“He wants five. Maybe six.”
Eyes wide, Bridget took a gulp of wine. “Uh. We’ll discuss numbers.”
Lilah waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll let him know. But he says you’re not ready to settle down.”
“Well, not now, but…”—Bridget made a vague gesture, sloshing the liquid in her glass precariously—“…someday. Anyway, let’s have the brownie on the patio and then hit the hot tub.”
“Hot tub?” Izzy frowned. Where had that come from?
“Yep. On the patio. I already lit the outside fireplace and cranked up the thermostat to heat the water. All I have to do is take the cover off and we’re good to go. It’s a perfect night for it. Not cloudy. Not too cold.”
Cold was a relative thing. The temperature tonight, according to the dashboard display in the Yukon, hovered around freezing. She popped another fry into her mouth, chased it with some wine. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”
“No suit necessary,” Bridget rebutted. “It’s just us girls.”
“Oh. Okay.” Maybe it was the wine talking, but brownie and hot tub sounded great. If you’re going to pay later for a night of indulgence, might as well indulge, right?
“I’ll just dangle my feet,” Lilah said, closing her to-go box and tossing it in the empty bag. “Wrong time of the month for me.”
“There’s your tummy trouble.” Bridget poked a fry at her. “Lilah, young grasshopper, there are ways to skip all this monthly bullshit—”
“My mother wouldn’t like—”
“I love Rose. You know I do. But you’re twenty. Your body is your business, not your mom’s. This should be between you and Dr. Devan.”
“I live under her roof.” She folded her hands on her lap. “The least I can do is respect her wishes.”
Even Izzy couldn’t miss the note of sadness in the younger woman’s voice. Did Lilah, by all appearances a loving and devoted daughter to an equally loving and devoted mother, wish for more independence? More choice in her destiny? A release from Captivity? She was such a self-contained individual, Izzy doubted she’d share those personal desires if she did indeed harbor them, and feared asking would only put the girl in an uncomfortable position.
Bridget tossed her to-go box in the bag and brushed her hands off. “Lilah, you are the world’s best daughter, and Rose would be the first to say so.” She picked up the wineglasses and moved them to the sink. “Now, grab that brownie and get your butt out to the patio. Izzy, you’re in charge of the wine. I’ll fetch some towels and plastic glasses and be right out.”
Lilah smiled at Izzy as Bridget sailed out of the kitchen.
“Bossy,” Izzy said, and took the open bottle of wine.
“Bridget is very much her own person,” Lilah diplomatically agreed as she lifted the brownie box from the other bag and three napkin-wrapped plastic forks. “It’s this way.”
Key padded over to lead their expedition to the patio and the sight of his thick fur made Izzy pause. “Should I get my coat?”
Lilah shook her head. “No need. They keep blankets out there.”
Even knowing consumption of alcohol offered a false sense of heat, Izzy hugged the bottle of wine. For an evening of Cabernet, chocolate, and girl talk, she found herself ready to risk hypothermia. The kitchen opened to a dining room, which, in turn, opened to a large living room with a couple oversized couches, a huge ottoman that doubled as a coffee table, and two upholstered chairs all arranged around a massive stone fireplace.
“Through here,” Lilah directed, and opened one side of a double-hung French doors. Izzy stepped out onto a bluestone patio that extended several feet—almost to the stacked stone retaining wall along the back of the property beyond which the tree-studded hillside rose like a dark tidal wave of wilderness reaching toward the star-strewn sky. As promised, a fire crackled in a large stone fireplace that appeared to share a wall with the one in the living room. This one had a raised firebox and a stone bench of a hearth, wide enough for seating. Low-slung Adirondack chairs formed a semi-circle around the hearth, their natural wood finish glowing gold in the firelight. Key laid down on the stone between the hearth and the chairs and yawned before settling his head on his crossed front paws.
Landscape lighting around the perimeter of the yard revealed a small lake of a hot tub integrated into the patio. Beneath a long-beamed pergola, an outdoor kitchen and grill that probably didn’t see a lot of use in March bounded one side of the space, while the other remained open to a shadowy expanse of yard.
“Wow.” Izzy eyed the trees. “We’re really in the woods here.”
“Don’t worry.” Bridget strode through the door and placed a stack of towels on the hearth, along with a bottle of water and two plastic wine tumblers. “We don’t get a lot of geese this time of night. Did she show you the pictures?” she asked Lilah.
The younger woman shook her head. “Pictures?”
“Oh my God.” Bridget turned to Izzy. “You have to show her.”
Izzy took her phone out of her pocket. “The day I got chased by the geese, I triggered them by trying to take a selfie with them at Seward Square. When I ran, I had my thumb on the button.” She called up the camera roll and handed it to Lilah. “I captured a rapid-fire collection of my wild goose chase.”
Lilah took the phone, scrolled past the first picture, the second. She was a polite girl, but by the third her lips started to twitch. Bridget stepped behind Lilah to see the pictures again and didn’t even attempt to hold back her laughter. “Dammit, that abject terror on your face.” She rubbed her diaphragm. “I say we put that shot on our brochures. We’d either double the tourism or have the place to ourselves all summer.”
Lilah giggled. “The flurry of wings behind you, and your wide eyes here…it does look really funny.”
Izzy laughed. “I know. I realize I’m the only person in the history of Captivity to provoke geese to murderous behavior, but”—she raised her face to the air and breathed in tranquility—“I think you all owe me a debt for showing you the winged psychopaths you harbored in your midst.”
Lilah nodded and handed the phone back to her. “I’ve lived here all my life and never known geese could be so dangerous. How can we thank you?”
She lifted the bottle she held. “The wine helps.”
Bridget reached around and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re safe for the night. We’ve gotten not a single goose at any of our hot tub parties.”
“What do you get?” Izzy passed the wine bottle to Bridget’s outstretched hand and then ran her palms up and down her arms to quell the goose bumps forming beneath her thick sweater. “Wolves? Elk? Bears?”