Family Trees (8 page)

He felt just the opposite, enjoying a greater sense of anonymity in rural towns like hers. “I know how you feel.”

“Do you? Hmm,” she pondered. “You don't strike me as a private guy.”

“Very.”

“I'm not sure I believe you.”

“Really?” Ryan set his bare feet in the water and immediately pulled them out again. He wondered if he'd ever get used to Superior's frigid temperature, even during an August heat wave. “Think you have me pegged?”

“Maybe.” Shelby, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease in the water.

“All right. Give me your best shot.” There was still a distinct possibility that Shelby had recognized him all along and was about to call him out on it. He hoped that wasn't the case.

She lifted her feet out of the water and turned to face him. “Your watch is worth more than my truck and you drive a luxury car. But you're young. And since you have time to vacation, I'm guessing that you're not an entrepreneur who found success at an early age. I don't recognize you as an actor or entertainer, although you could pass for one.”

“Is that a compliment?”

She ignored the question and continued with her assessment. “My guess is that you come from a wealthy family. You're an Ivy Leaguer. Well educated. You said you're from Chicago, so I'd guess you're working your way into finance or banking. Maybe investments . . .” She reached into the lake to collect some water to cool the back of her neck. Ryan couldn't help but notice the way the water trailed down the shallow between her shoulder blades and caught a shimmer of moonlight on her skin.

“I have a feeling that you could travel just about anywhere you wanted to,” she continued. “So, based on the fact that you're here, I'd say you either have a great appreciation for the outdoors—or you're hiding from the cops.”

Ah, a joke,
he thought. Ryan put his hands on the rock behind him and leaned back, relieved that she was warming up to him. “I'm impressed,” he said. “You're pretty close, except the part about the cops and working in finance. I'm lousy with numbers.”

She let out a soft, low chuckle. He wanted to hear it again.

“And you don't think I'm a private person?” His question was followed by the lilting call of a solitary loon floating past, hidden in the dark.

“I get the sense that people are naturally drawn to you,” she said.

“Is that why you're here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “Just wondering if you're here just because your family pushed you out the door, or because you feel drawn to me.”

Shelby sat up straight and crossed her arms. Ryan prepared for her comeback when a heart-wrenching scream shattered the moment.

“Lucas!” a woman cried out in distress. “Oh God! Help!” The desperation in her voice sent a chill down Ryan's spine. Instinctively, he jumped up and scrambled over the rocks to the grass embankment. “Stay here!” he shouted to Shelby before taking off in the direction of the woman's screams.

C
HAPTER
9

S
tay here? I don't think so!
Shelby thought to herself the instant Ryan ran off toward the sound of the screams.

No sooner had he left than Shelby was chasing after him, holding up her skirt and feeling its light fabric flutter about her legs. During the time when she and Ryan had been sitting on the shore, clouds had crept across the moon and shrouded the park in darkness. Now, Shelby could scarcely see Ryan until he darted through a circle of light beneath a lamppost at the marina entrance and disappeared again down the boat dock.

Shelby ran blindly toward the woman's voice and winced whenever her bare feet landed on something hard and sharp in the grass. Though her heart pounded wildly with adrenaline, she focused on the rhythm of her breathing to keep calm.
Please God, don't let this lake take a life tonight,
she prayed. Once on the dock, the pads of her feet slapped against the splintered wood planks and echoed off the water beneath her.

She finally reached a middle-aged couple dressed in bathrobes and standing on a transient slip where a thirty-foot sailboat was docked. She wasn't sure if Ryan had been the first to arrive at the scene, but he was the first to dive into the coal-black water without a moment of hesitation.

“Over there!” Shelby heard the man shout. She knelt down at the edge of the dock as Ryan resurfaced in the next slip over with a child in his grasp. Holding the boy's head above water with one arm and making broad strokes with the other, he started swimming back to the dock. The child was coughing and clinging to Ryan.

At the same time, the couple worked together to hoist a woman out of the lake. She clung to their hands and pleaded frantically, “Who has Lucas? Where's my son?!”

It didn't take long before Ryan reached the dock. “He's here!” Shelby called out, as she reached down to take hold of Lucas's outstretched hands. Below her, Ryan worked to keep the boy's head above water.

“Do you have him?” Ryan's voice cracked. He didn't release his grip on the child until Shelby had a firm hold. The dripping wet boy, blond and roughly seven years old, was dressed in striped pajama pants and a short-sleeved
Star Wars
shirt that dripped and clung to his shivering body. Someone threw a blanket around the child just as his mother fell to her knees beside him and enveloped him in a full embrace, her voice crying words of gratitude.

Shelby looked back at Ryan, who was now using the pylons under the dock for footing. He didn't accept Shelby's hand as he pulled himself up over the edge of the dock and collapsed onto his back, laid a hand across his chest, and struggled to catch his breath.

“My God, you must be freezing!” Shelby placed her hand on his shoulder and called out to the others, “Hurry! Does anyone have another blanket?”

The bathrobed woman rushed into the adjacent sailboat and returned with a yellow fleece blanket to wrap around Ryan. “You were amazing, the way you came out of nowhere and jumped in after him,” she said with admiration. “You're a godsend. Thank you.”

He sat up and tightened the blanket around his shoulders. Shelby rubbed his back with both hands to help bring some warmth to his body. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said with chattering teeth. His shoulders were hunched up against the cold and his hands were tucked tightly under his armpits to keep warm. A shiver shook his shoulders as he asked how the boy was doing.

“Looks like he'll be okay,” Shelby assured him.

They looked over to see the child being warmed and comforted in his mother's arms. Without a word, Ryan stood and walked over to the frightened child. He then knelt before him, and with the mother's nod of approval, carefully reached for the boy's hand. Shelby couldn't hear what he whispered in the child's ear, but his lips stopped quivering and his face seemed to brighten. The child then wrapped his arms around Ryan's neck. Ryan laid his other hand on the back of the boy's head and closed his eyes.

“Thank God you were here,” the mother said, her chin quivering. “When he fell overboard, I just grabbed a life jacket and jumped in after him. But I'm not a good swimmer.” She began to cry, stammering out her words. “I can't swim well. I couldn't get us both out of the water. Dear God. If you hadn't . . .”

“You saved your son. It was
you,
” he reassured her. “You were the one who called for help. You kept him afloat.”

“How can I thank you?” the mother asked, too tired to wipe the tears that were trailing down the sides of her face.

“You obviously love your son. That's thanks enough.” He removed the blanket from his shoulders and wrapped it around the mother and child. After another reassuring smile to the boy, Ryan turned to Shelby. “Come on, we should go,” he said quietly.

Neither of them spoke as they left the scene. But once they stepped out of the lamppost's circle of light at the dock's entrance and their feet touched the grass, Shelby took Ryan's arm and walked him back to the rocky beach under the stars.

 

“Are you sure you don't want to call it a night so you can go back to your place . . .” Shelby started to ask as Ryan removed his soaked shirt and hung it over the back of the park bench. The sight of his broad chest and taut abdomen caught her off guard. She cleared her throat and continued, “. . . to put on something dry?”

“I'm fine.”

“I think I have a beach towel in the truck.” Her hand gestured toward the road. “I could get it and . . .”

“Really. I'm okay.” He looked out on the water. The clouds pulled away from the moon like a curtain to let the moon's light reflect once more on gentle waves. He turned to her with tired eyes and a tender smile before making his way over the rocks to where they sat earlier.

“You were amazing tonight,” she said, following him. “Heroic, even.”

“Anyone would have done it.”

“I saw you jump in. You didn't even hesitate,” she said with admiration. She tried to read his face as he sat on the flat-topped boulder, so much quieter now than before the rescue.

“What did you say to that little boy? You know, before we left. You whispered something in his ear?” She adjusted her skirt and sat down beside him.

“Can we talk about something else?”

She noticed vulnerability in him. She couldn't deny that the sight of his bare skin, tan and smooth over well-defined muscles, was a pleasant distraction.

“I'm not ready to leave, but I also don't want to dwell on what happened tonight. You know what I mean?” he asked, staring straight ahead.

“Yes. Of course.” But in fact, she had no idea what he meant. “What would you rather talk about?”

“You could tell me about your family.”

“My family,” she answered slowly, “is complicated.”

He ran his fingers through his wet hair to push it off his face. “There you go. Now we have something in common.”

“Okay. Let's see. My family. I'll try to give you the abridged version,” she began, raising the hem of her skirt before dipping her feet into the water. “My mother's name is Jackie. Like me, she grew up in Bayfield as an only child. Her parents, my grandparents, are Ginny and Olen—but you already know that.”

“Yep, I saw the honeymoon photos.”

“You did?”

He nodded.

“That's funny. Gran hates showing people those old photos. It's my grandfather who insists on keeping them on the wall at our store,” she said. “Anyway, they wanted to have a large family, but after my mother was born, Gran wasn't able to have more children. They always say life was good until Mom hit her teens. I guess she grew to resent the isolation of this town, particularly during the winter. No one was surprised when she hightailed it to California to study at Scripps after graduation.” She paused and looked down at her submerged feet. “God, why am I telling you all this?”

“Everyone has a story. That's what makes life interesting,” he encouraged her gently. “Go ahead. I'm listening.”

She watched as languid waves washed up against the rock, curled around her ankles, and then retreated again with slow repetition. The evening was still—the only sound was a soft
shush
of water breaking along the shoreline. Loose beach stones rattled like marbles in a rolling jar.

“A few months into Mom's freshman year—surprise!” Shelby pointed to herself, trying to make light of it. “She was pregnant. The problem was, the only thing she knew about my father was that he had been living on a sailboat for a couple of weeks with an older brother that summer. His name was Chad.”

Ryan pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. “Let me guess. A tourist,” he said.

“Yep.” Shelby dropped her hands into her lap and continued, “She didn't have a relationship with him. And she didn't want a relationship with me.”

“I'm sorry,” Ryan said, and she believed him. She wondered how her impression of this man could change so quickly in a single evening. Her grandparents might have been right about him. He just might be one of the good guys. She knew she might never see him again, but tonight, after what happened in the marina and the tranquility of the lake, Shelby felt safe in sharing thoughts that were usually kept hidden.

“My grandparents refused to let her put me up for adoption.”

“And they raised you.” Ryan picked up a stone and attempted to skip it across the water. It sank with a
plunk
.

“Yes.” She thought it was endearing the way he reached for another stone with a look of boyish determination.

“Do you visit her?” Ryan gave the second stone a sideways toss across the water. This time it bounced gracefully across the moonlight.

“No—I don't . . .” she admitted. “I mean, I'm not interested in going to California. I don't really travel anywhere, for that matter. Even if I wanted to, I don't have the time. My friends would tell you that they practically have to drag me out of the house, even for a weekend,” she admitted while picking up a stone of her own and moving it back and forth between her hands, feeling its cool, smooth surface.

“Why is that?”

“My grandparents. They mean everything to me. They're the only family I have, really. And they're getting older. I feel I should be here to help them with the farm, the house. Whatever they need.”

“So she visits you here?” He pulled up one of his long legs and leaned against it, turning to look at her.

“During the holidays once in a while, but she prefers to come up in the summer. When it's warm. But she never stays long.”

“Why not?”

“I've spent a lifetime asking why.” Shelby rubbed her thumb across the stone in her hand. “Why do you abandon your baby? Or provoke your parents and run away from your responsibilities?” Seeing him cringe at her mention of running away made her wonder if she had hit a chord with him.

“So what's it like—you know, when she visits?”

Shelby bit her lip and tossed her stone across the water, watching it gracefully skip four times before sinking.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized. “Too personal?”

Shelby looked down, then pressed her hands over the folds in her skirt. “No, it's all right.” She considered her words carefully before answering. “My mother is like a cold draft in a warm room. Just when you're feeling comfortable and relaxed, her presence causes a chill—you want to pull your feet up and wrap a blanket around your shoulders.” Shelby shifted her position and tucked one leg beneath her.

“That's a lot for anyone, but especially for a child,” he said. “How did you manage it?”

“I started writing,” she said, her mind traveling back to her childhood. She began to tell Ryan a story about how her grandparents had shielded her from the truth when she was very young. It was easy. Ginny and Olen were the only parents she had ever known, so she regarded her mother only as that relative who visited over the holidays or for extended stays in the summer. It wasn't until years later, when she was old enough to notice her grandparents' hushed conversations behind closed doors and long-distance phone calls that were taken in the other room, that she began to suspect her grandparents kept secrets. It never occurred to Shelby that those secrets revolved around her.

At least, not until Shelby's sixth Christmas. Her grandparents were cleaning dishes in the kitchen and Shelby was alone, sitting beneath the Christmas tree, amid a pile of crumpled wrapping paper and tangles of ribbons. She held a new doll in her arms. It was a beautiful blue-eyed girl, with long lashes and eyelids that closed when Shelby laid her down to sleep. The moment Shelby pulled the doll from its box, she named her Polly and confessed her love for her.

“It doesn't always happen like that, you know,” Jackie said when she entered the room and found Shelby playing with the doll. The young woman fell back into Olen's oversized chair, looking disheveled in flannel pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair piled up on the top of her head like a bird's nest. Even with a rainbow of Christmas tree lights reflecting in her eyes, Jackie was sullen.

“What?” Shelby asked.

“Feeling like a mother right away,” Jackie said flatly. “Like you did, with that doll this morning.”

“Yes, you do,” Shelby said assuredly.
All mommies do,
she had believed.

“No, sometimes it takes a while. Not everyone is ready to be a parent right away.” Jackie pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, as Shelby was hugging Polly. “Sometimes, babies are raised by people who are better at being parents.”