The Taste of Air

by Gail Cleare

  Nell went into the kitchen, where the light from the old-fashioned fixture was golden and warm. She scooped some kibble into Winston’s bowl. Kicking off her sandals, she wrapped a big white dishtowel around her waist. Opening cupboards, she found Mary’s largest pot and put it under the faucet in the sink to fill with cold water for the pasta.

  “Italian?” His voice came from the doorway as the mellow notes of a female jazz singer’s husky voice floated into the room.

  “Did the row of canned tomatoes on the counter give it away?”

  “Want me to chop anything? I’m a great prep chef. Worked my way through college in a restaurant.”

  “Sure, by all means,” she said. “Cooking is definitely a team sport.”

  He moved to the sink and redirected the water for a minute then washed his hands. She went over to wash hers too, and they bumped hips. Grinning at each other, they did it again, jostling for the best position at the sink like little kids. He seemed to bring out the brat in her. The music played something about “love, love, love.” The fun and the wine rushed to her cheeks. After being so stressed about Mom, she needed to let go for a minute.

  “I guess in a way you actually are my cousin. Like you told Maplewood,” Nell said, rinsing onions and peppers in the sink. She gave them to Adam, who stood at the cutting board, sharpening a knife.

  “How do you figure that?” He began to slice and chop.

  Nell cleared away the peels and seeds as he pushed them to the side. “We shared family. Our moms were like sisters. We just didn’t know it at the time.”

  “I used to sit in there and watch TV,” he said, pointing down the hall with the knife. He stared at her, remembering. “I looked at your pictures on the wall when we came over for dinner. I daydreamed about you and Bridget.”

  “What did you think of us?”

  “That you were the two most beautiful girls I’d ever seen, and I was in love with you both. Kind of how you get a crush on a movie star.” His voice was serious though his lips were smiling.

  Nell put the pasta pot on the stove to boil and drizzled olive oil into a sauté pan, while he continued chopping and the jazz singer crooned, “lover, come back…” She poured more wine in stout little jelly jars.

  “Don’t trust me?” he asked when she handed him the short glass.

  “It’s me I don’t trust.”

  “Oh?”

  “I always knock wineglasses over. Cheers.” She clinked her glass against his.

  “Santé,” he answered. They stood together in the little pool of light by the stove. The ambiance was like gathering around a cozy campfire. Nell felt her face glow.

  “French?” she asked.

  “French Canadian on my mother’s side. My grandparents live near Montreal.”

  “And what about Jake? Where did he come from?”

  “Maine. His people came from England, settled in Portland. Shipbuilders.”

  “Ah. Hence his fascination with all things nautical.”

  “You said it.” Adam slid all the chopped vegetables into the sauté pan. He turned the burner on, picked up a wooden spoon, and devoted his attention to stirring as the pan started to smoke and sizzle.

  Nell mashed some butter and chopped garlic together in a little bowl then sliced the bread and spread it with the mixture. They moved back and forth together in the workspace as though it were a dance, slipping past each other gracefully, coordinated by intuition.

  “So what’s your story?” she said playfully as she wrapped the bread in tinfoil.

  “Grew up happy and married my college sweetheart.” He avoided her eyes and stirred the vegetables intently. “We tried to have kids but couldn’t. She left me for someone else, they got married and had twins.”

  There was a moment of silence in the room as the music paused between songs, and he stopped stirring to turn his head and look at her. His bleak expression said much more, and she caught a glimpse of disappointment.

  Everything she thought she’d known about him changed in that moment. She saw a different person. The atmosphere in the room went from lighthearted to tense. He turned back to cooking, his jaw clenched.

  Nell touched his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. “It was eight years ago. I’m surprised someone didn’t tell you. Sarah took off about ten months after my mom… passed. She left most of her things behind and just walked away. They moved to Colorado.”

  Nell felt sick to her stomach. He had lost his mother and his marriage, both within a year. What a total disaster. He was not the happy-go-lucky guy she had imagined. He seemed so confident and self-possessed. But he must have been a deeply wounded soul underneath it all.

  “That’s awful, Adam.”

  “The worst year of my life so far.” He still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “You must have been devastated.”

  “But Ellie, she helped a lot. She was there when it happened.”

  “When your wife left?” Nell felt confused.

  “No, when my mother went overboard. When she drowned. Your mom was on the boat. The three of them were out on the lake together when a storm blew up.”

  Nell shook her head, trying to register these new facts. “So Jake wasn’t alone with your mother? There was a witness? Mom?”

  Adam looked surprised and nodded. “That was why they let him off. Your mother testified for him. I told you, she helped a lot.” Adam turned the burner on the stove down. “They had him in jail for suspicion of murder, you know.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “But he didn’t do it.”

  “Yes, I heard that too.”

  That was exactly what Mom had told her that first day in the hospital. JAKE DIDN’T DO IT. Now it seemed she might have meant, He didn’t kill his wife… at least, not with deliberate intent. But what about through criminal negligence? He could have made some stupid move that resulted in Ginnie’s death.

  Nell turned her attention back to Adam. He poured in the canned tomatoes, she sprinkled some dried basil and oregano on top, and he stirred again. The aromas rising out of the pan made her mouth water despite everything. They both leaned together over the steam, sniffing the scents. She imagined taking him in her arms, as she would her son, to comfort him. Adam turned the burner all the way down to simmer, and they left the pan bubbling softly on the back of the stove.

  He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and collapsed into it, raking his hands through his hair. “I know people around here still talk about it.” He had a brooding expression. “But some things are better off left in the past.”

  “So people can move on?” She sat down in the other chair. They looked at one another across the table.

  He nodded. “So life can move on.”

  When eight o’clock came and Nell still hadn’t heard from Bridget, she finally thought to look at her cell phone. It showed no bars. Walking around the house, she discovered there was reception only on the second floor. She sat at the top of the stairs and retrieved messages from David and Bridget.

  “We’d better go ahead and eat,” she called down to Adam, receiver to her ear. “Her flight has been delayed.” Nell listened to the next message and heard the impatience in David’s voice, but she turned the screen off and went back downstairs. She’d call him back later when she was alone.

  They ate at the kitchen table, savoring the sauce, the music, and the company. Nell’s feelings toward Adam had deepened with the revelation of his tragic experiences. Now she saw he needed to be taken care of, he was vulnerable. Jake was his only living relative nearby, and that wasn’t saying much. The son took care of the father, from what she could see.

  With the table safely between them, they both reached for bread at the same moment.

>   Nell tried to think of David, but her focus slipped away, and instead, she stared into Adam’s intense eyes. Her mind reached out for his, and she felt their spirits brush up against one another. He was such a sweet man. Bright, strong, responsible, and asking nothing though he obviously needed a lot. Sitting with him, she felt free and light.

  After dinner, they brought mugs of chamomile tea out into the backyard, sitting on the old-fashioned green-canopied glider next to the rose arbor. The air was cool and moist, filled with the whispers of small creatures. The moon shone down from behind the trees, casting shadows like dark tentacles that snaked across the lawn. The woods seemed to creep into the yard, sneaking up on civilization. Fireflies twinkled in the bushes, and the black sky was full of stars, many more than Nell ever saw at home. Mom’s sweet little garden had become a place where the wild had power, and Nell felt herself responding to its call.

  They swung gently, and her shoulder bumped against his. Something dark fluttered across the yard, flying low. An owl hooted.

  No matter how drawn to him she felt, it just wasn’t that simple. She was happily married, for the most part. Her life with David needed work, but she wasn’t giving up yet.

  As though he knew what she’d been thinking, Adam put down his empty mug and stood up. Turning, he reached out to touch her cheek. “Night. Thanks for dinner.”

  She looked up at him. “Thank yourself, chef. You did all the cooking.”

  Taking her hand in his, he tightened his grip firmly and pulled her up to standing. He stepped forward as she rose, bringing her into his arms. Wrapping his warmth around her, he held her. Without thinking and despite her previous vow, Nell leaned into the hug. It felt natural, comfortable, like hugging an old friend. A lump rose to her throat, and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Relax, I’m not going to complicate your life.” His pulse beat against her cheek. “I love your mom, and I’m here for you too.”

  “But…” She breathed, closing her eyes, shutting him out, while at the same time she held him tighter with her arms.

  “Hey, look at me, Nell.” He gave her a little shake, and she opened her eyes again. “I mean it.”

  She nodded.

  “You and Bridget are my perfect, up-on-a-pedestal imaginary girlfriends. Don’t want to screw up something like that.” He bent to kiss her on the cheek. They both smiled.

  As she caught her breath, her wits began to return.

  “Now, you can say good night… if you still want to, that is.” He released her from the hug but still held onto her hand.

  She nodded mutely and bit her lip.

  He took one step backward and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Okay,” he said in a gruff tone, then his voice softened. “Sleep well.”

  She nodded. “Okay. You too.”

  “See you tomorrow.” He took one step away.

  “Yes. See you then.”

  Adam took one more step. “Night…” He bowed his head in farewell, turned, and walked around the side of the house toward where his truck was parked out front. She heard the door creak and slam, then a long silence. Finally, the engine started up, but it idled for a time before he finally pulled away from the curb.

  It’s much better this way. Really, it is. We’ll be friends. Solid, loyal, supportive friends. It’s fine.

  Nell listened to the night for a few minutes, then she went inside and locked the doors. She climbed up the stairs to her little room, where Winston was already waiting, curled up on the pillow. She got into bed and talked to her husband on the phone in the dark.

  Nell was on the phone with David for over an hour. He poured out long descriptions of everything that had been happening in their family life, while she lay there and propped the phone up with pillows after her hand cramped and she couldn’t hold it any longer. She said, “Uh-huh,” encouragingly over and over again in all the right places. She laughed when he told her about funny things the kids had done and said.

  Stroking Winston with her spare hand, Nell made sympathetic noises and said, “Oh, no” when David told her there was trouble at work. “I’m sure you’ll straighten it out, honey. You always know just what to do.”

  They talked about Mary, and Bridget’s imminent arrival. For some reason, Nell couldn’t bring herself to open the subject of Mom’s big secret. The thought of explaining it all, everything she had discovered, seemed too long and involved. Her sleepy eyes were closing already.

  So she didn’t mention it. Any of it. Keeping this strange story all to herself was her little secret act of rebellion. She didn’t speak of the cottage or of Jake Bascomb and Ginnie. She didn’t even mention Winston, who lay there on his back with his pink belly turned up while she scratched his chest. And certainly, she did not mention her dinner guest.

  Instead, she yawned and asked her husband what the kids had eaten that night then reminded him that their daughter needed to bring her leotard and ballet slippers to school the next day. She promised to call after the kids got home the following afternoon, and she sent her love.

  David talked his heart out and seemed reassured, as though somehow Nell was still controlling everything from afar. After they hung up, a tsunami of guilt hit her.

  There she was, angry with Mom for keeping part of her life a secret for so many years, and yet when the chance came for Nell to come clean with David and fill him in on the whole story, she had backed away. What a hypocrite she was.

  She was a secret keeper too.

  That night, she had wished for a little while that she was single again because she wanted to feel that sensation of lightness, of unlimited choices. Nobody depending on her, nobody to disappoint, no examples to set, and no repercussions. For a few hours, at dinner with a stranger, she had felt like that. It had been exhilarating, almost enough to make her lose her famous self-control.

  Was that what had happened to Mom?

  Nell tossed and turned as the dream floated into her consciousness. Her eyelids twitched while images flashed through her mind.

  Women laughing. A white sail against a gray sky, red rays of the sun shooting into her eyes as she squinted. A face staring, angry. Hands clutching at her as someone shouted. A splash of blood shining on a white surface.

  There was something under the dark water. Something horrible. The woman’s hair streamed out from her head like snakes.

  Nell moaned and flopped over onto her stomach.

  Music was playing, the sounds of a party. He danced with Ginnie, with Mom, with both. Nell watched, almost a part of it, hovering near her mother’s shoulder. The three of them with their arms around each other, laughing as they swayed. She watched them hug and kiss, the women turning to kiss him, one for each cheek. His arms around their waists, he was warm between them, happy and safe. His girls. The music played, and they danced on.

  Then Nell’s viewpoint changed, and she sank down beneath the green water, her forehead blooming red and opening horribly, falling apart, disintegrating. White bone, jagged on the edges. An expression of mild surprise. Someone was crying.

  When she woke up just before dawn, her pillow was wet with tears.

  Chapter 18

  Bridget ~ 2014

  Bridget ended up spending the whole night at the airport, waiting for a plane to arrive that could take her to Burlington. High winds and heavy rain had hit Georgia and the Carolinas, and it affected flights all along the East Coast. Reagan National Airport was full of people, everyone waiting. They walked around, looked at the kiosks, drank coffee, napped in the uncomfortable waiting-area chairs, and watched movies on their laptops. Parents with small children put them to bed on the floor.

  The airport was predicting flights would resume the next day, so it didn’t seem worthwhile to get the car out of the garage, find a hotel, and not be able to hear the latest announcements. She needed to ge
t up to Vermont as soon as a flight was available. So Bridget stayed. She roamed the hallways and lounges, trapped in a metaphor. She had left her old life behind, but she couldn’t move forward. She worried about her mother, but she couldn’t do anything to help. She was in nowhere land, the in-between. She tried to call Nell around ten but got her voicemail. Bridget left a message and promised to appear just as fast as she could. At least she had moved out of Eric’s house, as she already thought of it, and that was settled. The transition had begun. She’d feel a lot better when she got out of town, though.

  Bridget settled into a corner where she could look out the window and had a good view of the gate entrance. Using her big purse as a pillow, she tucked Lulu into the front of her jacket, and they napped. Half-asleep, she let her mind wander to the memory of her daughter, born that spring day in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Then she thought back even further to the summer before, when she’d been a seventeen-year-old waitress at a family resort in the Berkshires.

  There was a dormitory over the garage where all the summer girls lived, and they slept in a long room filled with bunk beds. A similar facility for males was located in the barn. Some of the girls were from other countries, wanting to learn English and get a green card so they could immigrate permanently. These were the housekeeping maids, who didn’t need to speak to the guests. Other girls were college students traveling the US, looking for a place to sleep for a few months. And some, like Bridget, were high-school kids who had lied about their age to get the job and spend the summer away from the watchful eyes of their parents, who didn’t know the whole story. They worked as maids, in the kitchen, and as waitresses, depending on their skills and how presentable they were. Bridget, with her blond good looks and educated speech, was employed in the dining room, where she waited on the most prestigious families at the resort.