Deliciously Obedient (5 page)

“
Did
it get her anywhere?”

“
I
think she has a
Playboy
spread
coming up.”

Lydia
shuddered. “From what Jeremy told me, that should be an interesting
one. He might turn it into the backing for a dartboard.”

Krysta
laughed. “Give me an idea of what’s going on with you and
Jeremy.”

Lydia
closed her eyes, a wave of warmth filling her at the thought of his
touch.
Where
was he right now?
Probably
drinking a blueberry beer with her dad, or having the finer art of
tree placement in campgrounds for perfect hammock setups being
explained diligently by Miles. By now they’d be on the thirtieth or
fortieth pairing of trees on the campground, and she could imagine
Jeremy’s fake interest fading quickly.
Would
he keep going? Would he go the distance to get to know her dad? Or
would he just fade out like Mike, as if he’d never been there?

“
You’re
hurting.” Krysta’s words came out with a clinical detachment, as
if she were watching a patient struggle with an ailment. Not a
question, not a sweeping declaration—just a statement about Lydia’s
current countenance.

“
Yes.”

The
two began to walk slowly down a well-worn path to the beach, out of
sync and pushing against each other occasionally, their movement so
slow it didn’t matter.

“
And
Jeremy? Things fall apart?” Krysta asked.

“
No,”
Lydia said, sighing. “He’s great.”

“
Then
what’s wrong?”

Lydia
snorted. “It’s not just some random hook-up. Mike sent him
there.”
Mike
. The word seemed wrong. Incongruous. Unnatural.
He was either Matt or Michael Bournham.

“
You
started sleeping with your…”

“
Bodyguard?”

Peals
of laughter poured out of Krysta’s mouth. “I can’t imagine
calling Jeremy anyone’s bodyguard. Ever. The man couldn’t punch a
time clock.”

“
Ha
ha.” Lydia paused, remembering that last week in Iceland. “He
took out a drunk Viking who was hitting on me in a club.”

Krysta
halted, feet crunching a set of pine cones, the overwhelming blanket
of pine scent making Lydia so glad she was home. “Jeremy actually
fought someone? He seems so…pacifistic.”

“
You
mean he seems like he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“
Right.
That. What happened?”

“
There
was this guy I worked with. Siggi. He was at a dance club Jeremy and
I went to and he wouldn’t stop hitting on me. Followed us outside.
And he said the wrong thing and Jeremy clocked him.” In many ways
that shot had been like a face punch to her, as if life were
metaphorically giving her one big, painful message. It signified the
end of her life there.

“
And
then the guy fell on me and pinned me to the ground, but Jeremy
couldn’t figure out how to get me up,” Lydia said, laughing.

“
That
sounds more like the Jeremy I know.”

Lydia
hesitated, wanting so badly to share more with Krysta. Why the pause?
This was her best friend.
Of course
she should confess all.
Of
course
she should talk about Jeremy and her hopes and concerns.
Of course
she should be able to share.

So
why the reluctance?

“
I’m
not judging,” Krysta added, as if reading Lydia’s mind. “If he
makes you happy…”

“
He
does.”

Big
smile. “Then that’s all that matters.” Krysta stopped and
stared straight ahead, her eyes scanning the woods ahead of them,
behind which Lydia knew the ocean lay, in constant motion, waiting
for nothing and no one. Content to just be.

“
What?”
Krysta’s silence unnerved her.

Pulling
her eyes off the horizon, Krysta turned to Lydia, expression
unreadable, though wistful. “You have two men you’ve fallen for
recently. That’s more than most of us get in a year.” She
frowned, then counted openly on her fingers. “Three years.”

Ouch.
“You’ll find someone soon.”
But it won’t be Caleb
,
Lydia thought with a heaping dose of guilt. She loved the hell out of
her little brother, but there was no way he’d even consider dating
Krysta. Too besotted with one of the Stillman girls, Caleb lived for
his cooking and for her.

“
Do
you know how hard it is to want someone who doesn’t even realize
you’re there?” Krysta’s eyes filled with pain.

Lydia
slung one arm around her shoulders and hid her own ache, thinking of
Mike. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Jeremy’s
voice made her jump slightly as he said, “Hi,” gently from behind
her, an arm slung over her shoulders as her heart raced.

“
Great
timing,” Krysta said to him, making him look at the two women and
then frown slightly, edging away from Lydia.

“
Should
I leave? Did I interrupt?” His face was calm and relaxed, a far cry
from what Lydia had expected.

“
No.
Stay.” She and Krysta shared a look that Lydia assumed meant they’d
talk later. “Besides, Mom asked us to help her with a project.”

“
What’s
that?” he asked.

“
Knitting.”
In Iceland he’d made an unceremonious attempt to get to know Lydia
via unconventional methods that included crashing a knitting store.
The two giggled and Krysta waved them off as Lydia’s heart
struggled to find its beat.

Mike
stood on the water’s edge in one of the many inlets that dotted the
campground’s shoreline.
The
vacation that wasn’t. Whatever Mike had imagined this month would
be like, he hadn’t factored in just how much of his old life needed
to be unwound and required his attention. Joanie had stayed on as
executive assistant to the interim CEO, and part of her job was
working with Mike to tie up loose ends related to his position at
Bournham Industries. From contracts that needed to be invalidated, to
signatures on forms that released him from responsibility or
liability for processes, all the way down to which new email address
he wanted his old email to be forwarded to, Joanie’s daily missives
in the form of email, texts and occasional voicemails were a brutal
reminder that just because he had made a decision to snap his life in
two and go off into a new future didn’t mean that the stressors of
his old life weren’t still around.

In
spite of all that, he found himself slowly, almost reluctantly,
relaxing. It was hard not to, here at Lydia’s parents’
campground.

What
were trivial matters to him in his old life took on great importance
here. He had chatted with Sandy every day he’d been at the
campground. They’d spoken at the general store/office, or in the
game room, or at the playground—pretty much everywhere on the
grounds. The topic didn’t seem to matter. They could converse about
the cherry tomatoes and their sweetness, or point to small children
playing and frolicking, and talk about their antics, or discuss the
tides and what had washed up on shore that morning. The connection
was what she sought, and at first he found it intrusive. Over time it
became a part of his routine, and now, at the beginning of his third
week here, he was the one seeking the attention, the give and take,
that connection.

Pete,
on the other hand, was a doer. So were his sons. Chitchat and
conversation came as part of a project, from fixing a fence to
cooking the giant lobster and steak dinner that they held each week,
to pushing an RV out of a mud rut.

He
liked these people. He liked this life. He could have done with a
bathroom in his own cabin. But by the time he realized what a pain
that was, it was too late. All of the other homes on the campground
were taken. It was high season, Sandy had reminded him, and she was
sorry, but at least the price was right.

“
Hey,
Mike,” Pete called out as the two men encountered each other. Mike
holding a mug of coffee this morning, Pete carrying some sort of tool
that escaped Mike’s understanding. It looked like a wrench with a
strange head on it and a set of pliers attached. It was the kind of
tool his own father would have known to name, but that Mike couldn’t.
That was part of a different life, one that he hadn’t lived until
this past month.

“
How’s
it going?” Pete asked.

Mike
took a sip of coffee and looked up at the blue sky, a spare cloud
here and there, dotting what would otherwise be a clear landscape.
“It’s going well.”

“
You
making plans for the talent show?”

He
knew what Pete meant—that was a pointed question asking if he’d
do a skit or an act. “I’m planning to be an active member of the
audience,” Mike said in a measured tone, a hint of a smile
twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Pete
just shook his head slowly. “There was a time when we had to beat
people off with a stick, and tell ’em that the roster was full up
and it would take two or three years for them to get on stage.
Now”—he shrugged his shoulders—“everyone’s looking at Vines
on their phones and laughing at these little video skits you can find
on YouTube.” He took a long sigh and played with the tool in his
hand, switching it from palm to palm, as if it were a ping-pong ball
and not a twenty-pound piece of metal.

“
Social
media’s destroyed a lot of things, hasn’t it, Pete?” Mike said
wryly. Pete’s hard stare unnerved Mike. It was the first time he’d
felt anything beyond neighborly chatting, or the down-east Maine
mentality that respected someone until they were proved wrong.

“
Yes,
that’s true,” Pete said slowly. And then, as if the change hadn’t
happened, his face shifted back to the genial Pete that Mike had
grown accustomed to. “I imagine you’re heading out to go in the
kayaks,” Pete said as he took a step toward his little work shed.

Mike
held up the mug in a gesture of cheers and then took a long gulp,
emptying it. “Now I am.” Kayaking was a good idea, for it would
help him think. He’d need to clock hundreds of hours paddling,
though, to find any peace inside. That was fine; the luxury of time
spread out before him.

“
I
hope you’re getting what you wanted out of your vacation here,
Mike,” Pete said. He didn’t make eye contact, just tilted his
chin over his left shoulder.

As
he walked on, Mike noticed the loping gait of the tall, slim man, in
contrast with the cheerful countenance he generally exhibited. The
word depression, or sadness, didn’t cut it. There was, instead, a
contemplation in Pete this morning. Mike would have to “paddle it
out” to understand what might be going on inside the man. On the
other hand, Mike had plenty of his own issues to figure out. The
month was nearly up, and real life beckoned. For as much as he had
sorted out so many problems when he fled, so many of them had simply
followed him, and the rest? The rest were all waiting behind. But now
that he’d gotten to spend a significant amount of time on the
periphery of the Charles family, he felt he understood Lydia even
more. An ache that had been there from the day she left only grew
here, fostered and nurtured by the soil where she’d been raised by
the people who loved her and had helped to shape her into the woman
she’d become.