Escape (23 page)

I might have agonized more if I hadn’t been given something else to consider. Lee took off, and Vicki and I were wiping down the kitchen counters when she left for the front hall in response to the ding of the bell. I heard an excited sound, but the dishwasher was running, muting exact words. I did get each one, though, when she returned and said in a voice that was a little too bright, “Look who just arrived!”

Behind her were my parents.

My
parents
.

My first thought, absurdly, was relief. Thirty minutes sooner and they’d have run into Amelia and Jude.
Five
minutes sooner and they’d have run into Lee.

My second thought was guilt. Claire and Roger Scott, divorced but joined in this rescue mission, had driven the two hours from Portland to haul me back home, or so my little-girl’s mind said in a moment’s regression.

My final thought was dismay. I wasn’t ready for them.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Caught between pleasure and dread, I could only dry my hands on the dish towel. My parents were an attractive couple—Mom with crinkles by her eyes and long auburn hair held behind an ear with a thin yellow ribbon that would have been recycled from a gift, Dad with little hair but
remarkably smooth skin. Both carried ten pounds more than their doctors wanted, but they looked L.L.Bean outdoorsy in jeans and shirts. So familiar. So dear. So unnerving.

I swallowed. “Mom. Dad. How did you know where I was?”

I knew Mom had suspected, but I was surprised when she said, “James called. He said you were all right, but I wanted to see for myself, and then your father said he wasn’t being left out, so here we are.”

“James called
you
?”

“He loves you, Emily,” Dad stated. “He called your mother more than once.”

Ahh. “You were the one who told him about Bell Valley.”

“Well, how could I not?” Claire asked. “I sent him other places first, because I wasn’t
entirely
sure where you were, and I do blame him for what’s happened.”

“It’s not his fault,” Dad said. “He’s the responsible one.”

“I thought we agreed to disagree on this, Roger.”

“You and I agreed, but not Emily and I.”

“Then James called again,” Mom went on, tuning Dad out, “and he sounded so tired and worried that I felt guilty. I knew how much you loved this place that summer, and when we talked the other day, I did hit a nerve.” Stopped just short of mentioning Jude, she smiled at Vicki. “You look
wonderful
. Motherhood must be agreeing with you. Is your daughter around?”

“How do you know she has a daughter?” I asked. Like with my dreaming of Jude, I was sure I hadn’t mentioned Charlotte.

Mom glanced at a picture on the corkboard by the phone. “Because that little girl has Vicki Bell written all over her.”

Brows arched in question, she returned to Vicki, who said, “Her dad took her to the Refuge. She loves the cats.”

I had a sudden inspiration. “Want one?” I asked Vicki. “There’s a special-care kitty with a neurological problem. She needs small places, like a little girl’s bedroom. I think you should take her.”

But Vicki was shaking her head even before I finished. “I’d do
it in a heartbeat. Charlotte would adore it, but not all my guests are Refuge people. For the one who may have an allergy, the Red Fox has to be pet-free.”

“Is that another baby I see growing?” Mom asked Vicki. Amazing, because there was barely a bump, but Mom did have a sixth sense when it came to maternal things. She never asked me if I was pregnant. She would know.

“Sure is,” Vicki said, “but hey, you guys need to talk. Want the den?” she asked me.

“Oh no,” Mom replied as she looked around the kitchen. “This room is calling me. Very country farmhouse. Are the cabinets oak?”

“They are,” Vicki confirmed. “They’re original.”

Trust Mom to appreciate something I had taken for granted. She was a detail person. I used to think I was, too, until my life filled with so many that I couldn’t see any one.

“That stove is no original,” Mom was saying.

“No. It’s state of the art, or at least it was four years ago.”

“Well, it’s a winner. And this table.” She ran a hand over the distressed wood. “So warm.” She pulled out a chair and, beaming, sat down. “I would love a cup of coffee. Actually, I can make it.” She started to rise again, but I pressed her back down.

“I’ll do it.”

“And maybe something to munch on? Your dad’s hungry.”

“Your mom’s hungry,” Dad countered, but sounded indulgent in this.

I was grateful for something to do. While Vicki went to handle Sunday checkouts, I made brunch from what we had just put in the fridge.

“I’m impressed,” Mom remarked when I served them quiche with sides of sausage, asparagus, and corn fritters.

“Reheating is my specialty.”

“I thought your specialty was corporate litigation,” Dad said. “Are you planning to just dump it for this … whatever that guy is?”

I stared at him for a minute, before rolling my eyes. “You are so
far off base that I’m stunned. His name is Jude, Dad, and what’s going on with me has nothing to do with him.”

Still holding his fork and knife, Dad planted the heels of his hands on the edge of the table. “Please, sweetheart. I know how these things work. You get married, everything’s great, then the routine sets in and you start romanticizing the past.”

“I didn’t do that,” Mom pointed out.

“I’m not talking to you, Claire. I’m talking to Emily.”

“I didn’t do it, either,” I told him. “I OD’d on what I had in New York and needed a break.”

“Um-hm,” Dad murmured and took several bites while Mom and I exchanged looks. I wasn’t entirely sure she was my ally, what with her dubious opinion of James. But I did feel better with her here.

Dad put down his fork. “You claimed you loved Jude, but you never wanted us to meet him. You knew I’d hate him, didn’t you, because he wasn’t going anywhere.”

“How do you know that?”

“He was here. There’s nothing here.”

I was offended. “Have you never heard of the Bell Valley Animal Refuge? Jude is in line to head the whole thing. He goes all over the world on Refuge business.” It was theoretical, of course, since Jude typically traveled for Jude. But Dad had no right to dismiss a town he knew nothing about. “As for this town, it has a history of offering sanctuary to people who don’t follow the mainstream, which, quite honestly, describes me right now.”

“The mainstream being James.”

“The mainstream being
you
,” I cried.

“Actually, it’s James,” he maintained. “You left him. That’s a mistake, Emily. James is the best thing you have. He keeps you on track.”

“Like I can’t do that myself?”

“No, you can’t right now.
Look
at you.”

I did—looked down at the sundress I’d worn for brunch, then at my hands, which were rock steady and relaxed—then back at Dad. “I look better than I have in months.”

“She does, Roger.”

“Well, of course, you’ll take her side, Claire. You never wanted to work, either.”

“That’s so wrong, Dad. Mom worked her butt off as a mother. Well, maybe I want to do the same thing. Maybe I want to have kids and stay home with them.”

“But you have a
career
,” he argued. “What
purpose
would you serve giving it up?”

“The purpose,” I said with purpose, “is to give me something to do before kids and then something to do when they go to school.”

He snorted. “Mommy-trackers take a hit. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“And waste your potential?”

“Potential for what?” I asked. “Being a lawyer? What about my potential for being a mother? A friend? A human
being
?”

He pointed his fork at me. “You left out wife.” The fork stabbed a corn fritter, which quickly disappeared into his mouth.

Mom was glowering. “You are so backward, Roger.”

He shrugged. “That’s how it is in my world.”

“Which is why I am no longer in it,” she said, and, standing up, left the room.

We sat in silence for a while, Dad eating slowly. I poured each of us refills of coffee. Finally, he set down his fork. He looked to be trying to decide what to say when Mom returned and said, “I think we should take a walk. I need air.”

Dad was happy to comply. I sent them outside while I cleaned the kitchen, and found them a short time later in the General Store. Mom was still browsing, though the wicker basket on her arm was already filled with small kitchen items, candles, and cheese. I browsed with her for a few minutes, then left her to pay while I looked for Dad. I found him on a bench just outside the front door and sat beside him.

“Well, it is peaceful here,” he offered, looking out over the green.

“Whatever is going on now,” I said to reassure him, “I am not leaving James.”

“Well, you’re still wearing his ring.”

“We love each other.”

“So do your mother and I, but we can’t live together. It makes me sad to think you’ve learned that from us. I wanted something better for you.”

“I know.”

“I had dreams for you.”

“
Your
dreams.”

“Yours, too, I thought.” His eyes met mine. “When did that change?”

“A week ago Friday, when I realized that the dream didn’t work for me anymore.”

“You were tired. You didn’t mean it.”

“I’m not tired now, and I do mean it. This is my life, Dad.
My
life. Not yours, and not Mom’s. I get to choose.”

His eyes returned to the green. He let out a breath, slowly shook his head. “Well, you do. But you want my blessing, and I can’t give it.”

Mom joined us then, looking at her watch. She had a fund-raiser at the hospital that night, which meant they needed to head home. I hugged them both, waving when Mom turned to look at me, waving herself until the car was gone. Dad didn’t turn or wave.

He was right. I did want his blessing.

But I was right. This was
my
life, so I got to choose.

How to have both—my way and his blessing?

And how not to brood about that?

Distraction was key.

On Monday, I moved into the gardener’s shed. The room was smaller than heaven, and done up in the greens of the forest rather than the blues and whites of the sky. After unpacking, I sat for a time on the bench bolted to its forest side, but when the lure of the woods grew too great, I wandered in. The scamperings around me were innocent, the smells crisp as the sun striped through the trees. I
meandered at first, breathing in pine resin and fertile soil, absorbing the peace. Inevitably, I made my way up along the stone wall. Thankfully, there were no snakes today, and I did keep a close watch. Seeing nothing more than a pair of red squirrels, a hawk, and several swirls of gnats, I continued on to the brook.

James was in New York. No word from him yet.

And the coyote? Not here either.

Alone with my thoughts, I kept remembering our tryst. Perhaps I was clinging to that memory as proof that my husband and I still had some kind of connection.

But … what if sex was all we had? What if we had deluded ourselves into thinking there was more? What if Dad was right, that you could love someone and not live with him? What if my running away had stripped it all down to this? We were physically attracted to each other. Period.

The possibility haunted me as Monday passed with no word. I had been hoping that Lee’s case would be common ground. After all, James and I had met over law. We’d had that from the start.

I texted on Tuesday.
Are you okay?

Working
, he texted back, which told me nothing and pointed out one of the worst things about electronic communication. Lacking facial expression, tone of voice, or context, words could be taken any number of ways. With only one cryptic word now, I was discouraged.

Conversely, though, electronic communication was great when you weren’t up for a whole discussion. So I texted Mom to thank her for coming. She texted back that she loved me.

I texted Dad to thank him for coming. He didn’t text back. Actually, he didn’t text, period, but I had been hoping that would change. My dream, apparently. Not his.

I kept busy.

Actually, that sells the effort short. After having had zero time to play in the last ten years, I was rediscovering the pleasure of having time to fill. And there was no shortage of things to do. When I was at the Refuge, if I wasn’t in Rehab coaxing my kitten to eat, I was bathing dogs or grooming horses, and if I wasn’t with the animals, I was with Bob Bixby. If I wasn’t at the Refuge, I was helping Vicki at the inn or browsing in The Bookstore or getting—surprise, surprise—a massage at The Spa, formerly The Hair Shop, now broadened to include body care as well.

James didn’t call, e-mail, or text.

So I babysat Charlotte, which helped in ways totally aside from distraction. Since Vicki refused to charge me for my room, and since her pregnancy gave her the occasional migraine, I could cover during those late afternoon hours. Charlotte was reticent until she realized I would read
Pinkalicious
over and over again, which, apparently, her mother was not willing to do. After that came
My Mama Says There Aren’t Any Zombies
,
Ghosts
,
Vampires
,
Demons
,
Monsters
,
Fiends
,
Goblins
,
or Things
, which I read until both of us knew the words by heart.