Her Last Letter Part 13

Caroline glanced sideways at me. "That didn't sound good."

I didn't say anything, debating whether to tell her the whole truth.

"Trouble in paradise?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know." I slid to a stop and unzipped my f.a.n.n.y pack, pulling out the water bottle. Caroline stopped too.

I took a long drink, then made my decision. "I think Trevor is having an affair."

She didn't react right away, then shook her head. "What?"

"I think he's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g someone."

"No. What makes you think so?"

"The weekend I was away, for that art show in Denver, I think he had her over to the house."

"How do you know?"

"I came home and he was asleep and he'd left like two dozen roses for me in the kitchen, and this romantic note, but he hadn't had time to call me all weekend, and then I climbed into bed and I smelled her."

"Huh?"

"Her perfume was on my pillow."

"Her perfume was on your pillow. You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Did you recognize it?"

"No."

"Have you ever smelled it on anyone, anyone you know?"

"No. I don't think I've ever smelled it before. It was sort of sweet, but light. Expensive, I think. I'd know it if I smelled it again."

"But that's all it was? Perfume?"

"Yes. Why? Don't you think that's enough?"

"Well, I guess so. But it's not a lot to go on. Is there any other way it could have gotten there on your pillow?"

"I don't see how."

I was beginning to think she didn't believe me. Maybe she thought I'd imagined all of it, considering my history. I'd gone off the deep end in a big way after Kelly died. Caroline hadn't forgotten.

I could feel a rush of emotion filling my chest, and I didn't want her to see me cry. I picked up my poles and pushed off, charging down the trail-fast.

"Hey, hold on," she called out. "Come on, Gwyn, slow down."

I kept on going, but eventually braked, sliding to a stop.

She finally caught up. "Listen, I know you're ... upset with me. But you have to admit, it's not a whole lot of evidence."

"No? Then why would perfume be on my pillow? I didn't put it there. And I didn't imagine it either."

"I don't know why, but let's talk about it, okay?"

We resumed skiing at a steady walk speed.

"Okay, you smelled perfume on your pillow. You're absolutely sure, right?"

"Yes."

"I mean-maybe Trevor washed the sheets with a new detergent or something. It's possible, isn't it?"

"Not a chance."

"I want to believe you, Gwyn. But sometimes ... sometimes you let things get blown all out of proportion. You know? You do ... do that sometimes."

"I'm not doing that. I used to do that. I don't do it now."

"Did you confront him?"

"No. I don't want him to know that I know."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Nothing. At least right now. He'll give himself away sooner or later. Then I'll decide."

She nodded slowly.

We didn't talk for a while, just kept skiing, then I remembered something. "Did you tell Josh where I lived?"

"Ah, I don't know. Let me think. I guess I could have."

"He said you did, but ..." I was going to say that I'd gotten a funny feeling about the way he knew about my house and the studio, but figured Caroline would think I was overreacting again.

"But what?"

"I wondered, that's all. I wondered why he didn't call and ask me."

"When did you talk to him?"

"A while ago. He called."

She stared at me. "Well, he did come over to the Wild River one night, just hanging out. In fact, it was the weekend you were in Denver. I probably did tell him about your house. Did he come over?"

"He wanted to, but no. Trevor wouldn't want him there."

"No, I wouldn't think so."

I dropped back and moved out of my track and into hers, as skiers were approaching up ahead on the left. A long easy downhill was coming up, and as soon as the skiers pa.s.sed by, I came around in front of Caroline and crouched down, ready to try for more speed. It was fairly straight, so I didn't worry about the tall evergreens on either side of the trail.

I coasted effortlessly down, the wind buffeting my face, hoping to put some distance between the two of us. When I stopped and stepped off the trail and looked back, Caroline was a small speck in the distance. I waited for her to catch up.

"Whew," she said, finally stopping beside me on the trail. "You were flying."

"I felt like it."

"You're not still mad at me, are you?"

"No."

"Please don't be. I only worry about you, that's all."

"Well, don't worry about me. I'm fine. I promise I'm not going to do anything stupid. And I won't turn into some kind of nutcase again. You don't have to worry about that."

"I know."

"I'm really okay. But he is having an affair. And it would be nice if my best friend believed me for once."

"Oh, Gwyn," she said, reaching for my arm. "I do believe you. I just don't want it to be true, that's all."

"Yeah," I said, "neither do I."

We finished around two o'clock, having skied approximately ten kilometers.

"I wish you had the whole day off," I said as we drove the remaining miles back into town.

"So do I. I'm going to be dead on my feet tonight. Happy, but dead."

Caroline decided on Mexican food for lunch, so we stopped by one of our favorites, the Fiesta Guadalajara, just across the street from the Hotel Colorado. We walked in and took a seat by the window.

I ordered a margarita and Caroline ordered a cola. She rarely drank, having been exposed to the heavy drinking of her father, a retired railroad engineer. Unfortunately, a coherent thought was a rarity for him now, but when it came, Care said it was as if the sun had broken through the clouds. She visited him often, along with her mother, still in good health and Caroline's father's main source of care.

"To us," said Caroline, and we clinked our gla.s.ses together.

"Yes, to us, and to a long winter with lots more skiing."

We ate chips and salsa and guacamole dip, then ordered a bean burrito and fajitas as our main entrees. I was pleasantly high by the time I finished my second margarita.

"If you see Trevor in town," I said, "keep on eye on who he's with and let me know."

"I doubt if I'll see him, but I will."

"Maybe you'll hear something at the bar. People gossip."

She took a sip of her cola. "Have you been working on anything since you got back from Denver?"

"Working on anything?"

"You know, your paintings."

"Oh, sure, of course," I said, though I had actually done very little.

"Got your Christmas tree up?"

"Do you have yours up?" I shot back at her.

"Yeah, the little fake one."

"I put the tree up yesterday," I said, though it was a lie. I hadn't done a thing, not even my Christmas cards. "I bought a spruce, a really nice one, and spent all of yesterday morning decorating it. Any more questions?"

"No."

I hailed the waiter and ordered another margarita, ignoring Caroline's sad pensive expression.

"The holidays are hard on everyone," she said, "very stressful."

"Well, you don't know everything."

"What does that mean?"

I shrugged.

She continued to stare at me and it really bugged me.

"I'm doing fine, Caroline. Don't worry about me, okay? Whatever happens with this, I'll be fine."

The waiter set the third margarita before me and I drank half of it down in two gulps. I waited for her to lecture me about it. But she didn't.

I did let Caroline drive my Jeep home, and when I asked her if we could stop by the old house since we were in the area, she didn't object.

The driveway was cleared of snow, but only because I'd made an arrangement for it to be plowed after each heavy downfall.

"How often do you come by here?" she asked as we stepped out.

"Whenever I feel like it, maybe once a week."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just sell it?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I unlocked the front door.

Even in my inebriated state, I knew immediately that something was wrong. I stopped in the doorway, blocking our entrance.

"What is it?" she asked.