“A year after I was married I caught my father with another woman. They were kissing. He lied about it at first, but when he saw that I didn’t believe him, he admitted that he was having an affair and told me not to tell my mother.”
“Did you?”
“No. But not because he said not to. My mother was kind of a doormat. It would have done nothing but humiliate her. She found out later on her own. It’s the only time I ever saw her yell at him. But she still didn’t leave him. He had alienated all of her family, so she really had no place to go.
“By the time I turned eighteen I couldn’t take it anymore. I left high school and got a job more than three hundred miles away, at Bryce Canyon Lodge as a waitress. It was a good gig. They paid almost nothing, a dollar six an hour, but there was free food and lodging, and we got to keep all our tips. We just had to work two meals a day. The people at the lodge were really nice, and I made a lot of money in tips. Enough to pay for my first year of college.
“Every now and then celebrities would come through. I met Robert Redford once. He was really nice. He told me that I smelled like lilacs. I met people from all over. That’s when I knew that I wanted to travel and see the world. But I think it was probably more that I wanted to get as far away from Montezuma Creek as I could. I wanted to get as far away from my father as I could.” I forced a smile. “I didn’t get too far, I guess. I carried a lot of it with me.”
“It’s hard to leave some things behind,” Nicholas said. “So how did you turn out so lovely?”
I just looked at him. Suddenly my eyes welled up with tears. He reached over and took my hand. When I could speak I said, “Thank you.”
“Is your father still alive?”
“No. He died of cancer. Both of my parents did. They both grew up near the Nevada Proving Ground, where the government tested nuclear weapons. For dates they used to go out and watch them detonate atom bombs. Crazy, huh? They didn’t know better.”
Nicholas just shook his head. “He was a downwinder.”
“You’re familiar with that?”
“Intimately. Our firm handled a massive lawsuit against the federal government involving downwinders.”
“Well, I’m sure my father was part of it.” I sighed. “I remember going back and seeing him before he died. He was so frail and weak. I thought, Is this really the man who filled me with such terror, who towered over my past? He was nothing. His meanness drained out. He was like a snake without venom. He was nothing but a hollow shell.”
Nicholas looked at me, then said, “They that see thee shall narrowly look upon thee, and consider thee, saying, Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms? Isaiah 14:16.”
“You read the Bible,” I said.
“At times,” he replied. “So you went to college in Salt Lake?”
“No. I went to Snow College. My best friend from Montezuma Creek asked if I wanted to be her roommate, so I took her up on it.”
“Snow College,” he said. “Isn’t that in Manti?”
“It’s the town next to it,” I said. “Ephraim. The one with all the turkey farms. Sometimes turkey dander would settle over the school. I was horribly allergic to it.”
“To turkey dander?” he asked.
I nodded. “That’s where I met my ex-husband, Dan.” I paused. “Dan. Dan-der. I never made that connection before.”
Nicholas laughed. “Dander. I like that.”
“Dan was from Salt Lake. He was doing his general ed at Snow because it was cheaper than the University of Utah. He was ambitious back then. He promised to show me the world. Then he left college to sell water purifiers. Dan wasn’t very nice, but that’s what I was used to. The truth was, he was my way out. A counselor once told me that Dan was my ‘vehicle of emancipation.’ I think she was right. I followed Dan to Salt Lake, and we got married. We were married for eight years before he divorced me.”
“Why did he divorce you?”
I looked at Nicholas and said, “Wasn’t there a clause in our contract about deep and probing questions?”
“You’re right. I crossed the line.”
“Well, technically, we crossed the line about ten minutes ago,” I said. “It’s okay. Dan divorced me because he was cheating on me with my best friend.”
“Your college roommate?”
“Yes. He’s now married to her.”
“Remarkable,” Nicholas said. “What was your divorce settlement like?”
“Not good. It’s not like Dan had much money, but I didn’t get anything.”
“Sounds like you had a poor attorney.”
“No, he had a poor client.”
“Why?”
I looked down. “Some people are born thinking they’re pretty important. Some aren’t.”
Nicholas nodded slowly as if he understood.
I took a deep breath. “So now that I’ve spilled all my secrets, let’s talk about you.”
“That’s a nonstarter,” he said.
“Really? After I just shared my entire life history, you’re holding out on me?”
“I’m only saving you from boredom.”
“I think there are some answers that might interest me.”
“Such as?”
“To begin with, why aren’t you married?”
He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Isn’t that why I asked for this contract? So I didn’t have to answer that question?”
“I still want to know.”
He looked at me thoughtfully and after a moment said, “A lot of people aren’t married. A lot of people are married who shouldn’t be.”
“You’re evading the question.”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“Is that all I get?”
“For now,” he said.
“Then tell me about your childhood.”
He frowned. “It’s nowhere near as exciting as yours. I was born and raised in the Sugar House area. My parents were quiet, conservative Mormons. I went to church until I was sixteen, until . . .” He stopped and a shadow fell over his face. “Until things changed.”
“What happened?”
“Just things,” he said. “My dark ages. It took me a few years, but I pulled myself out. From then on it was all school and work. I finished college and took the LSAT. I got accepted to Stanford Law School on a scholarship, graduated at the top of my class, then came back to Utah to practice law.”
“You started working at the firm you’re at now?”
He hesitated before answering. “No, I worked at the prosecutor’s office. I kept beating them in court, so they made me an offer.”
“That must be nice,” I said.
“What must be nice?”
“To be wanted like that.”
He suddenly went quiet. Then he said, “I’m sorry. That whole conversation got pretty heavy. I just wanted to get to know you better.”
“Well, you know it all now.”
“Do I?”
I didn’t answer. After a moment of silence he picked up the check. “Let’s get you home.”
It was cold in the restaurant’s parking lot, and our breath froze in front of us. The cars were all covered with a thin veneer of freshly fallen snow. He started his car, turned on the heater and window defroster, then got out and scraped the windows. When he got back in, his hands were wet and red with the cold. He rubbed them together.
“Let me see them,” I said.
He looked at me curiously, then held them out. I cupped them in my hands and breathed on them.
He smiled. “Thank you.”
We didn’t say much on the way home. I suppose I felt talked out. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. When we pulled up in front of my apartment he said, “Thanks again for going with me.”
“It was f
un,” I replied. “I’m sorry I talked so much.”
“I enjoyed learning about you.”
“Well, I kind of threw up on you. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had anyone ask me about myself.”
“I’m glad it was me,” he said.
I smiled at him, then said, “Me too. Have a good weekend.”
“You too. I’ll see you Monday.”
I got out of the car and walked up the snow-covered sidewalk to my apartment stairs, leaving footprints as I went. Nicholas waited until I reached the door. I turned back and waved. He waved back then drove away.
Not surprisingly, my apartment smelled like roses. I went into my bedroom and undressed, turned out the light, then lay back on my bed.
“Who are you, Nicholas?” I said into the darkness. “And what are you doing with me?”
CHAPTER
Eight
People talk of life’s storms as if they are universal experiences. But they’re not. Some people hear thunder while others touch lightning.
Elise Dutton’s Diary
THREE YEARS EARLIER
I couldn’t sleep because of the pain. At first I thought it was an upset stomach. Then, as the pain increased, an ulcer. An ulcer made sense. I was a worrier. I’d worried my whole life.
While my husband, Dan, slept, I downed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, which did nothing to relieve my agony. Finally, at four in the morning, I woke Dan, and he reluctantly drove me to St. Mark’s Hospital emergency room. It wasn’t an ulcer, it was appendicitis. And my appendix had burst. I was rushed into surgery and spent the next two days in intensive care being fed massive doses of antibiotics to attack the infection that had set in. On the third day I had shown enough progress that they moved me out of the ICU.
Dan came to see me that afternoon bearing a bouquet of spring flowers. It was only the second time I had seen him since I was admitted, and, in spite of his absence, I was glad to see him. We had talked for only about a half hour when he said he had to get back to work. Dan was working as a telemarketer and managed a phone solicitation office. After he left I was just lying there looking at the flowers when one of my nurses walked in. Keti was a Tongan woman as wide as she was tall.
“Oh, aren’t you lucky,” she said. “Somebody loves you.”
I smiled. “Aren’t they beautiful? They’re from my husband.”
“You hang on to him, honey. I can’t tell you the last time my husband brought me flowers.” She looked up at me. “Oh wait, I don’t have a husband.” She walked to my side. “How are you feeling?”
“It hurts where they made the incision.”
“That’s usual. An appendectomy is like a cesarean, except you don’t get a baby for it.”
“I feel a little warm.”
“Warm? Like a fever?”
“Yes.”
She sidled up to my bed. “I was just about to check your temperature.” She rubbed an electronic thermometer across my forehead and frowned. “You have a temperature. A hundred and two point four. I don’t like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe a little infection.” She checked my chart. “You’re already on a pretty high dosage of antibiotics, but let me see if the doctor wants to up your dose a little.”
“Thank you.”
As she scribbled on her clipboard, I heard the vibration of a cell phone. We both looked around to see where it was coming from, then Keti discovered an iPhone lying next to the flowers. “Is this yours?”
“No. It’s probably my husband’s. He must have left it.” I reached out my hand for it. “I’ll text his office and let them know I have it.”
“How sweet,” Keti said looking at the screen. “Amore. Is that what he calls you?”
“Amore?” I looked at her blankly. “No . . .”
She handed me the phone. “It’s right here.”
Amore Mia
Text Message
Amore? My love? Who’s calling my husband Amore? No, that’s not how it works. Who is my husband calling Amore Mia? I pressed the notification.
Amore Mia
Are you on your way?
October 11, 2009 1:04 PM
I started reading backward through the thread of messages.
Amore Mia
Your so good
October 11, 2009 12:55 PM
Dan the Man
Not now. After she is back home. Feeling better
October 11, 2009 12:54 PM
Amore Mia
:( When are you going to tell her?
October 11, 2009 12:52 PM
Dan the Man
She’s doing okay. Made it through the hard time
October 11, 2009 12:51 PM
Amore Mia
After. Pretty please? You’ll be glad! ;-) How is Elise?
October 11, 2009 12:49 PM
Dan the Man
:) On way to hospital see Elise. I love you
October 11, 2009 12:45 PM
Amore Mia
Just had the sweetest dream of you. I miss you. Can you come over?
October 11, 2009 12:42 PM
Amore Mia
Ditto. Ditto. Ditto. Please. Please. Please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
October 11, 2009 10:07 AM
Dan the Man
Floating. Last night was unbelievable. We need a rerun ASAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!
October 11, 2009 9:42 AM
Amore Mia
How is my dreamboy today?
October 11, 2009 9:39 AM
There were more. Many more. I couldn’t read them because my eyes were filled with tears.
“Honey?” Keti said.
I looked up at her. “My husband is cheating on me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Just then Dan walked back into the room. “Hi, babe, I forgot my phone.”
I looked at him, shaking, unable to speak.
“Why are you crying?” He looked at Keti. “Is she in pain?”
“I would think so,” Keti said, her eyes narrow with anger.
“Can you get her something for it?”
“Not for this pain.”
He looked at her quizzically, then back over at me. “Honey . . .”
“Who is she?” I said.
“I’ll check on your antibiotic,” Keti said, making her way toward the door. It sounded ridiculous, like telling someone in a hurricane that you would be back to wash their windows. She brushed by Dan on the way out.
“Who?” he asked, his eyes stupidly wide.
“Who is Amore Mia?”
He stepped toward me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I held up his phone. “Who is Amore Mia?”
“Elise . . .”
“If you have something to tell me, tell me now.”
“It’s nothing. She’s nothing.”
“I read the texts. Don’t lie to me.”
For a moment we looked at each other, then he breathed out slowly, as if he’d resigned himself. “Okay, so you caught me. I’m having an affair.”
“Who is she?”
He looked even more uncomfortable.
“Do I know her?”
“Kayla,” he said.
The only Kayla I knew was my best, and only, friend and the thought that she would cheat with my husband was so far beyond possibility that I couldn’t process it. “Kayla who?”
“Kayla,” he said again but with more emphasis.
“My Kayla?”
“Yeah.”
My pain doubled. When I could speak I asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long?”
“A while.”
I broke down crying again. He s
tepped forward and put his hand on my arm. “Elise.”
I pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Elise,” he said in the condescending register he used when he thought I was being overly dramatic.
“Go away,” I said. “Go to your . . . amore.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said.
“Get out of here!” I shouted.
Just then Keti walked back into the room. She must have heard our conversation because she looked angry. “You need to leave,” she said, pointing a sausage finger at Dan.
“She’s my wife,” Dan said. “I don’t need to go anywhere.”
Her voice rose. “She’s my patient and this is my house, and if she wants you to leave, you leave.” She walked to a button on the wall. “Or should I call security?”
He glared at her, then looked back at me. “It’s your fault, Elise. You’re the one who ruined our lives. You have no one to blame but yourself.” He turned and walked away. Two days later I was still in the hospital when Dan filed for divorce.
CHAPTER
Nine
Today I overheard Zoey and Cathy talking about Nicholas. It’s not what they said about him that hurts. It’s what they were implying about me.
Elise Dutton’s Diary
Mondays were always the hardest days at ICE. Invariably there would be some crisis that had occurred over the weekend: lost luggage, a canceled flight, a broken-down bus, or any of the thousand things that can go wrong when traveling with groups. That doesn’t even include the things our students did. Like the time three of the boys were arrested in New York for dumping soda on people on the sidewalk below the hotel.
This Monday was no different. It began with our usual staff meeting and Mark ranting about a phone call he’d received over the weekend from a parent whose daughter claimed she had gotten pregnant on one of our trips. The mother had concluded that it was all our fault. I had to contact the teacher who had chaperoned the excursion and tell her what had happened. She already knew. The mother had already gone after her as well, threatening her with a lawsuit and assorted calumny.
The Mistletoe Promise Page 5
