“That’ll keep you safe,” he says.
“I thought you said it was safe.”
“It is. Stop worrying.”
Fat chance.
We carry the bright yellow raft to the river, which is about fifty feet wide and lined with sharp rocks and green deciduous trees. The water looks blacker up close and smells like powdered rocks, as if it just finished carving out the mountains behind it. I sit in the raft next to Jack, second from the front. Steve pushes us away from the shore and commands us to start paddling. Jack tells me to hook my left foot under the strap running along the bottom, just like in the catamaran in Cancún.
“Oh yeah, that worked out well,” I mutter.
“What? You didn’t like capsizing?”
“I’m hoping it remains a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
Jack’s eyes dart away from mine.
“Jack, why are you making that face?”
He dips his paddle into the river. “What face?”
“Don’t change the subject.” I think out loud. “Okay, you started making that face when I was talking about capsizing . . . Shit! Are they going to flip the boat?”
“Noooo . . .”
“Jack!”
“The guide flips it when we go down the first rapid,” says the man sitting across from me, trying to be helpful.
“Is that true? Jack?”
We’re rapidly approaching a patch of foaming white river at the front of a bend. I can’t see around it, but I have a sinking feeling I know what’s past it. Or what isn’t.
“Calm down, Anne. It’ll be okay.”
“I don’t like this . . .”
The boat starts to bump and pitch and roll as the water roils beneath it. We round the bend, and sure enough, the river disappears 250 feet ahead.
“Paddle hard,” Steve screams.
“Jack!”
“Paddle hard, Anne, paddle hard,” Jack shouts with relish.
I grit my teeth and drive my paddle into the water. My right hand hits the cold river with every stroke. “You’re so going to pay for this . . .”
As we plunge over the edge of the rapids, I give up paddling and hold on tight to the side of the raft. Everyone is yelling. I can’t tell if the others are screaming with excitement or fear, but I know which camp I’m in.
I glance back at Steve. He has a big grin on his face as he wrestles to keep the boat in the middle of the rapids. And then I see him do it. He deliberately flips the boat by placing his paddle in the water and holding hard against the current.
The raft tips sideways, disgorging us. I try to fling myself clear, but I get caught underneath it as it hurtles down the river.
The shock of cold water pushes the air out of my lungs. I struggle to keep my head above the surface in the air pocket formed by the yellow dome of the raft. I bounce and roll and rock down the bumpy water. There’s a loud roar, followed by relative silence as the raft moves into less turbulent water.
The raft is lifted off my head, and I’m pulled into Jack’s arms. His face is white with concern. “You okay, Anne?”
My teeth start chattering. “I think so.”
“I thought you were done for.”
“That’s what you get for convincing me to go on adventures. I told you not to try to kill me on book-launch day.”
“It’ll never happen again.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I look around me. The river’s calmer, and the sun’s shining brightly, flashing off the water. The water here feels warmer, less aggressive. I realize that, as scary as flipping was, I’m having fun. I like doing these things with Jack. I kind of am an outdoor girl.
“Help me back in?”
“You sure?”
I smile brightly. “Let’s have an adventure.”
So you really had fun?”
“I already told you a million times I did.”
We’re in a cab en route to my book launch, having made it back to the apartment with barely enough time for me to shower, dress, and dry my hair. The nerves I’ve managed to avoid all day have come back with a vengeance. I slip my hand from Jack’s and rest my chin on the edge of the door, watching the traffic.
“Sorry again about the flipping.”
“Forget it.”
“You nervous?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Maybe you could do the reading for me?”
“I don’t think anyone wants to hear me read your book, Anne.”
“Probably not.”
“Just imagine the crowd naked.”
We hit a pothole, and my chin bangs into the doorframe. I rub it, concerned there’s going to be a mark. “Does that really work?”
“Search me.”
The cab pulls up outside the bookstore. There’s a poster in the window with my author photo on it and a blowup of the cover of my book. Home, by Anne Blythe. How the hell did that happen?
Inside, there’s a woman in her mid-twenties—Shelley, her name tag reads—standing at the counter, looking anxious. I’m ten minutes late. I apologize, and she quickly fills me in on where I’ll stand to read, and sit to sign, and stand again to drink and eat appetizers. She leads us up a curved wooden staircase. I can’t keep my eyes off all the other books on the shelves, or really believe that mine will be tucked between them soon. In fact, copies of it must already be tucked in here somewhere. Freaky.
Next to the coffee bar, the tables have been cleared away and replaced by folding chairs, a lectern, and a large stack of copies of my novel. I walk to the lectern and wait nervously beside it. Cathy and Gil are sitting in the front row, and Jack takes a seat next to them. My parents are in the row behind. My dad leans forward and starts talking to Jack.
Poor Jack! He’s probably being asked for his dental records.
I start as someone hugs me from behind. “Heya, A.B.!” I turn around, and William is beaming at me.
“Thanks for coming,” I tell him.
“You kidding? Where else would I be?”
“Drinking?”
“True enough. But the cocktails will wait. There will be cocktails, right?”
“Of course.”
He sits down with a group of people from work, more people than I expected—even the Fashion Nazi is here. My book editor and publicist are sitting at the back, next to Janey and Nan. Susan sent her regrets. I wave to them, and they wave back excitedly. I try not to look for Sarah, the one person I really want to be here.
Shelley signals to me that it’s time to begin. I take a deep breath, step up to the podium, and stare out at the crowd. As my eyes flit from person to person, I feel naked.
I clear my throat. “Good evening, everyone. Thanks so much for coming. You have no idea how much it means to me. I wanted to say two things before I read something from my book. And before you all buy two copies.”
I pause to cough the nervousness out of my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah and Mike taking seats next to William. Sarah gives me an uneasy smile.
“So, first thing. Writing a book is what I imagine being pregnant must be like. You have an idea of what it’s supposed to be like, people tell you what it’s like, but you really have no idea. And everyone you tell wants to know all kinds of things about it. What’s it called? How big is it? When is it going to be delivered?
“After a while, it becomes all anyone ever asks you about, and you kind of wish you’d never told anyone about it in the first place. It gets bigger and bigger, and you sort of just want it to be over. You want to see what it looks like when it’s done. Then it is, and you can’t tell if it’s beautiful or hideous or somewhere in between. This is probably where this analogy falls apart, but anyway, you show it to your friends, and they tell you it’s beautiful. And though you know they’re telling you that because they’re your friends, it’s what gives you the courage to show it to other people. To take a chance. Sometimes that chance pans out, like it did fo
r me.
“So I want to thank the friends who helped me through the pregnancy of this book, but most especially Sarah, who read it more times than I did.”
I’m suddenly nervous again. “Okay, second thing. I know I probably should be telling each of you this individually, but what the hey. For those of you who don’t know, I got married recently, and I want to introduce you all to my husband, Jack.”
Jack stands up amid a few gasps and a lot of very curious stares, and takes a bow. A few people laugh, and a few people clap.
“All right, enough about me. This is chapter one of Home.
“ ‘I know you have a person like this. I do. He broke your heart and you can’t forget him. Though you try. And you try. So you wonder about him. Wonder about running into him. How you’ll look if and when you do. You want him to want you again. No matter how happy you are with the person you’re with, you always wonder what it would’ve been like if the person who didn’t choose you, did. What change would that small thing have wrought? For me it was Ben. We kept in touch for a while after we broke up, and then I lost track of him, or him of me, and so there are important things I don’t know about him anymore. Where he lives, who he loves, what he does day to day. But I was always sure I still knew the man underneath the unknown life. Silly that, but there it is. There it is and there it was.’ ”
Canapé?”
“Yes, thank you.” I take a shrimp roll from the platter and pop it in my mouth. The tangy Asian sauce burns my tongue. I take a large gulp of my white wine, trying to stanch the heat spreading through my mouth.
“Hi,” Sarah says. She’s wearing one of her blue power-lawyer suits and has her hair pulled back from her face. She looks serious and sad.
“Hi, Sarah.”
“It turned out really well.”
“My book?”
“The book, your speech. Everything.” She waves her hand around the room in a vague way.
“Thanks.”
“How’ve you been?”
“Okay.”
“You didn’t return my phone calls.”
“I know.”
“You’re not going to cut me any slack, are you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
She gives a resigned nod. “I wasn’t going to come tonight.”
“Why did you?”
“Jack convinced me to.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah. He called me. He told me I should be here. He said you’d want me to be.”
“I didn’t know.”
Her voice catches. “I guess he doesn’t know you that well, huh?”
She waits for me to say something. And when I don’t, she turns to leave.
A glimpse of her sagging shoulders is enough to melt away the little anger I have left. “Sarah, wait. I’m really glad you came. I mean it.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, and she turns toward me, relief written on her face. We hug, and I hold her to me tightly. “Maybe the two of us,” I say, “can have lunch when I get back?”
She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’d like that.”
“And maybe you can give Jack a chance?”
“At least ten.”
“Make it an even dozen, and we have a deal.”
Much later that night, after dinner with Sarah, Mike, William, Janey, Nan, Gil, and Cathy, and wine, wine, wine, I’m fumbling with the key to our apartment. On the third try, Jack takes the key from me.
“Here, let me do that.” He concentrates and, in a smooth motion, fits the key into the lock. He pushes open the door, straightens up, and gives me a sloppy grin. “See, it was easy. You must be drunk.”
I put my arms around his neck. “Why is it so sexy when you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Put a key in a lock. Open a door for me.”
“What else is sexy?”
“I don’t know. Other manly things?”
He bends down and swoops me up into his arms. “How about this?”
“Definitely.”
He carries me over the threshold and into the living room, putting me down on the couch. He puts my feet in his lap, takes off my heels, and starts massaging my feet. “And this?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I enjoy the feel of his fingers working on my feet, ankles, and calves. Then his hands start to work their way up my legs, and I like that feeling even more. Jack scootches over so my legs are draped across his lap and starts to kiss the hollow of my throat.
“Good turnout tonight,” Jack mutters between kisses.
“Um-hmm. Hey, I have a bone to pick with you, mister.”
I can feel his grin against my skin. “Interesting choice of words.”
I push him away. “You called Sarah. You asked her to come tonight.”
“I did.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because someone had to.” He undoes the buttons on my sweater and leans toward me.
“I’m mad at you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I might be.”
“Hush,” he says into my ear.
And so I do.
My head is resting on Jack’s chest as he breathes deeply. Moonlight plays on the hardwood floor. Outside, the city hums.
“You asleep?” I ask.
“Pretty much.”
“Thanks for calling Sarah.”
“Welcome.”
“Did you set the alarm?”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll make sure you get up, don’t worry.”
“Thank you for today, Jack.”
“Anytime.”
I let the rise and fall of his chest lull me to sleep. And then, as I’m on the verge of slipping away, I hear myself say, “I love you.”
Jack’s arms stiffen around me, and I can feel the quickening of his heart. Or maybe it’s my own. Those words seem to crash down on me like the cold water in the river this afternoon, and I’m having trouble breathing.
Why did I say that? And what is Jack thinking? Why hasn’t he said anything?
This isn’t what we agreed to, his silence implies.
Love is not what we agreed to at all.
Chapter 20
It All Makes Sense Now
Jack drives me to the airport the next day. We talk of trivial things on the way: my itinerary, how many book signings I’m doing in each city, what we might do on the weekend after I get back. Jack promises to water the plants and plan something adventurous but not too adventurous. He sounds excited and chats away while I chew my nails and look out the window and try not to ask him about what I said last night.
“So you’re going to write?” I ask distractedly.
“Yeah, I told you. I’m in a good groove right now.”
“Right, sorry. I wasn’t listening properly.”
“You okay?”
I sit up straighter. “Sure, I’m just preoccupied.”
“Nervous?”
“A little.”
“Do what you did last night, and you’ll be fine.”
My heart skips a beat, but he means the book launch, not last night in bed. When I told him I loved him. Stupid, stupid thing to say.
He stops the Jeep in front of the sign for the airline I’m flying and puts it in park. We get out, and Jack pulls my suitcase from the back, setting it on the concrete. I check my purse for my ticket, wallet, and cell phone. Everything’s where it should be but me.
“You afraid of flying?” Jack asks.
“No.”
“You’re acting kind of strange.”
I’m having trouble looking him in the eye. “I’m just tired.”
He places his hands on my shoulders and waits for me to look at him. When I don’t, he takes my chin and lifts my face so I don’t have a choice.
“What’s going on?”
I speak through the enormous lump in my throat. “Nothing.”
“Is this about . . . what you said last night?”
So he did
hear me. I’d been half hoping he hadn’t. That I’d only imagined the rigidity of his body or the implication of his silence.
“Oh, that,” I say, and try to laugh. Instead, it sounds like I’m choking. I clear my throat. “I had too much to drink, and old habits die hard, I guess. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Anne—”
“Just forget I said it.” I kiss him hard on the mouth to cover what I’m feeling. If only I knew what it is I’m feeling.
He breaks the kiss. “Will you just listen to me for a second—”
“I’m going to miss my plane.”
“Come on, Anne—”
“I can’t right now, okay? Can we talk when I get back?”
I smile at him to show him I’ll be fine. I can see his indecision.
“Yeah, all right.”
“I’ll call you tonight.”
“Sure. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I grab the plastic handle recessed into the top of my suitcase, and it clicks into place. I pull the suitcase along behind me, clacking over the concrete toward the sliding glass doors.
And when I turn back, Jack’s gone.
I spend the next three days talking, smiling, signing my name, and reading the first chapter of my book over and over, until I have it nearly memorized. My state of mind isn’t helped by reading aloud the things that make you start falling in love for the first time. Things like the way the wool of a boy’s sweater smells. The way you see, just in a flash, how he’ll be when he’s a man. And the flashes are so short you think you’ve imagined them. But something between you changes. Some thread connects you, and you both know it’s there.
You can feel its pull.
“So how did the day go?” Jack asks during our fourth nightly phone conversation.
I’m lying on the bed in my hotel room with the phone propped under my ear. “Hi, my name is Anne Blythe. What? Yes. That’s right. Anne Blythe. Yes, like in the Anne books. No, I’m here to read from my book. Yes, my mother was obsessed. Oh, you too? Yes, it’s funny that I have red hair and green eyes. My mother has magical powers. No, my husband’s name is not Gilbert, that’s my brother. Yes, my mother is odd. Right, so, here we go, chapter one.”
“Sounds like another excellent day.”
“I wanted this, right?”
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