Blue Midnight (Blue Mountain Book 1) Read online

  I shrugged as if she could see me and reached for a cold bottle of wine from my nearly empty refrigerator. “He’s bringing a nanny,” I reminded her.

  “But still. It’s weird.” Bliss continued, without a pause, almost like it was the same sentence, “Lizzie’s pregnant. It explains the hasty marriage. Has to be it.” Bliss always called Liza “Lizzie.” Another one of the ways she thought she was funny. Lizzie was a little girl’s name, implying that Liza was a little girl.

  “He says she’s his soul mate and they couldn’t wait another moment.”

  “I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous. How old is he?”

  I sighed, smiling, despite how it still pierced the middle of my chest. “Whether she’s pregnant now or not, it’s only a matter of time. I’m sure she’s anxious to get married, have children. Like I was.” The last time the girls returned from Michael’s house, Liza had painted Clementine’s fingernails with what I thought of as teenager colors, blue and green and fuchsia, in a rotating pattern. That small gesture of intimacy stabbed me like a physical pain, even more so than the upcoming wedding. Painting her nails should always be my job, I thought. “You could come visit me,” I said to Bliss, changing the subject. “You know, while the kids are away. We could stay up late and talk like we used to.”

  “I’d love to, but I have a new deal we’re working on. I have to fly to India on Tuesday.” Without a pause, “You should take a trip.”

  “A trip?”

  “Yes. Somewhere fun. Or tropical.”

  Five years younger than I, Bliss had never been married and was the CEO of a midsized technical company in Portland, Oregon. She’d moved all over the country in the last fifteen years and had accepted the Portland job two years ago. It was a great opportunity, according to her, even though Oregon, again according to her, made it nearly impossible for commerce to thrive. “The tax laws are ridiculous,” she said in a recent conversation. “It’s like the state doesn’t want to do well.” I wasn’t sure when my sister had grown so fiscally conservative or so invested in big business as the answer to America’s troubles. In all honesty, I had no idea what her company’s products did. All I knew is that her job was lucrative and important, and I was happy she was only three hours away from me. Not that I saw her much. A mover and a shaker, according to my former mother-in-law, who was impressed by a Wall Street Journal article in which Bliss was mentioned as a young leader to watch. Even Michael expressed admiration for Bliss, which was unusual since normally he reserved admiration only for himself.

  I perched the phone between my ear and shoulder and unloaded the dishwasher while answering her suggestion of travel. “Where would I go?”

  “If you have to ask yourself that then you don’t deserve to go anywhere.”

  “Why’re you so mean?”

  She laughed, which sounded like creek water trickling over stones. “I’m never mean, just honest. Aren’t you curious about anything anymore? You used to always be curious about everything.” Papers rustled on the other end of the phone. Often while we spoke, she signed important documents or fat checks in her office that overlooked the downtown Portland skyline.

  I put the last glass into the cupboard and kicked an empty box over to the sliding glass doors where the rest were torn down and stacked neatly. “Well, I’m on a budget, so I don’t really have a lot of choices about where to go, is what I meant.” I heard the tenderness of defensiveness in my own voice. No one could make me feel as vulnerable and loved all at once as Bliss.

  “Go on a road trip. Take photos like you used to. Remember when you said you wanted to travel across the country and take photos of barns?”

  I leaned on the counter, resting my forehead into the crook of my arm, and let out a sharp breath. Did I remember that dream? It was vague and filmy, like the edges of a watercolor. The young woman I once was felt a lifetime away from the middle-aged one who stood now in a white kitchen and thought of the rest of her life as empty and unfocused. Who was I now? Where was the young woman I’d been who made her living as a wedding photographer and barista and spent her spare time taking art photos? Was she buried underneath my comfortable jeans and tennis shoes and the utter exhaustion of motherhood?

  “You have three weeks, Blythe. You deserve a little me time.”

  “Oh my God, that’s what Sally said.” Our mother, Sally, always insisted we call her by her first name, in deference to her hippie beliefs that the traditional models of family units were unhealthy and stifling.

  There was silence on the other end. I knew better than to bring up our mother but it had slipped out in my surprise that they’d given identical advice.

  “You still there?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’m here.” My sister suddenly sounded focused and clear. Had she moved the phone nearer her mouth? Was she giving me her complete attention? “Listen, I have a surprise for you. And you have to accept it.”

  I didn’t have time to answer because the doorbell rang. “That’s my door. Can I call you back?”

  “Sure.”

  I hung up and headed across the brand new carpet to the door. When I opened it, my mouth dropped open. Bliss stood there, grinning such that I had a sudden image of the Cheshire cat. “Surprise,” she said, holding out her arms.

  “What’re you doing here?” I held her tightly for an instant before drawing back to look at her face. She looked good, as always. Just two inches from six feet with legs that took up more than their fair share of her body, she was quintessentially pretty in a way that screamed American beauty. Flawless skin; shiny hair the color of new honey, worn in a long bob that had the perfect swing when she walked; crystal clear hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes. She wore a sleeveless blouse, showing off sculpted arms the result of daily yoga with her private instructor I suspected she slept with occasionally.

  “I decided why not fly to India from here so I could surprise you with a visit.”

  “I knew I should be suspicious when you wanted my address last night on the phone.” My sister never sent a letter through the mail. She embraced technology—just tweets, emails, and Facebook for her. “How long can you stay?”

  “Only one night. I have to fly out tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Well, you’ll be able to spend the morning with the girls before I have to send them off to the wedding.” My mind fast-forwarded to this time tomorrow evening. The girls would be at a wedding reception. Bliss would be on an airplane to India. And I would be here alone. Maybe I should get a cat, I thought absently.

  She reached into her purse. “I have a gift for you. Come outside to see it.”

  “Outside? Did you get me the horse I always wanted?”

  We both giggled as we clasped hands. When we were kids I always insisted she hold my hand wherever we went because she was so much younger and we were often out without our mother. We’d never lost the habit. “You don’t still want a horse, do you?” she asked.

  “No, I’ve let that dream go.” I’d never even been on a horse. When I was a child I’d fixated on the idea of a horse after I read Black Beauty. Every year for five years straight I’d asked for a horse, which was ridiculous since our house was unfinished and we had an outhouse for a bathroom. A barn and a horse were certainly far down the list of priorities.

  Bliss let go of my hand, clapped three times, and let out a squeal, like she used to as a child when something especially exciting happened. She was always a kid, like my little Clementine, without feelings of wanting to be an adult. I was like Lola, my eldest. Old before my time, responsible and worried, often mothering Bliss even though she never needed it. I found it ironic that Bliss had the big job, the big life, when all she’d ever wanted to do when we were young was play. She never once worried about anything, especially the future. Instead she saw the world through eyes of wonder, like at any moment something exceptional was about to happen.

  Bliss and I walked out to the shared courtyard where the guest parking was located. It was after nine and s
till light; Seattle days in the summer were endless. Bliss pointed to a black BMW sports utility vehicle. “This is your new car.” She pulled a set of keys from her designer handbag. “For your road trip.”

  I stared at her. “But I already have a car.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “A ten-year-old minivan is not a car.”

  “The White Whale has been good to me.” The White Whale and I had been through a lot together. There were the sliding side doors that opened with a touch of a key, especially handy when holding a baby on one hip while supervising a three-year-old. The White Whale was like me—over a hundred thousand miles on it and still going strong, despite a messy interior and a dent or two.

  “Yes, but you’re in a new phase of your life now. The girls can get into a car by themselves. And it’s time for you to upgrade your image if we’re going to find you a new man.”

  “Since when are you worried about anyone finding a man?” Bliss was always harping on about how unmarried women were happier. Recently she’d sent me a link to an actual study indicating this fact. I examined her. Had she met someone? Happy people were always trying to find happiness for others.

  “I’m not worried about it. I just think you deserve to find the love of your life instead of having to settle for the creep you were married to for thirteen years.”

  “More like twelve,” I muttered under my breath. And, what had she just said? Love of my life? Who was this new, romantic sister? “Are you seeing someone?” I blurted out, surprising myself. Perhaps all the years of stifling my responses had suddenly backfired?

  “Of course not.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I have no time for men.”

  “Me either, then.”

  “Blythe, you’re too sweet not to be with someone. I, on the other hand, owe it to the men of the world to stay away. Plus, if you’re going to present yourself as a successful photographer to your clients, you need to look the part.” Her gaze darted to me, seeming to take in my clothes. I wore loose shorts and a T-shirt. “We need to go shopping before I leave.”

  “I have no place to go. I don’t need a new car or new clothes.”

  “You need to get a job. Period, end of story.”

  I remained silent, my irritation at her bossiness growing more intense by the moment. Who was she to tell me what to do? I was the elder. I should be telling her what to do.

  “Yes. Whether it’s photography or something else. It’s not good to sit idle for too long.”

  “I’m raising two girls. It’s hardly idle.” Hot anger in the form of perspiration seeped from my pores. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “And I haven’t taken photographs in years. You know that.”

  She cocked her head to the side, examining me again with her keen eyes. “The girls are in school. You need a job.” She tugged on my ponytail. “And a new haircut. This makes you look like a middle-aged housewife.”

  “That’s what I am.”

  “That’s the old you. The new you is a successful, creative woman reinventing her life.”

  “No one will hire me for anything.”

  “Then you’re going to have to start your own photography business again. But first you have to take a road trip in your new car.” She stroked the new, shiny paint. “I drove this baby up here from Portland. You’re going to love her.” She threw the keys at me. I tried to catch them but they fell onto the cement. Bliss picked them up and set them firmly in the palm of my hand. “Now get in. We’ll take it for a spin.”

  “I can’t. The girls are inside sleeping.”

  “I’ll stay with them. You go.”

  “They might wake up and feel afraid if I’m not there. Tomorrow.”

  She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

  After we left my new car in the lot and went inside, Bliss and I sat on opposite ends of the living room couch with glasses of wine. She stretched her long legs so the tips of her toes brushed my thigh. “You’re thin.” She pushed against my thigh with her toes. “You taking care of yourself?”

  “Yeah. I just don’t eat as much red meat as I used to. One of the perks of being divorced from Michael. You know how he loved his steaks. That, and I’ve taken up Zumba in addition to my running.” I’d been on the high school cross country team and had habitually run five or so miles five days a week ever since. It was my solace time, my time to relax and let the rhythm of the music dictate my pace. I listened to the folk and country music I’d loved all my life. Something about a good lyric and the simple strumming of a guitar motivated me more than the latest pop star phenomenon. I didn’t like music until it was at least twenty years old. Not because new music wasn’t worthy—it simply took me that much time for something to grow on me.

  “Zumba?” Bliss raised her eyebrows. “Holy crap, I’ve got to get you out of the suburbs.”

  “I like the suburbs.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do you? Really?”

  “I like how quiet it is.” I pointed toward the window. My front room had a semi-view of the Cascade Mountains. “Can you beat my view? And I started Zumba when I lived in Seattle. The realtor assured me I could find it at the local gym here.”

  “Good for you, trying something new. You could use a little spontaneity once in a while.” She gestured toward the new car keys on the table by the door. “Come on, tell me some places you might like to visit someday.”

  “Maybe Idaho.”

  “Idaho? You’ve been there before, right?”

  “Once. A month before my wedding.” I paused, feeling the back of my throat tighten and pesky tears sting my eyes. The mere thought of Idaho, of Finn, brought all the wicked emotion back, as if thirteen years hadn’t passed, as if I was still the same person now as I was then. “I went there for a folk music festival in a little town thirty miles from Sun Valley.”

  My sister watched me with the same narrowed eyes as before. “And?”

  I avoided her gaze. “And what?”

  “What happened there? Why does it make you flush? And why do you sound like you’re going to cry?”

  I didn’t answer. But this is the thing with sisters. They know everything about you. There’s no hiding.

  She pushed me with her toes again. “Tell me.”

  I looked up at her, keeping my voice low in case one of the girls awakened. “I met someone that weekend. We spent three days together.”

  Her eyes went wide and she pulled her head back like a chicken pecking the ground. “What the hell? How and why haven’t I heard this before?”

  “I’ve never told anyone about it.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I went out there with my girlfriend Patsy. Remember her?”

  “Wasn’t she the one who dumped you after you got married?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.” Later I read a women’s magazine article about women often losing their single friends after they’re married, for no apparent reason. When Patsy had abruptly stopped returning my calls a month or so after the wedding I’d felt deeply hurt. Now it was nothing but a blip on the arc of my life, another disappointment, another betrayal on a list.

  I continued. “We went to Sun Valley for a three-day folk music festival. Kind of a last hurrah before I got married, but Patsy came down with a nasty cold and stayed in the room for the entire trip. I met him the first afternoon. We spent three days together and then I came home and married Michael. I found his phone number the other day when I was packing.” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the scrap of paper with his number and handed it to her.

  “Finn Lanigan.”

  I took in a deep breath at hearing his name said out loud. I repeated it, the image of his face playing before my eyes. “Finn Lanigan.”

  She waved the scrap of paper like it was a miniature flag. “You’ve kept this all these years?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you have an affair with him?”

  “Don’t act like it’s so impossible. I’
m not completely predictable.”

  “Did you?” She raised one eyebrow and pressed her lips together.

  I shook my head. “No, not a physical one except for a kiss or two. I wanted to, trust me, but I felt too loyal to Michael. It was something else between us, a connection that I’ve certainly never felt before or since.”

  Bliss got up from the couch and went to the window, then faced me with her hands on her hips. “You have to call him.”

  I flushed a deeper red than my confession had already caused. “I did.”

  For the second time that night and perhaps only the second time in our lives, my sister looked genuinely shocked at something I’d said. “You did?”

  “It’s no longer his number.”

  She went to her briefcase and pulled out her laptop. “Have you Googled him?”

  I nodded, yes. “But there’s nothing. Not even a Facebook page.”

  “Wait? You know about Facebook?”

  “I have an account but I never go on there.”

  Bliss laughed. “Of course you don’t.”

  “It’s confusing. Plus, I never know what to post about.”

  “Oh, so you’re a lurker?”

  “Right.” I paused. “I guess.”

  “Listen, all this social media stuff is a good way to build a network. You’ll need to do that once you start your photography business.” She held up fingers, counting off the list. “And you’ll need a website, Twitter account, a fan page. I’ll have to come spend a couple of days with you and get you started.”

  “Being around you makes me feel dizzy.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” She poured more wine into her glass.

  I sighed with relief, grateful to be off the subject of Finn Lanigan. Nothing like the talk of business to distract my sister from all thoughts of love. But I shouldn’t have relaxed. She quickly returned to the subject of my mystery man.