Women who are trying to keep from regaining the weight they lost, she almost retorted. She was weary, aching with fatigue. And she still had to find Cindy’s inn.
What stupidity had led her to think this was a good idea? Driving through a cloudburst toward a deeply uncertain destiny. Trying to rejuvenate her marriage to a man who thought she was foolish for eating salads instead of pizza, when she was doing so in order to look sexy for him. A marriage to a man who’d rather be home, working. Or at the university, meeting with students. Anywhere but here, with anyone but Meredith.
The car’s GPS steered her off the main road onto a narrow lane as dark as midnight. She could barely make out the shadowed shapes of cottages lining the road on both sides, the gnarled dwarf pines, the spiky grass and scruffy shrubs. The buildings were all dark. If the road was lined with street lamps, they were dark, too. She edged the car cautiously along, hunched forward, her fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel. “Looks like they’ve had a power outage,” she said, stating the obvious.
Scott’s comment was a succinct curse.
If not for the GPS, Meredith would have driven right past Cindy’s inn. She steered up the unpaved driveway, bumping over twigs and pine cones, splashing dark water as the driver’s side tires dipped into a rut. Eventually she reached a looming, shingled building. Through one of the windows she noticed a small, moving light. A flashlight, she guessed.
“If you want to wait in the car, I’ll see what’s going on,” she offered.
“If you’re getting wet, I’ll get wet, too,” Scott said. His chivalry failed to reassure her.
The front door swung open before they reached it, and the flashlight bearer filled the doorway. As best Meredith could tell through the wind-spun rain and the relentless dark, the woman was petite, dressed in a rain slicker, holding the flashlight in one hand and a narrow object in the other.
A second flashlight. “Meredith? Hi, I’m Cindy,” she said, sounding far more cheerful than the situation warranted. “I guess this rain slowed you down. I was expecting you folks much earlier. Well, as you can see, we’ve got no electricity at the moment, but I can walk you to your cabin. We’ll check you in officially tomorrow. No sense doing it in the dark. A tree went down one block over, took all the wires down with it. Gotta love a good nor’easter...” and on and on she went, handing Scott the second flashlight and popping open an umbrella which arced over her and about half of Scott.
Chilly rain dripped inside Meredith’s collar, flattened her hair and seeped through the stitching in her shoes as they walked back to the car. Meredith slung Scott’s laptop bag over her shoulder and gathered the pizza and salad; Scott took their suitcases, and the three of them made their slow way along a path of crushed seashells that led to what could charitably be called a cluster of hovels.
“Unfortunately, I can’t allow candles in the cabins,” Cindy rattled on, her voice splintered by the wind and rain. “Fire hazard. You’ll have to make do with this flashlight. I wish I could spare more, but I’ve got to parcel them out to my other guests. Hopefully things’ll be back up and running tomorrow. Good thing we don’t need air conditioning today, right?”
Just thinking of air conditioning caused a shiver to ripple down Meredith’s back. By the time they paused at one of the shacks and Cindy shoved a key into the doorknob, Meredith’s shirt was pasted to her skin, and her drenched hair lay clammy against her neck.
Before entering the cabin, Cindy paused to snap the umbrella shut, a move that sent more raindrops splattering onto Meredith. “It’s really a pretty unit,” Cindy said, flickering the flashlight around the small room. “Bed, dresser, bathroom through there—” she aimed the beam at a doorway “—kitchen area—” a small counter with a microwave sitting on it and a minifridge wedged beneath it, both appliances useless without electricity “—and TV.” Also useless. “You’ll see tomorrow, it’s a charming room. I don’t want you going back to Diane on Sunday and telling her I gave you the worst unit. This is definitely one of the better ones. You’ll have to take my word for it.”
Scott grunted something. Meredith nodded as if to indicate that the cabin was everything she could have hoped.
“So, give a call if you need anything,” Cindy said, sauntering back to the door. “The phones are still working. Just dial zero to reach me. Let’s hope this storm blows itself out before long. Don’t forget to check in tomorrow morning. Breakfast is served from seven to nine-thirty. Oh, if you want ice—” she hesitated in the open doorway “—we’ve got some in the big house. Or we will once the power comes back on. Have a fun evening!” She opened the umbrella, ducked outside and closed the door behind her.
Meredith stood motionless, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Scott evidently felt more adventurous, since he was holding the flashlight, and he took a few steps, then bumped into something and swore.
“Let’s eat before your pizza gets cold,” Meredith suggested.
“Yeah. I can’t very well reheat it.” He swept the room with the flashlight and the beam alighted on a couple of upholstered chairs that had seen better days. A small end table stood between them.
Meredith carried the food to the table and set it down. “Can I borrow the light for a minute? I want to dry off.” She hoped the bathroom was stocked with towels. “Go ahead and start eating. I’ll just be a minute.”
In the bathroom, she propped the flashlight so its beam was reflected by the mirror above the sink. She looked like hell, and she doubted the teddy she’d brought would improve matters much. A small hair dryer rested in a bracket on the wall, but without electricity she couldn’t use it to redeem her bedraggled hair. She made do with a hand towel, wiping her face and neck and wringing the excess water from her hair. Her comb and brush were packed into her bag; she used her fingers to smooth the dripping brown locks as best she could.
If she were less tired, she’d view the blackout evening as an adventure. How romantic to be stranded in the dark with her man, in a quaint little cottage near the sea. But at ten p.m., after a horrible drive, her clothing waterlogged and her stomach growling with hunger, she was not feeling romantic.
She felt even less romantic when she emerged from the bathroom in time to hear a familiar chirp emerging from her purse. Where had she left the damned purse? She followed the sound, first with the flashlight and then with her steps, to the three-drawer dresser. The small, non-functioning TV set occupied the top of the dresser. Her purse was propped against the base of the screen.
She pulled out her cell phone, saw who her caller was and sighed. It could be an emergency. When your mother was seventy-five and phoning this late at night, you didn’t ignore it.
She swiped the screen with her finger and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”
“Are you all right?” her mother asked. “Charlie told me there’s a huge storm on the Cape. High winds, downpours, a real mess.”
“We’re fine.” The scent of Scott’s pizza wafted toward her, making her stomach growl again. Melted mozzarella. Hot olive oil. Floury crust. Basil. Honestly, she was not in the mood for a salad right now. “We just got here, so—”
“Just got there? Good lord, how long did the drive take?”
“The storm slowed us down, Mom. I’m really beat, so—”
“Oh, you poor thing. Well, at least you got to relax while Scott drove. Poor man. Give him my best. You two have fun!”
Meredith said goodbye and disconnected the call. She made her way over to the unoccupied chair and sank into it. Literally. The upholstery had the consistency of mashed potatoes.
“What did she want?” Scott asked, his listless tone conveying that he wasn’t all that interested in her answer.
Meredith lifted her salad onto her lap and pried open the lid. She was too miserable to be nice anymore. “She wanted to thank you for driving through this crappy weather.”
Scott said nothing for a moment. She imagined he was chewing his hot, rich, gloriously fattenin
g slice of pizza. Finally: “Does she really have to call you every night?”
“Apparently she does.”
“You could tell her not to.”
“She’s my mother. She’s getting old.” She stabbed a few limp shreds of romaine with the tines of her plastic fork. “Her boyfriend told her we were having a storm here. She wanted to make sure we were safe.”
“Her boyfriend?”
“Charlie. I told you about him.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I did. You weren’t paying attention. You were watching a football game.”
Had Scott heard the reproach in her tone? Was he going to be pissed at her for pointing out his inattentiveness? Or would he plummet into a state of doleful self-recrimination?
Either way, she was too cold and wet and tired to care.
Chapter Four
THE POWER HADN’T RETURNED by the time they were done eating. They groped through their bags for their toiletries. Meredith hadn’t packed a nightgown—she’d been planning to wear the teddy to bed—and she donned a sweatshirt, which had the benefit of being warm and dry, necessary in the drafty dampness of the cabin. Scott never wore pajamas, and he slid beneath the covers clad in his boxer briefs and a cotton T-shirt.
How sexy, Meredith thought bitterly as she settled her head against the pillow. The most romantic thing they’d done that evening was to brush their teeth side by side at the sink in the bathroom, sharing the flashlight. While she’d been spitting minty foam into the basin, Scott had pointed out that she wouldn’t be able to recharge her phone. She in turn had pointed out that he wouldn’t be able to recharge his laptop, an observation that had left him brooding.
Laptop or no, he had no trouble falling asleep. He’d risen before dawn that morning, as usual, so she wasn’t surprised that he could lapse into a deep slumber within minutes of lowering his head to the pillow.
She couldn’t. She lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, listening to the wind wail outside, listening to the clatter of rain pelting the roof. Listening to the steady rhythm of Scott’s breathing and wondering if he had any idea of how unhappy and frightened she was.
She thought about her friend Leslie, who’d told her a year ago that she and her husband were divorcing. “Why?” Meredith had asked. “Did that bastard cheat on you?”
Leslie had laughed. “Nothing so dramatic. We just realized it was over. We weren’t growing anymore. We weren’t enjoying being married. Our marriage was in a coma, on a respirator. No longer breathing for itself. It could have gone on like that forever, but we decided to pull the plug and let it rest in peace.” Leslie was a nurse. She defined her world using medical metaphors.
Meredith thought about her mother, whose fifty-year marriage had ended in widowhood. Her mother had been a traditional wife, tending the house, raising the kids and making sure a hot meal was waiting for her husband as soon as he walked through the door at the end of a workday. He’d handled the bills, he’d chosen the vacation destinations, he’d doted on her mother and lavished her with gifts and called her his favorite little lady, and they’d both been content to fulfill their assigned roles.
Meredith thought about her sister, whose marriage was much like their mother’s had been. Suzanne never questioned whether a marriage should be something more than the routine rituals of a day. She’d confessed to Meredith once, after they’d both drunk a bit too much wine, that she was relieved the passion had gone out of their marriage. “I never liked sex that much,” she’d confided. “I just hope Steve never gets it in his head to ask the doctor for a Viagra prescription. As far as I’m concerned, things are perfect the way they are.”
Meredith’s marriage was not perfect. Not even close.
She doubted Scott needed Viagra. The last time they’d made love—so long ago—he’d been strong and vigorous, despite the fact that they’d both been exhausted after a long day of work, and he’d fallen dead asleep immediately afterward. She wondered if he fell asleep after Catilin...
Don’t even think about it.
She rolled onto her side. She was so tired. Why couldn’t she fall asleep?
She heard a howl. Not the wind. Low and eerie, almost a groan. There was something outside the door. Someone.
She bolted upright. The goose-bumps pricking her skin were caused not by her damp hair but by that sound. She heard it again. “Scott?”
He grunted and rolled away.
Another plaintive groan, a faint counterpoint to the wind and the rain.
“Scott, there’s someone outside the door.”
“Okay,” he mumbled without moving.
If he wasn’t going to wake up, she’d deal with this herself. She ought to get used to solving problems alone, just in case, like Leslie, she decided to remove her marriage from life support.
Pushing back the blanket, she tried to remember where they’d left the flashlight. Lying awake in the dark room, her eyes had adjusted enough that she could make out shapes and silhouettes: the chairs over there, the dresser over here, the bathroom off to the right. Her bare feet touched the braided rug covering the floor and she moved cautiously toward the cabin’s front door. She heard the moan again, louder.
It didn’t sound human.
Summoning her courage, she twisted the knob to unlock the door, felt to make sure the safety chain was secured, and edged the door open. The wind had lost strength, but a heavy rain continued to fall and the sky was mottled with mauve and slate clouds. At her feet, resting on the doorstep, was a wet mound of fur.
A dog.
He lifted his face to her—droopy ears, sorrowful eyes, his pelt glistening from the rain—and made that howling sound again.
“Scott, it’s a dog,” she called over her shoulder. From the bed, she heard another grunt.
Ignoring him, she released the safety chain, opened the door wider and hunkered down next to the dog. A strip of leather circled his neck, but she saw no identifying tags. Still, he must belong to someone. Dogs didn’t purchase collars on their own.
He nestled his snout into the curve of her hand and licked her. “Where does it hurt?” she murmured. “Where are you hurting, puppy?”
She heard shuffling footsteps, and felt Scott’s warmth as he squatted down next to her. “Don’t touch it,” he warned. “It could be sick.”
“He doesn’t look sick,” she said. The dog’s nose felt cool and his eyes were clear. “I think he’s injured, though.”
“All right.” Scott didn’t sound all right. “There’s nothing you can do for him right now.” At least Scott had gone from calling the dog it to calling the dog him.
“We could take him to a vet,” she suggested.
“At this hour? In this weather?” Scott shook his head. “We’re on Cape Cod and we’ve got no power. How are we going to find a vet?”
“My phone hasn’t died yet.”
“Meredith.”
A flare of anger surged through her, wiping away her fatigue. “You don’t want to help this dog? Fine. Go back to bed. I’ll take care of him.”
She’d expected Scott to fight back, to tell her she was crazy—which, admittedly, she was, a little. Rescuing a stray dog in a strange town, in the middle of a fierce storm, in the middle of the night, was not the most rational behavior. And Scott tended to view the world rationally, like the college professor he was.
“Go back to bed,” she told him.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find a vet and bring him there.”
“That’s insane.”
“And leaving him out on our porch in a cloudburst isn’t? When the poor guy is injured?” She shifted, presenting Scott with her shoulder and back. “If you don’t want to help, don’t help. Go back to bed.”
He surprised her by nudging her aside, leaning out into the rain and running his hands over the dog’s wet fur. When he reached one of the dog’s rear paws, the dog emitted a pained yelp. “It’s his foot,” he said.
“Can you tell what’
s wrong?”
“It’s dark. It’s wet. No.” Scott leaned back on his haunches. The dog peered up at him through pleading eyes. In the diffuse light, he looked as if he had some retriever in him, maybe some cocker spaniel. He appeared well fed. “Get dressed,” Scott said.
Clearly, he wasn’t pleased that they were going to spend their night helping the dog. Clearly, he intended to help the dog, anyway. Meredith knew better than to question him. If she asked if he really wanted to do this, he’d say no.
She wiggled into her still soggy jeans. At least her socks and sneakers were dry. Stumbling around the room, she located her cell phone, tapped the browser icon and searched for veterinarians in the West Dennis vicinity. She located a Dr. Burnham with an emergency number. While she phoned, Scott abandoned the dog and threw on some clothes.
Dr. Burnham did not sound too groggy. “The dog has no ID?” she asked once Meredith had explained the situation. “Bring him to the clinic. Maybe he has a chip implanted. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
Scott remained silent, but his body seemed to radiate annoyance the way it had radiated a sleepy warmth when he’d joined her at the door. He wrapped a towel from the bathroom around the dog and hoisted him up, his motions gentle despite his irritation.
How could Meredith consider ending her marriage? she thought as she raced ahead of him through the rain to unlock the car. He might not listen to her. He might not see her. He might have a harem of undergrads visiting his office, eager to serve fulfill his every whim. He might not even like dogs that much; Skippy was her baby, not his. But on a rain-soaked night in a strange town, he would carry an injured stray dog to a veterinarian’s office. That alone was a reason to love him. Maybe the only reason she could think of at the moment, but it was something.
He sat in the back seat with the whimpering dog while Meredith drove. The neighborhood where their cabin was located remained dark, but once she reached Route 28, streetlights lined the road and the few businesses still open—an all-night supermarket, a drug store, the same bars they’d passed en route to the pizza place—had lights glowing in their windows or brightening their parking lots. She drove a mile west, surprised to have to share the roadway with other cars at such a late hour, and glanced at the address on her phone’s screen. She could have programmed it into her GPS, but the clinic was right on the main road.
Holding Hands Page 3