Blackberry Winter: A Novel

by Sarah Jio

  “I’ve known a lot of women,” he said with a grin, “and never have I met one who could shop and dress in under an hour.”

  Flustered, I stuffed the file folder back in my bag. “Well, I’m not your everyday woman.”

  “Can I help you?” he asked once downstairs again.

  “Help me? Unless you can sew me a dress, I—”

  “I’ll drive you,” he said, handing me a motorcycle helmet. “Put it on. I’ll close early today. I can get you to Nordstrom quicker than a cab.”

  “But in the snow?”

  “Trust me,” he said, strapping on another helmet, “I’ve driven my bike in worse conditions. Plus, the roads are sanded now. We’ll be fine.”

  “All right,” I said hesitantly, following him to the back door.

  Even at a slow speed, the cold wind whizzed through my coat, and I instinctively wrapped my arms more tightly around Dominic. “Too cold?” he asked, straining his voice to be heard over the motorcycle’s engine, which was roaring and popping so loudly that children looked up, startled, from their sidewalk snowmen.

  “I’m OK,” I replied. Though I didn’t share my true thoughts. What if Ethan sees me? What would he say? Since when do I, a married woman, hop on the back of a motorcycle with a guy I hardly know? Then again, who gave him permission to start lunching with his ex? Even.

  Dominic pulled the bike into a parking spot in front of Nordstrom and we both stepped off, stowing the helmets on top of the seat with a bungee cord. “Could you use a second pair of eyes?”

  I smiled. “Really? You’d actually go dress shopping with me? I think my husband would rather gouge his eyes out than do that.”

  “I have four sisters,” he said. “I can hold my own at Nordstrom.”

  I glanced at the window display, a mannequin in a silver gown, and felt my heart flutter with fear. Why am I having such a hard time with this? It’s only shopping, for crying out loud. Why is the idea of trying on a dress giving me such anxiety? I looked into Dominic’s kind eyes and appreciated him being there. Even more, I wanted him to be there. “Yes,” I said, returning his smile. “I would love your help. I have zero fashion sense—and a mother-in-law who will peck me to pieces if I don’t find suitable attire.”

  “Leave it to me,” he said, chivalrously holding the door.

  Together we rode the escalator up to the second-floor dress section and combed the aisles for an appropriate gown.

  “How about this one?” Dominic held up a black sequined floor-length dress.

  “Too fitted,” I said, shaking my head in disapproval. “I’d look like a sausage in it.”

  He refocused his efforts and plucked a blue gown from a nearby rack. “This,” he said, “is very nice.”

  I nodded. “It is.”

  “Blue’s your color.”

  I held up my bracelet. The gold chain with its three blue sapphires sparkled under the department store lights. Ethan had given it to me on my thirtieth birthday. I would never forget the way he had beamed with pride when he clasped it on my wrist.

  “A perfect match,” Dominic said. “Here, go try it on.”

  I grabbed the hanger and walked quickly to the dressing room. I caught a glimpse of my bare body in the mirror before I slipped the gown over my head. I looked away quickly. My God, how did I forget? Today is May 3. The anniversary of it all.

  I felt the sudden urge to put my clothes back on, run out of the dressing room, and keep running until I was safe inside the apartment. I’d curl up in bed. A sleeping pill could numb the pain. I still had a few left in the prescription bottle in my medicine cabinet. They always helped, for a time. But the sapphires on my wrist sparkled again, the jewels reflecting their brightness in my tears. I thought of Ethan and the promise I had made to him. I zipped up the dress, smoothing it where it wrinkled a bit at the sides. I can do this.

  I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me in the mirror, perhaps because my uniform for the past year had consisted of baggy, drab clothing. I’d almost forgotten that I had a shape. I opened the fitting room door and walked out.

  “You look…stunning,” Dominic said, waiting patiently in the hallway. “It’s the one.”

  “It better be, because I have to be at the Olympic Hotel in fifteen minutes.”

  “Wear it out,” he said. “They can cut the tags off at the counter.”

  I smiled, pointing at my tan boots. “Guess I’d better pick up some shoes, too.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling.

  I said good-bye to Dominic and hailed a cab to the Olympic Hotel, where I found Ethan waiting for me in the lobby, pacing. An elaborate vintage chandelier dangled overhead. I read the look on his face instantly: irritation.

  “There you are,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Do you realize that you’re a half hour late?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” I said sarcastically, running my hand along the edge of my dress to be sure the tags were gone.

  Ethan frowned. “Why do you have to be so…”

  I folded my arms. “So what?”

  “So defensive,” he said. “So angry all the time.”

  I sighed.

  “Claire,” he continued, “it’s been a long day. Can we just go in and sit down? Can we pretend to get along? Just for tonight?”

  I felt a lump in my throat. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “What?”

  “Today,” I said, searching his eyes. “You don’t remember what today is.”

  He looked toward the ballroom, then back at me, annoyed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if we don’t get inside, we’re going to miss—”

  “A year ago today…” I said in almost a whisper, the memory too sacred to let a passing stranger overhear.

  His face changed then. The rigidness softened. He took a step toward me. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” He put his hand on my back. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

  “Well,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye, “maybe you were too busy lunching with Cassandra.”

  Ethan stiffened. “Claire, don’t be ridiculous. Listen, let’s go inside and sit down. We can talk later.”

  I hated the tone in his voice, just as much as I hated the tone in mine. Cold. Unfeeling. Who is this bickering couple we’ve become? I looked at the black heels Dominic had helped me select mere minutes ago, then up at Ethan again. What if I just embraced him? Would he hold me in his arms the way he used to? I felt a rush of sadness.

  “You blame me,” I said under my breath. “For what happened.” There, I said it.

  “Oh, come on, Claire. You can’t be serious.”

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t resent me,” I continued. “I know you think it was my fault. I see it in your eyes every damn time I look at you.”

  “Claire,” Ethan said, “that’s unfair.”

  “Well, you’re not denying it.”

  He stared at his feet. “I—”

  We both looked up when we heard footsteps behind us.

  “Oh, there you are, Ethan,” Cassandra said, holding two glasses of champagne. Her gold sequin dress clung to her body, flattering her curves in a way that no dress could do for mine. “Everything all right out here?” she asked. “Your mother asked me to see if I could find you. Your grandfather’s about to take the stage.”

  Ethan nodded. “Thanks Cassandra, I—”

  “I was just leaving,” I said, tugging at my bracelet as I made my way back out to the sidewalk. I hailed an approaching cab and climbed into the backseat, quickly turning away from the window. I couldn’t let them see my tears.

  Chapter 7

  VERA

  C harles.

  It took little effort to recall his face, even if it had been four years since I’d taken in those kind eyes, that strong chin, the smile that had charmed me in an instant.

  I almost didn’t meet him. I shouldn’t have met him, really. Charles was too good for me. High society. Everyone knew that. Everyone, perhaps, but h
im. He came from wealth, from privilege, too big a catch for a girl from the poor side of town, the daughter of a fisherman. But Caroline convinced me to join her that night for the opening of the fanciest hotel Seattle had ever seen, and there, beyond the polished double doors, he stood in the hotel’s grand foyer under the crystal chandelier, smoking a cigar as servants bustled, balancing heavy, hors d’oeuvres–filled trays aloft. Plenty of beautiful women fluttered in his sight, primped, curled, and powdered. And, yet, for a reason I still can’t understand, he looked only at me.

  “Come on,” Caroline whispered.

  I deflected his gaze, feeling foolish.

  “Let’s sneak in.”

  I frowned. “You know they’ll take one look at us and give us the boot.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Look at you in that gorgeous dress.” True, we were wearing our finest, and if you squinted, you might mistake our handmade dresses, perfect flapper attire, for a Chanel creation, but upon close inspection, the truth would shine through: two destitute nineteen-year-olds with little more than two pennies to pinch together.

  I sighed. “All right,” I finally conceded. “As long as you don’t think we’ll get into any trouble.”

  “Of course we won’t,” she said a little too confidently, reaching for my hand and dragging me toward the entrance.

  A doorman eyed us suspiciously. “And you are?”

  “I’m Miss Ella Wentworth and this is my debutante cousin, Gilda, from Atlanta,” Caroline said.

  I batted my eyes, playing along, trying to suppress a laugh. Did she have to use the word debutante?

  The man eyed his notebook. “I’m afraid I don’t see you on the list,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” Caroline cooed. “Daddy will be very upset to hear. You do know who my father is, don’t you?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Alexander Wentworth,” she said. “Of Wentworth Real Estate.” Caroline looked up at the tall building. “He invested so much in this property. It’s a pity the guest list didn’t get sorted out properly.” She sighed, tugging at the gold chain around her neck. “I’ll have to talk to Daddy about that.”

  “Wait—wait,” the man stammered. “I’m sure it’s only a misunderstanding. Please, come in, Miss Wentworth. And give our sincerest apologies to your father.”

  “I will,” Caroline said, nodding regally, as we passed through the entrance and into the sparkling party. She swiped a flute of punch off a waiter’s tray and handed it to me before taking one for herself. “That,” she said, taking a sip, “is how it’s done.”

  “Caroline,” I whispered, “you’re out of your mind.”

  She giggled from behind her glass. “Oh come on—have a little fun.”

  I shook my head. “I think we should go.”

  She looked at me and threw back her head with a laugh. “And miss the best party of the season? I think not.”

  I eyed the women around us, their collective finery. I wished I’d sewn an extra piece of fringe around the hem of my dress. It looked so plain next to yards of satin and lace. “We don’t belong here,” I whispered to her.

  “Sure we do,” she said, unaffected by my insecurities. “And look over there.” She pointed to two men standing straight ahead, and I saw, again, the man who had made eye contact with me moments before. He gazed at me with a beckoning grin and I turned away quickly. “Should we go talk to them?” she continued, bobbing a curl flirtatiously with her hand.

  “Caroline!” I pulled her arm and whisked her into the room to our left, where people hovered around a grand piano. “What has gotten into you?”

  She grinned. “Look, let’s just have a little fun. Besides, I rather fancy the idea of spending the evening in the company of rich men.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t stand here and—” I paused when I felt a tapping on my shoulder, only to discover the two men from the foyer.

  The one in the gray suit smiled. “You won’t stand here and…? Do tell.”

  I blushed. “Oh, nothing,” I muttered, sending Caroline a look of panic, but her eyes had already been swallowed up by the man’s friend.

  “I’m Charles,” the taller of the two said, holding his hand out to me. I took it dutifully, but found that once our palms touched, I didn’t want to let go. “And you are?”

  “Vera,” I said, looking away so as not to be hypnotized by his gaze. “Vera Ray.”

  He gestured to a pair of wingback chairs near a crackling fireplace to our right. “Care to sit down?”

  I looked at Caroline for approval, but she was too consumed in conversation with Charles’s friend to notice. “Of course,” I said nervously. The only men I’d associated with were of the working-class variety. This man’s suit and unmarred hands told me he was of an entirely different breed. I worried that upon close inspection he’d find me unsuitable. I appreciated the dimly lit room, where the shabbiness of my dress and the scuffs on my shoes weren’t as obvious.

  “Some party,” he said, looking around the room.

  “Yes, indeed,” I replied, clutching my purse tightly.

  He peered at me for an uncomfortably long moment. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You weren’t at the art museum event last month, were you?”

  “No,” I said nervously.

  Charles looked satisfied. “Well, you didn’t miss much. It was quite dull.” He leaned in closer to me. “Can you keep a secret?”

  I nodded hesitantly.

  “I hate these functions. My father insisted that I attend.”

  “My friend insisted that I attend,” I said with a smile.

  Charles sank his chin in his hand and grinned. “Well, aren’t we a pair?”

  My cheeks warmed.

  He pushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Truth is, I’d rather be anywhere but here.” He pointed to a man about his age wiping a table in the distance. “I envy him.”

  I gave him a disbelieving look. “Why?”

  “Because he’s free,” he said simply.

  “And you’re not?”

  Charles tugged on the collar of his crisply pressed shirt as if it were a manacle. “Not really. I’m expected to play a role.”

  “Well,” I said, “with all due respect, a lot of people would kill to be in your position.”

  “And they’d soon realize it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” He sighed. “I’d rather be a farmer.”

  “You? A farmer?”

  His eyes brightened. “I’d grow corn, so I could get lost in it. Did you know that in California they grow corn mazes—big stalks as tall as me spread out as far as the eye can see?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, that’s what I’d do, anyway,” he said, “if I could choose another life. And you?” His eyes sparkled with sincerity. “Are you happy?”

  I smoothed my dress self-consciously. Can he see through me? Does he know I don’t belong here? “Why wouldn’t I be?” I said a little more defensively that I’d intended.

  A band began playing soft music, and a few couples rose from their chairs and began walking to the dance floor. He looked at me shyly. “Let’s dance.”

  My heart raced. Dance? Me? I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh,” Charles replied, injured. “I promise, I won’t bite.”

  I looked away, trying to think of an excuse. “No, no, it’s just that, well…”

  “Tell me,” he said tenderly. “What are you afraid of? No, let me guess. You’re engaged to be married?” He placed his hand on his heart dramatically, as if Cupid had just shot an arrow right through the lapel of his suit jacket.

  “No,” I said, smiling despite myself. “It’s just that I…can’t.”

  “You can’t what?”

  “I can’t dance,” I whispered.

  Charles looked amused. “Oh, is that all?” He reached for my hand. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”

  My heart raced as he l
ed me to the freshly waxed parquet floor. I looked around at the couples moving graciously, elegantly around us. I could jitterbug, but this? I was out of my element.

  Charles placed my left hand on his shoulder and took my right hand in his, positioning my body so close to his that I felt the warmth radiating from his suit jacket. “This is a waltz,” he said. “It’s easy. Just follow me.”

  In minutes, I caught on, and I followed Charles’s lead around the dance floor. He guided me with such precision, he made up for my lack of dancing prowess.

  “You’re a natural,” he said, smiling at me with his warm green eyes.

  I grinned, looking away. “Well, I have you to thank for that.”

  He eyed me curiously, determined to continue the conversation. “Tell me, Miss Ray, who are your family? I don’t recognize the Ray name. Is your father in real estate?”

  I freed my hand from his and suddenly stopped dancing. “I really must go.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I say something wrong?”

  I glanced over to where I thought Caroline was, but couldn’t see her in the dim, smoky air. What am I doing here? This isn’t a place for me. “I’m very sorry,” I said, turning toward the door. “Good night.”

  I ran through the throng of people, pushing my way into the foyer, frantically looking for Caroline. Perhaps she could mingle with the rich without batting an eye, but I couldn’t pretend. It wasn’t in me.

  “Excuse me,” I mumbled, pushing past a group of men smoking cigars. I took a step farther and collided with a hotel maid I recognized instantly. “Gwen?”

  She looked at me with confusion. “Vera? What are you doing here?”

  I shook my head. “Caroline talked the doorman into letting us in.”

  Gwen raised one eyebrow. “She could talk a mink into giving up its fur, that one.”

  I sighed. “This is beautiful and all, but…I just can’t pretend to be”—I looked back toward the party—“one of them. I don’t belong here.”

  “Maybe not,” Gwen said, “but you seem to have an admirer.”