“Carrie looks just like you,” Elizabeth said.
Mindy turned around, less gracefully than she would have liked.
“I must look funny standing here.”
“Not at all,” Beth said. She was still dressed in her hospital scrubs. Because she didn’t have a home to go back to, Mindy thought. Not right now. Maybe not ever. “I always wished I could do that.”
“You could. Anyone can.”
She shrugged. “Soon I’ll be too big to do anything.”
“That is such great news, though.”
“It is.”
They stood there, staring at each other. Mindy couldn’t remember a silence like this between them. From the beginning, they’d always been so easy together, filling the air with idle chatter, gossip, and the deeper stuff too. For the last year, Mindy had been living with all of that in her head, along with a fistful of regrets.
“Why are you here, Elizabeth? Do you need something?”
“Ben brought me.”
“Oh, I see,” Mindy turned away, tears forming. “Well, we’re about to leave so, if there wasn’t anything . . .”
“Min, come on. Of course there’s something.”
“Something Ben thinks you should say?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it too.”
“Mean what?”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was cruel. I froze you out. I pushed you away because I needed to push everyone away. I did it to you. I did it to Ben. And I’ve nearly lost everything because of it.”
“From where I’m standing, you seem to be getting everything you’ve always wanted.”
Elizabeth laughed then, a full belly laugh that left her clutching her side with a frown of worry.
“Everything okay?”
“I’ve been cramping, but the doctors say it’s nothing.”
“I bet it doesn’t feel like nothing.”
“No. It really doesn’t.”
“What was so funny, then?”
“If you knew what a complete disaster my life has been recently . . .”
“So tell me about it.”
“Now?”
“No, we’re going out of town for a while. But maybe, when I get back?”
“I’d like that. I really would.”
“I would too,” Mindy said. “And I’m sorry too. Those things I said, about it being your fault you couldn’t get pregnant. That was so awful. You can’t imagine how bad I’ve felt.”
“Oh, I can imagine.”
Elizabeth took a step toward her and folded her into a hug.
“I’ve really missed you, you know?”
“I’ve missed you too.”
CHAPTER 43
The Smell of Rain
Elizabeth
When I climb back into our car after I say good-bye to Mindy, I’m not sure where we should go. I suggest we go to Ben’s parents, like he mentioned earlier, but he’s talked to them and they’re resting, and in the end, he says, he doesn’t want to go there. He feels too restless, and maybe we should just check into a hotel or something.
“Everything’s booked,” I say. I’d checked at some point earlier this week, when I thought I might have to find somewhere other than Ben’s parents to stay for a while. The only places left were places we could only afford if Ben’s parents were paying, or if I only intended to stay there for an hour or two to turn a trick.
“What do you suggest?” Ben asks. His leg is bobbing up and down.
“You seem really jumpy.”
“Yeah. I . . . I don’t know what to do with myself.”
I have the odd urge to start singing Dusty Springfield’s “I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself,” only the White Stripes version. But I’m a terrible singer, and that would be a really weird thing to do, wouldn’t it?
“How about we go to my office?” I say. “I have a change of clothes in my desk. And then we’ll figure it out from there?”
He agrees. Is that a good sign, or only a sign that he’s being kind to his pregnant, likely homeless, soon-to-be-ex-wife? Or maybe it simply hasn’t occurred to him that we could go our separate ways today. That he doesn’t need to be chauffeuring me about town or anywhere. That he could cut whatever ties still bind us, and sail away. But that’s me forgetting about the baby again, and now I get it. He’s worried about him or her. He’s still here because of the part of him inside me. And sometime today he’s going to tell me that. When his mind settles down. When I’ve stopped doubling over with cramps.
When I tell him it’s okay for him to go.
Ben drops me off at the office and says he’s going to see if he can rustle us up some sandwiches.
“If Sandwich Time hasn’t been abandoned,” he says with a smirk, but there’s a good chance it has been. Driving over here from Mindy’s was like driving through a stage lot—the buildings all look fake-fronted, cardboard cutouts of some real, lived-in place, somewhere else.
I find the clothes I remembered in my desk drawer—black yoga pants and a long sweatshirt. There’s even fresh underwear, socks, and a bra. I had some notion, when I started working here, that I might have the need to change my clothes after combing through a dumpster or chasing down a witness who didn’t want to talk to me. Really, I was imagining myself as Laura Holt from Remington Steele, all tousled in the dirt while Rich stood by watching. Only Rich is no Remington Steele, far from it.
I find Rich sitting at his desk, a bottle of whiskey open before him. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Rich in jeans or a T-shirt. He looks far from himself, the only connection being his ever-present cowboy boots.
He’s staring out the window at his regular view: the Peak, the fire, the abandoned town. I try to remember if I know where he lives in all this mess, but I come up empty. Probably somewhere safe, like Ben’s parents, or his sister. I scan his office, looking for an image I remember. I find it on his ego wall—a picture of him and Honor and Tucker. His hand is on Tucker’s shoulder.
“You’ve heard?” I say. “About John Phillips?”
“I just came from speaking to Detective Donaldson.”
“I guess I was wrong, after all.”
“Seems like.”
I sit in the chair in front of him, wondering if I should say what’s on my mind. He could fire me on the spot. And really, I have no evidence but my suspicions, which haven’t proven to be the most reliable of late.
But, what the hell? Might as well get as many answers as I can today.
“You’re the one who leaked it, right?”
His gaze shifts away from the window. “What’s that?”
“The surveillance video. You knew Tucker was involved somehow, and you knew if that video came out, the police would be more likely to believe Tucker’s story. Blame Angus.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You’ve been steering me away from him from the beginning. You didn’t want me to go ask questions at the school. You didn’t want me looking into anyone but John Phillips.”
“And John Phillips was responsible.”
“But you didn’t know that. You thought Tucker started it. What happened? Did Honor tell you something? Maybe that Tucker had been out that night?”
His eyelids flicker.
“That’s it, isn’t it? After John Phillips pointed the finger at a group of kids, before he knew who Tucker was. Honor came to you, didn’t she? She knew he’d been out that night. Thought he’d started the fire. That’s why she’s been volunteering at the school so much.”
“I’d tread lightly, Elizabeth. Very, very lightly.”
“You were taking an awful risk. Putting your job on the line like that. You must love Tucker very much. He’s like a son to you, isn’t he?”
“We never had any children,” he says, after a moment, twisting his wedding ring around his finger.
“But what about Angus? What about John Phillips? Didn’t they deserve your protection?”
“No one could’ve pre
dicted that kid would allow the blame to be placed on his shoulders. Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“Because your nephew was bullying him and his girlfriend.”
He shudders and takes another drink. “John Phillips did it. I said that from the beginning.”
“John Phillips did it,” I agree, “but that isn’t what matters.”
“I think you should go.”
I stand. “I’ll be back for my things.”
“We got the right man,” Rich says as if he hasn’t heard me. “It’s the result that matters.”
“I used to believe that. Now I’m not so sure.”
I find Ben in the car outside, a bag of sandwiches on my seat, two cans of soda resting in the drink holders. He asks me where to, and part of me wants to say, let’s get out here, let’s do what Mindy and Peter are doing and just pick up and leave. But I’ve been doing that my whole life, moving on, never staying in one place for long. I called it my job, but that’s what I was doing. Never sticking anywhere. Putting my life at risk. Cloaking everything I was doing in the sanctity of saving others.
I’ve got to learn to stick. Stay. Root myself. Whether Ben’s a part of that or not. I owe it to the child we’re going to have.
I owe it to myself.
“Wanna go watch the fire?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything, just puts the car in gear and drives to the arts center—as close as we’ll be able to get without being in anyone’s way.
He parks the car, and we get out. Something feels like it’s shifted in the air. Underneath the smoke there’s another smell I can’t quite identify. But standing out here long enough to figure it out isn’t an option. Ash is falling around us, and it’s difficult to breathe. I follow Ben inside. Last night it was full of people. Now it’s deserted like the rest of the town. A fireman’s radio crackles from where it was forgotten on a table. I pick it up and listen.
I hear Kara’s voice and hit the “Transmit” key.
“IC Panjabi, this is Martin,” I say. “Is a status update possible?”
“Good to hear your voice, Martin,” she says after a moment. “We’re kind of busy here.”
“Understood.”
“I just posted an update.”
“Hand me your phone?” I say to Ben.
I go to ForestFires.com and load up the latest report. A hint of good news. They’ve held the fire at the ridge, pushed it back, and contained it from spreading down the slope to our house.
“We going to need a new house?” Ben asks.
“Looks like maybe not.”
“I’ve always liked that house.”
“I love that house.”
The radio crackles again. “You still there, Martin?” Andy says.
“Here, Thomas. You all right?”
“Affirmative. You?”
I meet Ben’s eyes. “Affirmative.”
“You take care,” he says, and all that’s left is static.
I put the radio down, waiting for Ben to say something.
“He’s a good guy, Andy,” he says.
“He is.”
“And I get it, now, sort of.”
“Get what?”
“This,” he says, turning to take the Peak into the sweep of his arm. “Fighting against it. What you’ve been doing all these years. When I was helping Andy last night, I felt kind of . . . alive in a way I haven’t before. Useful.”
“It’s the adrenaline.”
“Sure, maybe. But we were really doing something. Making a difference. I don’t want you to give it up.”
“Really? You were saying just the other day how you hated my job.”
“I hate how it takes you away from me. But you haven’t been happy since you quit. And I feel guilty about that.”
“You didn’t ask me to quit. In fact, if I remember right, you told me I shouldn’t.”
“But I didn’t insist. I should have. I should’ve seen how important it was to you.”
“What you do is important too. Think of all of those kids you help.”
“You mean like Tucker?”
“Okay, maybe not him. But you never know, this might be a turning point for him.”
“Maybe. And for us?”
My mouth goes dry. Don’t screw this up, Elizabeth. Don’t you dare.
“I want that more than anything, but only if—”
“If we really forgive each other?”
“Yes. Can you?”
“I want to. You?”
“I want to too. I want to forgive myself.”
“How do we do that?”
“You’re asking me? I’m the idiot who thought getting divorced would solve things.”
He laughs at that. Kind of like how I laughed with Mindy earlier today. Free. Open. Like happiness was possible.
“That maybe wasn’t your brightest moment.”
“Well, you did agree with me.”
“I did.”
“And it did get us here.”
“It did.”
“So maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing,” we say together. Then smile the smile we always smile when we say something at the same time. Like we did early Tuesday morning, only this time it’s a reminder of good things to come, not good things gone away.
Ben reaches out his hand, and I take it. His fingers squeeze mine almost too tightly. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to control the emotions that feel like they might take me over at any moment. There’s a loud clap in the distance, and I realize what it was I smelled outside.
“Rain,” I say, opening my eyes.
“What?”
We look out the window. The wind has picked up again and seems to be coming from a new direction. We can see the Peak for the first time today. The ridge of flames is no longer visible, though the smoke plume is just as black and ominous. But there’s another force at work up there. A cumulonimbus cloud is towering behind it. As we watch, it advances and swallows up the smoke, the Peak, the flames, like it wants to swallow up the town. It’s black and angry, and I feel like I’m watching a swarm of Dementors advance on a fresh crop of wizards.
The sky flashes with lightning, and thunder booms again, so close it sets my ears ringing. The cloud sweeps around the building, and now it’s raining. A few drops at first, and then it’s like a shower someone’s turned on full blast.
Rain, rain, rain.
“Wanna go outside?” I ask.
“Seriously?”
“Why not?”
I tug on his hand, and we push open the doors and walk into the sheets of water. We do it like I used to walk into the ocean, without hesitation, becoming one with the storm, breathing in the cleansing downpour. We are soaked to the skin in moments, but the rain is so warm that its temperature is almost indistinguishable from our own.
And though it’s hard to see anything, Ben’s grip is tight in mine, and I know in my bones that everything’s going to be okay.
Acknowledgments
You’d think, after five books and one novella (!) that these things would get easier, and yet, no.
That being said, I must give thanks to:
Cam, Therese, Kathleen, and Lisa for reading early drafts and telling me this book didn’t suck. And to Allie for insisting I write the book in the first place.
My mom for the constant typo checking and smiley faces in the margins.
Therese, Therese, and Kathryn for an awesome writers’ retreat where a section of this book was written. My hand is raised to tell the next story.
My friends for having my back and making me laugh and supporting this weird adventure I go on every year or so.
Ditto to David, who bears the brunt of the clattering of my laptop when we’re supposed to be watching TV together.
My four nephews (Owen, Liam, William, and Anders) for making my life more full.
My editor, Tara Parsons, for her unbridled enthusiasm, and the whole team at Lake Union for their amazing work on this book, and Hidden before it.
> My agent, Abigail Koons, who’s always in my corner and makes it possible for me to keep doing this.
My writing partners, Adrian Wills and Martin Michaud, for collaborating on other projects that will hopefully see the light of day eventually.
To each and every one of my readers who continue to let me dream for a living.
To the members of the Fiction Writers Co-op for support, laughs, and wisdom.
And to Shawn Klomparens, for introducing me to Jackson Hole.
Reading Group Guide for Smoke
When the book begins, Elizabeth and Ben’s marriage is on the verge of breaking up, but their personal crisis is overshadowed by a forest fire that is threatening their town and their home. Can natural disasters have a positive side, in that they help us reprioritize our lives? Or are the same problems that we had before going to resurface once the crisis is over?
Some of the couple’s issues had to do with all the things Elizabeth hid from Ben in their marriage. Why do you think she kept so much from him? What does hiding things from a spouse do to a marriage?
Elizabeth felt that she needed to choose her husband and the hope of having a child over her career. Do you feel that this was a fair sacrifice for her to make? How did this contribute to the problems in her marriage?
When we first meet Mindy, she’s friends with a group of catty women whom she doesn’t seem to like. Why do you think she stayed friends with them? Does this contribute to her unhappiness? Have you ever been friends with people you didn’t like out of expediency or for other reasons?
What are the similarities and differences between Mindy and Elizabeth?
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