with all due respect, a lot of people would kill to be in your position.”

“And they’d soon realize it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” He sighed. “I’d rather be a farmer.”

“You? A farmer?”

His eyes brightened. “I’d grow corn, so I could get lost in it. Did you know that in California they grow corn mazes—big stalks as tall as me spread out as far as the eye can see?”

I shook my head.

“Well, that’s what I’d do, anyway,” he said, “if I could choose another life. And you?” His eyes sparkled with sincerity. “Are you happy?”

I smoothed my dress self-consciously.
Can he see through me? Does he know I don’t belong here?
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I said a little more defensively that I’d intended.

A band began playing soft music, and a few couples rose from their chairs and began walking to the dance floor. He looked at me shyly. “Let’s dance.”

My heart raced.
Dance? Me?
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh,” Charles replied, injured. “I promise, I won’t bite.”

I looked away, trying to think of an excuse. “No, no, it’s just that, well…”

“Tell me,” he said tenderly. “What are you afraid of? No, let me guess. You’re engaged to be married?” He placed his hand on his heart dramatically, as if Cupid had just shot an arrow right through the lapel of his suit jacket.

“No,” I said, smiling despite myself. “It’s just that I…can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t
dance
,” I whispered.

Charles looked amused. “Oh, is that all?” He reached for my hand. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”

My heart raced as he led me to the freshly waxed parquet floor. I looked around at the couples moving graciously, elegantly around us. I could jitterbug, but this? I was out of my element.

Charles placed my left hand on his shoulder and took my right hand in his, positioning my body so close to his that I felt the warmth radiating from his suit jacket. “This is a waltz,” he said. “It’s easy. Just follow me.”

In minutes, I caught on, and I followed Charles’s lead around the dance floor. He guided me with such precision, he made up for my lack of dancing prowess.

“You’re a natural,” he said, smiling at me with his warm green eyes.

I grinned, looking away. “Well, I have you to thank for that.”

He eyed me curiously, determined to continue the conversation. “Tell me, Miss Ray, who are your family? I don’t recognize the Ray name. Is your father in real estate?”

I freed my hand from his and suddenly stopped dancing. “I really must go.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I say something wrong?”

I glanced over to where I thought Caroline was, but couldn’t see her in the dim, smoky air.
What am I doing here? This isn’t a place for me.
“I’m very sorry,” I said, turning toward the door. “Good night.”

I ran through the throng of people, pushing my way into the foyer, frantically looking for Caroline. Perhaps she could mingle with the rich without batting an eye, but I couldn’t pretend. It wasn’t in me.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, pushing past a group of men smoking cigars. I took a step farther and collided with a hotel maid I recognized instantly. “Gwen?”

She looked at me with confusion. “Vera? What are
you
doing here?”

I shook my head. “Caroline talked the doorman into letting us in.”

Gwen raised one eyebrow. “She could talk a mink into giving up its fur, that one.”

I sighed. “This is beautiful and all, but…I just can’t pretend to be”—I looked back toward the party—“one of them. I don’t belong here.”

“Maybe not,” Gwen said, “but you seem to have an admirer.”

I turned around to see Charles approaching. “Quick,” I said, “help me hide.”

Gwen shrugged and led me down a hallway, where we both jumped inside a maid’s closet. I pushed a mop aside to make more room. “All right,” she said once the door was safely closed behind us. “Why is it that you’re hiding from Seattle’s most eligible bachelor?”

“Charles?”

“Yes, dummy,” she said with a sigh. “His father owns half of Seattle. This hotel, too.”

“Well,” I said, “then I’ll save him the disappointment when he finds out I’m not a society girl.”

“Honey,” Gwen snorted, “I’m sorry to put it so bluntly—I’m sure he already knows you’re not a society girl.”

The unforgiving light in the closet did nothing to conceal the hole beginning to form on the toe of my right shoe. “Oh.”

“He clearly doesn’t care,” she continued. “Maybe he likes you for…you.”

“Gwen,” I said, “you’re very sweet, but I think you’re out of your mind.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m going home. Is there a back entrance I can use?”

“Yes,” she said, opening the door and pointing down the hall. “Right that way.”

“Thanks. And if you see Caroline, can you let her know? Discreetly?”

“I will,” she replied. “I’ll pass her a note in the caviar.” She snickered.

I walked down the hallway and opened the door, which deposited me in the alley. I took two steps, then jumped when I heard shuffling behind me. I turned around to see Charles leaning against the building with a shy smile.

“There you are,” he said. “I thought you were running away from me.”

“I was,” I said honestly.

He took a step closer. “I have to know,” he said. “What did I say that has you so spooked? Did I do something to upset you?”

“Listen,” I replied, “you have the wrong idea about me. I’m not a debutante. I didn’t go to finishing school. And I wasn’t even invited to this event.”

Charles shrugged. “And you think I care about all that?”

I paused, studying his face—honest, kind. “You don’t?”

“I can’t stand those kinds of girls,” he said, gesturing toward the party. “They’re all the same. If you’ll let me, I’d love to get to know
you
. Can we start over?”

I smiled, extending my hand. “I’m Vera Ray; so nice to meet you.”

C
LAIRE

T
he cab pulled in front of the apartment building and skidded for a moment on the icy streets until it came to a jarring stop. The streetlights made the sequins on my dress shimmer. I sighed, longing to be in sweats and a T-shirt.

“He’s a lucky man,” the driver quipped, eyeing my dress.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your date tonight,” he continued.

“Oh,” I said. I guess he didn’t notice my red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Yes.” I shrugged and handed him a twenty before stepping out onto the sidewalk. “He doesn’t know I exist anymore,” I whispered to myself after the cab drove away.

Gene opened the door for me, and I gathered the hem of my dress before it caught on the hinge. “Home early tonight? I thought you and Ethan were at the—”

“You know I don’t like all that glitz and glamour,” I said, before he could press further. “Besides, this dress is itchy.”

Gene looked at me for a long moment. “Claire, how are you doing?” he asked, his eyes big and kind and filled with so much
goodness. “Since the accident,” he said, faltering, “you haven’t been the same.”

I nodded. “You’re right,” I said. “I haven’t.”

He wrapped his strong arm around my shoulder, and it gave me permission, somehow, to feel the feelings that hovered inside, the ones I’d tried so hard to keep hidden, to not feel. “Today’s the anniversary, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Gene,” I cried. “Sometimes I feel as if my heart is going to burst.”

“Then let it,” he said, stroking my hair the way my father used to when I was a little girl. “You’ve been carrying this burden too long. Let it out. Let it all out, dear.”

I closed my eyes, letting the memories pour out like a mudslide, destroying the stiff little world I’d created for myself, the emotional armor that protected me from feeling the pain of the past. I closed my eyes. And I remembered.

One year ago

“Pink or blue?” Ethan asked, nuzzling my neck from behind.

I turned to face him, and he held in each hand a tiny outfit—one, a dusty blue sweater with light blue leggings; the other, a pink dress with white tights and ruffles on the bottom. My heart melted. “Either way, this baby is going to be well dressed.”

Ethan eyed the pink outfit, smiling to himself. “I think she’s going to be a girl.”

I shook my head. “A boy.”

He pulled me close, rubbing his hand lovingly across my enormous belly. We’d decided to be surprised by the baby’s gender,
despite considerable protest from our families, most notably Ethan’s. “Do you know how much I love you?” he whispered into my ear.

I grinned, planting a firm kiss on his cheek, noticing my running shoes by the door. “I’m going to sneak out for a quick jog before dinner.”

Ethan frowned. “Claire, I wish you wouldn’t. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

I admit, the sight of me in all my eight-months-pregnant enormity jogging down the streets of Seattle had elicited some shocked stares, but I’d researched running during pregnancy, and everything I’d read on the topic indicated that it was generally safe. And while my doctor wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me continuing my four-mile jogs into my third trimester, she didn’t forbid them either. I stopped when I was overly winded and stayed adequately hydrated. Besides, as a lifelong runner, for me, giving up jogging would have been like giving up breathing.

“Ethan,” I protested, “you know that Dr. Jensen says running is perfectly fine during pregnancy.”

“Yeah, maybe in early pregnancy,” he said. “But it can’t be a good idea now.”

“The baby’s not going to
fall out
,” I said, laughing. I rubbed his arm. “Honey, everything’s going to be fine.”

I reached for my iPod, pushing the earbuds into my ears. “I’ll be back in a half hour,” I said before he could say another word.

I waved to Gene as I made my way out to the sidewalk. The May sun beamed down. The mild air hit my cheeks as I turned the volume up and began to pick up my pace. I felt the baby kick inside as I bounded past James Street, and I wondered what it would be like to push a jogger stroller. Like anything else, I knew I’d get used to it. I imagined my mornings with my baby in tow. I’d tuck him into his seat and we’d go jogging together.