Dance Upon the Air (11 page)

“No. The sea isn't always kind.”

Still she was drawn to it, compelled to stand and watch its whims, its charm and its violence. Fire, drawn to Water.

“The house came before,” she added. “It was the first house built on the island.”

“Conjured by magic in the moonlight,” Nell added. “I read the book.”

“Well, magic or mortar, it stands. The gardens are my joy, and I've indulged myself there.” She gestured.

Nell looked back toward the house, blinked. The rear was a fantasy of blooms, shapes, arbors, paths. The juxtaposition between raw cliffs and lush fairyland almost made her dizzy.

“My God, Mia! It's amazing, spectacular. Like a painting. Do you do all the work yourself?”

“Mmm. Now and then I'll dragoon a strong back,
but for the most part I can handle it. It relaxes me,” she said as they walked toward the first tangle of hedges. “And gratifies me.”

There seemed to be dozens of secret places, unexpected turns. An iron trellis buried under wisteria, a sudden stream of pure white blossoms curling through like a satin ribbon. A tiny pool where water lilies drifted and reeds speared up around a statue of a goddess.

There were stone fairies and fragrant lavender, marble dragons and trailing nasturtium. Cheerfully blooming herbs tumbled through a rock garden and spilled toward a cushion of moss covered with starry flowers.

“No wonder you're not lonely here.”

“Exactly.” Mia led the way down a crooked path to a small stone island. The table there was stone as well, and stood on the base of a laughing winged gargoyle. “We're having champagne, to celebrate the solstice.”

“I've never met anyone like you.”

Mia lifted the bottle out of a gleaming copper pail. “I should hope not. I insist on being unique.” She poured two glasses, sat, then stretched out her legs and wiggled the painted toes of her bare feet. “Tell me how you died, Nell.”

“I drove off a cliff.” She took her glass, drank deep. “We lived in California. Beverly Hills and Monterey. It seemed at first like being a princess in a castle. He swept me off my feet.”

She couldn't sit, so she wandered the little island and drew in the scent of the flowers. She heard the
tinkle of bells and saw that Mia had the same starry wind chime she'd bought for herself on her first day.

“My father was in the military. We moved around a lot, and that was hard. But he was wonderful. So handsome, and brave and strong. I suppose he was strict, but he was never unkind. I loved being with him. He couldn't always be with us, and we missed him. I loved seeing him come back, in his uniform, and the way his face would light up when my mother and I went to meet him. He was killed in the Gulf War. I still miss him.”

She drew a deep breath. “It wasn't easy for my mother, but she got through it. That's when she started the catering business. She called it A Moveable Feast. Hemingway.”

“Clever,” Mia acknowledged. “Classy.”

“She was both. She's always been a terrific cook and loved to entertain. She taught me . . . it was something we liked doing together.”

“A bond between you,” Mia commented. “A lovely and strong one.”

“Yes. We moved to Chicago, and she built up an impressive reputation while I went to college, took care of the books, and pitched in whenever I could manage it around classes. When I was twenty-one, I started working with her full-time. We expanded and developed an elite list of clients. That's how I met Evan, at a party in Chicago we were catering. A very important party for very important people. I was twenty-four. He was ten years older, and everything I wasn't. Sophisticated, brilliant, cultured.”

Mia held up a finger. “Why do you say that? You're a traveled, educated woman with an enviable skill.”

“I didn't feel like any of those things when I was with him.” Nell sighed. “In any case, I didn't move in the same circles. I cooked for the rich, the high-powered, the glamorous. I didn't share the table with them. He made me feel . . . grateful that he would pay attention to me. As if it were some fabulous compliment. I just realized that.” She shook her head.

“He flirted with me, and it was exciting. He sent me two dozen roses the next day. It was always red roses. He asked me out, and took me to the theater, to parties, to fabulous restaurants. He stayed in Chicago for two weeks, made it clear he was staying, reorganizing his schedule, putting off his clients, his work, his life, for me. I was meant for him,” Nell whispered, rubbing arms that were suddenly chilled.

“We were meant for each other. Then, when he told me that, it was thrilling. Later, not so very much later, it was terrifying. He said things to me that seemed romantic then. We'd always be together. We'd never be apart. He would never let me go. He dazzled me, and when he asked me to marry him, I didn't think twice. My mother had reservations, asked me to give it some time, but I wouldn't listen. We eloped, and I went back to California with him. The press called it the romance of the decade.”

“Ah. Yes.” Mia nodded as Nell turned back. “It clicks. You looked different then. More like a pampered kitten.”

“I looked the way he told me to look, and behaved the way he told me to behave. At first that seemed fine. He was older, wiser, and I was new in his world. He made it seem reasonable, just as he made it seem . . . instructional when he would tell me I was
slow or dull. He knew best, so if he ordered me to change my dress for another before I was permitted to go out, he was only looking out for my interests—and our image. It was very subtle at first, those digs, those demands. And whenever I pleased him, I was given a little treat. Like a puppy being trained. Here, you performed very well for company last night, have a diamond bracelet. God, it disgusts me how easily I was manipulated.”

“You were in love.”

“I did love him. The man I thought he was. And he was so clever, so relentless. The first time he hit me, it was a horrible shock, but it never occurred to me that I didn't deserve it. I'd been so well trained. It got worse after that, but slowly, bit by bit. My mother was killed, hardly a year after I left. Drunk driver,” Nell said, her voice thickening.

“And you were alone then. I'm so sorry.”

“He was so kind, so supportive. He made all the arrangements, canceled his appointments for a week to take me to Chicago. He did everything a loving husband could do. And the day we got home, he went wild. He waited until we were home, back in that house, and he'd sent all the servants away. Then he knocked me down, he raved, and slapped. He never used his fists on me, always an open hand. I think it was somehow more degrading. He accused me of having an affair with one of the mourners. A man who'd been a good friend of my parents. A kind and decent man whom I thought of as an uncle.

“Well.” Surprised that her glass was empty, she walked back to the table, poured another. There were birds singing, a pretty chippering among the flowers.
“We don't need a blow-by-blow account. He abused me, I took it.”

She lifted her glass, drank, steadied herself again. “I went to the police once. He had a lot of friends on the force, a lot of influence. They didn't take me seriously. Oh, I had some bruises, but nothing life-threatening. He found out, and he explained to me in ways I'd understand that if I ever humiliated him like that again, he'd kill me. I got away once, but he found me. He told me I belonged to him, and that he would never let me go. He told me that when his hands were around my throat. That if I ever tried to leave him, he'd find me, and he'd kill me. No one would ever know. And I believed him.”

“But you did leave him.”

“I planned it for six months, step by step, always careful not to upset him, not to give him cause to suspect. We entertained, we traveled, we slept together. We were the picture of the perfect affluent couple. He still hit me. There was always something I didn't do quite right, but I would always apologize. I pilfered cash whenever I could and hid it in a box of tampons. Pretty safe bet he wouldn't look there. I got a fake driver's license, and I hid that too. And then I was ready.

“He had a sister in Big Sur. She was having a lavish tea party. Very female. I was expected to go. That morning, I complained of a headache, which, of course, annoyed him. I was just making excuses, he said. A number of his clients would be there, and I just wanted to embarrass him by not showing up. So I said I'd go. Naturally I'd go. I would just take some
aspirin and be fine. But I knew my reluctance would ensure him letting me out of the house.”

She'd gotten clever, too, Nell thought now. At deceit, at pretense.

“I wasn't even frightened then. He went off to play golf, and I put what I needed in the trunk of the car. I stopped on the way and put on a black wig. I picked up the secondhand bike I'd bought the week before, and put it in the trunk. I stopped again before I got to the party, hid the bike at a spot I'd picked out. I drove down Highway 1, and I went to tea.”

Nell sat down, spoke calmly while Mia sat in silence. “I made sure that a number of people noted I wasn't feeling very well. Barbara, his sister, even suggested I lie down for a bit. I waited until most of the guests had left, then I thanked her for a lovely time. She was worried about me. I looked pale. I brushed her off, and I got back in the car.”

Her voice was calm, almost flat. She was just a woman telling a mildly distasteful story. One that had happened to someone else.

That's what she told herself.

“It was dark now. I needed it to be. I called Evan on my cell phone to tell him I was on my way. He always insisted on that. I got to the stretch of the road where I'd hidden the bike, and there were no other cars. I knew it could be done. Had to be. I took off my seat belt. I didn't think. I'd practiced it in my head a thousand times, so I didn't let myself think. I opened the door, still driving, swerving, going faster. I aimed for the edge. If I didn't make it, well, I was no worse off. I jumped. It was like flying. The car soared over the edge, just soared like a bird, then it crashed on
the rocks, horrible sound, and it tumbled and rolled and fell into the water. I ran, back to where I had the bike and the bag. I pulled off my beautiful suit and put on old jeans and a sweatshirt, the wig. I still wasn't afraid.”

No, she hadn't been afraid, not then. But now, as she relived it, her voice began to hitch. It hadn't happened to someone else after all.

“I rode down the hills, and up and down. When I got to Carmel, I went into the bus station and I paid cash for a one-way ticket to Las Vegas. When I was on the bus, and it started to move out of the station, I was afraid. Afraid he would come and stop the bus. And I would lose. But he didn't. In Vegas I got on a bus for Albuquerque, and in Albuquerque I bought a paper and read about the tragic death of Helen Remington.”

“Nell.” Mia reached out, closed a hand over Nell's. She doubted that Nell was aware she'd been crying for the last ten minutes. “I've never met anyone like you, either.”

Nell lifted her glass and, as tears spilled down her cheeks, toasted. “Thanks.”

At Mia's insistence, she spent the night. It seemed sensible after several glasses of champagne and an emotional purge to let herself be led to a big four-poster. Without protest, she slipped on a borrowed silk nightshirt, climbed between soft linen sheets, and fell instantly asleep.

And woke in the moonlit dark.

It took her a moment to orient herself, to remember where she was and what had awakened her. Mia's
guest room, she thought groggily. And people were singing.

No, not singing. Chanting. It was a lovely, melodious sound, just on the edges of her hearing. Drawn to it, she rose and, still logy with sleep, moved directly to the terrace doors.

She pushed them open to a warm, whipping wind and stepped out into the pearl-white light of a three-quarter moon. The scent of flowers seemed to rise up and surround her until her head spun with it as it had with wind.

The heartbeat of the sea was fast, almost a rage, and her own raced to keep pace.

Then she saw Mia, dressed in a robe that gleamed silver in the moonlight, step out of the woods where trees swayed like dancers.

She walked to the cliffs, the silver of her gown, the flame of her hair, whirling. There, high on the rocks, she faced the sea and lifted her arms to star and moon.

The air filled with voices, and the voices seemed filled with joy. With her eyes dazzled with wonder, stinging with tears she didn't understand, Nell watched as light, shimmering beams of it, slid down from the sky to brush the tips of Mia's fingers, the ends of her flying hair.

For a moment it seemed she was like a candle, straight, slim, incandescent, lighting the edge of the world.

Then there was only the sound of the surf, the pearl-white light of the waning moon, and a woman standing alone on a cliff.

Mia turned, walked back toward the house. Her head lifted, and her eyes met Nell's. Held. Held.

She smiled quietly, moved into the shadow of the house. And was gone.

I
t was still
dark when Nell tiptoed down to Mia's kitchen. The house was huge, and took some maneuvering. Though she wasn't sure what time Mia rose for the day, she brewed a pot of coffee for her hostess and wrote a note of thanks before she left.

They would have to talk, Nell thought as she drove home in the softening light of pre-dawn. About a number of things. And they would, she decided, as soon as she could figure out where to begin.

She could almost convince herself that what she'd seen in the moonlight had been nothing more than a champagne-induced dream. Almost. But it was too clear in her mind to be a dream.

Light spilling out of stars like liquid silver. A rising wind full of song. A woman glowing like a torch.

Such things should be fantasy. But they weren't . . . if they were real and she had a part in them, she needed to know what it all meant.

For the first time in nearly four years she felt
absolutely steady, absolutely calm. For now, that was enough.

By noon she
was too busy to think about more than the job at hand. There was a paycheck in her pocket, and a day off around the corner.

“Iced hazelnut cappuccino, large.” The man who ordered leaned on the counter as Nell began to work. She judged him as mid-thirties, health-club fit, and a mainlander.

It pleased her that she could already, with very decent accuracy, spot a mainlander. And feel the slightly smug reaction of an islander.

“So, how much aphrodisiac do you put in those cookies?” he asked her.

She glanced at him. “I'm sorry?”

“Ever since I tasted your oatmeal raisin, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind.”

“Really? I could've sworn I put all the aphrodisiac in the macadamia nut.”

“In that case I'll take three,” he said. “I'm Jim, and you've seduced me with your baked goods.”

“Then you'd better stay away from my three-bean salad. It'll ruin you for all other women.”

“If I buy all the three-bean salad, will you marry me and have my children?”

“Well, I would, Jim, but I've taken a sacred oath to stay free to bake for all the world.” She capped his coffee, bagged it. “Do you really want those cookies?”

“You bet. How about a clambake? Some friends
and I are sharing a house. We're going to do in some clams tonight.”

“Tonight a clambake, tomorrow a house in the suburbs and a cocker spaniel.” She rang him up, took his money with a smile. “Better safe than sorry. But thanks.”

“You're breaking my heart,” he said, and sighing heavily, he walked away.

“Oh, man, he is so cute.” Peg craned her neck to keep him in sight until he'd gone downstairs. “You're really not interested?”

“No.” Nell took off her apron, rolled her shoulders.

“Then you wouldn't mind if I gave him a shot?”

“Be my guest. There's plenty of bean salad in the fridge. Oh, and Peg? Thanks for being understanding about yesterday.”

“Hey, everybody gets weird now and then. See you Monday.”

See you Monday, Nell thought. It was just that simple. She was a member of the team, she had friends. She had deflected an overture from an attractive man without getting the jitters.

In fact, she enjoyed it, the way she used to enjoy such things. The day might come when she didn't feel compelled to deflect.

One day she might go to a clambake with a man and some of his friends. Talk, laugh, enjoy the companionship. Light, casual friendships. She could do that. There couldn't be any serious relationships in her future even if she could learn to handle one emotionally.

She was, after all, still legally married.

But now, just now, that fact was more of a safety net than the nightmare it had been. She was free to be whoever she wanted to be, but not free enough to be bound again, not to any man.

She decided to treat herself to an ice cream cone, and a detour to the beach. People called her by name as she passed, and that was a quiet thrill.

As she crossed the sand, she spotted Pete Stahr and his infamous dog. Both looked sheepish as Zack stood beside them, hands on hips.

He never wore a hat as he'd advised her to do when gardening. As a result his hair was lighter at the tips and almost always disordered from the ocean breeze. He rarely wore his badge either, she noted, but the gun rode in the holster at his hip almost casually.

It occurred to her that if he had stopped by the café and asked her to go to a clambake, she might not have brushed him off.

When the dog lifted his paw hopefully, Zack shook his head, pointed to the leash that Pete held. Once the leash was secured, man and dog walked off, heads hung low.

Zack turned, the sun bouncing off his dark glasses. And she knew instinctively that he was looking at her. Nell braced herself and went to him.

“Sheriff.”

“Nell. Pete let his dog off the leash again. Mutt smells like a fish house. Ice cream's dripping.”

“It's hot.” Nell licked at the cone and decided to get it over with. “About yesterday—”

“Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Gonna share any of that?”

“What? Oh. Sure.” She held out the cone, felt a little tingle in the blood when he licked just above her fingertips. Funny, she thought, she hadn't gotten any tingles from the cute guy with the clambake. “You're not going to ask?”

“Not as long as you'd rather I didn't.” Yes, he'd looked at her. And had seen the deliberate squaring of her shoulders before she started toward him. “Why don't you walk with me a while? There's a nice breeze off the water.”

“I was wondering . . . what does Lucy do all day when you're out upholding the law?”

“This and that. Dog chores.”

That tickled a laugh out of her. “Dog chores?”

“Sure. Some days a dog's got to hang around the house, roll in the grass, and think long thoughts. Other times, she comes on in to the office with me, when she's in the mood. Swims, chews up my shoes. I'm thinking about buying her a brother or sister.”

“I was thinking about getting a cat. I'm not sure I'd be able to train a puppy. A cat would be easier. I saw a notice on the board in the market for free kittens.”

“The Stubens girl's cat. They've still got one or two left, last I heard. Their place is over on Bay. White saltbox, blue shutters.”

She nodded, stopped. Impulse, she reminded herself, had served her well so far. Why stop following it? “Zack, I'm going to try out a new recipe tonight. Tuna and linguini with sun-dried tomatoes and feta. I could use a guinea pig.”

He lifted her hand, took another taste of her dripping ice cream. “Well, it happens I don't have any
pressing plans for tonight, and as sheriff I do what I can to serve the needs of the community. What time?”

“Is seven all right with you?”

“Works for me.”

“Fine, I'll see you then. Bring an appetite,” she said as she hurried away.

“Count on it,” he said, and tipped down his dark glasses to watch her dash back toward the village.

At seven,
the appetizers were ready, and the wine was chilling. Nell had bought a secondhand table and planned to spend part of her day off scraping and painting it. But for now she covered the scarred wood and peeling green paint with a sheet.

It stood on her back lawn, along with the two old chairs she'd picked up for a song. They weren't particularly pretty at the moment, but they had potential. And they were hers.

She'd set the table with two plates, two bowls, and wineglasses—all purchases from the island thrift shop. Nothing matched, but she thought the result was cheerful and charming.

And as far from the formal china and heavy silver of her past as possible.

Her garden was coming along well, and the tomato and pepper plants, the squash and zucchini, would all be put in the following morning.

She was very close to broke again, and completely content.

“Well, now, doesn't that look sweet?”

Nell turned to see Gladys Macey standing on the edge of her lawn, gripping an enormous white purse.

“Just as pretty as a picture.”

“Mrs. Macey. Hello.”

“Hope you don't mind me dropping by this way. I'd've called, but you haven't got a phone.”

“No, of course not. Um, can I get you something to drink?”

“No, no, don't you fuss. I've come by on business.”

“Business?”

“Yes, indeed.” Her tidy helmet of black hair barely moved as she gave a sharp nod. “Carl and I got our thirtieth anniversary coming up last part of July.”

“Congratulations.”

“You can say that again. Two people stick it out for three decades, it's saying something. Since it is, I want a party, and I just finished telling Carl he's not getting out of putting on a suit for it, either. I was wondering if you'd take care of putting the refreshments together for me.”

“Oh. Well.”

“I want a catered affair,” Gladys said definitely. “And I want it spiffy. When my girl got married, two years ago last April, we hired a caterer from the mainland. Too snippy for my taste, and too dear for Carl's, but we didn't have much to choose from. I don't figure you're going to get snippy with me or charge me a king's ransom for a bowl of cold shrimp.”

“Mrs. Macey, I appreciate you thinking of me, but I'm not set up to cater.”

“Well, you got time, don't you? I've got a list here of how many people and the kind of business I'm
thinking of.” She pulled a file folder out of the enormous purse, pushed it into Nell's hand. “I want to have it right at my house, and I've got my mother's good china and so forth. You just look over what I've put together there, and we'll talk about it tomorrow. You come on by the house tomorrow afternoon.”

“I'd certainly like to help you. Maybe I can . . .” She looked down at the folder, saw that Gladys had marked it “Thirtieth Anniversary” and had added a heart with her initials and Carl's in the center.

Touched, she tucked the folder under her arm. “I'll see what I can do.”

“You're a nice girl, Nell.” Gladys glanced over her shoulder at the sound of a car, lifted her eyebrows as she recognized Zack's cruiser. “And you've got good taste. You come on by tomorrow, and we'll talk this out. Have a nice dinner now.”

She strolled toward her car, stopping to say a few words to Zack. She gave him a pat on the cheek, noted the flowers in his hand. By the time she was behind the wheel, she was planning who she'd call first to spread the news that Zachariah Todd was sparking the little Channing girl.

“I'm a little late. Sorry. We had a fender bender in the village. Put me behind.”

“It's all right.”

“I thought you might like these for your garden.”

She smiled at the pot of Shasta daisies. “They're perfect. Thanks.” She took them, set them beside her kitchen stoop. “I'll get the wine and the appetizers.”

He walked into the kitchen behind her. “Something smells great.”

“Once I got started, I tried out a couple of different recipes. You've got your work cut out for you.”

“I'm up for it. Now what's this?” He crouched down, stroked a finger over the smoke-gray kitten circled on a pillow in the corner.

“That's Diego. We're living together.”

The kitten mewed, stretched, then began to bat at Zack's shoelaces. “You've been busy. Cooking, buying furniture, getting a roommate.” Scooping up Diego, he turned toward her. “Nobody's going to find any moss on you, Nell.”

He stood there, big and handsome, with a gray kitten nuzzling at his shoulder.

He'd brought her white daisies in a plastic pot.

“Oh, damn.” She set her tray of appetizers down again, took a breath. “I might as well get this over with. I don't want you to get the wrong impression about dinner, and . . . things. I'm very attracted to you, but I'm not in a place where I can act on my feelings. It's only fair to tell you that up front. There are good reasons for it, but I'm not willing to get into them. So, if you'd rather just go, no hard feelings.”