Читать книгу Thirty Below - Harry Groome - Страница 5

LATER THAT SAME DAY, Hannah returned to their apartment a second time. Her first visit had been to comfort Carrie but now as she dropped her purse on the kitchen counter, her tone was impatient and resigned as she called, “Time for a little talk.”

She looked Carrie up and down as she wandered into the kitchen wrapped in a large white towel, her tanned skin still moist from a shower. Hannah shook her head. “Cripes, Carrie, hair and nails done just like every other …” She gestured to her to come close and wrapped her arms around her broad, warm back and held her tight. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Carrie nodded, her cheek moving against Hannah’s. “I think so,” she whispered. “I’m trying to put it out of my mind. To forget Jake. Forget this place. To move on.”

Hannah held Carrie for a moment longer and then eased away from her. “Okay,” she said, “what did you tell the cops?”

Carrie looked at the floor. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Hannah said.

Carrie pulled her hands free and told her that she hadn’t called the police, that it was more complicated than Hannah had made it out to be. “It wasn’t that big a deal,” she said. “A close call, but that’s all. And part of it was my fault; I’ve let him get away with stuff like that in the past.” Carrie began to cry. “And I didn’t want to complicate my life any more than it is already. Calling the cops would have led to lawyers and court appearances and I’d have been a prisoner here forever and that’s the last thing I want. It was just something between Jake and me, kind of the final act of a rough relationship. Besides, he thinks I called the cops and wouldn’t dare try anything more.”

Hannah sighed. “Let’s hope you’re right. It’s your call, Carrie. Your call and your ass but listen to me: Tell your Alaskan adventurer you’ll meet him some other time and stay home tonight and get your emotional shit together.”

Carrie looked down at the floor and rubbed one bare foot on top of the other. “But, Hannah, I’ve waited so long to meet this guy. Something about the things he writes feel so right. I’m really looking forward to—”

“Meeting the man of your dreams? The trouble is you always think you’ve just met the man of your dreams. It wasn’t just Jake you got wrong. It was that surfer from Hawaii with the hair down to his ass and the guy from Microsoft with the purple Jag ragtop and the piano player from New York and—”

“Are you through?” Carrie said.

Hannah moved her hands as though she wasn’t sure and then nodded.

“Then help me,” Carrie pleaded, “and tell me why I can’t get it right because it seems it’s just out of my reach; that if I tried just a little harder, I could do it.”

“Sorry to be such a hard-ass,” Hannah said and reached for one of Carrie’s hands. “No matter what, nothing gives a guy the right to sneak into our apartment and force himself on you, so for God’s sake be careful with this new guy. Really careful. It’s one thing to e-mail back and forth with some smooth-talking stranger; it’s a whole ‘nother thing to actually meet him.”

“I’m trying to sort it all out,” Carrie said. “Honest to God I am, so let me try to do this on my own. Okay? Things aren’t going to change if I sit around and wait for something to happen. I’ve got to make it happen myself.”

Hannah shook her head in disapproval, then rubbed her hands up and down Carrie’s arms. “Okay, but promise you’ll be careful? Really careful. Promise me that?”

Through her tears, Carrie promised she’d be careful.

AT 8:30 THAT NIGHT, worrying that she was ignoring Hannah’s advice, something that always made her uneasy because Hannah was always right, Carrie left her apartment wearing her favorite maroon mini-skirt and cream-colored silk blouse cinched tight above her hips by a thick black patent leather belt that matched her flat pumps, and headed for her favorite singles bar, the bar that Hannah disapproved of so, but the place where Carrie had dated many of the men and made friends with many of the women, all of whom were searching for the same thing as she.

She arrived before the crowd began to gather and sat alone at a small round table. She ordered an Absolut and tonic and stared out the big street-front window when a tall, graceful stranger, made taller by shiny black cowboy boots, pressed his forehead to the window and cupped his hands beside his eyes to cut the glare. She noticed his hands first, coarse and powerful but somehow—she couldn’t explain how—comforting. When he looked directly at her, she felt her face flush and looked away. When she dared look back, he mouthed, “Carrie?”

She nodded quickly and whispered, “Bart McFee?” Her heart began to race. The stranger pulled away from the window, the heels of his palms leaving crescents of moisture on the glass. He smoothed his dark ponytail, then placed his hands together in prayer and a boyish smile crossed his face. She couldn’t help but smile, too, then thought, no, you silly goose that’s not being careful; that’s not the new Carrie Ritter. And for an instant she wondered if it was too late to change her mind but, as the stranger pushed open the door and walked toward her, she thought she would explain it all to Hannah by telling her that the closer he got the more drop-dead gorgeous he became, even though she knew Hannah would simply add, “Haven’t they all?”

But it wasn’t just his looks that made Carrie think maybe he was the one. It was the gentle way he put out his strong-looking hand and said, “It’s not too late to change your mind.” She was surprised he knew what she’d been thinking and that made her relax a bit but also scared her because she wondered who would want to be around someone who knew what you’re thinking—even feeling—maybe even before you did? But she took his hand and said, “No, please,” and wondered what sort of a greeting that was.

Bart smiled at her and placed his hands on the back of the stool. “Good, but from all our e-mails I thought I knew almost all there was to know about you, but—”

“But what?” Carrie said. “Is something wrong?”

Bart laughed. “Just the opposite. From the way you described yourself, I kind of expected a…well…a…a big, strong Iowa farm girl. But you’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

Again Carrie felt her face flush. Something told her that this stranger meant what he said. She smiled. “But there are lots of things you don’t know about me either, so please don’t think I’ve told you everything.”

“Nor me,” Bart said, “but that’s part of the adventure; part of the mystery.”

Carrie thought an adventure sounded romantic and was titillated by the idea of a mystery; that they were exactly what her dull, predictable life needed when Bart asked if she’d like to try an Alaskan drink, a Love Me Tender.

Carrie said she’d try one. She was trying to be firm, be careful, but while Bart was at the bar she promised herself that if it didn’t work out this time, that this was the last time, for none had ever led to the man of her dreams, although there had been a couple of close calls.

She drew a deep breath and told herself to keep her head about her and not do anything stupid, to keep it all in order and go slow. She took another deep breath and wondered how this gorgeous stranger was making out with the odd-sounding drinks. As she turned to look he was walking toward her with an easy swagger, and she thought he was built just like her—big hands and feet, narrow hips and broad shoulders—but on him it looked right. Better than right. When Bart saw her looking at him he smiled and she thought it was a friendly smile, not a smile filled with lechery like so many other smiles she’d seen so many times in this bar, and she relaxed a bit.

And then she saw him. She felt a tightness in her chest and her breath came in warm, heavy bursts. Jake Hornbeck was following Bart. He was smiling the smile that she knew led to trouble. He wouldn’t try anything in public or would he? Wasn’t he worried about the cops?

Bart slid a glass in front of her and sat. Carrie forced a smile and coughed out, “Bart, do you know this guy?”

“What guy?”

She lowered her voice. “The guy behind you, with the bandage above his eye.”

Bart looked over his shoulder, but before he could answer, Jake said, “Well, if it isn’t the fickle Carrie Ritter and her internet ticket to Nowheresville, Alaska.”

“Go away,” Carrie said, “Please.” She looked at Bart for help, but he didn’t move, his big hands wrapped around his glass, his emotionless stare fixed on the table.

“Go away? Up until today you couldn’t get enough of me, or don’t you remember?” He placed a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s because I can’t take you away from it all like this poor sucker.”

Carrie knew at that instant that she should have called the police and prayed that Bart would somehow help her. But she thought there was no reason for him to do anything, that she was nothing more than a stranger whom he’d met through the internet, and she mustered all the courage she could and looked up at Jake and forced herself to focus on his narrow-set, dark eyes. “Enough’s enough, Jake. It’s over.”

Jake shook his head, his eyes filled with the same wild, animal-like look they’d had in her bathroom that morning. “It’s not going to be that easy.”

Without looking up, or turning to face him, Bart said quietly, “Please, let the lady alone.”

“Please, let the lady alone?” Jake looked at Carrie. “Who is this guy? Mister Manners?”

Carrie had no idea how to answer. Or even if she should. She looked to the gorgeous man seated close to her for help, but all she saw was a stranger and realized how alone she was, and a chill ran through her.

Bart raised his eyes to her and smiled a comforting smile. He looked over his shoulder at Jake and then beckoned to the bouncer. “Okay. Let’s skip the formalities. Time’s up. Leave the lady alone.”

When Bart spoke, people at the nearby tables stopped talking and stared at Jake and him. Two women seated at the table nearest them picked up their drinks, pushed their stools back and moved away. Carrie held her glass so tightly to stop her hands from shaking that she thought she’d break it, but all she could think of at that moment was how nice ‘leave the lady alone’ sounded when Jake said, “Shove it up your ass.”

Carrie watched Jake’s Death Before Dishonor tattoo swell with each rhythmic flex of his biceps and thought of his super-human strength. Suddenly she didn’t want to be in this singles bar causing this handsome stranger to be hurt because she never could get things right. Her plan to change her life already was headed in the wrong direction and as usual Hannah had been right, she should have stayed home and gotten her emotional shit together for she could feel things were unraveling at a rapid pace and, once again, she was losing control.

“It’ll take a bigger man than you to do that,” he said. “But not tonight.”

With that, Jake wrapped his arms around Bart’s neck and jerked him from his stool, sending it crashing to the floor, the bar going quiet, except for a series of scraping sounds as people pushed their stools from their tables and hurried away.

“Jake, no!” Carrie yelled.

Jake glanced at her and pulled Bart’s head down to his hip. Bart’s face turned red and the vein in his temple thickened. “So this is the pussy you ditched—”

But Jake never got to finish. A man more than a half-a-foot taller than him with a large, shiny shaved head and a baseball bat grabbed him by the ear and pushed the bat under his nose. “Hit the road, pal,” the man said. “You want to fight, join the Marines.”

Jake let go of Bart and took a step back. He sized up the bouncer and his baseball bat and raised his hands above his shoulders. “You win this one, fat boy,” he said, and then looked at Carrie. “But we’re not through. No one gets away with shit like this with Jake Hornbeck.” And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he pushed through the crowded bar and out on to the street and was gone.

Bart rolled his head and stretched his neck. He smiled and lifted his glass toward the bouncer and thanked him for his help.

“Comes with the territory,” the bouncer said. He tapped Bart on the shoulder with his bat and nodded at Carrie. “But you two be careful. I’ve seen a lot of rotten apples in this job and something tells me that guy’s trouble. Real trouble.”

They sat without speaking as though they were weighing the bouncer’s comments. Carrie was very much aware of the stares of others in the bar and hurried to finish her drink, thinking she had to get free from all of this, that once again she’d made a terrible mistake.

Once outside Bart put his arm around her and led her to the path along the beach and asked, “What was that all about?”

“You don’t really want to know,” she said.

Bart nodded and took his arm from her waist, and she wished he hadn’t although she couldn’t tell if it was because she was frightened by Jake and needed someone to help keep her together, or if there was something special about Bart’s touch. Either way, she missed the feeling and asked him if he’d mind putting his arm around her for a little while longer. She couldn’t believe what she’d just said and felt her face flush with embarrassment and the warm push of gin and peach vodka from the strange Alaskan drink and quickly added, “I’m a bit shaky right now.”

Bart smiled and slipped his arm around her and they walked in silence watching the waves of the Pacific break and spill over the sand. Finally, Bart asked again, “Who was that guy?”

Carrie bit her upper lip and looked at Bart. “He’s just a guy I used to date and we’ve had a pretty rough falling out.”

“Got that, but how’d he know about me? About Alaska?”

Carrie took Bart’s arm in her hand, held it tightly and drew a deep breath. She didn’t want to start off their relationship with a lie; after what she’d just put him through she felt she owed him the truth. “I used you as an excuse to break up with him. He scared me so; I didn’t know what else to do.” She paused and pleaded for him to understand. “I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I never thought it would get you—”

“It’s okay,” he said, and pulled her closer against him. “They all end up like that?”

“No,” Carrie said, and laughed a little laugh of relief because they were moving away from Jake, and stammered, “Well … yes … sometimes … but no … never that bad.” She tried to get the spotlight off herself by asking, “What about you? How do yours end up?”

“They tend to start well but something always seems to go wrong.”

“Like what?” Carrie asked.

“I’m too much of a loner for most women.” Bart looked away from her. “That and some other stuff cost me a marriage.”

Carrie tried to appear as unfazed as possible as she asked, “You’re divorced?” She wondered what else he hadn’t told her in his e-mails. What other surprises were in store.

Bart stopped walking and took his arm from her waist. “Now I owe you an apology. I thought if I told you that I’m divorced you’d never have agreed to meet me. Have I screwed this up before we even got started?”

Carrie looked into his gray eyes, eyes that made her think that maybe she could dream a little, and thought, not by a long shot, but didn’t tell him so. “Not yet,” she said and asked him what else he hadn’t told her.

“Okay. Full disclosure,” Bart said. “Married at thirty, divorced by thirty-three.”

“Kids?”

Bart looked away again. “Nope. One of the reasons we split.” He looked back at her. “How am I doing so far?”

“Not too bad,” Carrie said. “But another thing you never made clear: what is it, exactly, that you do for a living?”

“I used to teach. Now I’m kind of a …I don’t know…some say I’m a fugitive from society; others say I’m running away from a bad marriage and some other stuff. I’d just say I’m a self-styled adventurer who spends most of his time in Alaska.” They walked in silence for a moment when Bart said, “Well, how do you feel about Alaska?”

“What about it?” she said.

He shrugged. “It’s the place I call home, Carrie. I only come back here on occasion to tidy up loose ends. Alaska’s what I love. Where I’m at peace, where I’m headed in a few weeks.”

“And you think I should go with you? Just run off to Alaska, just like that?”

“I’m only asking you to think about it,” he said. “From your e-mails I think you’d love it. Besides it would get you away from that Jake guy and it might be the solution to all your other problems.”

“All my problems?” Carrie hadn’t expected the invitation to be focused on what was best for her. It caught her off guard and scared her. She had been so open with Bart in their e-mails about her dead-end situation, and now she was being asked to put her money where her mouth was. Was it just idle chatter or was she really ready for a change—an adventure, a mystery—and a dramatic one at that? She needed time to gather her thoughts, time for the vodka and the gin to loosen their grip. “Problems?” she said again. “What problems?”

Bart hooked his arm around her waist and kept walking. “I know this is scary stuff and will take a lot of guts…” Carrie didn’t hear what he said next for again she wondered how this stranger seemed to know what she was thinking and feeling almost before she did. “But I can promise you that living in the Alaska outback will be new as new can be and far from boring. It may not lead anywhere, but it may help you discover where you want to go. That’s one of the beauties of living off the grid. It clears your mind and can cleanse your soul as well.” For a second he tightened his grip on her waist. “Worse comes to worse, Carrie, it’s only for a few months.”

The fact that it would only be for a little while gave her comfort, and the idea of spending time with this gentle, gorgeous man who seemed to put her needs and feelings before all else led her to believe that maybe—just maybe—she’d finally got it right.

“Well?” he said. “What do you think?”

“We’ll see,” Carrie said. “We’ll see. I need to know lots more about it, and you, and time to think it over.”

THEY SAID GOODNIGHT at the foot of her apartment steps standing like two awkward teenagers and looking at one another for a long while without speaking. Carrie could feel her heart beating until Bart finally took her face in his hands and kissed her. When they parted, he asked if he could come in.

Carrie quickly raised her hands to hold him in place and said, “Not tonight,” and then softened her tone. “I know I’m giving you a mixed message but at times I get confused about what’s right and what’s wrong, and this is one of those times. I need some time to pull myself together. It’s not you. Please try to understand. It’s been a really bad day—a really bad day—and I’m confused about a lot of things, including Alaska.”

Bart smiled down at her, took her by her shoulders and said he understood; that it was okay, that everybody has bad days and that he hoped she’d give Alaska serious thought.

She scolded herself to be careful—to take it slow—but as Bart walked away she could still imagine his gray eyes and gentle smile, feel his strong hands and taste his kiss. “Bart, wait,” she called out.

Bart stopped and turned. He shook his head as though he knew what she was about to say. “Not to worry, I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

He smiled. “Promise. Now, get a good night’s sleep. It’ll do you good.”

The calm, kind manner in which he answered told her that he was a man of his word, that he had everything in order while she was spinning out of control; that he might be just right for her, that maybe they could be fugitives from society for a while. But Alaska? Why Alaska? And then she thought, Why not? Maybe he’s right. Maybe it would solve all her problems. Clear her mind. Cleanse her soul. Be an adventure. Be what she needed.