Always on My Mind (6 page)

Casper’s voice embedded in Raina’s head and drove her from bed to wander the hallways.
You can’t just erase what happened, Raina. . . . Once you sign the papers, it’s done . . .

As the lavender threads of morning tore through the hospital shadows, Raina found herself at the nursery.

She perched at the window overlooking the babies, wrapped like gifts in duck-printed flannel blankets, their wrinkled, old-man faces furrowed in slumber.

One woke, frowned, and began to wail. A nurse came in, scooping the infant up before he woke the rest of the babies.

Raina’s baby lay asleep, her dark hair peeking out of the swaddling. Her
Layla
 
—yes, she’d named the child and tucked it deep inside like a secret.

Raina traced her outline against the glass.

You can’t go back.

What if she took Layla home? Tried to build a life for her?

You have a baby
 
—a baby who will be loved by my family.

Stupid Casper. He had no business conjuring up hope, brittle and sour in her chest. She had no doubt the Christiansens would attempt to embrace the baby. After six months with Grace, she’d seen enough of the family to believe that she wouldn’t be alone.

But for how long? What happened when Casper got tired of playing uncle and met a woman who didn’t remind him every day of her sins, his mistakes? And Owen
 
—he certainly wouldn’t show up to change a diaper.

Even if he did, the last thing she needed was a marriage steeped in bitterness and founded on duty. Yeah, that was a recipe for happily ever after.

But if she stayed single, she doomed the baby to the same lonely, poverty-stricken latchkey childhood she’d endured. And what if something happened to her? What if, like her mother, she got cancer and left this earth with her daughter only nine years old?

Who would take Layla then?

As for God
 
—right. He would hardly rush to her side to help.

A food service attendant trundled a cart of breakfast down the hall, past her. Her stomach recoiled at the smell.

Raina pressed her forehead to the cool glass.

You will always regret this . . .

She shook Casper’s voice from her head and followed the food cart back toward her room.

She might not be keeping her child, but it didn’t negate the fact that she’d given life to another human being. And given the gift of motherhood to a woman who longed for a child.

Yes, that thought could almost temper the urge to curl into a ball and weep.

Sunlight cascaded in through the windows, the sky blue for the first time in weeks. A golden layer of snow blanketed the landscape, soft and ethereal as she entered her room.

She climbed into bed, drawing the covers up. Leaned back into the pillows, her body still sore from yesterday’s quick birth. She closed her eyes, heard the knock at the door.

Breakfast. “Come in.”

The door eased open. “Good morning, Raina.”

She opened her eyes to Dori Marcus, her social worker from
the adoption agency. In her late twenties, she wore a crisp green jacket and her dark hair boy-short. Put together, confident.

As if she knew all the right decisions.

“Are you ready to get this paperwork done?”

Dori didn’t say the words directly
 
—it seemed that perhaps the social workers at Open Hearts Adoption Agency were schooled in the delicate art of convincing a woman to surrender her child into the arms of another. In fact, ever since Raina had contacted the agency, they’d treated her with a sort of gentleness, as if she might spook, change her mind.

She couldn’t turn back now. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Perfect. Irene and Michael are here and ready to take the baby home.”

Raina tried not to let those words sting. She swallowed and opened the file of papers Dori handed her.

“Just so you understand, this is a temporary agreement until the judge signs the formal papers in sixty days,” Dori explained. “You’ll sign the formal relinquishment before then. The waiting period gives you a chance to think through your decision before it becomes permanent.”

“I’ve thought it through
 
—I don’t need to wait.”

“Of course not. But it also gives the adoptive parents a chance
 
—”

“They’re not going to give her back, are they?”

Dori shook her head. “It’s just a precaution so the state can monitor how they are doing with their new child.”

“Please tell me I picked the right people.” Raina stared at the file, pulling out a picture of the couple. Rail-thin and academic, with a manicured life, Irene O’Leary seemed the perfect woman to make the right choices for Layla. And Michael, handsome,
broad-shouldered, dark curly hair
 
—well, he reminded her a little of Casper. Loyal. Committed.

At least the Casper she’d known before he learned the truth. Yesterday, and before.

Dori touched her arm. “The O’Learys have been trying for years to have a child. They will adore the baby.”

“Then let’s get the paperwork over with.” Raina pulled out the custody papers. “Where do I sign?”

When Dori didn’t answer, Raina looked at her.

“I just need to confirm verbally, one last time, that this choice is of your own volition and that you have thought through all your options.”

All her options. And those were exactly . . . ?

“Yeah. I know this is the right decision.” But her words pinged off her, even as she steeled herself against them.

Please, let this be the right decision.

She held her hand steady as she signed the papers. Closed the folder. Took a breath as she stared out the window.

Dori didn’t move. “Did you have a chance to hold her?”

“I don’t want to hold her.”

“Just to say good-bye? It might help.”

And that’s when the terrible roaring in Raina’s chest began to fill her ears. Her throat. She shook her head, kept staring out the window at the airy blue sky, the wispy cirrus clouds.

Dori paused a moment
 
—too long for Raina’s liking
 
—and finally left.

Raina held the covers to her face, muffling her ragged breath.

She’d known it would hurt, just didn’t realize the depth of the searing wound upon her heart. She imagined Irene and Michael picking up Layla, dressing her in some pink sleeper, maybe with
doves or bunnies like the ones she’d seen at Walmart. They’d add a stocking cap, bundle her in a snowsuit, and tuck her into her carrier.

They’d bring her out to their Lexus or perhaps a minivan they’d purchased just for their new family. Then they’d drive home to the perfectly attired nursery, with a shiny new crib, a layette with pink ruffles, and a spinning mobile of angels to watch over her. Irene would rock her to sleep, Michael standing guard, and after Layla dropped into gentle slumber, they’d stand peering over her crib, holding hands. Smiling.

Grateful. Yes, please, let them be grateful.

Raina’s breath rippled out, her face wet, and she got up, went to the bathroom, and showered.

It seemed the best place to drown the noise of her weeping.

She finally got out, weakened and hollow, and dressed, staring at herself in the mirror
 
—her sunken eyes, her wet, thick hair. Her body, padded from pregnancy, seemed doughy, still full.

You will always regret this . . .

No. She
refused
to live the rest of her life with regret lining her thoughts. She had to figure out a way to keep going. Start over.

Even forget.

She was packing her bag when she heard another knock. “I’m not hungry!”

“Oh, shoot. Then I’ll have to eat this bagel myself,” Grace said as she entered.

She set the bag down on the table just as Raina turned. Her expression must have betrayed her.

Grace’s smile fell. “So you did it?”

Raina nodded.

Grace took two steps, then pulled Raina into her embrace. Raina hung on, refusing to cry. Not anymore.

She gritted her teeth and pulled away. Smiled. “Time to move on.”

Grace raised an eyebrow.

“My aunt Liza wrote a week ago asking if I could house-sit for her in Deep Haven while she goes to some art colony in Arizona for the winter.”

“She doesn’t know
 
—”

“No, but it’s a good idea. I’d have a place to stay, to recuperate. Figure out how to start over.”

Grace took her hand. “You could stay in Minneapolis, you know. No one is kicking you out.”

Raina shook her head. “I have to break away from the past few months, figure out how to shake free of my mistakes.” She turned and zipped her duffel bag. “I just need time, and then . . . yeah, maybe I’ll be back. I can sublet your place when you and Max finally elope.”

“Huh?”

Raina dredged up a smile. “You know you’re itching to go back to Hawaii and tie the knot. I’m surprised you’re not planning it for the midseason break Max has coming up.”

Grace wore an enigmatic expression.

“You are! I knew it.”

“I don’t know
 
—it’s just . . . We don’t want to make a big deal about it, and with the publicity Max has gotten since he did that PSA about Huntington’s, it might turn out to be a media mess. He’s got that golf tournament in Hawaii, so we just . . . I don’t know.”

Raina touched her hand. “It’s perfect. At least one of us gets our happy ending.”

She pulled away, but Grace held on. “Casper is still in town. He’s staying with Max. I know you two fought, but . . . maybe . . . ?”

“I don’t want to see him. I meant it when I told him to go away.” She sighed. “Being with him will only remind me of this past year. I have to figure out a way to steer clear of dangerous men
 
—or at least the kind with adventure in their devastating blue eyes and charming smiles. The next man I date
 
—if ever
 
—is going to be boring.”

She smiled, trying to coax one out of Grace, but it didn’t work.

“Listen. I love your brother, or I thought I did. But it won’t work, Grace, and you know that. What I did will always be between us. He should just go back to Central America and become a treasure hunter. That’s what he wants, anyway
 
—he is just caught up in our summer fling. He needs to move on.”

Grace winced but didn’t chase her words. “What if you run into my parents in Deep Haven?”

Raina lifted the duffel bag onto her shoulder. “Deep Haven isn’t so small that I can’t avoid them for the next few months. And if I do, I’ll smile and keep pushing my grocery cart. They don’t have to know anything. Ever.” She stopped then, testing Grace’s expression for agreement.

Grace sighed, nodded.

Raina headed toward the door.

“I think you have to wait to be discharged,” Grace said, picking up the bag of bagels.

“I’m done with waiting. I’ve waited nine months to put my mistakes behind me. I have to move forward if I have any hope of breathing again.”

E
VERGREEN
R
ESORT WOULD NOT
go under on Darek Christiansen’s watch. No, he planned on wresting a heat wave of business from winter’s frigid grip, even if he turned into a snowman doing it.

Darek chipped the last of the ice off the stairs to cabin one, dumping salt on the steps and decking before returning to the main path. Electric lanterns hanging from wooden poles lit the trail as if winding through a Narnia wonderland. Although, in another hour, it might be termed a dark and stormy night.

The sun, long obscured by low-hanging clouds, lent peaked, waning illumination to the graying day, and the descending blizzard blotted out anything beyond twenty feet ahead of him. Wind howled, the snow like blades on exposed skin, the air so frigid that frostbite lurked with every passing minute.

The kind of night that compelled a man to stay home, curled in front of the hearth with his wife and seven-year-old son.

But not Darek. Because only he remained to rescue Evergreen Resort from the black hole of bankruptcy.

He pulled the scarf over his nose and mouth, dampened with the moist air of his own breath, as he scooped another shovelful of snow from the walkway to cabin two. With the drifts already three feet high, his shoveling added another layer to the mountainous piles.

More than once, he’d longed for the towering, shaggy evergreens that used to cordon off the property, creating an enclave of winterland joy. But after the forest fire a year and a half ago, the replanted trees would take years to mature.

By then, perhaps, Darek would have gotten it through his thick skull that Minnesota in January did not make for a fantastic vacation spot. As if to confirm it, the weather had to turn brutal the first three-day weekend of winter, Martin Luther King Jr. weekend. Darek took a chance on opening for the holiday, and his ads in the Minneapolis newspapers had netted him four reservations from hearty folks who loved to snowshoe, ski, and snowmobile.

And the newest rage
 
—snow biking.

Darek had five fat-tire snow bikes in the newly built garage, just in time for his weekend guests.

If they made it through the storm.

“Darek!”

He heard her voice rise above the wind, turned, and recognized his wife, Ivy, bumbling along in the snow, unsteady on her feet despite the cleared path. She wore his green Army surplus jacket, a pair of his mom’s mittens, a bright-orange knit cap, her UGGs, and still looked like the most adorable snowman he’d ever
laid eyes on. He sank his shovel into the snowbank and crunched toward her.

“Ivy, what are you doing here? What if you fell?” He tried not to immediately press his hand on her belly, where his daughter
 
—or maybe another son
 
—grew.

She caught his arm, steadying herself, breathing a little hard. “I hate to say this, but you’ll have to shovel all over again on your way back to the lodge.” She looked at him with those pretty green eyes, a wisp of her red hair peeking out of the hat. “But don’t go any farther to cabin four because they just called and canceled.”

Well, he should have expected at least one cancellation, with the storm originating in Minneapolis. He had no doubt the highway was a giant skating rink. “Okay. I’ll check the heat and water in the rest of the cabins
 
—”

“And the reservation for cabin two also canceled.”

Oh. Shoot. But once the storm cleared, the snow would be pristine.

“And the folks from cabin three called and said that they were coming up tomorrow. But that they heard the report and it’s forecast at sixteen below. They quoted the weatherman as saying, ‘Skin can freeze in five minutes in that kind of weather.’” Ivy lowered her mittens from her air quotes and gave him a sad expression. “Sorry, honey. I think they might cancel too.”

“Perfect.”

“I know. I brought some soup for you
 
—it’s on the stove. You just need to heat it up whenever you’re ready. Tiger and I are going to pack up and head home.”

“Ivy, I don’t think . . . What about the roads?”

“I’m a northern Minnesota driver now. I’ll be fine.” Then she tugged on his scarf and pressed her lips against his, cold and sweet,
and he wanted to wrap his arms around her and sink into the snow, add a little heat to the chill.

He grabbed the collar of her jacket, leaned down to steal another quick kiss. “I’m sorry
 
—I have to stay here until the guests for cabin one arrive.”

“Maybe all night in this weather,” she said, pulling his scarf back up. “Your parents escaped just in time.”

He knew she meant the weather, but her words could easily refer to their timely exit out of management of Evergreen Resort.

“I imagine they’re sitting on a beach in Florida, watching the ocean roll in.”

“I doubt that. If I know your dad, he’s fixing the sink in your aunt’s rental, and your mom is painting your cousin’s room or even helping him find a job,” Ivy said.

“They’ll miss having him around. They really got attached to him this fall.” In fact, his cousin’s moving in with the family temporarily had ignited a new warmth between his parents, something he hadn’t realized they lacked.

“It was smart to plan the trip to Europe to see Amelia right after Florida. Your mother won’t have time to struggle with the empty house.”

That and finally
 
—
finally
 
—Dad would get to see the world. Starting with this trip to Europe, where John and Ingrid would renew their vows and visit their youngest daughter, studying abroad.

No, Darek would not let the resort go under on his watch. After thirty years at the helm, his father deserved to walk away and enjoy his golden years. “I’ll call you later. Are you sure you’re going to be okay driving home in this storm?”

“Do I wish I already lived in that beautiful house you’re build
ing for us just fifty feet from here? Um, yes. But we don’t yet, so I’ll be fine driving home in the storm.” She patted her tummy. “But we’ll all miss Daddy.”

He put his hand over hers. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. Kiss Tiger good night for me.”

Darek watched Ivy disappear along the path, wanting to run after her. But his guests would arrive, he’d get them tucked safely into their cabin, and then he’d hustle home to his snug rental house in Deep Haven and curl up next to his delicious pregnant wife. Now that he’d moved them out of the tiny apartment into a real house, in anticipation of the baby, his life seemed to be falling into place. Until the cold snap of the century.

Grabbing his shovel, he trekked over to cabin three and re-cleared the path to the door. Leaning his shovel next to the door, he opened the cabin, expecting heat radiating off the tiny stove he’d lit two hours ago. The cabin had a furnace, but the stove added ambience and warmth for the guests
 
—and prelighting it gave them a welcome-to-the-north-shore feeling.

His mother’s tradition that he intended to continue.

Except no homey glow emanated from the stove, and the cabin’s air contained a below-forty-degree
brr
and reeked of gas. He toed off his boots and padded over to the stove, discovered it on.

Which meant propane saturated the room. He turned it off and opened the window, gulping in some of the bracing air.

Then he headed to the furnace, located in a closet next to the bathroom. Climbing on all fours, he peered inside and discovered the pilot light off.

But if he lit it, the place just might explode.

Yeah, that would add a toasty glow to the evening.

He got up and went to the faucet to turn on the water, just to
keep it running while the place aired out. Last thing he needed was frozen and burst pipes.

Nothing trickled out. Too late. But he didn’t have time to total the repair bills in his brain. For now he’d have to move tomorrow’s cabin three guests to cabin two.

He made a mental note to turn off the main water supply for cabin three in the lodge before a possible crack flooded it.

He refused to assign blame, but the person heading up the insulation of the pipes had been Casper.

Who wasn’t around for Darek to interrogate. Or strangle. But what if the kid had forgotten to heat-wrap the pipes?

Probably now that Casper had his own life, turning into a high seas explorer, he couldn’t be referred to as a kid anymore, but Darek still saw Casper as the thin, gangly kid who shadowed him. Casper knew how to fish and hunt and could take care of himself, but he always seemed to be right there at Darek’s elbow. Pestering to help.

Darek hoped Casper hadn’t overhelped him right into a plumbing nightmare.

On his way back, he’d shut off the stove in cabin four and make sure cabin one still put off a homey warmth. He pulled his boots on again and trudged out to four, not bothering to clear the path.

The stove glowed, the place toasty, but he checked the water and the pilot light just to be sure before closing it up. He turned off the stove and went to check cabin two.

That fire had gone out also. He opened the windows and drew in a breath of relief when water trickled out of the faucet. At this temperature, the pipes could freeze overnight. In fact, he should check all the cabins, turn on all the water, just in case.

He checked cabin one and found it warm, the water flowing
freely, the furnace burning. The perfect north-shore welcome for weary travelers.

He hiked to cabin two, shut the windows, and relit the pilot light. He turned the stove back on, the heat chasing out the cold.

It might be warm enough for guests by morning. Although, at sixteen below, he had his doubts. Besides, who wanted to spend even five minutes outside in that cold?

Maybe he should have built that sauna.

In cabin three, he found that the propane had escaped, so he shut the window and relit the furnace. It flickered on, but he didn’t relight the stove. The cabin was uninhabitable until he thawed the pipes.

Night finally fell like pitch, no stars, just his flashlight beam illuminating the icy snow that bulleted his face as he trudged to the lodge, his brain finally working through the list of to-dos.

He’d have to open the attic in cabin three, search for a leak, repair it. Then he could thaw the pipe and wrap it in heat tape and insulation.

The way it should have been done in the first place.

Darek had worked up a decent steam by the time he reached the lodge. He stared at the empty lot, drifted with snow, and realized he’d have to plow again before the guests arrived.

He made his way to the garage, his empty stomach knotting, nearly tasting Ivy’s soup
 
—maybe pumpkin. He loved her pumpkin curry soup.

He flicked on the overhead light in the garage. The place still smelled new, recently drywalled and heated. He parked the resort trucks on one side; the other he used as his workshop. A Wood-Mizer portable sawmill gleamed under the hanging bulbs. A table
saw and chop blade in the back, next to the workbench
 
—recent additions that helped him finish the trim, the kitchen cupboards.

After a year of rebuilding, he’d figured out why his father spent so much time in his shop. Darek liked to create things, to solve problems. To provide.

Except, on days like today, he considered that it might have been easier to be a firefighter or a . . . well, just about anything else, really.

Maybe Casper had it right, seeking his fortune on a tropical island.

Except Casper was nursing a broken heart. And Darek knew exactly how that dug into a man, festered.

No, better to be in a frozen tundra, a warm welcome waiting for him, than in paradise, suffering.

He opened the garage door and climbed into the cab of his pickup/plow. Backed it out. Closed the door.

He reached the end of their long drive, scooping out snow and ladling it off to the side, and turned around in the road, noting that the snow had nearly obliterated Ivy’s tire tracks, then headed back, his wipers fighting to clear the glass, the defrost on high.

He peeled off another layer of accumulation, adding curls to the snowbanks. His blade churned up ice, growled against the dirt of the lot.

He finally parked the plow outside so he didn’t get trapped and climbed out.

The heat of the cab had thawed him, turned his scarf soggy. But as he stood in the cleared lot, the storm seemed to ebb, and for a moment he saw past the swirl of white to the darkness, the glowing lights of the cabins, the illuminated walkway to each one.

Narnia, indeed. And someday, with hard work, he would put his family’s resort back on the map.

His stomach growled as he returned to the garage to grab his shovel, except something hung on, nagging . . .

A swath of light cut through the darkness, and he turned, peering and waving at the approaching guests. See? True Minnesotans, not afraid of a few snowflakes.

A truck pulled up, the lights blinding him, and parked next to his plow.

“You can park over here!” Darek gestured to the driver.

The guest got out and walked around the truck, hunched over, hands tucked into his sweatshirt.