Escape (17 page)

“Hello, Mother,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek before sliding in beside me. “Hey, Vick, how’s life?”

In other circumstances, I might have enjoyed Amelia’s shock. But I was shocked myself—that he had chosen this public place to tell her he was back, that he had slid in near me like I’d known he was coming, like he and I were a pair.

He made things worse by looking back and forth between his mother and his sister before murmuring in an aside to me, “I do love a surprise.”

Vicki was suddenly glaring at me. I blew out a puff, held up a hand saying that I knew nothing (which, when it came to his showing up
here
, was the truth), and scooched away from Jude and into the corner.

He had showered—more likely, knowing Jude, had stood in all his naked glory in the stream—and wore clean jeans and a T-shirt advertising
CRAB FISHING IN DUTCH HARBOR
. Indoors, his blond hair was sprinkled with a gray that I hadn’t noticed outside.

“What did you do to your
face
?” Vicki cried.

Jude touched the scar. “I didn’t do it. A buddy of mine did.”

“You look old,” Vicki said, but added a more gentle “older.”

“And you motherly,” Jude replied, lazily stretching his arms over the table.

“Jude, my man!” came the cry of a friend who extended a hand in an exuberant shake. He was no sooner gone when a woman approached, another I knew to be a former lover. Jude hugged her and talked for a minute before sending her off.

Looking confused in ways that liquor hadn’t made her, Amelia stared for another minute. When she finally spoke, her voice was less bold, less loud, but deep with feeling. “Ten years and not a word, then just showing up here like this? Where have you been? Why haven’t you called? Do you know how much I’ve worried? There were times I wondered if you were still
alive.
” She glanced at me. “You knew about this, didn’t you? You came here for him.”

Before I could deny it, another friend of Jude’s came to the table. When Jude slid out to hug him, I grabbed my chance at escape, pausing only to whisper to Amelia, “I’m here independent of him, and
call me a coward if you want, but he’ll suck me into this if I stay. What you have here is a family reunion, and I’m not family.” I slid the rest of the way out of the booth and left before she could respond.

Vicki must have called Rob to say she’d be late, because though The Grill closed at ten, it was well after midnight when she cracked open my door and whispered, “Are you sleeping?”

“Fat chance,” I whispered back as she approached the bed fully clothed. I pushed up against the pillows, but didn’t bother with the lamp. I could see her well enough, and what I couldn’t see, I felt, so I knew she was upset. “How could he do that, Vicki Bell? To your mother? To you? And with me there? He must have been watching—must have wanted me there to soften the blow to Amelia. So is that where you’ve been—Amelia’s?”

“Oh yeah. Not a happy scene.”

“Why not? Isn’t she glad that he’s back?”

“Totally. It’s revolting.” She sank down on the duvet. “Was she really the one who was angry back there at The Grill for his not calling, not writing, not letting her know he was alive?
Well
”—Vicki breathed voluminously—“all that was easily forgiven. She fawned all over him.” Her voice went lower to simulate Amelia’s. “ ‘What can I get you, Jude? Oh dear, I
don’t
have Red Bull, but Vicki can run out for some. No? Are you sure? It’ll be so nice having you sleep here in the house again. Why yes, Emma Ruth is still cooking. Roast beef hash for breakfast? With
beets
? I’m impressed, Jude. She will
definitely
make that for you. Yes, she’ll wash your clothes. Of
course
, I don’t mind the holes. The holes are
you.
’ ”

She made a gagging sound. I turned on my side, letting her vent.

“I should be happy he’s back,” she said. “Right? Well, part of me isn’t. He’s my brother, and I love him, but it’s not like he was a good guy ten years ago. He lived to annoy Mom, but there she is now, acting like he’s a hero. For what? For staying alive in the Bering Sea? I work fourteen-hour days doing laundry, making beds, cleaning toilets,
and she walks in with barely a hello and tells me that I’m inconsistent when it comes to disciplining Charlotte, or that the Red Fox should offer a menued breakfast, because, after all, how can I expect people to automatically like what
I
choose to serve,
especially
when some are on special diets, and if we want this place to succeed, we have to be
aware
of these things. Like I’m stupid?”

“You’re not stupid.”

“And here’s another thing,” Vicki spat out. “Noah.”

“Noah?”

“His
son
. I mean, can you believe that name? He was named after Jenna’s father, but talk about biblical? Mom is counting on him heading the Refuge someday. But what about Charlotte? My child is
legitimate
, but has Amelia ever suggested that
she
head the Refuge? No! So … so … is it a
male
thing?” Vicki asked, sounding bewildered.

“It’s a Jude thing.”

“She loves him more than she loves me?”

“No. It’s Jude. He has a weird power.”

“And
before
he was a crab fisherman,” Vicki went on, “know what he was doing? Dune racing in Egypt. He did it for money—like, people would bet on him and he’d get a percentage of the take. Then he led glacier tours in New Zealand. I didn’t even know there
were
glaciers in New Zealand. But his stories are wonderful. I’ll bet he has a great one for the scar. He goes on and on, and you hang on every word. He dares to do things most of us do not. He’s a total free spirit. And Amelia thinks he’ll stay in Bell Valley?” She blew a raspberry. “When pigs fly.”

I was thinking of Jude’s daring. The rest of us lived vicariously through him. Was that part of his appeal then?

Vicki focused on me. “You’re too quiet. You felt something for him, didn’t you?”

“You don’t
not
feel something for Jude Bell,” I remarked. “You love him or hate him. There’s no in between.”

“Which end are you at?”

“Both,” I said, bewildered myself. “I hate him for the way he steps on people’s feelings. But you gotta love him for that free spirit.”

“Do you find him appealing?”

“I’d have to be dead not to,” I said, trying to make light of it. “That’s one of the things I was thinking of after I left The Grill. Jude’s like a celebrity. He may be older now, but there’s still something riveting about him.”

“It’s called virility.”

“Or ruggedness. You can’t look at him and not want to look again.”

She was quiet for a minute. “He said he saw you this afternoon. Did it all come back?”

“Yup, including the betrayal.”

“The sexual attraction, too?”

“No.” I tried to explain to myself as well as to her. “It was more a mind thing. This sounds crazy, Vicki, but right before I saw him, I saw the coyote. When Jude appeared, the coyote was gone. It’s like that coyote is
him
. It is totally untamed, and it fascinates me. And it’s been haunting my dreams, so maybe Jude is something I need to work through.”

“Work through how?” She sounded worried.

“I have to figure out what parts of him I want to … capture.”

“Like what?”

“Defying convention. Daring to be different.”

“You’ve done those things just by leaving New York.”

“But what to do with them now? How to make some of it stick? What parts I
want
to make stick? It’s confusing.”

Vicki exhaled. “So there’s another reason I resent his showing up again. He’s complicating your escape.” Her voice dropped. “You won’t leave just because he’s here, will you?”

“And desert you in your time of need?”

“I’m serious, Emmie.”

“So am I. Where else would I go?”

“Anywhere else might be more peaceful.”

“But it wouldn’t have you.”

She touched her forehead to mine. “That’s very sweet. Okay, so what’s another thing you’ve been thinking about since you left The Grill?”

I was a minute returning to that part of our discussion. Then I smiled. It might be wishful thinking—and not entirely smart, if Jude was something I needed to work through—but right now, today, certainly until after I talked with James, it worked.

“Jude Bell is not my business,” I vowed.

Not my business. Amelia could have him. I had my own issues, the most immediate of which was Colleen Parker.

Why was I thinking of Colleen when I woke up Thursday morning? Because of Vicki. Because of how we’d helped each other last night. Because of the ease, the trust, the interest we shared.

I waited until after breakfast, then, sitting in my car, gave Colly a call. She was not happy with me—first, because I hadn’t responded to e-mails from the other bridesmaids, and then because of what I had to say.

“You can’t back out now!” she cried in horror. “The dresses are already here!”

“I’ll pay for mine anyway,” I offered.

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’ve done the choreography, with the music and all, and we matched it perfectly, bridesmaids to groomsmen. Now I’ll have one less.”

Gently I said, “Ask another friend, and I’ll give her my dress for free.”

In another tone, to another woman, my remark might have been rude. But I knew my audience, and that audience was angry. Not sorry. Not concerned. Just angry. I tried to empathize with the pressure she felt, but it was hard. My own wedding had been small—immediate family and a handful of friends—so I had no personal experience in staging an extravaganza.

“I asked you to be in my wedding party,” Colly said, “and you accepted. You can’t back out now.”

“I can’t be there.”

“Why
not
, Emily? Okay, so you’re taking time off, but what could possibly be so important that you can’t come back for one day? Just one day. I mean, like, are you in rehab or something?”

“No. No rehab.” Not in the traditional sense, but I wasn’t explaining that. And yes, I could come back for a day. I might well
be
back, since Walter’s month would expire long before the wedding. Given the size of New York and the fact that our lives never overlapped outside book group, which I could easily miss, Colly would never know if I was back or not.

For the sake of this wedding, I wanted to be away. If I showed up as a guest rather than a bridesmaid, there would be questions to answer, and the fact was, I didn’t want to be at Colly’s wedding at all. Her half of this phone conversation reinforced the conviction.

“This isn’t right,” she said.

But for me it was. Colly collected friends like bangle bracelets, and I couldn’t be one of those. It would be a betrayal of what I was starting to learn about myself—namely, that I wanted quality, not quantity.

“I’m sorry, Colly,” I said quietly. “I’ll be thinking of you, though.”

I’ll be thinking of you
,
too
, she might have said.
I’m sorry you’re going through a rough time. Let me know how you are. Stay in touch
. Instead, she sighed. “Okay. I’ll make some calls. I have a cousin who might take your place.”

I repeated my apology, but ended the call feeling no regret at all.

I did feel regret when it came to Lee. I knew I should call James. Lee was a perfect excuse, right?

But I couldn’t get myself to do it. Turning off the BlackBerry, I dropped it on the passenger’s seat of the car and left the Red Fox. The charcoal SUV was on the far side of the green, protecting Lee as I was not. So that was good but not.

At least I wasn’t looking in my rearview mirror as I drove out of town, and once I turned into the Refuge road and entered the parking lot in my dead-giveaway BMW, I was being watched by someone else.

Jenna Frye.

A wisp of a woman with long blond hair and ragged-hem jeans, she looked far more the part of Jude’s consort than I ever had. And she had to know that Jude was back. I wondered if her husband knew and, if so, how he felt. Jude was not the kind of man that other men took lightly.

I climbed from the car, watching Jenna watch me as she crossed the porch of the big Colonial. She looked stricken. Thinking I was here for Jude? For one crazy moment I imagined that she and I might have a lot to say to each other.

I ducked back in my car to put my sunglasses on the dashboard, but by the time I straightened, she was inside.

They needed help today in the laundry room, so I spent the morning doing load after load of towels, pet beds, and scrubs. I half wondered if Amelia had requested that I be sent here as punishment for not telling her Jude was back. But the assignment could have been worse. Had she really been in a mood, she might have had me mucking out horse stalls.

But I wasn’t complaining. Volunteers came here knowing they would be asked to do whatever needed to be done, and I was just another volunteer. Jude wasn’t here; he rarely came, and he had made it clear to Vicki that he planned to do nothing but sleep, eat Emma Ruth’s roast beef hash with beets, and watch the NFL channel. So it was just me, the regular staff, and a handful of other visitors.

My reward, of course, was spending the afternoon with the cats. The wobbly kitten knew me; I was sure of it. She was sitting in a corner apart from the others when I entered the room, and within seconds was teetering my way. There were two other volunteers there,
but she made a determined little beeline for me. I wanted to think she’d been waiting.

Lifting her, I put my face to hers before settling her in the cup of my legs. She was so light, so fragile, that I feared she wasn’t eating, so I broke the rule and hand-fed her until other cats crowded in. Several new ones had arrived since I’d come, including a mangy Maine coon with a stumpy hind leg and a scowl, and though he was nowhere near as cute as my Precious, I felt for him. Grumpy and pompous, he reminded me of Amelia. He was parked unhappily in a crate that, earlier that week, had been the home of a Siamese mix recovering from surgery. I didn’t see that one here now, which meant either it had been moved to another room, had been adopted, or had died.