Excerpt: One Cold Night by Pepper

The following is an excerpt from the book One Cold Night
by Kate Pepper
Published by Onyx; May 2006;$6.99US/$9.99CAN; 0-451-41214-1
Copyright © 2006 Kate Pepper


Chapter 1

Tuesday, 6:33 a.m.

Perched on a kitchen stool in her yellow chenille robe, Susan Bailey-Strauss
listened as a loud creak announced the opening of Lisa's bedroom door. Her
little sister took seriously her new status as a ninth grader at the city's
top performing-arts high school and had been waking up even earlier than she
needed to. Susan looked at the round clock that hung on the wall beside the
fridge; a quick calculation told her that Lisa would probably be half an
hour early to her first class if the subways weren't delayed. Her footsteps
receded into the hallway bathroom and the door banged shut.

Dave, Susan's husband, sat beside her at the loft's black-granite kitchen
counter, preoccupied by something in the morning paper and oblivious to the
peal of noise. Normally she enjoyed Dave's gentle morning silences, the long
arc to full awakening he required before he could begin his day. But today
she felt a low hum of nervousness beneath the comfortable surface of their
routines. She had something difficult to say and didn't know where to begin.
She wanted him to look at her, to pull his mind out of world events and talk
about the bedroom door whose hinges he had neglected to oil as promised, to
compare their schedules for the day, to thank him again for the beautiful
birthday gifts he had given her last night: the teardrop diamond necklace
and fist-sized bloodred roses and orchestra seats to the Broadway show it
was impossible to get tickets to. She wanted the distractions of meandering
chatter so she could find the exact right moment to tell him -- "Dave, I
want a baby" -- and to experience with him the relief of his happiness, as
he had practically begged her for children since they were married a year
and a half ago. The problem was, she had something else to tell him first.

She had a confession to make. To Lisa, in private. Then to Dave.

But early morning on a workday and school day was the wrong time to begin
any important discussion; she knew that, and as she thought it through --
for the hundredth time -- she reminded herself that it would be best to get
them alone, separately, preferably when the other was out of the house. One
thing at a time, the little voice in the back of her mind restrained her
impatience; it's only fair for Lisa to know first. Susan was just so anxious
for Dave to know that he would soon get his wish!

She took a sip of her orange juice, then thumbed her BlackBerry to see if
any new e-mails had come in since she'd last checked five minutes ago.
Nothing. It wasn't unusual, though, for her electronic lifeline to bleep
alive this early. The first shift of workers arrived at her small factory at
six to begin making the basic daily chocolates and accept early deliveries.
The intimate chocolaterie she started three years ago had grown faster than
she had ever imagined, and now Water Street Chocolates was supplying fancy
treats to some of the best restaurants in New York. Since Lisa had come to
live with them last year, Susan had started the nerve-racking habit of
letting her most trusted apprentice -- like Susan, a graduate of the French
Culinary Institute -- open her business without her so she could stay home
until Lisa left for school. Passing on a measure of control was the natural
progression, and she shouldn't have worried, having come up the same ladder
of apprenticeship to a somewhat startling early success when she'd branched
out on her own, but worrying was in her nature. She checked her e-mail
again; again, nothing.

Dave peered over a folded-down corner of the paper -- finally -- and a smile
flourished on his handsome, unshaven face. "Anything now? How about now?
Better check again. Watch out! I think I feel an e-mail on its way in!" He
mock-rubbed the side of one arm. "I think that one grazed me. Got a
Band-Aid, sweetie?"

"Ha, ha, Dave." She kicked his foot with her fluffy pink slipper. "I have to
make up for you never checking your e-mail."

The corners of his dark brown eyes crinkled up. "In the cosmic balance, you
mean?"

"Yup."

"Yin to your yang."

He leaned through the space separating their breakfast stools and kissed
her. They had made love in the predawn darkness and his salty lips lingered
now. She ran a hand down the back of his soft black T-shirt and slipped two
fingers through a belt loop at the back of his jeans. The taste of his mouth
reminded her of the moment they had first met, three years ago, during a
work shift at the Park Slope Food Coop. "Taste," he had told her, offering
one of the garlic-stuffed green olives they were bagging for sale. It was
that moment, the tangy taste, she still recalled as a life-altering
talisman. They kissed each other again, pulling away at the sound of the
bathroom door opening and Lisa's footsteps padding up the hall.

She appeared, barefoot on the wooden floor, and went straight to the
refrigerator. She had already put on some makeup and brushed her long hair,
which made a pale blaze down her back. The outfit today was borderline:
tight low-rise jeans and a cropped tie-dyed camisole exposing a rhinestone
belly-button stud. Susan knew that if she were a teenager now, she would
have body piercings, too. But she wasn't a teenager anymore; she was the
adult entrusted with Lisa's care.

"I realize it's a style," Susan said as soberly as she could, "but you're
only fourteen and I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to dress so . . .
provocatively. Especially in the city."

"Thanks for the tip, Suzie. Did Dave mention you looked pretty hot in those
hip-huggers you had on yesterday?" Lisa swung open the fridge door and gazed
inside.

Dave was staring at the newspaper again, but Susan heard his gentle snort
and saw the right side of his mouth pucker.

"'Mama never told me . . .'" Lisa's honeyed voice trailed into a hum.
Another nascent song. She grabbed a plastic bottle of drinkable peach yogurt
and shut the fridge door. "I hate to say it, Suzie, but . . ." She
shrugged, uncapped the yogurt and shot the blue plastic coin across the
narrow kitchen into the garbage can. "Score!"

Were all teenagers masters of the half-finished sentence? The loaded opener,
the unspoken refrain? Generally set to music? Susan could hear the rest of
the lyric: But you're not my mother. Lisa took a long swig of the yogurt
drink, leaving behind a pale ghost that hovered above her upper lip. Susan
held herself back from reaching over with a napkin and wiping clean Lisa's
awkward but achingly lovely face.

"You know what I just remembered?" Lisa took another drink of yogurt. "When
you were eighteen and I was around two?"

"Three," Susan corrected her, then sealed her lips, not saying what she was
thinking: that no one could remember that far back.

"I remembered how you used to fight with Mommy about your clothes . . . I
thought you got to sass her because you weren't adopted, and since I was, I
had a whole other set of rules."

"I never knew you thought that."

Just last weekend Lisa had announced that she was considering a search for
her birth parents. It worried Susan. The triangular relationship between
Lisa, Susan and their mother, Carole, had always suggested faults. Carole
had worked hard to conceal them, and Susan had followed suit, but Lisa
wasn't the type to conform. What she wanted, she sought.

Copyright © 2006 Kate Pepper

Author
Kate Pepper lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband and two children.
Visit her at www.katepepper.com.