Finding The Way Back To Love (Lakeside Porches 3) (27 page)

“I never get tired of gazing at our lake,” Gwen told her.

“I love it here, too. Thanks for letting me stay here with you for now.”

“Stay as long as you like, as long as it helps. It’s good for me to have you here.”

“Thanks for saying that. Gwen?”

“What, sweetie?”

“When you said Peter’s story might sound familiar to me, were you talking about his sister? Did she get pregnant or something?”

“I don’t really know what trouble she got into. I was really thinking about your parents. Your dad’s an alcoholic, and your mom’s abusive in her own way.”

“So, do you think I’m hanging onto stuff, like Peter?”

“Yes, and that concerns me. Peter’s fixated on his dad, and you have said several times you’re afraid you’re just like your mother.”

Haley leaned forward with her hands on her knees. “Yeah. But I really do want to have children someday. And I’m smart and talented, and I want to have a good career. Probably the career before starting a family.”

Gwen rubbed her back. “Well, that tells me you’re not much like your mother.”

“But she’s all I know about being a mother. It’s, like, burned into my brain that a mother’s job is to put down her child, to squash her hopes and dreams, to tell her she’s fat and ugly and whatever.” Haley’s voice got louder with every phrase.

She jumped from the log. Her foot snagged on a half-buried limb and she pitched toward the water.

Gwen tried to stop her fall but couldn’t grab her in time.

Haley twisted as she crashed through the tangle of branches. Although she managed to keep her body on dry land, her left arm plunged into the cold water, and her cheek bled where she’d scraped it on a broken branch.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she reached for her. “Anything broken?” she asked with false calm.

Haley shook her head.

Gwen took a wide stance with one foot in the water and reached her hands around Haley’s waist. She hauled her up and helped her back to their log.

Haley’s face crumpled with pain.

“Tell me where you hurt,” Gwen ordered.

Haley shook her head. “I’m okay, except I could have broken my left wrist.” She sobbed. “I need it to do my art. I have to be able to do my art. I hate Ursula so much, and I was just being stupid about that.”

Gwen circled Haley’s shoulders with a gentle arm. “You’re going to be just fine, Haley, but all that bitterness toward your mom needs to come out. I know working through the twelve steps with a sponsor can help you, and you may want to consider seeing a therapist for a while.”

“Maybe. Rick wants me to see a therapist. I want to try the AA route first. I think you and Phil will tell me if I need more. It would be really great not to put myself down anymore. Or blame things on my mother. That’s not very grown up, is it?”

“You’re very wise, my Haley. Carrying around the past is not the way to live a happy life. Look what the bitterness is doing to Peter.”

Chapter 13

Peter arose the next afternoon to find Bree making a pot of coffee. “Hey, sunshine, thanks for doing that.”

“Sure. Did you sleep okay?”

“Just okay. Last night was busy—three DWIs and a fire downtown that left a couple of stores vulnerable to looting. All that ran through my dreams all night.”

“I hate when that happens. I’m sleeping, but my mind’s not resting.”

“Exactly.” He shook his head. “I hate dealing with DWIs. These two last night were ridiculous.”

Bree tensed.

Peter was oblivious of her discomfort. “The first one—the guy—was only about twenty, not even old enough to drink legally. He’d stolen a car and gone joy riding with his girl. They skidded off the road into a field and rolled over. The girl was hurt pretty bad—no seatbelt—but the guy walked away without a scratch—belligerent son of a gun, no concern for his girlfriend. I’m glad Sam offered to book him. I wanted to pop the guy.”

“Does your temper get in the way on the job sometimes?”

“Why did you say that?” Peter glared at her.

“It’s obvious,” Bree muttered to herself as she retreated to the kitchen. “Want eggs?” she asked brightly.

“Yeah,” he said grudgingly, “thanks.”

Bree fixed an omelet with vegetables and cheese and presented it to him with a cheerful, “
Voila
.”

“Hey, something new. Since when are you making omelets?”

“I’ve been practicing. It’s not perfect, but I’m working on it.”

“It’s good,” Peter said with his mouth full.

“Weren’t you dating someone that made the best omelets you ever tasted?” Bree ventured.

He nodded, swallowed, and reached for his coffee. “Gwen. We broke up.”

“Blond? Pretty? How come you broke up?”

“She lied to me, and I won’t tolerate that. You know what happened with Cynthia.” His voice got louder with each statement. “I won’t stand for deception in a relationship. I’m searching for a wife, not a traitor.”

Bree backed away from his mounting anger. In the kitchen, she filled the frying pan with sudsy water.

“Gwen lied about being a drunk,” he ranted.

Bree concentrated on scrubbing the pan.

“You know how I feel about drunks. The woman we arrested last night, the other DWI, was my age.” He was shouting now, loud enough for neighbors to hear. “She was driving her sloshed boyfriend home from a party. Her blood alcohol level was over the legal limit, too, so we brought them both in. Sam took care of the man; I got stuck with her. She got all flirty and clingy with me and I finally shoved her in a cell.”

He drained his coffee and walked into the kitchen to fill his mug from the pot, which stood on the counter, a few feet from the sink, where Bree worked on the frying pan.

Bree shied away from him, her heart pounding.

He held the pot of hot liquid in one hand and asked her, “You don’t drink anymore, right?”

Bree gripped the edge of the counter, shook her head, and inhaled slowly through her fear while he poured the coffee. When he set the pot back in the coffeemaker, she swallowed hard.

“What is up with you?” he demanded. “You’re acting like you’re afraid of something.”

“I am,” Bree told him and drew herself up to her full height. “When you get angry like this, it’s always about drunks. You turn into a different person, somebody I don’t want to be around. I’m afraid to be in the same room with you.”

“Bree—” He reached for her.

She backed out of the room, looked wildly for her purse, and snatched it from the table by the front door. Peter grabbed her arm.

“You can’t go out there. It’s pouring and about forty degrees.”

“Let. Go.” She glared at him. When his muscles eased the slightest bit, she snapped her arm out of his grip and rushed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. As she pounded down the stairs, a door opened into the first-floor apartment. She stared into a pair of gray-green eyes. “I’m very sorry we disturbed you, sir.”

“Do you need help, Bree?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

How does he know my name?
She squeezed her eyes shut against tears and shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said and slipped out into the downpour. She made it only halfway down Lakeside Terrace before taking shelter on one of the porches, where she huddled, shivering and sobbing.

Manda found her there a few minutes later. “Here,” she ordered and pressed a towel into Bree’s hands. “Dry off as much as you can and then put this on.” She held up a hooded, lined, rain jacket and tossed it onto a nearby porch chair for Bree. “Either you come back to Joel’s and my place, or I will get the car and drive us somewhere for a hot chocolate. Those are your two choices.”

“I’m not going back.”

“Then stay here while I get my car.” She gave Bree a quick hug before dashing to the parking spaces behind the buildings.

Bree buried her face in the towel for a few seconds and then wrapped it tightly around her. Even in the warmth of the borrowed rain jacket, she shivered as they drove past the marina.

The sign at the road read ‘Lynnie’s Chestnut Lake Café.’ Manda turned in to the parking lot and stopped the car. “Bree, what happened today with your brother that made you run out into the rain?”

“I just couldn’t take his anger anymore. He used to be like that before Dad died. Dad would beat one of us, and Peter would go wild. Then Peter got big enough so he was stronger than Dad, and the beatings stopped. But he was so angry all the time. And then Dad died, and he calmed down. He got really serious about school and he was on the basketball team. And one day he told Mom he was going to be a cop. I remember she hugged him and cried and told him she was so proud of him. We were both really proud of him.” She clasped her hands. “I can’t stop shaking.”

“Here.” Manda chose a pair of gloves from the console between them. “These might help. We’ll go inside in a minute.” She took the key out of the ignition. “We heard Peter yelling upstairs. I’ve never heard him yell. He’s usually upbeat and helpful. Joel was really worried when you ran down the stairs.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. That’s not the point. We were worried about you, so I came after you. I don’t know if Joel will say something to Peter or not. Joel’s recovering from a horrible accident, so he can’t afford to get in any kind of fight.”

“God, this is awful. Peter hates drunks, and he had to book a couple of DWIs last night, and he was telling me about them and he got all hot and bothered about it. He started yelling, like he used to. I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to tell him I’m an alcoholic in recovery, and I was afraid he’d turn that anger on me.” A shudder shook Bree’s whole body. “I love my brother and I’m afraid for him. And for me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Put both hands around the mug,” Manda ordered as she handed Bree a steaming mug of hot chocolate. They had chosen a booth away from the few customers. “I’m getting us something to eat.”

Bree thanked her. In less than a minute, she was calmer and warmer. She took a big swallow of sweet, milky, hot chocolate and directed a smile at Manda who stood talking with the owner near the cash register. The café was deserted at three o’clock.

“How do you like that hot cocoa?” Lynnie lifted her voice to Bree.

“It’s seriously great, ma’am,” Bree called back.

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me, honey,” Lynnie said with a merry laugh. “And I want you to eat every bite of the sandwich I just fixed for you.”

Manda brought two plates to the table and set down a sandwich for Bree and a salad for herself. “Eat.”

“Thank you.” As she lifted the sandwich to her mouth with both hands, Bree said, “I’m going to take the next bus back to Syracuse.”

“Do you know when it leaves?” If Manda was surprised, she didn’t show it.

Bree’s shook her head. Manda used her smartphone to find the answer.

“There’s one at four-fifteen.”

“I can make it,” Bree said with a glance at the clock, “if we don’t take too long here.”

“If you want, I’ll drive you back for your stuff and take you to the bus station.”

“Thanks.” Bree’s green eyes shone with tears.

“What are your AA meetings like in Syracuse?” Manda asked.

“Not as good as here, but I’ve only tried the ones in walking distance. I need to explore more. There must be meetings with young people, and some of those meetings must be on a bus route.

“And you can get rides, once you find a meeting you like. People really want to help out newcomers by giving rides and sharing about how they stay sober. All it takes is the courage to ask for help.”

Bree’s forehead wrinkled with doubt.

“That’s been my experience, anyway.”

They ate in silence. When Bree picked up the second half of her sandwich, she stared at it from all sides and set it back on the plate.

“You can take the rest with you,” Manda pointed out. “That would save worrying about what’s in the refrigerator for supper.”

“You’re right. That would be smart.” She picked up another tortilla chip and crunched it.

“Do you cook for yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good. Nothing special. I like the way Lynnie puts lettuce and onion and tomato in her sandwiches. I should do that more.”

“Veggies are good for you.”

“I’ll ask for a box,” Bree offered as she pushed back from the table. “Do you want one, too?”

Manda gave the rest of her salad to Bree. When Bree protested, Manda told her, “You can buy me a hot chocolate next time you’re in Tompkins Falls.”

Back at Lakeside Terrace, there was no sign of Peter. “Maybe he’s at basketball practice.” Bree shrugged. “I’m just glad he’s not here.”

They made short work of clearing Bree’s things out of the apartment. “You should leave him a note so the police aren’t dragging the river for your body.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bree took the paper Manda held out and wrote, “Heading back to Syracuse. Please go to an Al-Anon meeting before you call me again.” She placed the meeting information Carol had given her on the countertop with her note.

“Let’s go.” Swallowing hard against her tears, Bree grabbed her duffle and the bag of food and followed Manda out to the car.

The early-afternoon rant that had caused Bree to blast out of the apartment made Peter curse himself.
Shaughnessy, you need to clean up your act around your sister
. A shower had calmed him, but Bree did not return.

He had tried calling her, but her cell phone played a tune from her bedroom. She’d left the phone in her hoodie, which was on her bed.

Annoyed with himself for driving her out in the rain without a jacket, he had run down the stairs, gym bag in hand, already late for practice, and swung into the Jeep. He was still fuming when he arrived at the gym.

“Whoa, buddy,” Sam cautioned. “Simmer down. This is practice, not the Coliseum.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter snapped.

“We’re not fighting life-and-death battles here. Check your anger at the door. Whatever’s going on with you has no place on the court. We’re here to work on our skills and our teamwork.”

“Sorry, you’re right, partner.” He exhaled his frustration. “Give me a minute to change.” Finding the locker room empty, he collapsed on a bench and folded his hands. He had meant to pray, but he just stared at the row of lockers and made a mental list of all the dents and scrapes he saw there.

Sam found him on the bench a few minutes later, still not dressed for practice. “Want to talk?”

Peter shook his head and changed into his gym shorts and T-shirt. “Let’s do it.” He preceded Sam to the court, reached out for the ball Werner threw him and joined the warm-up.

They played for two hours, and Peter made more baskets than he’d ever made in practice. Still, it made no difference to his teammates. Tony was cold. Johnson was hostile. Sam and Werner included him in plays, but the buoyant mood of early season was missing.

“We need to mix it up a little, Tony,” Werner offered as they cooled down. “Relying on just the five of us is risky. What if one of us got the flu or something? We don’t even have a sub we can count on.”

“We lost Peterman when his kid got sick,” Tony said. “And Oscar had too much going on at work to be reliable. Who else can we get? Anyone know a good player or two?”

Peter shook his head. Sam bounced the ball. Werner shrugged.

“Aren’t we a merry band tonight?” Johnson groused.

Sam shot him a look. “Having a couple more players is a good idea, I think. Tony, why don’t we each try to find someone this week and see who we come up with?”

“Yeah, I like it,” Tony agreed. “It’s almost five o’clock. Let’s work the ball another half hour.” He shoved it at Peter. “Lead us off, Shaughnessy.”

Peter broke, dribbled to midcourt, dodged Johnson’s block, and passed to Tony. Tony laid it up and moved out of the way for Werner to take the rebound.

Everyone but Johnson scored more than they missed. Tony clapped Johnson on the shoulder as they cooled down. “I need you back on your game next week.”

“It’s his fault,” Johnson said defensively and jerked his head toward Peter. “I keep thinking he’s going to trip me, and I can’t concentrate on the shot.”

“It’s no one’s fault but yours,” Tony countered. “You’re not shooting baskets outside of practice, are you?”

“So now you’re taking his side?” Johnson yelled. “We used to be a team before he showed up.”

“We used to be in second-to-last place before he showed up.”

“And we’ve dropped in the standings every week since a month ago.”

“Time out,” Tony snapped. “Personal issues have no place on this team,” he said directly to Johnson. “We’ve all agreed to that rule.” He directed his gaze to Peter. “We play together, right?”