29. Cass #2
I gather my coat off the back of the chair. The bones of my hands are buzzing so badly I almost drop it. Raymond is already striding off the terrace, phone in his fist, not waiting to see if I’m following. I have to half-jog to keep up.
That’s when, finally, I look.
I just have to. Simply cannot help it. As I round the end of the table, my head turns of its own accord toward the far end, and my eyes find Matvei’s, and the entire terrace dissolves around us.
He is sitting very still. His blue eyes are absolutely, terrifyingly locked on mine.
I don’t know what’s in my face. I don’t have time to control it. I think it’s something like, Help. Or maybe, He knows, he knows, he knows, and I am about to get into a car with him, on icy roads, in the middle of nowhere, and I have a baby in my body, and I don’t know if I am coming back.
Matvei’s jaw flexes once. His chin dips, the smallest fraction of a nod. I see you. I see you, dikarka.
Then his eyes slide off me, and his hand uncurls from the water glass, and he goes back to listening politely to the tax partner’s wife as if nothing in the world is on fire.
I follow my husband off the terrace.
Raymond doesn’t speak as we cut through the lodge. I have to do a dangerous jog in my heeled boots over the uneven flagstones just to keep up.
We go through the lobby, striding right past bellhops and concierges fumbling over themselves to ask if there’s anything they can do for us. Every time I try to ask what’s happening or why we’re in such a rush, Raymond cuts me off with a grunt.
“Just pack. We need to leave in five minutes.”
My fingers find the banister at the foot of the grand staircase. The fear is all throughout me now, chilling every nerve ending into ice. I thought I was cold out in the woods, but in here, in the arctic blast of my husband’s wrath, I’m much, much colder.
I mount the stairs behind him. We get up to the third floor and turn toward our room, Raymond still hurrying ever-faster. He rips open our door and holds it open for me, clucking impatiently—when a voice from the corridor behind us calls out.
“Raymond! Raymond, just a moment, if you would!”
I look back to see…
Susan?
I curl up inwardly as the fear drags me all the way under. Please, I think at her, the way you’d think at a saint candle. Please, please, whatever you saw, whatever you’re about to say… please don’t.
Raymond stops with one hand on the doorframe. I watch him gather his face into something usable. By the time he pivots toward her, he has on a slightly edgy half-smile I know well.
It usually precedes violence.
“Susan. Forgive me, I’m in a bit of a?—”
“Yes, I gathered.” She glides up to us, the silk scarf at her throat barely stirring. “You poor dear. Whatever it is, I won’t keep you. I just had a thought, and I’d be a wretched hostess if I didn’t share it.”
“Oh?”
Susan’s pale green eyes drift to me. They are perfectly empty. They do not, in any way, contain a memory of a cashmere robe sliding open in a hotel ice room.
This is it: the moment when she damns me. Right at the worst possible time, she’s going to ignite Raymond’s rage, and then he’s going to drag me off into the darkness and do to me what I tried to do to him.
I close my eyes and brace for impact.
“It would be such a shame ,” Susan says, “to drag Cassandra away when she’s been having such a lovely time. She and I were just getting acquainted this morning, you know. Two of us girls walking the woods.”
Raymond’s smile stiffens. “She’ll have other weekends, Susan.”
“Of course, of course. But the road conditions are so dreadful right now, Raymond.” Susan’s hand goes to her throat as if she’s just thought of it.
“They were salting them when we came in, and you know how they ice up without sunshine. Bill watched a truck go right off the shoulder by the second bridge last February. Just whoosh , into a snowbank. Imagine having to think about Cassandra in the car with you when whatever this is is already taking up so much of your head.”
“I’m a careful driver.”
“I’m sure you are.” She smiles at him, too sweet and bland for even him to take offense to.
“But I was thinking: Why don’t you let us keep her?
Bill and I are driving back tomorrow afternoon, slow as molasses, with the heated seats on.
We’d love the company. And you can attend to whatever this trouble is with both hands. ”
The vein at Raymond’s temple has begun its slow march upward. He looks at Susan, then at me, as if we cooked up this scheme together. “Susan…”
“It’s settled then?” Her voice has not raised a decibel. “Oh, how wonderful! You’re a saint. Cassandra, sweetheart, take your coat back off; you’re going to overheat.”
Raymond’s jaw locks up. If we were alone, I’d already be bruised or bleeding. But in front of Susan… I’m untouchable.
He swallows back his anger. I watch it go down his throat like a fishbone.
“Of course,” he says. “If that’s what Cassandra would prefer.”
“I—” My mouth has gone tacky. “If— If you don’t need me, sweetheart, I’d hate to be a burden to you while you’re dealing with important business.”
“Wonderful!” Susan cries. She tucks her hand into the crook of my elbow. “Drive safe, Raymond. We’ll have her back to you by suppertime tomorrow, polished and pressed.”
Raymond looks at me. Just for a beat. Whatever is in his face is no longer for any audience but mine.
Then he turns, and goes.
Guess I’ll live to see another day.
One of them, at least.