Escape (28 page)

“Would he?”

She was right. “Maybe not. He’s so into work right now. But the channel of communication is open, and I don’t want to close it again. My day is better when I’m in touch with him.”

“That sounds like dependence.”

“No. It’s choice.” And very clear to me now. For this alone, my escape had been productive. “I like hearing his voice. I like sharing things. Maybe I feel guilty being here, while he’s going through a hard time at work. But if he needs to vent, I want to listen.”

“You want him dependent on
you
,” she teased.

Better me than Naida
, I thought, but said, “What I really want is the hope. Our talking means we’re alive
—us
—as a couple. It means there’s something else besides work, something that no one can take away. We used to have this. I like that it’s back.”

“Does that mean you can take New York again?”

I considered. “It means I love my husband. It means I want to be with him.”

“What about New York?”

“I don’t know.” I did feel the weight of decision. “I should be thinking about it every minute, right? I should be doing things to help me decide. But maybe that what’s changed. I’ve always had a clear image of where I was headed. I never just went with the flow. But I feel like I have to do that now. I can’t force the issue. It’ll come to me.” When my cell rang, I pulled it out, fully expecting it to be James. I was surprised to see the local area code. Jude? Amelia?

“Hello?”

“Emily? It’s Katherine from the Refuge.”

“Katherine,” I said. I wouldn’t have recognized her voice. It was taut. “Everything okay?”

“Your kitten isn’t doing well.”

“Not doing well.” I felt instant dread.

“Could you take a ride over?”

“Now? Of course.”

After two more minutes of setup, I ran out of the Red Fox. I hit sixty on the straightaway, not a wise thing, but I felt the urgency that Katherine hadn’t quite expressed. Threatening clouds filled the sky, mirroring my fears. With the receptionist gone for the day, I ran right in.

My kitten wasn’t in Rehab. I didn’t see her anywhere. I was still looking frantically around when Katherine arrived and led me to a small room, where a young man, clearly a vet, stood. Precious lay on her side on the examining table. Her little eyes were open but didn’t look to be registering much.

“Did she fall?” I asked, wanting to believe the most innocent problem. I could nurse her back to health. Katherine must have known I would, which was why she had called. I could keep her with me. There was nothing of danger in the gardener’s shed.

But Katherine looked stricken. It was the vet who said, “She isn’t eating or drinking. Her systems are shutting down.”

“She was okay yesterday,” I protested.

“But weaker and weaker. You saw it.”

“Still,” I resisted, “shutting down? Can’t you do something? Give her fluids, maybe?”

“They’ll just run through her,” he said apologetically.

I didn’t like what was not being said. Frightened, I looked at Katherine.

“At best, we’d buy a week or two,” she said, “but I’d hate to have her suffer.”

I looked around, frantic for a solution, but all I saw were two syringes. My eyes filled with tears.

“She won’t feel pain,” the vet promised. “The first shot will sedate her. It’ll be quick. She’s halfway there now.”

My throat grew thicker, but even if I’d been able to argue, what he said made sense. Yes, I’d been told Precious could live a long life, but deep inside I had worried from the start.

“Can I hold her?” I asked, knowing that was why I’d been called.

As soon as we were alone, I put my face to her tiny one, feeling the soft fur, the fading warmth. Ignoring the antiseptic smell of the table, I focused on the smell that I knew. “I’m here, baby,” I whispered, touching her head. Her eyes closed, opened, found mine. That was all the encouragement I needed. Lifting her gently, I cradled her and sat in the only chair in the room. It was metal, with a padded seat and back, but I would have sat on burning coals for this poor thing that had never really had a chance.

Bending over her, I murmured soft words of love as I rocked back and forth. She stretched out a paw, moved her head against mine, then grew still. And I knew. She had been waiting for me. Rising up only enough, I touched the velvet of the ears she had never grown into. As I watched, the pink drained, little veins no longer pumping blood. I held her close, preserving her fading warmth until Katherine and the vet returned.

His stethoscope confirmed it.

None of us spoke. I held her a moment longer, before burying my face in her fur and silently telling her I would always remember. Then I watched the vet carry her down the hall.

Katherine looked drawn. “Thanks for coming.”

Unable to speak, I nodded, raised a hand in goodbye, and headed back outside. The clouds had let loose a deluge. Though I ran, I was soaked by the time I reached the car, and once inside, I burst into tears. I wasn’t sure why I was so emotional—whether it was dredging up other losses, like the deaths of my dogs—whether, like my taste buds, my emotions were suddenly roaring back to life—or whether it was just wanting so desperately to have something living to love.

But I sat in my bucket seat and cried with my hands over my face.
Five minutes passed, maybe ten before the passenger door opened. I barely had time to react—and then only to shift my fingers to see—when Jude scrambled in and slammed the door.

“Wow,” he said, leaning forward to peer up through the windshield. “I haven’t seen rain like this since Seattle. Not used to driving in the wet, city girl?” he asked, gently teasing. When I didn’t answer, he looked at me. My hands still covered my nose and mouth, but my eyes were free.

“Are you crying?” he asked, unsettled.

“My kitten died,” I said. Even muffled by my hands and the rain on the roof, my voice was nasal.

“You mean, a kitten here?” When I nodded, he reached out and cupped the back of my neck. His gold eyes were understanding. “It’s the way of nature, Emmie.”

“I know. The strong survive. But she
could
have been strong. Why didn’t she have that
chance
?”

His eyes remained gentle, fingers kneading my neck. “Some don’t. I’ve always admired the people here who live through that every day. It’s hard to watch.”

“Is it ever.”

“She’s in a better place,” he offered.

My throat was tight. I could only nod.

“You’ll see her someday,” he added.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better. You don’t believe in heaven.”

He smiled sheepishly. After a minute, he said, “Want to take a ride? Get away from it all?”

I gave a shrill laugh. “I thought I was doing that!”

“No. A fifteen-minute drive.”

I thought of my kitten. I did like the idea of seeing her in another life, but I couldn’t see her now. The poor little thing was alone. Me, I didn’t want to be.

We sprinted from my car to his, a Range Rover that Amelia had recently bought and for which, despite having mocked my BMW,
Jude made no apologies. With the wipers working double time, he backed around and sped off. We didn’t say much. I was recovering from crying, and he—well, I had no idea what he was thinking and didn’t have the wherewithal to ask. We headed away from town through unabating rain.

Ten minutes out, he turned onto a logging road that I would never even have seen. The SUV handled the bumps better than my BMW, though I still held the hand bar for dear life as we bounced up the mountain. Time and again we skidded on mud or wet leaves, but Jude recovered easily. Having a good time, he stopped only when boulders blocked the way. Then he ran around the car and opened my door.

“I’d offer an umbrella,” he said, grabbing my hand, “but this is a trip down memory lane, and we didn’t have umbrellas back then.”

I was trying to see through the rain. “Memory lane? I don’t think so. I haven’t been here before.”

“You have. Wait.”

I had to scramble to keep up, but less than a minute later slithered to a stop beside him on the far side of a granite wall. And there they were—Jude’s falls—a wild cascade of water tumbling over a ledge ten feet above and hitting the brook with a raucous spray before pulsing downstream.

If it hadn’t been raining, I’d have heard the falls sooner. But my disbelief now had a different cause. “Excuse me.” I yanked my hand free. “We
drove
here?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew there was a
road
?”

“Yeah.”

“So last time—and those other times—why were we scrambling for three hours up vertical rocks to get here?”

Rain dripped over his smirk. “Because that’s the side of the mountain that’s fun. I had to drive today, because I promised you fifteen minutes.”

“That’s not the
point.
” I remembered scratched hands and knees,
and legs that were sore for days. “It was dangerous. I risked my
life
. You never said there was a road.”

“You never asked. Did you not get a sense of accomplishment hiking up?”

“It was
hard.
”

“Most good things are,” he drawled with a brief, telling look, but before I could think up a fitting reply, he had his shirt over his head. “I’m going under.”

I’d have argued if his jeans had followed the shirt, but he left them on—they were soaked anyway—and felt his way carefully over the slick rocks until he could stand under the falls. Despite the sheer volume of water, he held his head high. The skies remained dark but his face was lit with pure joy.

How to sustain anger? This was Jude at his best—in his element and a pleasure to watch. He might be insensitive to the extreme, but he was the epitome of rugged.

In time, he opened his eyes and backed out of the torrent to a narrow alcove. Balancing carefully, one stone to the next, I joined him there. Once I was safely settled, I closed my eyes. The smells were clean, the sounds loud but natural. There was something primitive here, something exciting that had nothing to do with coyotes.

We were sitting wet thigh to wet thigh with our backs to the rock, when he said, “Remember?”

“I do.”

“You wouldn’t stand under the falls then either. What are you afraid of?”

“Drowning. I can’t bear so much water pounding on my head.” I did like sitting on this ledge, though. I was drenched but sheltered. And Jude was all daredevil beside me, perfectly able to keep me safe.

“What else?” he asked.

“Snakes.”

“Still?” His eyes were mellow, conducive to talk.

“Always.”

“What else?”

I didn’t have to think long. “Losing my job. Losing my husband. Losing my future.”

“How could you lose your future?”

“By losing James.”

“He’s that good?”

“For me, he is.”

“Is that a message for me?”

“No. Just a statement of fact.”

Jude studied me for a minute before putting his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms and looking out through the sheeting water at the forest. He was silent for a time, and then his voice barely made it past the roar of the falls. “I’m afraid of failure.”

Startling, hearing such a confession from Jude. I looked at him, but he kept his eyes ahead. Gently, I said, “We all are.”

“It’s worse for me. When you set yourself up to be invincible, you have a problem.”

“That’s insightful.”

He turned his head. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“No. I completely understand. You like being seen a certain way. What are you most afraid of failing at?”

“Family. I’m bad at it.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Definitely sarcasm there.”

“Maybe, but it never bothered you before.”

He looked out again. “I’ve always done what I’m best at—physical things—things other people can’t do. I’d be a
great
captain of a fishing boat. I’d be
great
climbing Everest. If I they ever offered it, I’d be first in line to walk on the moon.”

I didn’t doubt that. And he would be great at that, too.

“Relationships are something else,” he went on. “I can’t muscle my way through.” He shot me a self-effacing glance. “No one understands why I haven’t seen Noah yet.”

What could I say? I didn’t understand it either.

“I’m trying to consider the boy,” he explained. “Should I be coming into his life if I’m just gonna leave it again?”

It sounded like he was looking for an excuse not to try, which was a switch. “Last time we talked, you were considering custody.”

“I still am. I guess. But I can’t do it alone. Help me, Emmie.”

I drew back, startled by the panic in his eyes. “Uh, with what?”

“I’m meeting him tomorrow. I don’t know what to do. It’d be easier if you were there.”

I doubted that. Besides, I had no desire to mix with Jude, Jenna, and the child they had conceived together. “Why me?”

“Moral support. You’re my talisman.”

“Last time, you said I was your conscience. All I am is a piece of your past. I can’t be your future, Jude,” I fairly sang.

“I’m talking present.”

“Uh-huh. You always are.”

“Okay. I deserved that. What I mean, though, is
your
present. There’s a reason why you needed to leave New York now. Don’t you think it’s awful coincidental that after ten years away, we both end up here at the same time? You’re here as a gift to me.”

“That is totally egotistical.”

He shook his head. “There was a greater purpose.”

“And that is?”

“Helping me. Look, I know you’re married. I get it. You’re married, and you love the guy, and he’s probably better for you than I am, though there’s still the question of why you’re here and he’s there. But what kind of guy is he if he’d mind your helping an old friend?”

“Forget James,” I argued. “This is about me and your son. I won’t be part of his future either. So why should I be there?”

“Because he’ll
like
you,” Jude said with feeling.

Fear wasn’t something I associated with Jude, not even when he used the word. But it was in his voice now. He was afraid of Noah.