Cabin by the Lake (18 page)

“There’s nothing ungentlemanly about kissing a pretty woman.” She waggled her eyebrows up and down making Vivian laugh.

“No, I suppose not. I don’t want to sound old-fashioned or anything, but we’re not there yet. We’re sort of hand-holding friends at the moment.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yes, it was sweet. What about you and Mike?”

She shook her head. “Let it go, Aunt Vi. He’s just not interested.”

“Have you flirted?”

She grabbed a throw pillow and punched it, laughing. “I’ve flirted my brains out! I held his hand during a tender moment in the canoe today. I gazed so adoringly into his eyes, I’m pretty sure I made a fool out of myself. The man is in love with someone else, and I’m not even on the list of runners-up. I am
so
not his type; it isn’t even funny. You saw little Miss Richie-Rich Kendall Riley, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, here’s something else,” she said, leaning forward. “We were out in the canoe this afternoon and he got a call from some kid that he’s like a big brother to or something. This boy just got a last minute date to the prom that’s happening tomorrow night. Then bang, bang, bang, right in front of my eyes, Mike sets up a tux rental and limo service for this kid like it was nothing. Aunt Vi, I know he doesn’t look like it, but Mike is rich. Trust me. I don’t know what he’s doing here in our little corner of the world, but I know that he’s way out of my league.”

“Why would you say that?” Vivian asked, her expression turning serious.

“Why?” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “You saw how Kendall Riley looked. How can you ask that question? She had it all. And I mean
all!”
She cupped the air with her hands in front of her chest to drive home her point.

Vivian gazed at her niece steadily. “Don’t sell yourself short, honey. I don’t think you even know how beautiful you are.”

“Awww.” She gave her a sad, patronizing smile. Suddenly she thought she might shatter like a piece of glass under Vivian’s kind gaze. She hadn’t realized just how tense she’d been since the cookout. “I think I’m going to get some work done before I turn in,” she said, standing.

“Okay, good night. I’m going to read a little longer, but I won’t be far behind you. Thanks for joining us this evening.”

“Any time,” Lydia said over her shoulder as she climbed to the second floor. Upstairs, she went from window to window, making sure the locks were secure. Thoughts that she’d kept at bay now bombarded her brain. She paced from one end of the house to the other and back again.
Think!
she told herself. Then she remembered her cell phone. Where was it? She turned her bedroom upside down looking for it until she finally found it beneath the covers at the foot of her bed. Once again, the battery was dead, so she plugged it into the charger, aggravated at herself for her irresponsibility.

It was a miracle she had been able to hold herself together when she saw that note. Maybe she’d just been in shock. Or maybe she was just a really good actress. But now it was time to face the facts: Rocco was out of jail. She’d tried to call Anne again with no success, and decided she was probably at her family home in the mountains where she didn’t get cell service.

If Rocco
was
here stalking her, and she had every reason to believe that he was, maybe she should just go. By staying here, she was putting Vivian at risk. She had some money now; she could go somewhere else and start over, somewhere with absolutely no ties to anyone she loved. And this time, no communication with anyone. At this point, she suspected that Rocco may have gotten to her ditzy ex-roommate, weaseling her phone number from Jessie.

That’s it, she thought. Just leave. Of course, she would appear to be the screw-up her mother believed her to be, ditching a good job on a whim, but she didn’t care about that anymore. Her aunt would be safe. Mike would never have to find out about her shameful past life. She was confident he would see to it that the cabin renovations were completed and Vivian would have a steady income. She was sure that she wouldn’t even be missed.

With that thought, she collapsed on her bed and began to cry. She pressed her fists against her temples and rocked back and forth. Why couldn’t anything ever work out for her? She clenched teeth, hot tears squeezing out of eyes that were closed tightly in pain. Frustration welled up inside until she thought she couldn’t bear it. “Dear God!” She took her pillow and threw it across the room, sobbing. “Why can’t one thing—just one little thing—ever work out for me? Am I that dadgum bad that everything I touch turns to crap?”

She got up, turned around and sat back down. “Why? Why can’t I have a tiny, little bit of happiness?” She threw up her hands. She knew she was out of control, hysterical and dramatic, but she couldn’t seem to stop crying. “It’s not like I’ve asked for the moon. Is a respectable job too much to ask for? Is a nice place like Vi’s too good for me to call home? How long do I have to pay for being stupid? Apparently forever,” she said, breaking into crazy laughter that scared her.

She got up and began to pace through the upstairs, shaking her hands out at her sides, breathing deeply between hitches in her chest. She felt devastated, because she suddenly realized how happy and carefree she had been. Yes, there’d been some crazy ups and downs, but she hadn’t known, until the moment she knew it was all going to go away, how content she was here. Just when she found some meaningful purpose, the excitement she felt when she was working on the cabin, it was just a tease by the Universe to let her know, once and for all, that she didn’t deserve to be happy.

She opened a window and stuck out her head, letting the cold rain hit her face. She looked up into the heavens. “I don’t get it,” she said softly, her words barely audible. “Don’t I matter, too? Even a little bit?” Of course there was no answer. But at least the rain sobered her hysteria. She closed the window, locked it, and drew the curtains shut.

Now resigned to her fate, she knew she had to leave. A deep sadness settled in, but also a sense of calmness, now that the decision was made.

Outside, Rocco shivered as he lay in the cold, wet leaves. He had stared through his binoculars, watching as Lydia leaned out the upstairs window. He could see her lips moving. He saw the droplets of rain wet her face and hair. Was she crying? He thought so. Another shiver went through him that had nothing to do with the cold, rainy night.

He smiled.

Lydia packed up all her things and tidied her room. She wrote a long note to Vivian, explaining that she needed to be on her own for a while, thanking her for her hospitality and apologizing for the abruptness of her departure. She didn’t expect her aunt to understand, but she didn’t know anything else to do. She tried to keep it light and cheerful, as if her leaving was a spontaneous adventure that she had decided to embark upon.

She also wrote a short note to Mike, confessing her love for him in flowery prose, which she promptly wadded up and threw in the trash can. Time to move on, for real! She left Vivian’s note and the computer Mr. Lincoln and Emily gave her on the sitting room desk. She glanced at the clock. Four thirty in the morning, time to go.

She slung her duffle bag and purse over her shoulder, and decided to come back for the rest. Taking one last look around, wishing she could stay, she quietly made her way downstairs. She glanced down the hall toward Vivian’s bedroom and her eyes misted over again.

Vivian would probably call up the stairs that breakfast was ready in a couple of hours, and maybe come up after a few minutes to say that her eggs were getting cold. She would find the note and…

She turned abruptly and shut down her thoughts. She couldn’t bear to picture the hurt on her aunt’s face; she didn’t want to cry anymore. She was wrung out emotionally. It was for Vivian’s own good, even if she didn’t know it. Her aunt would be safe, and that was all that mattered.

She tiptoed through the living room and kitchen without turning on any lights. The rain had stopped long ago, and there was enough moonlight coming through the windows to see. She eased the front door open and stepped out, pausing for a moment to look around. The early morning was chilly and eerily quiet. She hadn’t been out at this hour since her short stint in college, and then she’d been coming home from a night out instead of leaving.

She crunched across the gravel driveway toward her car, wincing at the noise she made. It was loud enough to wake the dead. She reached for the door handle just as a dark figure appeared in her peripheral vision. She spun around, a cry catching in her throat, and she immediately fell back against her car in a defensive posture—the posture of a victim.

She always thought that if she were attacked she would spring into action, shouting, punching and kicking. But all coherent thought fled from her mind in a split second as terror took over and she melted in on herself, dropping her bags and raising her arms in front of her face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” someone said, but her mind couldn’t process it. Strong hands clutched her wrists and she began to struggle like a wild animal, her instincts finally kicking in.

“Lydia, it’s me. Stop, it’s me, Mike!” Her fear was so great; it seemed to take a while for his words to sink in, even though she could now see his face.

It’s Mike!
she told herself, her mind turning the words into gibberish until they finally began to sink in. “Mike!” she whispered, her legs rubbery with relief. She threw her arms around his neck and he held her to him. Then her relief turned to anger. She pushed him away, her hands on his chest. “You scared me! Why would you sneak up on me like that?”

“I didn’t sneak,” he said. “I just heard noise out here and came to check it out.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk,” he said simply. “What are you doing out here?”

It was then she realized how intimately they were standing, her hands still pressed against his chest, feeling his heart beat, his arms encircling her waist. His face was close, and his eyes searched hers for an answer she did not readily have.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” she finally said.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“No, I—”

They both looked at her duffle bag and purse on the ground beside her. “Yes, I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I’d go somewhere, um, to the IHOP in town, and get some breakfast.”

“Dirty laundry?” He indicated the duffle.

She had never been a good liar, and she felt her cheeks burn as she fumbled for an explanation. “Oh, stupid me, I meant to drop that off in the laundry room. I don’t know where my mind is. Let me just take this back inside.” She grabbed the bag. “I’ll be right back.”

She went inside and ran up the stairs with the bag, dumped it on her bed, slid the note out of sight under the computer and rejoined him, breathless. He was leaning against her Volkswagen, arms folded across his chest, looking completely at ease.

“May I join you?” he asked. “Pancakes would be good right about now.”

She was disgusted with herself. She couldn’t even sneak away successfully. “Sure, I guess so.” What else could she say?

They found the IHOP a surprisingly busy place for so early on a Saturday morning. Farmers arrived in pickups for a quick breakfast before heading over to the Co-op for supplies. Fishermen towing boats were leaving to get on the lake while the fish were biting.

The drive over had been tense; both of them wondering what the other had been up to. They placed their orders and Mike said what he had been thinking since they got in the car. “I thought you said you were going to be careful.”

She started to protest that it was none of his business; she could take care of herself. But she remembered how she turned to putty when he’d surprised her, how defenseless she proved to be. She had looked like an idiot, the stereotypical damsel in distress who couldn’t lift a finger to protect herself. That rankled to her very core, and she wanted to take it out on him.

“I don’t think going to breakfast is an incredibly dangerous thing to do,” she said icily. “I was just fine until you snuck up on me and nearly gave me a heart attack. And I don’t believe your story about how you couldn’t sleep and just happened to be wandering around the grounds at four thirty in the morning. That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”

He gazed at her steadily. She looked away, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, pretending interest in the corner table surrounded by a group of regulars, older men guffawing loudly about their glory days.

He didn’t buy her story, either. He knew firsthand the look of someone who was running away. “You want to tell me where you were really going?”

“You want to tell me what you were really doing?” she shot back.

He shrugged. “I had a bad feeling. I couldn’t sleep, like I said. I thought I’d just take a walk, look around and make sure everything was all right.”

“And it was, until you showed up.”

“Where were you going?” he persisted. He felt as if he’d almost lost her, and was surprised at the depth of panic he’d felt when he saw her with that duffle bag. He kept thinking that she almost slipped through his fingers.

And what was that all about? Wasn’t he the one with the noble thoughts of sparing her a life riddled with shame and disgrace? She didn’t deserve that, but now he wondered how he ever thought he could be happy without her in his life.

It occurred to him then, that perhaps he never thought it was possible for him to find happiness, after everything that happened. He had been living his life on automatic, taking what came—and that included being thrown together socially with Kendall—and assuming everything would work out for the best one day. Now he thought that maybe he had found someone worth caring for, something worth fighting for. He felt torn by his need to protect Lydia and his selfish need to claim her for his own.

The waitress arrived and slid plates of eggs, bacon, grits and pancakes across the table. It looked like enough food to feed a small army. “What time does the salvage yard open?” Lydia asked her.

“Six o’clock,” the waitress replied. “This town goes to bed early and wakes up early.”

“That’s good timing,” she said to Mike, hoping the interruption would put an end to his questioning. It was difficult to transition her mind from her intent to leave, to participating in the plans as if nothing had changed. She still intended to go, but she would have to be smarter the next time.

She mentally switched gears and tried for her usual chatty demeanor. “I’m hoping to find a bargain in a stove; the one that’s there is on its last leg.”

He nodded, letting her off the hook for the moment. He was relieved to see that she was making an effort to return to a sense of normalcy between them. “I agree. It was nothing special to begin with, and it wouldn’t be worth refurbishing.”

Their attention was diverted by the arrival of a boisterous group coming through the door. It appeared to be the remnants of a wedding party stumbling in after a long night of drinking. All of them looked a little worse for the wear with rumpled shirts, one man’s unbuttoned to the waist, and a disheveled bridesmaid who was carrying her shoes. Bringing up the rear was Ace Colbert, his arms wrapped around a giggling woman twice his size whom he appeared to be using for support.

Lydia ducked her head, concentrating on the plate in front of her, as a waiter led the group to the rear corner of the restaurant. Halfway there, Ace spotted her and turned in an exaggerated double take. “Well, looky here,” he said, weaving his way toward their table. “If it isn’t Lydia Steadman, the snob who thinks she’s too good for me.” He steadied himself by holding onto the edge of their table, swaying back and forth.

He swung his head toward Mike and squinted, then looked at Lydia, a knowing sneer on his face. “Enjoying a morning-after breakfast with the construction worker, I see.”

“Move along,” said Mike quietly.

“Move along?” Ace shouted. He jerked upright, incensed by Mike’s words. “Who do you think you are to tell me to move along, ditch digger? Do you know who I am?”

By this time, they had the full attention of all the surrounding tables, including two deputy sheriffs who were eating close by.

“I’m Ace Colbert. I’m Big Jim Colbert’s son, in case you’ve been living under a rock.” His face was flushed a bright red and he was sweating profusely. Satisfied that he had put Mike in his place, he turned his attention back to Lydia.

He wagged a finger in her face. “Naughty girl,” he said, slurring his words. “You got old Ace in a bit of trouble, and I don’t take too kindly to that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.

His eyes took on a vicious glint and he leaned close to her face, breathing sour fumes as he spoke. “Nobody treats Ace Colbert like that, you little jailbird. I’m gonna make you sorry you ever met me.”

With that, Mike was on his feet. He grabbed Ace by the collar and hauled him backward, right into the arms of the two deputies who were approaching.

“Did you see that? He attacked me. Arrest that man!” Ace slurred his words as he struggled to free himself from their hold. His friends had gathered around and were cheering him on. “You tell ’em, Ace!”

The short, stocky deputy pressed the button attached to his epaulet and called for backup.

“Let’s go, Ace,” the taller officer said, obviously familiar with the troublemaker. “We can do it the easy way or the hard way; your choice.”

“Get your hands off me. I was just trying to have a conversation with the little lady here, and this Neanderthal attacked me. I wanna press charges!”

“We’ll talk about that down at the station. Come on now, you don’t want resisting arrest added to the charges, do you?”

At that moment two squad cars, sirens wailing, pulled up to the door and two more officers joined them. Ace’s companions quietly returned to their table when it grew clear that he wasn’t going down without a fight, and none of them wanted to spend the day with him in the drunk tank. The officers dragged him out, kicking and screaming that Lydia hadn’t seen the last of him yet.

The stocky deputy wrote down personal information from Mike and Lydia, along with other bystanders’. He left with a suggestion that they have themselves a good day. Mike tried to pay for the food they had only half eaten, but the manager insisted that it was on the house, and apologized for the trouble.

Outside the sun was rising and the morning was shaping up to be another stellar spring day, despite its rough beginning. “Are you okay?” he asked as Lydia slid behind the wheel.

“I’m okay. I certainly didn’t expect to have breakfast with a side of drama, though. That was crazy.”

“No kidding,” he said, getting in the passenger seat and slamming the door as she cranked the car. He held up his hands questioningly. “What in the world was that all about?”

She tried to shrug it off. “Not much of anything, really.” When he continued to scrutinize her, she added, “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

He looked confused. “You’re not supposed to talk about what?”

She pulled out of the parking lot and turned in the direction of the salvage yard. “Let’s just say it’s work-related and Mr. Lincoln asked that I keep it confidential.”

“I see.” He could make an educated guess as to the nature of the request. “I assume that’s the reason you’re now working from home?”

“Something like that. Can we change the subject, please?” She hoped that he hadn’t heard Ace call her a jailbird, or that it just hadn’t registered with him, but she had little confidence in that. If she could just delay that conversation long enough, she would never have to have it at all.

He cleared his throat. He was reluctant to let it go, but he thought it might be the best strategy at the moment. “Okay, what would you rather talk about?”