"I missed you, too." I clear my throat, fixing my eyes on the snow-laden branches as we move over the trail into the woods, trying not to focus on the warmth and softness of Alis’ hand in mine. "But you seemed to be having a good time."
"Oh, I did. I mean… None of those girls are soul friends, but they’re good people." She bites her lip and is quiet for a long moment. "To be honest, I’ve never had a very close female friend before. My friends tend to…" Shrugging, she offers me a small smile. "They use me, I guess. And mostly I don’t mind. But you…" Her eyes drift away, pointing toward the snow at our feet.
"Me—what, Alis?"
She sighs. "You’re different. You’re…" Growing very still, Alis turns to face me, letting go of my hand but claiming my gaze. Her cheeks are red, and her mouth is closed, not frowning but not smiling, either.
"Is something wrong?" I ask her, brushing a stray curl from the side of her face, pushing it to nestle behind her ear.
Before I can take my hand away, she leans into it, then clasps it with her own hand, squeezing her eyes shut. "Darcy…" she breathes, shaking her head. "I’m a terrible person. I’m still married, and you—I mean, how could I even think… Oh, I’m sorry." Letting go of my hand, she steps away, walks on, moving ahead of me along the trail.
"Hey, Alis—"
"I’m drunk," she says softly, laughing a little. "Don’t listen to me. I talk too much when I’m drunk. I…feel too much. Too much blubbering, and too little sense."
Catching up with her, I thread my arm through hers and smooth my fingers over her hand. "You weren’t blubbering. If you want to talk about something—"
"I don’t," she says quickly. "I mean, I can’t. Not now. Okay?"
I swallow, slowing my steps to match my pace with hers, though I have less luck attempting to slow my tumbling heart. "Okay." I tilt my head back to welcome the icy touch of the air, open my eyes to absorb the sharp light of the stars.
We walk together in silence—tense, heart-throbbing silence—our boots crunching over the snow as the wind whistles thinly through the snow-burdened trees. When the cabin looms before us, I pause, daring a glance in Alis’ direction. Her face is closed, solemn. She lifts her blue eyes to meet mine, and I want to reach for her, want to draw her close, want to do whatever she needs, anything to drive her sadness away.
A single tear slips over her cheek.
"Oh, Alis…" Without a thought, I lean toward her and press my lips to the soft place just below her eye, lingering for far too long, heart pounding so hard that it sounds like a storm in my ears. When I draw back, Alis’ lips are trembling, and she covers her face with her hands.
"I’m sorry…" I begin, but she waves her hand and takes several deep breaths, stilling her sobs.
"Darcy, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met," she whispers, her shining eyes piercing through me. For a long, heady moment, we stare at one another, near enough to touch but not touching, near enough to kiss but not kissing. "I just… I wanted you to know that," Alis says at last, stepping back, turning on her heel to face our footprints on the trail. "I should go back. I’ll set up sleeping arrangements for everyone at the house. They’re all too drunk to drive, and I can’t drive. But we have plenty of room, and there’s that pull-out bed in the living room, and a couple of air mattresses, I think—"
"Alis, don’t go—"
"I know where you keep all of the extra blankets and pillows, so there’s no need for you to hurry back." Facing forward, she carefully avoids my gaze, though I can see her hands shaking and want to hold them, to hold her. "Stay out here as long as you’d like. I know this must be a difficult night for you because of…" Her voice trails away, and she’s already leaving, running now, running from me.
"Alis, don’t go," I call weakly, hoarsely, watching her slip into the darkness until she disappears.
Stunned, unable to think, I trek automatically toward the cabin, and though Portia greets me with a friendly mew and weaves her warm body around my bare, chilled legs, I have never felt more alone.
---
There’s a knock at the door.
I ignore it, groaning and rolling onto my back on the couch, upsetting the kittens, who were hunched and dozing on my hip. Eyes closed, I fling an arm over my aching head.
The knock comes again. And again. And again.
"Catherine, could you get that?" I whisper, then make a bitter, gravelly laugh that sounds more like a sob. Suddenly, a wave of sorrow rocks my chest, seizing my heart. I double over, internally pained without any understanding as to why.
Then I remember.
It’s Christmas. Christmas morning.
My mouth forms a harsh curve. Perhaps Santa Claus has come to give me a present. The chimney is too narrow. He’d have to use the door.
"Skip it. I’ve been a naughty girl," I call out, sitting up too fast and then leaning over to place my head on my knees. The room spins around me, the floor rising up to tilt beneath my feet.
Knock, knock, knock.
At last, my muzzy brain begins to focus, and I lean back against the couch, shaking my head and smoothing my hair. If Alis were out there knocking, she would have likely come in by now, or announced herself, asked me if I was all right.
With a sigh, I rise and fling the door open, hugging myself in my thin and very wrinkled dress and squinting at the searing white sunlight.
"Merry Christmas!" Marjorie stands uncertainly before me, her grey hair a little mussed, her coat collars uneven. She holds a large wrapped box in her arms. "Did I wake you?" she asks.
"Oh, um… What time is it?"
"Nearly eight o’clock. I’m an early riser. I’ve been up since five and waited so that I wouldn’t disturb you, but I’m afraid I have—"
"No, no, it’s fine," I assure her groggily, managing a genuine—though probably odd-looking—smile. "Come in, please. And Merry Christmas to you, too."
"Thank you, honey. I won’t stay long. I’ve got a sad sort of tradition on holidays, you know. I watch DVDs of all of the old movies that Lloyd and I saw at the cinema together. I like to imagine his spirit sitting beside me, laughing at the same tired jokes…" She smiles softly to herself and places the package she was carrying on Catherine’s desk.
"I wish you hadn’t brought a gift, Marjorie. I don’t have anything for—"
"Oh, dear, that isn’t from me, Darcy. I found it right outside the door, picked it up while I was waiting for you to answer and brought it in here for you."
"But…" I approach the box gingerly, eyeing its plain brown wrapping. "Well, who’s it from, then?" Curious, I pick up the box and am surprised to find that it weighs very little. Whatever is inside it must be terribly small or light. There’s no gift tag, no marking whatsoever. It appears to have been wrapped in a recycled paper grocery bag.
With a shrug, I set the box down and face Marjorie again. "I’ll open it later. But I suppose you’ve come to meet the kittens?"
Marjorie laughs, pointing down to the floor: one of the kittens has flopped itself on top of her boots and begun to purr. "Think this one’s trying to tell me something?"
I smile, kneeling down to pet the kitten’s tiny white head. "Pretty sure you’ve just been adopted."
"Well, that was easy enough!"
"Here." I move to the bathroom and open the drawer in the shelving unit above the sink, removing, with a silent pang, one of the hair ribbons Catherine stored there. It’s yellow and silky, and I knot it loosely around the kitten’s neck. "For now. I’ll get her a proper collar tomorrow, and then when she’s ready to go home with you, we’ll have no trouble finding your kitten."
"Oh, what a darling." Marjorie leans over carefully to stroke the kitten’s back. "We’ll be great friends, you and I." She looks up at me, a playful gleam in her eyes. "You know, I think I’ll call her Scarlett. Lloyd used to call me Scarlett, and of course he was my dashing, handsome Rhett."
"She seems like a Scarlett to me," I laugh, as the kitten wrestles with the
ribbon, biting into its fabric with her tiny, razor-sharp teeth.
Marjorie sits down on the couch and holds the kitten on her lap, cooing and fawning, her face soft and serene. I sit beside her, stroking Portia, who curls up against my side and purrs with contentment.
"A kitten for Christmas," Marjorie sighs happily.
I squeeze her hand. "I hope the two of you will share many happy Christmases to come."
"Oh, I’m sure we will." But her eyes dim behind her glasses as she gazes at me. "What about you, Darcy?"
I look away, picking tiny white cat hairs off of my red dress. "I’m fine."
"You’re far from fine."
"Well, I’ll be fine. Eventually." I sigh deeply, giving up on the cat hair and gathering Portia onto my lap. Her purrs grow louder; I feel the rumble of them beneath my hand, a soothing pressure. "I hope."
"You know what would help you feel better right now, don’t you?"
My heartbeat quickens, and a blush steals over my body, head to toe. Does Marjorie know how I feel about Alis? Could she tell? Was I obvious at the party? Does everyone know—
"Come back to the library, Darcy."
Oh.
I breathe out, petting Portia until my nerves relax enough to permit me to speak. "You know," I begin, seriously considering the thought of returning to work for the first time, "I might do just that. I could use…" My eyes flick from the typewriter to the open bathroom door, and my fingers graze my lips—the lips that kissed Alis’ cheek the night before. "A distraction." I sigh. "Yeah. A distraction would be…wise."
Chapter Fifteen
At midmorning, when I stroll back through the falling snow to the house, the unopened package clutched in my arms, there are no cars in the driveway besides Alis’ and mine, but I notice a fresh trail of footprints pointed first toward the house and then away—aiming for the back of the house. For the back door.
And then Alis screams.
My spiked heels trip over the snowy porch boards and then slip on the tiled entryway as I rush back into the house and fling open the dining room door. Alis isn’t there, though, so I wheel around the table to reach the door to the kitchen.
"I told you I’d kill you if you touched her." Jason’s nostrils flare as he clutches Alis against him, her face buried in his shoulder. The palms of her hands push against his chest, but his arms around her are too strong, and, as he glares at me from across the kitchen, his eyes spark with madness.
"She didn’t touch me," Alis whispers, and Jason tosses her down to the floor.
"Liar. I saw you in the woods."
I fall to Alis’ side, cradling her head in my arms. She turns toward me, her body wracked with sobs. My eyes rise to pierce Jason through. "Last night?" My voice surprises me: it’s steady, low, and furious. "You were there last night? You followed us into the woods?"
Jason scoffs, leering, spittle streaming from his mouth. "You stupid cows were too doe-eyed over each other to notice I was there. I could’ve run around screaming and you wouldn’t have heard me."
"That’s trespassing." I move Alis gently so that she’s resting against the cupboard below the sink, and then, with a barely suppressed growl, I rise to confront Jason eye to eye. He’s a small man, for all of his menace, and I stare at him until his gaze narrows with discomfort. "You’re trespassing now. You are not welcome in my home, and you’re frightening Alis. I’m calling the police."
He grabs hold of my wrists and squeezes, positioning his body near enough for me to smell the beer on his breath. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Miss Librarian."
"And I wouldn’t threaten me if I were you." I jerk my arms away from him and then push hard against his shoulders, shoving him back toward the door. While he’s stumbling, I throw open the silverware drawer and scrabble for a knife.
When Jason comes for me again, I hold up the long, sharp blade, and it catches the sunlight streaming through the windows, flashing bright silver.
His mouth curves into a sneer, and he almost laughs, but then his eyelids flutter with uncertainty. "Well…" he says, voice shaking. "Look at the tough lady with the knife. Hey, I never pulled any weapons on you—"
"And you never will. Get out."
"Alis, all I wanted was to talk—"
"You call that talking?" Alis hisses, scrubbing at her face before rising slowly, with a small cry of pain, to stand beside me. "No, Jason. We’re through talking. You had your chance with me, and you blew it. You blew it."
"If this lesbo hadn’t seduced you—"
"Stop." As she glares at him, Alis’ blue eyes are steely and cold. "You can’t fix this. And you can’t blame anyone for our divorce but yourself. Darcy never seduced me. If anything, I—" Flushed, she draws her mouth closed and regards me with a complicated expression. She looks so hurt, so exhausted; all I want to do is hold her, whisper soothing words into her ear…
With a sigh, she faces Jason again. He’s poised near the door, his hands fisting and unfisting at his sides. "Just go. This whole thing is painful enough without you—"
"Me? I’m not the one who moved in with a wife-stealing lesbian before the divorce papers were even final. I’m not the one who—"
"You’ve been cheating on me for years, and I was a fool to let you get away with it for so long." She begins to move forward, toward Jason, but I reach for her arm, take her hand, willing her with a gentle pressure to remain by my side. If Jason grabs her again, I’m afraid of what I might do to him.
Alis smiles softly at me, breathing deep. "Listen," she says, her voice quiet but firm. "I’m taking control of my life, Jason, and my life no longer has any room for you. What I choose to do with my life is not your concern, is none of your business, just as your life now has nothing to do with me." She shakes her head and places a shaky hand upon her chest. "You broke my heart. Again and again, you broke my heart. And when you break something, Jason, you lose all claim to it, because you didn’t cherish it. You didn’t treat it— You didn’t treat me with the respect I deserved."
I watch, stunned, as Jason swings his arms out to fling the toaster and coffeemaker onto the floor. They crash with startling volume, shards of glass bouncing all around us. He crunches some of the glass beneath his boots as he breathes through his nose loudly, too quickly, his mouth set in a determined frown. "You’ll get what you deserve," he whispers then, holding himself disturbingly still. His eyes flick from me to Alis, and back to me again. They darken, narrow. "Both of you."
"Get. Out," I seethe, clutching the knife in my sweating hand.
Jason hurls the back door open and rages through it, slamming the door hard enough behind him to crack one of the panes.
"Oh, Darcy…" Alis begins to crumple to the floor, but I catch her in my arms, guide her out of the kitchen, away from the broken glass, and into the dim dining room—messy with last night’s leftovers, every surface cluttered with empty wine bottles. We sit down at the table side by side.
"I was about to walk out to the cabin to see you, to see if you’d opened my gift yet—"
"You left that box for me?"
She nods her head slightly, fingering a napkin and taking deep breaths. "I thought it might be a nice surprise, not quite like a gift under the tree but…I didn’t want to trigger painful memories for you. A plain brown box on a doorstep is a mystery, not a cause for reminiscing, for missing…her."
"You’re a dream, Alis." I cover her fidgeting hand with both of my hands, stroking her skin softly, rhythmically, keeping my voice low and, I hope, at a soothing timbre. "You’re so thoughtful—"
"He wanted to kill you." Her chest rises and falls with alarming rapidity, and her breaths are loud, ragged. "It’s stupid, so stupid. You haven’t done—I mean, I didn’t leave him because of you. I left him because he’s a selfish, violent human being who may have loved me once but…" Sinking back into her chair, she closes her eyes, deflating. "But now he just wants to own me, like a thing."
I release her hand and encircle her shoulders wit
h my arm. "We’ll file a report at the station in town. We’ll get a restraining order."
Alis nods her head vaguely, leaning against my side. When the tears begin to slip from her too-blue eyes, I dab at them with a clean napkin and gently smooth her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"I won’t let him hurt you," I whisper, and I feel the truth of those words at my deepest core.
"I know you won’t," she whispers back, tilting her head to gaze at me with a red-rimmed, watery gaze and a small, sad smile. "I’m not afraid for myself, Darcy." She swallows a sob. "I’m afraid for you."
---
Portia meows and leaps down from the sofa as Alis and I enter the cabin, stomping fluffy snow from our boots. I turn on a yellow lamp as we fling our coats over the back of the desk chair and stand for a moment on the rug, basking in the room’s warmth and listening to the soft exhalations of the sleeping kittens.
"Much cozier," Alis whispers, removing her gloves slowly, casting her eyes—dimmed from the morning’s brutality but brilliant blue still—around the small space, lingering upon the windows and doorways, and after a moment, I realize that she’s searching for signs of intrusion, for signs of Jason.
I take her gloves and place them on the desk, along with the box, the gift she gave me, which I carried through the woods when we left the house. After we called the police and were instructed to stop in at the station in the morning, we spent a few hours of uneasy reading and Christmas special-watching before Alis stood up and announced, "I think we need a change of scenery." I couldn’t help but agree. The weight of Jason’s rage hung heavy in the house; neither of us could concentrate or relax or even maintain a simple conversation.
But now I breathe out, and I feel the knots of tension loosen, ease away. When Alis sits down on the sofa, I sit beside her, drawing a small package from the pocket of my jeans.
She glances down at the silver-wrapped box curiously, a soft smile on her lips. "What’s that, Darcy?"
"Oh, just something I found lying around. Funny—it’s addressed to you. Probably from one of your secret admirers."
The Ghost of a Chance Page 10