Escape (14 page)

Jude had taken pride in these shots, and thinking him a true adventurer, I had been duly impressed. Not that there was much risk in this small, contained place. What you saw was what you got—knotty wood walls, exposed rafters. Jude had cooked on a crude wood-burning stove, and had slept in the loft. His mattress was still
there, bedding spilling over the side as he must have left it the day he’d packed up and driven off.

It struck me that no one had been here since, which was not surprising. The Bells had viewed this cottage as an obscene gesture, another instance of Jude thumbing his nose at what they stood for, right up there with refusing to live in the family mansion, refusing to wear khakis to church, refusing to cut his hair.

I imagined strands of that hair were up there on the pillow still. Mine might be there, too. And Jenna’s.

I hadn’t made it to the loft the last time I’d been here. They had been making love on that pitted desk, a sprawl of nudity hitting me the instant I walked in the door. He must have planned it. He knew I was coming. I carried groceries for a celebratory dinner; the next day, I was driving to New Haven to sublet the apartment I wouldn’t need if I wasn’t going to law school. I dropped the groceries, but didn’t speak. I remember feeling a sudden draining of my blood, which was how I remained—bloodless and cold—for a week back in that empty apartment in New Haven before deciding that life went on. What was it Mom said, that success was the greatest revenge?

Perhaps that was why I had gone at law school so avidly, or why I had thrown myself into James, who had seemed perfect for me at the time.

And now? I wasn’t sure about law or James, but Jude’s cabin looked shabby and old. Jude himself might be shabby and old. Crab fishing in the Bering Sea had to cause wear and tear, and there had been four years prior to that—of what? Hunting the great white off the South African coast? Handling boas in the Amazon? Had Jude not left here, there would have been photos of him wading through the waters of post-Katrina New Orleans, searching through the devastation of post-tsunami Indonesia, or leading an entourage through post-earthquake Haiti, all under the guise of doing Refuge business.

Was he larger than life? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he wasn’t any different from the rest of us, searching for what we wanted, not quite knowing what it was until we stumbled on it. I was stumbling—from
Cape Cod, to the Berkshires, to Bell Valley—but it didn’t feel as aimless as it had. Taking a last breath of this faded place, I emerged into what was left of the day and, tugging the door shut behind me, felt lighter of heart. I had faced the past without crumbling. I could face Jude.

Pleased, I crossed the narrow porch and started down the steps. I was reaching to toss away the fallen branch, when I paused.
Leave it
, Nature said, and she was right. The cottage was hers, this branch her name plate. Jude would move it. But not me.

Straightening, I stepped over it and started toward the car, but again I stopped. Something was different now. Surely the light, which was dimmer than before. But there was more.

I was being watched. Something was out there. I wasn’t alone.

My imagination kicked in, actually a good thing after several years with none. Like the taste of food, imagination was now something recovered, for better or worse. I imagined a bear. I imagined a mountain lion. I imagined
Jude
.

What I sensed, though, was something less fierce, which was why I didn’t fly to the car. All was silent. There were no chipmunks, no squirrels, no bats streaking through the murk in search of bugs. Other than the distant hoot of an owl, I heard nothing but my own thudding heart.

Funny, though, I wasn’t frightened. I was alone in the woods, a solid mile from the road, all of which should have freaked me out. But I was calm. Excited, actually. I scanned the perimeter of the clearing, trying to sift fauna from flora, but the light was low. More than once I imagined a breathing shape, only to realize it was a sapling or a rock.

Then my eyes skimmed a spruce, went past, and back. Still it was a moment before I homed in on the gold eyes that stared at me through the serrated fronds. In that moment of connection, I barely breathed.

The moment was broken by a howl from deeper in the woods, and my coyote was suddenly gone, evaporated into the forest with an economy of sound. I stood for a while, watching the spruce, waiting,
hoping the coyote would return, but it did not. Nor did I hear it howl to its mate, but now I knew. There were two.

Still watching for movement near the spruce, I approached the car. Only when I looked down for my keys did something red register. My eyes flew to the side of the clearing. The red was part of a plaid shirt, and the plaid shirt was on Jude.

This was no vision. It was the man himself, broad-shouldered as ever, standing one booted foot on a rock, and indolent gold eyes fixed on me. And suddenly, despite my newfound strength—perhaps
because
of it—I saw red in a way that had nothing to do with his shirt.

Chapter 9
 

“You
bastard
,” I cried, trembling with a rage that must have been simmering since that day when I had found Jude with Jenna and said nothing at all. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled with surprising gentleness. “I told you I was coming.”

“At the end of the month, you said—and why haven’t you told your family? That would have been the decent thing to do. Okay,” I barreled on, “so then you’d have felt obligated to come, which is the last thing you want, but why tell
me
? All those letters
—why
? And your not writing to
them
—not one word in ten years—do you know how
selfish
that is?”

“Yes,” he said.

His lack of smugness took something from my anger. Still, there was enough left for me to say, “You’ve hurt so many people, Jude. I can’t tell them what to do, but if you were
my
brother, I’d have burned this place down.”

“Stone doesn’t burn.”

“I’d have left it a shell with nothing inside. That’s what you did to your mother.” When he didn’t blink, I added, “And your sister, and me, and Jenna. It’s been a long time, and our lives are filled with other things now, so what makes you think anyone wants you back? Ahhh.” I saw. “That’s it. You were afraid if you told them ahead of
time, they’d tell you not to come? You were afraid they
wouldn’t
want you back.” I stared at him. “Why are you grinning? If you’re trying to look cute, don’t. You’re too old.”

The grin didn’t slip. “You’re not. You look great, Emily. I couldn’t have asked for a better homecoming gift. Missed me, did ya?”

And there it was, a bit of the old cockiness, easy to resent. “Actually, no,” I replied calmly. “My life has been pretty busy.”

“But you came back as soon as I wrote—”

“No,” I cut in to make it clear, “I came back because I needed a rest. I was actually hoping to be gone before you arrived.” I studied his face, easier to see since he had cut his hair short. “You’ve lost weight.” He looked gaunt without his curls, and there was a mean two-inch scar on his jaw. “What did you walk into?”

“A fist. Tempers get short out there, and some of the guys are raw. I’ve learned how to fight.”

“Nice,” I mused.

“No, but it’s one way to survive.”

And Jude did pride himself on surviving. “So here you are.”

He nodded. “Unfinished business.”

“Well, you did say that in your letter, but since when does Jude Bell finish business?”

His smile faded. “Since he turned forty. Since he saw a good friend swept into water where he didn’t have a chance of makin’ it out alive.” He looked genuinely upset.

I had to soften. “I’m surprised you didn’t go in after him.”

“Oh, I did. If I hadn’t been tethered, I’d have drowned, too. We never recovered the body.”

I had assumed there were safeguards against that kind of thing, but even more surprising to me was what actually sounded like sorrow. The Jude I had known was passionate, but not sentimental. Nor had he had many male friends. All men were rivals, as per his wildest ancestor. He was part lion, he claimed, citing his thick blond mane as proof.

The mane was now gone, but there was still an appeal. Some element
of his magnetism remained, and though I found it only vaguely sexual, it was gripping. I stood there, maybe fifteen feet from him, unable to move.

“I just came from seeing his family.” He remained somber. “He had a wife and four kids. He was crabbing for the money to support them. So I gave them his things and what he was owed, and when they didn’t invite me to stay, I left.” He brightened. “So, yeah, here I am, seeing to unfinished business.”

“Like what?”

“My mother. The Refuge. My son.”

I recoiled. “Son?” Vicki hadn’t mentioned a son. Nor had Amelia.

He smiled, amused by that. “They didn’t tell you? Jenna had a baby after I left—and yeah, I knew she was pregnant, but she had promised me she was protected, so it wasn’t really my fault. Anyway, she’s married to another guy now and has three kids.”

Without those last words, I might have argued that simply by participating in the act, he was responsible. But three kids? I would give anything for one, and James would never, ever be as casual about fathering a child as Jude was. James certainly wouldn’t turn his back on one. He was as eager for them as I was.

I felt suddenly more vulnerable, but if my voice showed it, Jude was too into enjoying my shock to notice. “Are they here in town?” I asked.

“Sure are. Jenna wouldn’t have the guts to leave. She married a local boy.”

“How do you know this?”

“Google. A few clicks, and ta-da, the local paper. A few more clicks, and ta-da, your address. So. How’s it going at Lane Lavine?”

“It’s Lane Lavash, and it’s fine.” Not a total lie. Walter was holding my job.

Jude snorted. “Jenna didn’t wait long, either. Married him before the kid was born. It would’ve been nice if she’d waited—y’know, to see if I’d be back.”

“Waited?”
I asked, totally identifying with Jenna just then. “How
could she wait?
Why
would she wait? You hurt her by cheating with me, then you went back to her to hurt me, then you left. If you ask me, she did the smart thing.”

He shrugged it off. “Well, anyway, the boy’s nine. I figure I oughta meet him before he hits puberty.”

“To give him tips?” I asked cynically. “He might do better without. Who’s his dad?”

“Me.”

“No. His
dad
. The one who’s been raising him.”

He shrugged again. “Nice guy, works for the Refuge. So does Jenna, which tells you Amelia’s involved, and don’t bother to ask how she learned the boy’s mine. He looks just like me—I’ve seen pictures in the paper—and even if he didn’t, Mother would have done the math. I assume the whole town did.” He grew suddenly earnest. “Don’t tell them I’m here, Emily. I’ll tell them myself.”

“When?” I asked, and might have wondered if he was indeed afraid of the reaction to his return if I hadn’t still been hung up on the son. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Amelia, seeing Jude’s face in the boy and being constantly reminded that the light of her life didn’t care enough to call. Not on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Not on a birthday. If I ever missed my mother’s birthday, she would be crushed.

Jude didn’t answer my question. So I prompted, “Bell Valley’s a small place. Do you honestly think no one saw you coming out here?”

“Yeah, I think that. I thumbed my way east—”

“Thumbed,” I echoed, thinking that he had been away too long if he didn’t know the danger of that. Naturally, for Jude, the danger would add to the appeal. Like the scar. Like the battered green duffel at his feet, which I had taken to be part of the woods. Ten years in one bag? It was totally macho.

“Nice guy, that last driver,” he was saying. “He let me off before we hit town, so I could hike up here.” He glanced at the cottage, so visibly neglected. “They haven’t been inside. I’m safe.”

“You’re staying here?” I asked, wanting to know where he’d be.
Seeing him wasn’t as bad as it would have been if I’d thrown myself at him. Still, he smelled of danger.

Melodramatic of me? Sure. But ten years later, Jude remained virile. It wasn’t any one feature, but the whole package. Like endless legs, with jeans faded. At the fly.

He was studying the cottage, looking dubious. “I dunno, it must be ripe in there. I think I’ve had it with ripe for a while. I want a good bed and clean sheets and a hot shower. I want a cook and AC. I want to be pampered.”

That was a change, but familiar enough to make me smile.

“What?” he asked, amused by my smile.

“I came here for the same things.”

“You really didn’t come for me?” he asked, and for an instant, those gold eyes held everything they had ten years before—wanting, caring, desire.

I felt it. But not. “No,” I insisted, “I really didn’t come for you.”

“Will you leave now that I’m here?”

“That depends on my husband—”

His head went back, gold eyes brighter. “Ah. The husband. I forgot. James Aulenbach, Esquire. So where is the good lawyer?”