Finding The Way Back To Love (Lakeside Porches 3) (24 page)

“Did drinking get really bad for you?” Haley asked shyly.

“Humiliating and dangerous,” Manda said simply. “How about you?”

“Well,” Haley lowered her gaze, “I got pregnant and really messed things up with my boyfriend. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for hurting him the way I did.”

Manda placed a gentle, manicured hand on Haley’s arm. “I am so grateful the twelve steps have given me a way to make things right with the people I hurt. If you’re an alcoholic, and if you stay with the program and work through the steps with a sponsor, I know it can help you that way, too.”

“Really?” She probed Manda’s eyes and saw the strength of her conviction. “Whew.”

“We’ve got about one minute before the meeting starts. Haley, would you be at all interested in coming with me and my friend Sara this Saturday? Sara’s not in the program, but we like to go to thrift shops around the Finger Lakes and have lunch someplace. It’s just a fun chick thing, and we always find something we can wear for, like, a dollar.” She grinned.

“Sara the hairdresser at the Manse Spa?”

“Yes, do you know her?”

“Yes, count me in.”

Deirdre Calhoun was not in her usual spot at Lynnie’s Chestnut Lake Café Saturday morning. She sat by the door in the back room of the Bagel Depot, planning to snag Joel after the Early Risers meeting. She had been two rows behind Joel and Peter at the Friday meeting and wanted to know what had motivated Peter to show up.

She put the question to Joel over coffee and bagels after the meeting, but Joel just shrugged. Joel, she knew, was too cagey, and too faithful to the AA principle of anonymity, to disclose that the man had been Gwen’s Peter or to discuss his motivations. “Where was Gwen Friday night?” he asked her. “I usually see her at that meeting.”

“As if you don’t know,” Deirdre countered. “She and Manda were at the women’s meeting in Clifton Springs.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“You don’t fool me.”

Joel turned his gray-green gaze on her. “What do you think would have happened if Gwen had been with you Friday night?”

Deirdre sat back. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?”

“When Manda and I sat with them at Chief Barker’s fête, I had the impression Peter didn’t realize Gwen’s in recovery herself. Either that or he’s incredibly insensitive.”

“Well, Friday night was the first I’d laid eyes on the man. I only know what Gwen has told me,” Deirdre said.

“What made you think he’s Gwen’s Peter?”

“I was going on appearance and name. You just filled in the rest. Thank you.”

“You beat me at my own game.” He grinned. “Tell me, Deirdre. Is there any reason for me to worry about my friend Gwen?”

“I’m plenty worried,” Deirdre answered, her mouth set in a grim line. “She insists he knows she’s in recovery. I tell her, until she has that discussion with him, upfront, it’s a ticking time bomb.”

“Think he’ll tell her he went a meeting?” Joel asked.

“That would depend on why he was there in the first place.” Deirdre’s eyes crinkled at the corner and she batted her eyelashes. “What do you think?”

Joel tapped his bagel on the plate and set it down. “I think they’re both keeping secrets, and they might need their friends. Soon.” He pushed back from the table. “Good to see you, Deirdre.” He walked out without a backward glance.

“Are you graduating soon, Haley?” Manda asked her.

“I’m a junior, so a year from next May.” Haley watched out the window as they sped toward their thrift shop destination. The fall foliage was just past peak. Leaves flew from the trees. Red, orange, plum, and russet, all different leaf formations and patterns of veins. She wished she could reach out the window and grab them as they fell, catch them, and paint them in her new studio at Gwen’s.

“What college?” Sara wanted to know.

“Uh, University at Albany. I’m really lucky they have online classes and directed studies or I’d be losing a whole year.”

“What’s your major?”

“Botany and art.”
I don’t want to be a tagalong. I want to make friends
. She screwed up her courage. “I have an online business, creating botanical prints and posters. Oh, and cards, too.”

“Another entrepreneur, Sara,” Manda said.

“Really? Do you have a business, Sara?”

“I am creating one. Have created one. Have designed one that’s going to open in June.” She laughed at herself. “Why is that so hard for me to say?”

“It’s funny, I’m like that, too,” Haley said. “My boyfriend can talk about my business easier than I can. Tell me what you’re planning.” Haley enthusiasm brought out smiles in Manda and Sara.

“It’s a specialty shop, a boutique that features accessories for working women who want to turn a basic wardrobe into dozens of variations. I’ll have scarves, hats, jewelry, clip-ons, shawls, belts, faux flowers, hair ornaments, you name it. All good quality, but affordable.”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Manda said.

“Thank you, Manda.” Sara told Haley, “Manda is one of my cheerleaders, and she has given me solid feedback about my business plan. I couldn’t have made it this far without her.”

“It’s a smart idea,” Haley said, “especially to focus on working women. When I walk through the mall, I see shops with a lot of cheap stuff and young teens shopping there. And the bling in the high-end department stores gets pricey.” Haley added, her voice tentative, “Rick, my boyfriend, wants me to try using their new, 3D printer at RPI to make flower accessories, especially pins and earrings. The ones I see in gift shops are kind of boring, all one color. I think I can do better.”

“Haley, you should talk to the graphics arts people at RIT, where I’m getting my degree,” Sara said. “Who knows? If you’re successful, maybe we can sell your flower accessories in my shop. Did I tell you, it’s opening in June in Canandaigua?”

“Is that close to Tompkins Falls?” Haley asked.

“Next city to the west, on Route 20,” Manda answered. “We’re driving east on Route 20, so you won’t see it today. Sara, do you think you and Sam will get married before or after you open the store?”

“Oh, wow, I don’t know. I hope he proposes at Thanksgiving. I love him more all the time.”

“When did you start dating?” Haley asked.

“Last spring after I gave Reliable Randy the heave-ho. At first I was really self-conscious that I’m a whole year older than Sam. But he’s very mature, and being on the police force, he’s seen a lot more of the dark side than I have.”

“Isn’t he Peter’s partner?”

“Yes,” Sara said in surprise. “That’s right, you know Peter because he and Gwen are hot and heavy.”

“He is so handsome. Peter, I mean.”

“Sam is, too,” Manda added quickly.

“I think Gwen and Peter are meant for each other,” Haley stated. “You should see, just the way they work together, even when they talk at dinner, you can tell how in synch they are with each other.”

“They’ll probably be married before Sam and me,” Sara said with a laugh.

“They don’t get much privacy with me at Gwen’s. I am so glad they’re getting away for the whole day today, canoeing down the lake to see the foliage.”

The farther south they paddled, the denser the trees grew on the steep hillside and the more brilliant the colors, as late-afternoon sun intensified the reds and golds.

“Sad to think this may all be gone after the storm,” Peter remarked.

Gwen’s paddle faltered, smacked the water, and splashed her. “What storm?”

“Tonight. They’re saying rain starting around sundown, damaging winds, lightning, and thunder.”

“When did you hear this?” How far had they come? With Peter’s strong arms in the stern and a light wind behind them, they were farther south than she’d ever paddled along the eastern shore—maybe ten miles from the house.

“I heard the report on the way to your place. Large, fast-moving storm, tracking farther north than expected, will do a clean sweep of the Finger Lakes.”

Fear and anger surged, and she made herself pause.
That’s unfair.
He doesn’t know the lakes.

With false calm, Gwen set her paddle across the gunwales and searched the shore. She saw no roads anywhere on the steep, rocky hillside. Only a few tiny fishing cabins were visible, tucked into coves, all of them boarded up for the season. From this point south, the lakeshore was progressively steeper and less inhabited.

If they headed for the south end, they’d find the only hamlet closed up tight. By tradition, last weekend was when the few stores and cottages celebrated the end of their season, with a bang, and then shuttered their buildings until May.

“Getting tired?”

“We need to turn around.”

“We’ll be back before dark. It’s beautiful here. So quiet.”

Gwen said sternly, “No, we won’t make it back before the storm if we don’t head back now. We’ll have a headwind all the way back. I wish I’d known about the storm and paid attention to how far we’d come.”

“Are you—”

Gwen whipped around to glare at him.

“You’re serious. It’s serious.” He dug his paddle in deep and brought the canoe to a stop.

Gwen swung her paddle in a wide arc to turn the boat quickly. The light headwind chilled her wet T-shirt. She rummaged behind her for her plaid wool shirt but wished she’d also brought her jacket. She buttoned up with shaking fingers.

“We’ll paddle hard and watch the sky,” Peter said with maddening calm.

They gazed to the west, just as charcoal clouds swallowed the sun.

Panic grabbed Gwen by the throat. She braced her hands on the gunwales to steady her shakes and get her breathing under control.
God, help me get it together
. They would need every reserve of strength—Peter’s and her own.

She dug in her paddle and matched Peter’s rhythm. The repetition of their strokes steadied her. “Together we can do this,” she asserted with more courage than she felt.

“How well do you know this stretch of shore?” he asked, his voice calm. “If we have to, is there someplace we can put out until the storm blows over?”

“Not this far south. If we can make it three or four miles I’ll begin to recognize places.”

“How far are we from your place?”

Too far
. “At least ten miles.”

They’d gone no more than half a mile when a cold wind quartered from the northwest and raised a few whitecaps out beyond the midpoint of the lake. Above the wind, Gwen heard their breathing, the fall of droplets as their paddles rose in unison, and the swish as both paddles sliced in for the next push forward.

“I’m sorry I got us into this,” Peter said.

“You didn’t know how fast the lake can change. I didn’t know about the storm, but I should have. It’s a done deal. Let’s just go as far as we can and, if the storm closes in, find a reasonable landing spot and hope we find shelter nearby.”

“Agreed.”

Half a mile farther the wind was enough louder that she heard only her paddle and her breathing. A backward glance showed her Peter stroking hard, in unison with her. He nodded.

The wind picked up speed. Gwen’s breathing grew labored. A wave gushed over the gunwale behind her. And another.
Keep going
.

The pitch of the hillside changed subtly. She rested for a few seconds and squinted at the shoreline, seeking a welcoming cove or a low spot where they could land.
Nothing yet.
She dug in hard for another mile, but she wished she could hear Peter so they could work in synch. As it was, she made his job harder. Whether she paddled too fast or too slow, he had to correct their course.

With the looming storm, the sky darkened as if it were twilight. She turned back to Peter and saw his head low, his shoulders straining. She dug her paddle in and prayed. Every stroke mattered.

About half a mile farther, waves assaulted the canoe. Gwen’s lungs labored, and her shoulders burned. The eerie light gave her shivers, but it was bright enough for her to see a stream and a thin waterfall that sliced through the hillside and plunged into the waters of a rocky bay.

Nine Mile Bay
. The hillside from this point north was still steep, but rough tracks cut through the tree cover. Four-wheel-drive vehicles had access to a few remote houses much of the year.
We’ll find shelter.

“Soon,” she yelled above the wind.

A flash of lightning on the western shore shot fear through her body. A sob escaped her.

“I’ll maneuver as close to shore as I dare,” Peter shouted. “You pick a spot.”

Gwen focused on every ledge, outcropping, and patch of ground. “Up ahead twenty yards,” she yelled and dug in her paddle. “See those bushes with the path going up?” She pointed with her right hand, and the wind grabbed at her paddle. She gripped it with both hands.
No mistakes
.

Lightning flashed up and down the western hills, and thunder cracked and roared. They fought the waves and wind for ten yards. Three waves in succession breached the canoe and propelled it dangerously close to shore.

With no warning, a submerged rock ripped open the bow, and the next wave rolled the canoe on its side.

Gwen’s stomach churned as the next wave sucked her out of the boat.
Use your head!
She grabbed for the gunwale and held tight to her paddle.

Drenched and shivering, she found a foothold on the stony lakebed as she wrestled the waves for possession of the canoe.

“Peter!” she shouted. “Where are you?”

“I’m okay.”

Peter had retrieved his paddle. He squeezed her shoulder as he crossed behind her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

His fingers found the damage where the sharp point of a ledge had sliced into the bow’s canvas, along the gunwale for about six inches, just ahead of where Gwen had been kneeling.

The ledge itself was a smooth shelf about eight inches under the water. If they could get over or around it they would have foothold to the start of the path Gwen had spotted.

“We’ll slide over this, rather than go around.” Peter shouted in her ear, over the roar of the wind.