The Captives by debra jo immergut

Author:debra jo immergut
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

10

September 1999

The snow. Surely the snow played a role. Hurled down from blackness, coming from nowhere, so otherworldly, so abundant. So transforming. The prideful city fell mute and pale. New York submitted. The snow took the upper hand.

A birthday party in Morningside Heights. This was five years ago. The weatherpeople marveled on the TV all night, cooing like new parents boasting about a robust baby. Two feet, two inches. Two feet six. And get this—two feet ten just called in from west of the Pelham Parkway. Unreal.

Only five people showed at the party. Five people and a case of so-so red wine. One of the people was Miranda, who had ridden a skidding bus uptown, balancing a boxed almond-cream cake in her mittened hands. One was the birthday girl, a graphic artist named Gillian, Miranda’s favorite on her floor at Jacobs-Hahn, with her laughing, skeptical eyes and streaked hair, spiked on top, twitching like insect feelers. One was the hostess, Ann, a pretty, cuticle-nibbling painter who knew Gil lian from school, and one was Gillian’s boyfriend, a dandified stockbroker from Spain.

The last was Duncan McCray.

Miranda had reached the plateau of twenty-six. The why-not years were over. Nicky Scorza had given her a scare, she had been wary and abstinent since the incident with him the previous fall. She had ventured an occasional date, but kept the men at arm’s length. She avoided bars, she worked, she spent evenings reading.

“—and this is Duncan. Duncan, Miranda.”

He nodded. He said her name.

In the slotlike galley kitchen, taking the cake out of the box. Gillian barreled in and just managed to bang the half-broken door closed behind her, muffling the music and the sound of Ann’s high-pitched giggle. “Please, please get with him so you can tell me all about it,” said Gillian. “And I want every sordid detail.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“He’s checking you out, Miranda. And you are definitely checking him.” She leaned against the counter and grinned at her. “I can tell.”

Miranda eased the cake onto a platter. “He and Ann are sitting in that big chair together.”

“He’s her cousin, Miranda,” she said. Gillian chuckled. “I’ve heard legends about him. I wouldn’t recommend him for long-term investment, but in the short term, oh my.”

Minimetallic crashes as Miranda opened and shut Ann’s drawers, searching for a knife. “I’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

Gillian turned and plucked a carving knife from a rack on the wall. “I can’t take my eyes off him,” she said, handing the blade to Miranda. “If Raf weren’t here, I’d be a lost cause,” said Gillian. She dipped her finger into the frosting, then licked it clean. “Yum. I love my birthday cake.” She looked up at Miranda. “So are you a lost cause?”

She bisected the cake, quartered it. It was far too large for this blizzard-thinned gathering. “Truly, I’m not.”

“Save your breath, Miranda.” Gillian held out a plate and smiled. “You and I always go for the same kind of men. You can’t fool me.

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