Blackberry Winter: A Novel (22 page)

C
LAIRE

I
sat in the cab for a while, staring at the hotel, memorializing the moment that Ethan had slipped away from me.

The cab driver didn’t share my emotional sentiments. “Where to, miss?” he barked, tapping his fingers on the dash impatiently. “I don’t have all night.”

I didn’t feel like going home, not after tonight. “Café Lavanto,” I said instead.

The café looked dark when I arrived, but I was glad to find the door still open. A college girl with a short blond bobbed haircut shook her head from behind the counter. “Sorry,” she said. “We’re closed. I must have forgotten to lock the door.”

“Oh, I—”

“It’s fine, Brittany,” Dominic said, emerging from the back room with a stack of papers in hand. He turned to me. “It’s good to see you, Claire. Want something to drink?”

Brittany, cleaning the steamer wand of the espresso machine with a damp towel, seemed visibly annoyed by my presence. I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I just…” I stared down at my feet. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

He nodded, setting down the papers on a nearby table. “I’m all ears.”

We sat in a pair of upholstered chairs by the windows, gazing out at the street. A couple walking a pug passed by, holding hands over the dog’s leash. Brittany stopped at the door before letting herself out. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

Dominic waved and then turned back to me. “What’s wrong?”

I sighed. “You went through a bad breakup, right?”

“A doozy,” he said.

“How did you know when it was…” I paused. “Over?”

“Things were shaky for a long time,” he said. “We stopped laughing. She’d work late and not call me. I started spending more time with my friends. It snowballed. And then there was the added fact that she was—how do I put this nicely?—crazy.”

I returned his grin, but the smile faded quickly. There was nothing funny about what I was about to say. “I’m afraid my marriage might be over.”

“Claire, I’m so sorry.”

I clasped my hands together and stared ahead. My heart ached, and I couldn’t think of a single way to quell the pain. “It’s the betrayal I can’t get over.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been there. It hurts. I wish I could say something to make you feel better.”

“Well, just being here helps,” I said. “This place is a comfort to me.”

Dominic rubbed his forehead as if recalling an uncomfortable memory. He looked at his watch. “Hey, you know what you need?”

I shrugged. “What?”

“A beer,” he said. “I’m taking you down to Kells. My buddy’s in a band that’s playing there tonight. They cover U2 songs. You’ll love it. You can drink yourself silly, sing your heart out, and then I’ll drive you home and make sure you’re safe.”

“I don’t know,” I said apprehensively.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing that a Guinness can’t fix.”

“Well,” I said, grinning, “I do like U2.”

Dominic smiled with satisfaction. “Good. I’ll just go get the extra helmet.”

I waited at the bar, glancing at the paperwork Dominic had left on a table to my right. The disarray reminded me of Ethan’s home office. I was forever tidying his mess. Manila file folders were his Achilles’ heel. I felt a sudden pain in my heart as I gathered the papers, tapping them into a neat pile.

“Oh,” Dominic said nervously, setting down the extra motorcycle helmet and swooping in to collect the pages in my hands. “I’ll take those. Sorry, I left a bit of a mess out here.”

An awkward pause hovered between us as Dominic shuffled the papers into a drawer below the bar. He smiled, erasing any lingering tension, and handed me the helmet. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I said, following him out to the street to his parked motorcycle.

Dominic blazed a trail through the crowd of sweaty, beer-fueled college students at Kells. I instantly regretted going, but then the unmistakable sound of U2 came from the stage. I expected to see Bono himself clutching the microphone, but I didn’t care that a guy with a pot belly and balding head was standing in. Dominic handed me a beer, something light brown and frothy, and I took a sip, and then another. We leaned against a patch of free space at the bar together. When a spot on the dance floor cleared, Dominic took my hand in his. “Want to dance?”

I had already finished a second beer, so I said yes without thinking.
And when the band began playing “With or Without You,” I pressed my weary head against Dominic’s chest. I missed my husband terribly, but I liked the way Dominic held me, so safe, so secure. When the song ended and the band began playing the opening rifts of “One,” I didn’t object when his hands slipped lower on my waist.

“Claire?”

I heard my name, yes. A familiar female voice. But whose? I looked over Dominic’s shoulder, then felt a tap on my back. I turned around, and my mouth flew open. My God. Ethan’s sister, Leslie. We had skirmished pretty much since the day we met, but I could now see the conflict escalating to World War III proportions.

She gave Dominic a long look, then eyed me suspiciously. “What are you doing here, Claire?”

“Oh hi, Leslie,” I said, feigning composure. “This is my friend Dominic.”

“Friend?”

“Leslie,” I said, “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I can tell you right now I don’t owe you any explanation.”

“Tell that to Ethan,” she said, pulling out her cell phone.

“Yes, do,” I said. “He won’t bother answering. He’s at the Olympic Hotel with Cassandra.”

Her mouth gaped.

“Good night, Leslie,” I said, dragging Dominic by the arm.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

I sighed. “If he can drink champagne with his ex, I can drink beer with you.” I waved at the bartender. “Another round, please.”

I don’t remember the ride to Abby’s place, or climbing the stairs to her apartment. Later, I discovered that Dominic had found her
number in my phone and called for directions. I do, however, remember waking up and feeling like I’d been hit with an ax to the head. “Where am I?” I groaned.

Abby handed me a cup of coffee. Swirls of steam drifted from the green mug. I watched them disappear into the air. “I don’t drink coffee,” I said ungratefully.

“You do this morning,” she said. “Drink up.”

I took a sip. “What happened last night?”

“Someone had a little
too
much fun,” she said.

“Oh gosh,” I said. “Do I want to know?”

Suddenly, I remembered Kells, Dominic’s warm embrace, Leslie. I covered my face. “This isn’t good, Abs.”

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed.

“Did I kiss him?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “He’s a decent guy. I don’t think he would have let you kiss him, even if he wanted to kiss you.”

I nodded.

“He carried you up six flights of stairs,” she said. “You were singing the whole way.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she said. “And you woke up the crazy lady in the apartment on the fourth floor.”

I buried my face deeper in my hands, then looked at my watch, suddenly panic-stricken.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s Saturday.”

“I’m not worried about work,” I said. “It’s Eva.”

“Eva?”

I fumbled for my bag, and was happy to find it next to me, beside the couch. “She used to know Daniel Ray. I’m meeting her today.” I pulled out my planner and flipped to the current week. “Good. I have an hour.”

“Go shower,” Abby said. “Towels are in the cabinet. Use anything you need.”

I took another big gulp of coffee. Ethan would be proud, but I wasn’t drinking it for him. “Thanks, Abs,” I said. “You’re the world’s greatest friend.”

“I know,” she said, folding up the blanket she’d strewn over me the night before. “But I’d like to point out that you drooled on my Pottery Barn pillows.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “What’s a friendship without a little drool?”

I gave her a grateful smile that had nothing to do with the pillows. “I love you.”

She shooed me to the bathroom. “Go brush your teeth.”

The flower stands at the Pike Place Market brimmed with new blossoms. A bucket of fresh-cut hydrangeas, indigo blue, caught my eye, but even their cheerful petals couldn’t elicit a smile. All I could think about was Ethan and Cassandra, and how we were entwined in a colossal mess. I pulled a bottle of Advil from my bag and popped two pills, washing them down with a swig from the water bottle Abby had provided. I tucked the bottle back inside and felt my cell phone buzzing, notifying me of a missed call. I clicked a button and saw that it was Ethan. So he’d talked to Leslie. That or he wanted to apologize for last night. Either way, I didn’t want to speak to him. I had nothing to say.

I checked the address in my planner, walking along the sidewalk until I came to the entrance of Eva’s building. Inside the lobby an arrangement of sun-faded silk flowers sat atop a round table, their petals thick with dust. The wallpaper bubbled and peeled at
the edges, and the scent of boiled vegetables wafted in the air. I took the elevator to the eleventh floor, stopping at unit 1105 and knocking quietly.

Moments later the doorknob turned and an elderly woman appeared. Her white hair was tucked into a bun, revealing a thin face and kind brown eyes. She smiled. “You must be Claire.”

“Yes,” I said, extending my hand. Funny, I knew she was an old woman, and yet I’d only imagined a little girl, with pigtails and a calico jumper. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Come in,” she said, gesturing inside the apartment. I sat down in a blue recliner near the window, tucking aside a small cross-stitched pillow to make room for my purse. Plain, but tidy, the space smelled of lemons and baby powder. It reminded me a little of my grandmother’s small condo in San Diego. I missed her.

“Can I make you a cup of tea, dear?”

“No thank you,” I said. “I’m fine.”

She sat down in a chair beside me, crossing her hands in her lap. “Now,” she said, “what can I tell you?”

“Yes,” I replied, pulling my notebook and a pen out of my purse. “As I mentioned on the phone, I’m writing a feature about a little boy who disappeared the day of the snowstorm in May of 1933. I believe you two were acquainted?”

“Yes,” Eva said, her eyes clouded with memories. “Yes, we were.” She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again. “Daniel was the son of my mother’s best friend, Vera Ray. We were like sister and brother.”

“So you lived together?”

“Well, for a short time when we were babies. Our mothers were both unmarried. My father died before I was born, and Daniel’s, well, he wasn’t in the picture. Vera and Daniel moved into their own apartment, though, just after she got a job at the Olympic.”

I thought of the scene from last night and cringed. “The hotel?”

“Yes,” she said. “Vera was a maid there.”

“And your mother was too?”

“No,” she said. “Mother worked in a factory in the industrial district.”

I turned a page in my notebook. “So what do you remember about his disappearance?”

She took a deep breath and fixed her gaze out the window, where the red-lettered sign of Pike Place Market presided and a ferry streamed slowly through the bay. For low-income senior housing, the view was extraordinary. “My memories have faded some,” she said, rubbing her right hand. “But I remember Aunt Vera. I called her that, Auntie. I remember when she came to stay with us, right after Daniel disappeared. Vera had always been generous with smiles, but not anymore. I remember watching from the hallway as she sobbed. Her body trembled from her sorrow. I didn’t understand it then, of course. But I do now.” She pointed to a framed photo on the wall of three children. The lighting and dress dated the shot to the 1960s. “The boy,” she said. “My eldest. He died in a car accident twenty years ago. A head-on collision. A drunk driver was going the wrong way on an on-ramp. I’d thought of Vera many times as a young mother, of course. The thought of losing a baby was horrific. But when the highway patrol called me to tell me about Eddie’s death, I felt a kinship with Vera. I finally knew what she went through.”