Читать книгу The Consequences - Colette Freedman - Страница 11

CHAPTER 4

At least half a dozen flights, the last of Christmas Eve, had landed within the past forty-five minutes, and the arrivals terminal in General Mitchell Airport was heaving with people. Airport security were desperately attempting to keep the area clear, but it was an impossible task, and the refrains of “White Christmas” were lost beneath loud reunions.

Stephanie wound her way through the crowd, heading for the Hertz desk. She walked past couples embracing, families locked together; she saw tears and laughter, and she was overwhelmed by a deep sadness. She’d flown in and out of airports throughout her adult life and had rarely been met by anyone, and it had never bothered her. Now, for the first time, she felt incredibly lonely.

“Stephanie . . . Stephanie!”

Right at the very edges of her consciousness, she caught the sound of someone calling out what sounded like her name. But that was impossible; no one knew she was coming in, except her parents, and they’d hardly drive all the way out from Madison to collect her.

“Stephanie . . . Stephanie!” The voice was coming nearer.

She fixed a smile on her face as she turned. It would be just her luck to bump into someone she didn’t want to see only moments after landing.

“Stephanie?”

It took a heartbeat to recognize the rather plain-looking young woman standing before her, head tilted to one side, smiling quizzically.

“You walked right past me,” she said.

“Joan? My God, Joannie, I didn’t recognize you.”

Joan Burroughs was Stephanie’s baby sister, six years her junior, and the last person she had expected to see waiting for her in the airport. Stephanie wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her.

“Well, it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize you,” she said with a grin. Joan was bundled up in a bulky down jacket and black cargo pants over thick boots and was wearing a woollen cap pulled low over her forehead and covering the tops of her ears. Her exposed cheeks and the tip of her nose were bright red.

There were seven children—four boys and three girls—in the Burroughs family, and Stephanie had never been especially close to any of her siblings. Most of Stephanie’s brothers and sisters had stayed close to home, married young, and started families early, whereas Stephanie had left for college at eighteen and had never moved back. Now, at thirty-three, she was the only one left unmarried. The last Stephanie had heard of her sister, Joan had been working as a graphic artist in a Milwaukee design studio.

“Wait, how did you know I’d be here?” Stephanie asked, then answered her own question: “Mom.”

Joan nodded. “Mom called me and told me you were on the way.” She stepped away from Stephanie to regard her older sister critically. “You’ve lost weight, and you look tired.”

“Thanks,” Stephanie said sarcastically. “I’ll take the weight loss as a compliment. The last couple of days have been tough, and I had to take two flights to get here. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, I was still in the city, so I thought I’d hang around and wait for you.”

“I’m so glad that you did.” Stephanie linked her arm through her sister’s, and together they moved through the crowd. “I really wasn’t looking forward to the hour and a half drive home.”

“Luckily, I-94’s empty, so I can probably get us home faster than that.” Joan smiled as she took Stephanie’s suitcase. “I spoke to Mom yesterday, and she was complaining that you weren’t coming home. Then she called me today to say that you were on your way.”

“Yeah, Mom called weeks ago and tried her usual subtle cocktail of blackmail and encouragement on me. I told her I was tied up over the Christmas period . . . but . . . well, things changed.”

“Well, she sounded thrilled on the phone. Looks like all the family will be there, and you know how much she loves that.”

The two women traversed the skywalk to the parking garage, where the air was thick with the stench of gasoline and bitter with the acrid tang of car exhausts. There were frozen patches of water on the ground, and Stephanie felt the chill seep up through the too-thin soles of her comfortable shoes.

“Here. I guessed you wouldn’t have anything with you.” Joan pulled a wool hat from an inside pocket and produced a pair of gloves. “I didn’t have boots in your size,” she added.

Stephanie pulled on the extremely unflattering green and yellow Green Bay Packers hat, grateful that no one she knew could see her now, and tugged on the gloves that were one size too small. But she was grateful. The air was so bitterly cold that it took her breath away. She’d momentarily forgotten just how freezing Wisconsin could be in December.

“We’re here,” Joan said, stopping in front of a slightly battered VW van. The remains of dozens of stickers were still visible on its rear; in some places they had been removed so forcefully that paint had peeled off, leaving dappled rust spots in their wake.

Stephanie blinked in surprise. “You and Eddie were driving an SUV if I remember. . . .”

“The Cherokee. Yes, Eddie still has that.”

“Isn’t he coming with us?” Stephanie asked, as Joan wrenched open the door of the van, revealing its disheveled interior.

A scrap of carpet covered the metal floor, and the back of the van was packed with cardboard U-Haul boxes, suitcases, and black garbage bags obviously stuffed with clothes. One had burst and spilled shoes across the floor. Joan snatched Stephanie’s single suitcase off the ground and shoved it in between two boxes.

“No, Eddie will not be coming with us. Haven’t you heard—or did Mother conveniently forget to tell you that piece of family gossip?” Joan indicated the back of the van. “I’m moving back home. I’ve left him.” She looked at her older sister. “Don’t give me a lecture,” she added quickly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Stephanie said quietly. “When did you leave him?” she asked.

“Tonight.”