by Barrett
Silke. A warm glow blossomed in her chest. That first day at the resort when Silke had changed clothes into the perfectly fitted tank top and pareo, Kirin could hardly keep her eyes off her. The storm and the disrupted travel had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. Even after all this time, she could recognize instant attraction. “I sure blew that golden opportunity.”
Kirin checked voice mail one more time before returning her mother’s call. Nothing from Silke yet. She closed her eyes and thought about Silke meeting with her brother and Rachel, her jaw tightened along with a twinge of anger. She wanted desperately to help but understood that it was Silke’s call. She had to make the decisions. Her contact list scrolled as she swiped the screen. She reached home and clicked send.
“Hi, Mom, sorry I had to cut you off.”
“It’s not a problem,” her mom said. “I needed to fix your dad a sandwich. He’s trying to load some program on his laptop your brother sent him. If you could hear him cursing you’d know how well it’s going.”
Kirin knew how determined her father was, even with some of the newer electronics he didn’t fully understand. “Hey, I give him a lot of credit for trying. Most of the time, I have to ask one of my geek friends. I’m surprised you guys have a wireless connection up there.”
“Mr. Jorgensen installed a big satellite dish that works well for all of us near the lodge and gives better TV reception,” her mom said. “Oh, yes. I want you to check your schedule because August twenty-fifth we reserved the community room at the lodge for an anniversary party. We’d really love it if you could come up here for a few days. The large cabin next door is available for your brother and his wife. You can stay with us, of course, and if you’d rather, I’ll see if that little traveler cabin is available. I know how much you love that little place.”
Kirin glanced at the calendar above her desk. The phone call from Esther still twisted around inside of her, distracting her and causing reflux burning. Maybe this would be a good time to plan a getaway, some place cooler than the city. Besides, fiftieth wedding anniversaries didn’t happen often.
“I think that weekend looks good. So why don’t you see if you can get the small cottage? A few days of lake living might be perfect.”
“That’s wonderful. Your dad will be so pleased that you can be here. I’ll call you back when I know more. Take care, honey.”
Kirin wandered to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. Pacing didn’t seem to take the edge off, and her agitation only worsened. Deep inside she worried about her job. The article contained some good work. Maybe I need a better editor. That might have made a difference.
She gulped the beer and slid open the patio door just as the wind from the lake changed directions and sent a dense cloud of moist heat to her fifth-floor condo balcony. The next breeze was a little cooler and lifted the damp hair from her forehead and with it the wailing squawks of the seagulls. A smile teased her lips with what seemed like a distant memory of island gulls.
She unfolded one of the lounge chairs and stretched out. She flinched from a tiny uncomfortable ache burrowing deep in her chest whenever she thought about Silke or Ambergris Caye. The sensation was like an irritation that she had to do something about—like a pebble in her shoe or wet socks.
The Belize adventure had occupied a short week compared to many of her other travels, yet the memories were more powerful and vivid. As she pulled the cold beer bottle close to her lips, a thought occurred like a tiny poke in the ribs. Maybe Silke would like to get away from her current drama, and they could drive up north together. Her parents would love Silke and then she’d at least have someone to talk to other than her immediate family and their old friends. The adult voice that reminded her to think things through tamped down the urge to run back inside and grab her cell phone.
“All right, all right, I can wait until tomorrow.”
Her breathing slowed as her body relaxed in the summer heat. Her thoughts floated aimlessly until the vision of red scrawls on her manuscript flashed before her eyes. The sparkling bubbles of a possible vacation popped as her writer’s insecurity surfaced. Wednesday left a long time to agonize.
SILKE DROPPED THE rasp for the third time. “Shit.”
Her hopes for a positive productive Sunday vanished in a cloud of vehemence and vitriol. Rachel had maintained her equanimity as long as Phillip was still there. But as Silke expected, the veneer cracked quickly as soon as Rachel signed the agreement. At least she did that. Phillip agreed to file the papers, and they would meet one more time to close the deal and pay Rachel off.
She shook her head and tried to focus. The top section of the lighthouse was nearly complete, and she wanted to get to work on the section that would hold the light fixture and the widow’s walk, “the cake topper” as she lovingly addressed it. The guardrail, posts, and nautical white rope would create the defining authenticity.
She rolled the stool back and stood. Her back ached and her tee shirt was uncomfortably damp. After stretching for a few minutes, she navigated the narrow staircase to the loft, stripped off the wet shirt, and filled the basin with water. With no need to worry about the floor, Silke splashed the water liberally across her head, shoulders, chest, and back.
The newly installed gigantic attic exhaust fan was anchored at the east end near the roofline. Her landlord jury-rigged a frame to hold it secure. The lethargic blades created a slow steady whoosh sound, but moved a continuous current of air up and out to the studio. The breeze rising from the open windows above her workbench below caused goose bumps on her wet skin. It was heavenly. She shook her wet hair, pulled it back, and clipped it up as she focused on the bed across the loft. The clean comforter and pillowcase on her small bed beckoned, urging her taut muscles to slowly relax.
Sadly, the physical relaxation also reconnected her right and left brain. Rachel. The cold hard knot in her chest resurfaced. The physical work kept her from rehashing the ugly scene from earlier.
Silke had remained calm as Rachel stomped around the house snatching up items and flinging them into a cardboard box or plastic bag. To a perfect stranger it would have appeared that Rachel was the injured party, when in fact, she was the underhanded, dishonest abuser. Silke needed to remind herself of that fact repeatedly.
By the end of Phillip’s careful negotiations, Silke had agreed to almost all of Rachel’s demands. She surrendered most of the furniture, linens, electronics, music, and some of the art. Rachel allowed her the bedroom set, desk, computer, one set of dishes, and half the kitchen appliances and utensils. She didn’t care. All she prayed for was that it would be over soon. By mid-afternoon, Rachel had stormed out with as much as she could carry and fit in her car. Once the papers had been filed and approved she would arrange to remove the remainder of her things.
Silke refolded the pillow under her head and released the breath she was holding. Rachel was in fact gone. Her relationship was over, she was safe, her vision was no better, and she was very alone.
Chapter Thirty-nine
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you’re so freaked out about this phone call,” Melissa said. “You’ve known Nathan forever. He’s not the devil. He’s your mentor.”
Kirin paced as she held the phone with one hand and crushed an orange stress ball in the other. “I know, I know, but Esther said he didn’t want to publish the story. You read it. You told me it was good. What am I supposed to tell him?”
“Listen, I’m just about ready to drive over there and smack you in the forehead. Do you know how crazy you sound? Kirin, it’s Nathan. You’re not in trouble. He’s not going to fire you. He wants to talk to you. Could you just get it together for a little while? Trust me, if he could hear you right now, he’d be discussing rehab.”
A nervous laugh escaped, and Kirin sucked in a deep breath and dropped into her recliner. “You win. I do sound crazy. I don’t know what the matter is. I’ve been edgy the last couple of weeks. Maybe it’s the heat. I think I just put too much hope into this article. I forg
et that most writers feel this nervous with everything they write until the manuscript is accepted or rejected. For years, I’ve just turned my work in and waited to be published.”
“Well, I may be way off base, but I think there’s something else distracting you.”
Genuinely surprised, Kirin sat up. “Really? What?”
Melissa groaned. “You did not just ask me that.”
Kirin tried to access her scattered memory bank. She couldn’t imagine what. She knew the flushing sensation meant that her face was crimson and she was grateful to be talking on the phone. She replayed her recent conversations with Melissa to recall any mention of Silke. To the best of her memory, she thought she’d been discreet about the subject.
“If you have an idea that would help, tell me,” she said.
“Honey, you seem to forget we were lovers. I spent a lot of time listening to you, and I know when you’re being obtuse. When you’re keeping a secret, you keep your cards very close to your chest. So, by reverse logic, whenever you avoid talking about something, I know it’s important.”
She’s right. “That may be very true, and I do have a lot of things on my mind . . .”
“Uh huh.”
“I’ve written three substantial pieces in the last few months and . . . I’ve thought a lot about the direction my career is taking. I mean I’m not getting any younger. No one wants to be globe-trotting every week in their sixties . . .”
“What are you trying to say? You’re rambling. Are you getting married or something?”
“No. I’m just considering some new options.” That sounded reasonable.
“Okay.” Melissa sighed. “Let’s make this simple. Is one of those options an attractive strawberry blond?”
Kirin sat up so quickly the back of the recliner slapped her in the back of the head nearly knocking her out of the chair. “Why in the world would you say that?” She prayed that no one else had made that observation—especially Rachel Bates. She knew well how that circle of women loved fresh meat to gossip about.
“Because you told me the night of the party in Door County,” Melissa said. “Remember? You were leaving early in the morning and taking her home. Duh!”
Kirin’s upper body deflated. Oh yeah, that night.
“Besides, when you were here the night I moved, you were as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof. It’s not rocket science.”
Her pulse sped up as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Damage control. “Look, I was doing a good deed for a friend. I enjoy her company and nothing is going on. I mean it.”
“Okay, if that’s your story, fine.”
Kirin sighed. “And that’s your way of saying you don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. How about we make a deal? We’ll have a long talk some night over a nice dinner, my treat,” Kirin said. “In the meantime, let’s just keep this conversation between you and me. Not you, me, and Steffi.”
Melissa giggled. “I promise I won’t say anything, and you have a deal. But look on the bright side. We killed twenty minutes. It’s time for you to make a phone call, and you’re all calm now.”
Kirin had to laugh. Melissa had done it again and talked her off the ledge. “Thanks, sweetie, I owe you that dinner. Take care.”
She ran to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and then paced between the bathroom and living room with the phone in her hand.
“Okay, it’s time.” She tapped on the number.
“Nathan Silver’s office.”
Kirin took a deep breath and stopped pacing. “Hi, Sylvia. It’s Kirin Foster. Is Mr. Silver available?”
“Yes. Ms. Foster, he’s expecting your call. One moment.”
Kirin closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
“Hello, Kirin,” Nathan said. “Thank you for taking the time to indulge in old man.”
Kirin smiled, remembering how he used his suave self–deprecation to disarm friends and foes. The man was an elegant reminder of days gone by. The last face-to-face meeting had been two years ago and the memory was just as vivid. The smell of lemon oil on the dark cherry furniture in his office, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, the familiar scent of ancient leather-bound books lining two walls of his large office.
“It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, sir,” Kirin said.
He chuckled. “I think we can dispense with the sir. Let me get right to the point. I was surprised and quite pleased by your well-prepared appraisal of the local response to a tropical storm. It had an earnest, human interest feel to it while it contained a true journalistic style.” He paused, and she could hear papers shuffling. “Very nice indeed. I could see you’d put time and effort into this, which tells me it was important to you. I’m proud of you and would like nothing more than to feature this in the magazine. However, as I’m sure Esther told you, it doesn’t really fit.”
Kirin was perspiring in spite of the air conditioning. “I understand.”
Once again, he chuckled in the grandfatherly way he often did with her. “I’m sure you don’t, and I’m sure you’re disappointed. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I thought a good deal about this article and its effect on me. I’m sure it will have the same effect on readers. The question I’ve struggled with is which readers. That’s why I passed it on to my friend Chuck Halpern. His new journal is only about a year old, but he has some smart young writers on staff. I’m giving you a heads up that you may hear from him. I’m not promising anything. This might be a good move for you. Now, that said, you still have a contract with me, and if he is interested, the three of us will have to have a little talk. Do you have any questions?”
Her knee was bouncing up and down all the while he was talking, and she’d chewed her thumbnail to the quick. “Thank you for your kind words, but I’m not sure I understand. Would you be selling the article to him or do you want me to go work for him?”
“Basically, I just want you to know that your piece is good, and I want to offer you a wider audience. Even though it’s not in my best interests, it is in your best interest to make other publishers aware. Perhaps I could just take a cut like every other agent.” He chuckled.
She heard his intercom buzz.
“Kirin, I have to take this call. I just want you to think about what I said. When I hear from Chuck I’ll let you know, and we’ll talk again.”
“Thank you, I will.” The line went dead.
She walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. She leaned against the refrigerator door for a moment and then slid to the floor. She couldn’t wrap her brain around what Nathan had said. It felt like good news, but she wasn’t sure. The most important fact was that he liked it, he liked the article. Human interest. Journalistic style. That had to be good. Right? Damn. It felt good, and Nathan Silver told her he was proud of her. Shit. That’s awesome.
With a one-handed fist bump, she jumped up and paced. Who could she call? She wanted to celebrate. Or should she wait until she heard from him? She stopped cold. Best not to jump the gun. “I should wait until I hear from him.”
Then, without a second thought, she dialed Silke’s cell phone. It went directly to voice mail.
Sorry I missed your call, leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.
“Hi, it’s Kirin, just checking in. I’m sure you’re busy with the project and all, so I . . . if you get a chance. Well listen, I was wondering if you’d be around the twenty-fifth . . . my mom called and she’s planning a fiftieth wedding anniversary party. They’re at the cottage and wondered if I could come up, and I was thinking about our trip back from Sturgeon Bay, how nice it was, and wondered if you’d be interested. Crap, I’m sure this isn’t making any sense so . . . if you get a chance to call, I’d appreciate it. Thanks. Bye.”
She stared at the display that read call ended. No kidding. She struck her forehead with the phone several times and sat heavily on the recliner. I am so lame. I am a profession
al writer. I could’ve thought that out a little bit better. She glanced at the phone, half-tempted to call back to remedy her blithering but thought better of it.
After staring out the window for ten minutes, she got up. “Get it together, Foster.”
The freezer held few surprises. She chose a lonely New York strip and stuck it on defrost in the microwave. That would give her just enough time to run downstairs and swim a few laps. The twitchy nervous energy from the entire afternoon had made her jumpy. The exercise would drain off some of that, and then she could reward herself with a grilled steak, baked potato, and one of Clifford’s handpicked pinot noirs. Tomorrow her head would be clearer. She would make future plans.
