Susan.”
Nick moved closer, stroked my hair. “You’re recovering from shock, Zoe. Give yourself time. You’ll be fine. We all will be.”
He sounded so sure. Mesmerized by the flames, tired from playing in fresh snow, Molly dozed off with her head on my shoulder. Beside the crackling, popping fire, Nick sat with me, sipping cider, and I drifted, wondering, as if from a distance, what we were doing there. And why we’d ever want to leave.
FORTY-SIX
NICK DOZED. MOLLY ROLLED OFF ME ONTO A CUSHION. I reached for my mug and sat up, swallowing lukewarm cider, finally alert enough to get my bearings.
The house was a simple A-frame with a cedar ceiling. The kitchen was at the rear of the main room; a bathroom and two guest rooms were off to the left. The master bedroom was a loft space above the guest rooms, overlooking the main room. The furniture was sparse and practical. An oak dining table, a cushy sofa. A large fireplace was surrounded with rugs and pillows. Late afternoon light poured in through large windows and snow-covered skylights.
I liked Nick’s house. It was simple, uncluttered. Open.
Odd, I thought. One’s home was supposed to reflect one’s personality. Incongruous that a man who didn’t value truth or honesty would create such an open space in his home. Stop it, I told myself. Let go of the past. Besides, the truth issue was irrelevant. Nick wasn’t trying to restart a romance. Hadn’t Beverly Gardener made it clear that he wasn’t available?
Still, as I watched him nap, the relaxed line of his jaw, the slow and easy rise and fall of his chest, I wanted to curl up beside him and wrap myself in his arms. What would he think of that? How would he respond? Would he hold me there? Would he want me to stay?
Well, I wasn’t going to find out. I wouldn’t risk it. I was vulnerable and needy; that was why I was drawn to Nick. Besides, I didn’t know what was going on with him. In the duration of a gunshot, Nick had gone from barely speaking to me to carrying me off to his cabin in Chester County. So far, he’d given no indication that he was interested in renewing a personal relationship. He’d made no innuendos, no passes, no references to either our disastrous one-night stand or the future. Maybe the truth was just what he’d said, that he wanted to give Molly and me a weekend of relaxation in the country. I’d accept it as that and keep my thoughts out of his arms and away from his body. Still, I remembered lying against him, fitting snugly, feeling safe, and the memory made me ache.
Nick’s snores harmonized with Molly’s. Bass and soprano, in stereo with complementary rhythm. I listened, watching them sleep until my eyes burned, letting go of memories and possibilities. Then, lulled by their snores and the flicker of hungry flames, I sank back into a warm, rum-coated sleep.
FORTY-SEVEN
I AWOKE IN SHADOWS, NOT RECOGNIZING WHERE I WAS. THE air was cold, smelled foreign. Like ashes. And cedar. And pine. I tried to sit up; my head felt like a sack of sand. Dim light seeped through the window blinds. Dusk. A dying fire. I blinked, orienting myself. “Molly? Nick?”
No answer. I got up, searching. “Nick? Molly?”
My voice hung forlornly, drifting through the empty room. I went to the window. Tall pines ringed the farmhouse like frozen sentries, rigid at attention. But no Nick. No Molly. I crossed, weightless, to the kitchen.
Yes, there they were, out back. Trekking through the glowing snow toward a woodpile. Behind them, through the open doors of a shed, I saw a pair of yellow snowmobiles, ski equipment, snowshoes hanging on the walls. A snowplow hunkered beside the shed like an oversized dog. Nick’s toys.
I wandered into the bathroom and splashed my face with water, waking up. The mirror shocked me. Dark semicircles underlined my eyes. My skin was pasty, my lips chapped and rough. I looked hollow, but I felt better, more alert. Slapping some color into my cheeks, smoothing my hair back, I went for my jacket and joined them outside.
“Mommy’s up!” Molly squealed. “We’re getting firewood.”
Cheeks glowing, she climbed through thigh-high snow, hand in hand with Nick.
“Feeling better?” Nick half-smiled, welcoming me, and we walked the snowy countryside around his house. The cold, fresh air revitalized me, and when Nick stopped to tighten a bootlace, I couldn’t help it. I creamed him with a snowball. Right