Book Lover, The (17 page)

                            
16

L
UCY ARRIVED BACK AT THE LAKE WITH A BAG OF GOODIES, from a gourmet shop in town and a bottle of sangria. The threatened heat wave had arrived, and she felt as if she were walking through a steam bath as she climbed the cabin steps. Once inside, she stripped off her clammy things and slipped on nothing but an old cotton shift. There was no air conditioning and the cabin was sweltering, the mustiness of the old furniture permeating the air.

The grass was soft and cool as she walked down to the dock in bare feet. Colin’s car wasn’t back and she wondered if he was out with Gloryanne. She sat on the wooden dock, her feet dangling in the cold lake. Reaching down, she brought a scoop of water up and released it on her neck, enjoying the delicious feeling of droplets running down her chest and back.

She took a sip of the chilled sangria and it slid down like an ice pop melting in her throat. Then she leaned back on her hands and looked up at the mountains, barely visible through the building haze. She was so proud of herself, having faced every doubt, every fear. Despite the tumultuous events of the past few months and her crazy trip north, today was a big achievement.

She felt a new surge of energy for the upcoming days and another round of bookstore visits. There was lots to share now, best of all the review from the Warwick paper, thanks again to Ruth, which she’d forgotten in the busyness of the afternoon.
A stunning debut,
it said in the first paragraph.
Readers will be rooting for Hope as she navigates the heartbreaking terrain of a marriage falling apart, and the eventual discovery of a new future for herself.
Now she had two fabulous reviews and she was going to send them everywhere.

She kicked her foot and a spray of water splashed across the still surface of the lake. People even wanted to know when her next book was coming out!

“I’m an author!” she shouted out loud, laughing a moment later at the insanity of sitting at the edge of this lake in the middle of nowhere, having a party for one and talking to herself.

She decided it was time to start writing again. The urge had been with her since her trip to The Raptor Center. Besides, it would keep her mind distracted.

She sat there contented, enjoying that brief moment of utter stillness before the nocturnal creatures came alive again as night descended. Hearing a splash, Lucy turned to see a turtle surface, peek at her, then dive again. It was funny, but as much as she loved the ocean, and the feel of the sand and all the things that came with it, there was a unique beauty here, too. The peaceful lake surrounded by woods, ringed by mountains, the high-pitched call of a hawk or the cacophony of tree frogs and cicadas. It was a place that could transform a character if she were there long enough. That might, perhaps, begin to heal a broken heart.

She drained the last of her glass and opened the contents of the basket, when suddenly it felt as if her cheeks were on fire, no doubt from the wine and humidity. Scooting to the edge of the dock, she hesitated, then plunged into the lake, yelping as she surfaced from the shockingly cold water. Within moments, though, it felt like heaven as she swam back and forth.

Her shift rode up, the wet fabric wrapping around her waist, the cool water intensely sensual as it flowed through all her private places. Was she drunk? She wondered suddenly in the black water, half naked, feeling such a sense of abandon. Maybe a little buzzed, but what she was doing seemed perfectly natural. It was the kind of thing kids would do, and she did feel giddy as a child.

The light began to disappear quickly and she hoisted herself up on the dock, refreshed and exhausted. She sat there a moment, dripping, ravenous, ready to dig into her feast. But suddenly she was cold, and there were no lights out there at all. She grabbed everything and ran up to the cabin, shivering by the time she reached the door. Flipping the lights on, she stood on the little scatter rug inside the door, pulling off the wet shift.

She poured another sangria and drank it as she pulled on dry clothes, then sat at the table, eating the bread and cheese, polishing off the almonds and an apple as the moon ascended in the haze, a fuzzy white pearl just above the far mountain. It amazed Lucy that there was no television, no stereo, in this single, rustic room. She was stripped of all of the comforts of her former existence. She didn’t miss any of it.

Once again she imagined her beautiful home. She would never live there again. But had it ever really felt like home? As she watched the moon rise through the mist, she poured a third glass of wine. And that’s when the good feelings of the day, the exhilaration of the evening, somehow collided with the emotions of the house in St. Augustine and the promise of that new life which never really came to fruition.

* * *

A STRANGE NOISE WOKE LUCY THE NEXT MORNING. She opened her eyes to bright sunlight and instantly her head began to throb. The pinging noise came again. It sounded like something hitting a window.

She got up and went into the main room, wobbly and lightheaded, and there it was again. She reached the big window as a pebble hit the glass. Looking down, she saw Colin in his wheelchair, in khaki pants and a sleeveless t-shirt.

She went out onto the deck. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling in that favor you owe me. Did I wake you?” he said, and then she saw him looking her up and down. She was standing there in nothing but an old nightie.

She backed into the doorway, then peeked out. The lake sparkled in the late morning sunshine. Everything was wet, even the trees dripping, and she realized it had rained during the night.

“Yes, I slept in I guess.”

“Come on over later—I could use your help with something, if you don’t mind.”

“All right.”

She made a cup of strong tea. The humidity and drenching heat were gone, no doubt swept away by the rain. She was regretting that third glass of sangria last night, and the second. Then she stood under the shower as long as she dared. The water never stayed warm for more than a few minutes, but as it cooled, she forced herself to endure it, hoping to sweep away the cobwebs and the hangover. Then she fought with a comb to untangle her hair, which had been matted to her head in damp clumps when she went to bed. Finally she made another mug of tea and sipped it as she walked over to Colin’s.

It was gorgeous out, everything damp and glistening, the air so fresh and clean-smelling she immediately felt better. Looking down at the dock, she remembered how much she’d enjoyed herself, all alone. Suddenly, she didn’t regret anything about last night.

Colin’s deck was about ten feet above the ground and she walked up a long ramp, through a wide opening in the railing, marveling at the strength it must take him each time he pushed himself up the incline.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Colin said, opening the sliding screen door.

Whereas the cabin next door was shabby and cluttered, Colin’s was furnished sparely, and everything appeared to be nearly new. It was bigger, but with the same basic great room layout. The walls were sheetrocked and painted a light beige. In the kitchen area she noticed there were no upper cabinets; they were all under the counters, of course, where he could access them. The counters, too, were low enough so that he could reach into the sink, and there was a peg board on the wall, with utensils hung for easy reaching.

A navy couch and recliner were grouped to the left, with a flat-screen TV hung on the opposite wall. There wasn’t a coffee table, which would no doubt block the wheelchair. In the dining area, which took up the far corner of the great room, an oval table surrounded by just three chairs sat a far distance from the wall, which she realized gave easy access to the wheelchair. Aside from a few other odds and ends that was it. The walls were bare of décor, and the wood floors had no rugs at all, which would just get in the way. What enormous thought and planning must’ve gone into every detail, including the wide doorways that went into what she knew were the bedroom and bathroom. The windows were all open and you could hear the swish of last night’s raindrops that still clung to the trees as a light breeze came through.

“It’s lovely.”

“It wasn’t in great shape when I bought it, and it took about eight months to get it adapted to suit me. It’s still a bit of a work in progress, as I realize things that could work better.” He nodded to a ladder that obviously went to a loft above, the same as in her cabin. “Needless to say, I don’t get up there much,” he added with a laugh.

She smiled, surprised this time that she didn’t feel uncomfortable at his references to his disability. After spending time with him at the store yesterday during the signing—especially when a customer backed up with a book in hand and ended up falling into his lap, only to hear Colin laugh and offer a ride—she’d realized the discomfort was all hers.

Turning, she noticed a bamboo screen blocking the front right corner of the room and wondered if he had an office there. He must have followed her eyes because he went over and pulled one panel back. Behind it was a large whirlpool tub, with windows all around it.

“This is one luxury I wouldn’t want to live without. It makes swimming in the lake possible. I can’t feel my body chilling like a normal person would, so a long soak in this afterward is a necessity.”

She remembered seeing him emerge from the lake that first morning, naked, and felt her cheeks turn pink. Since then, he always wore shorts.

“Well, it’s certainly a great house.”

“Thanks. Now, about that favor.” He turned and wheeled himself to the dining area, nodding at four framed prints on the table. “I never was very good at hanging pictures,” he said, turning to her with a smile, “but now it’s impossible.”

“Oh,” she said, realizing that unless he wanted the prints hung at a child’s level, someone would have to place them on the walls, then pound the nails in.

“So, how good are you with a hammer and nail?”

“Well, I’d say this is your lucky day, because I’m pretty darn handy.” And then she realized how that must have sounded—of course how could this be his lucky day? He was unable to do this most basic thing for himself. She looked at him, mortified.

But Colin simply gave her an amused smile.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER THEY STOOD LOOKING AT PRINTS of one gorgeous bird after another, lined up in a row on the dining room wall.

“These are just beautiful, especially the red one.”

“That’s a scarlet tanager. They’re actually all through the woods here. A photographer at The Raptor Center donates the photos to help raise money.” He turned to her. “So tell me, how’d you get so handy?”

She looked down at him. His blond hair was damp, pulled back in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. His light blue eyes under those thick blond brows looked at her with interest.

“My father left when I was a kid, and my mother was just helpless. We were always moving, too, so pictures went up and pictures came down, and if you didn’t want to get docked from your security deposit, you had to fill in the holes and touch up with paint.” She shrugged, then smiled, noticing the prints were slightly off. “You know, we should have used a level.”

“Forget it. There’s nothing perfect in this world. Once you learn that, life gets a lot easier.”

She was surprised at the sudden seriousness of his tone.

“Besides,” he added with a grin, “I don’t have a level.”

He gestured toward the table, rolling his chair to the empty space where there was a chair conspicuously absent. She took a seat across from him, picking up her tea cup to take a sip.

“Here, let me warm that up for you.”

She nearly said she’d get it, but caught herself. “Thanks. I really enjoyed seeing all those birds at The Raptor Center. It’s an amazing place. Have you been going there for a long time?”

“I brought a bird in last fall and wound up staying all day. Then I joined the volunteers.”

He wheeled to the kitchen, opening the microwave, which was chest height for him, then pressed buttons. “Actually, it took a while for them to figure out where I could help without causing the kind of problem like you saw in the bookstore yesterday. I wanted to work hands-on with the birds, but there’s a lot of lifting and turning and,” he waved a hand at the wall where the pictures now hung, “height issues, shall we say?”