Читать книгу Her Favorite Husband - Caron Todd, Caron Todd - Страница 14

SARAH EASED HER PACKAGES out of her arms and onto the bed, then pulled off her sweater, relieved to feel cool air on her skin.

Nobody made her angry the way Ian did. It was as if she had a hidden switch only he could find and flick on. It never stayed on for long, though.

The telephone’s message light was blinking. She lifted the receiver and pressed the retrieval button.

“You have—one—message,” the robotic voice said. “Nine—forty-five—a.m.” After a click, she heard Ian’s voice.

“Don’t know about you, but I didn’t get much sleep last night.” There was a pause, long enough for her to slip off her shoes and sit on the side of the bed. When he continued, she was surprised how genuinely disappointed in himself he sounded. At lunch, he hadn’t seemed sorry or disappointed at all.

Then he ruined it, talking about same old problems and provocations.

Still, it was nice that he’d tried.

Why hadn’t he told her in the restaurant that he’d called? Nine-fifty, soon after she’d left the hotel. She wouldn’t have been angry at lunch if she’d known about the message. Not very angry, anyway.

“We aren’t good together,” she told the wall. “Simple as that.”

SARAH CHANGED INTO LIGHTER clothes and began to pack the presents she’d bought. There was no way they’d all fit in her luggage. She’d have to send most of them home by mail.

A few things could take the place of the wine she’d brought with her. She set the bottle on the desk. It was a Grand Cru burgundy, meant to celebrate a special occasion. She’d pictured drinking it under the northern lights while belugas leaped out of the sea.

Belugas were a long way from Yellowknife, though, and it turned out northern lights and midnight sun couldn’t happen at the same time. Who knew?

Her laptop beeped. A message had come in.

Sender, Liz McKinnon. Aka Elizabeth Robb.

Not this time.

Sarah had to scroll down to remind herself what she’d said that morning. It was a question about images coming before text.

Not this time? That was it? Where was the explanation? The urgency? The realization that faraway bookstores were already lining up readers?

Instead of typing HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?, the uppercase letters denoting a shout, Sarah confined herself to asking,

What’s different this time?

Liz’s answer arrived ten minutes later.

I’m married. I’m a mother. I’m a Wife and Mother.

Sarah understood. New commitments, busier days. That didn’t mean her old commitments had disappeared.

Poor Liz! Things not going well?

A few minutes passed.

This place should be called Robbtown. More people come in and out of the house than I ever saw in Vancouver—to talk to, anyway—and almost all of them are relatives who think because I’m at home I’m not working. Then there are the diapers.

It was hard to imagine Liz dealing with diapers. Hard to imagine anyone dealing with them.

I’m sorry about the crowds of Robbs. Sorry about the diapers, too.

Sarah hesitated before adding to the message. Should she ease Liz along or drag the monster out of the closet and, she hoped, see how puny it really was?

Drag out the monster, she decided.

We’ll talk about this more when I see you, but I’m wondering…do you need to postpone the book? Cancel it?

The answer came immediately.

No. No! I’ll figure it out. Sorry, Sarah, but I’ve got to go. Baby’s crying, kettle’s whistling, dog’s barking. See ya.

Sarah tried not to be irritated by the casual sign-off.

The monster didn’t look all that puny. Liz either couldn’t or didn’t want to ignore the distractions her life was throwing at her.

If her book wasn’t finished in time there’d be an empty spot in the company’s catalog and an empty spot on bookstore shelves, one another publisher would be glad to fill.

Sarah rubbed her eyes. Her head was starting to throb. So much for taking a break and getting perspective. Surrounded by tundra and houseboats and Old Town shanties and she hardly had a chance to—

Of course…why hadn’t she thought of it right away? She hurried to the phone and dialed Liz’s number.

No answer. That was always the way with Liz. The phone was busy, or no one was there. With an e-mail, an answer could take hours, even a whole day.

Liz, I told you, didn’t I, that I’d be in Yellowknife before Manitoba? That’s where I am now. You’ve got to come. Instead of me going to you, you come here. Every two steps you’ll trip over a story. You can’t be here and not see pictures. You’ll have to hurry, though. I’m flying back to Vancouver on the weekend. I know it’s rushed, but it’ll be worth it. All right?

Every few minutes Sarah hit the receive button. Nothing happened. With any luck, it meant Liz was hard at work. Off in the woods with her easel and paints. Or shut in the attic, insulated from interruption.

Finally, Liz answered.

I’m a Wife and Mother. Did you forget?

Uh-oh, Sarah thought, this time noticing the capital letters. Liz wasn’t just overwhelmed. She had a martyr complex in the making. Sympathy would be the worst thing to offer.

Hand infant to husband. Point nose north. Flap wings.

For half an hour, Sarah heard nothing back. She heated water through the coffeemaker, directly onto a tea bag in a mug. She dipped the bag in and out, burned her tongue on the first sip and wished she had her own kitchen with a proper kettle, a nice porcelain pot and a wide choice of premium tea leaves.

The laptop dinged.

Infant handed. Flight booked. Arriving Yellowknife Thursday.

Like magic, Sarah’s headache began to subside.

The schedule would still be tight; there was no getting away from that. But a few days here, and Liz would have grist for the mill for years to come.