Home Sweet Home (13 page)

“I’m not an outsider,” she finally protested. “I grew up here, spent eighteen years living my life in Emerald Lake. My mother is here. My grandmother is here. This is where I’m from.”

“Look, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just trying to make you see what I see when I drive outside the Adirondack Park. More and more open space converted to developed land. New homes being built faster than people can occupy them while the old ones fall, neglected and rotting. Roads that shunt rainwater and snowmelt and pollution into streams at accelerated rates. I’m just saying you’re probably used to all that in the city. I don’t think you can see how important this is as clearly as someone who’s actually here can see it.”

Another time she might have taken out her phone and made notes. She would have scheduled a meeting to address this man’s concerns. But right now she was just too tired—and too full of a heart-deep sadness—to do anything more than say, “Okay.”

The man’s wife tugged on his arm. “George, this isn’t the time for this.” The woman lowered her voice. “
Her father.
”

The man grunted. “There will be a town meeting for this, won’t there?”

Andi nodded. “Yes.” She almost had everything she needed to turn in the paperwork. “This coming Thursday.”

“We will see you there. And I sure hope you’ll have thought about what I said by then.”

Stumbling away from the couple, Andi realized she was standing beside the carousel. Needing to hold onto something—anything—she climbed onto it.

The paint had mostly chipped off, giving way to large patches of bare metal and porcelain. The red-and-white awning was faded to pink and gray, and the whole thing rocked dangerously as she stepped onto it.

As much as an inanimate object could project an emotion, the carousel looked desolate. Forlorn.

She hadn’t cried in the boathouse with Nate. She hadn’t cried at the commemoration. But hearing that stranger point out all the ways she didn’t belong, all the ways she couldn’t possibly be a part of a town that had raised her, finally had tears of grief and loss spilling down her face.

Straddling one of the horses, she leaned her head against the pole that held it to the splitting ceiling boards above, her tears soaking the scarf her mother had made in her father’s memory.

It had been Nate’s idea to build the new playground in Richard Powell’s name. But watching Andi stand in front of the town—trying to be so brave, so strong when she was only a heartbeat away from breaking as she gave her beautiful speech—had him wondering if he’d been wrong to force Andi to revisit her father’s death again in such a public forum.

Lord knew he owed Richard Powell a great deal for his help in keeping Madison from going to a foster home when she was a baby. But nothing was worth adding to Andi’s grief, damn it.

And when she’d fled the festival, and he’d seen the couple corner her, he’d had to follow her, had to go to her.

Nate was too late to intercept the man who had barged into his office earlier that day to demand answers about the condos. But by god, despite the words they’d thrown at each other in that boathouse on Loon Lake, whether he liked it or not, whether it was easy or not, Andi was a part of his soul.

And she needed him.

He’d spent the past three days trying to wade through what had happened between them in the boathouse. Not just the kiss, but what had been said. And what he’d been amazed to find out was that simply getting it all off of his chest had really made him able to take a look at their past with clear eyes.

When they were eighteen, they’d both screwed up. Badly. Did he wish they could have done things differently? Hell, yes. But they hadn’t. And while neither of them was blameless, no one was more to blame than the other, either.

In the end, Nate knew one thing for sure: Both he and Andi had paid the price for their anger, for their pride in not wanting to admit fault, and for their stubborn desire to be the one to hear “I’m sorry” first. And the price had been high, way too high.

Because he’d missed her like crazy for the past ten years.

And he didn’t want to have to miss her anymore.

Andi didn’t look up when he approached. “Go away. I just want to be alone.”

Nate wasn’t surprised she tried to push him away. He’d be more surprised if she didn’t.

Climbing up onto the merry-go-round, he lowered himself down beside the horse she sat on.

“I know it feels like that, but I’m not going to let you push me away. You need somebody right now.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer her lie, just stayed there and watched her tears drip onto her scarf until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Softly, he told her “It gets easier, sweetheart.”

Finally she looked at him, her cheek still pressed against the pole, her beautiful blue eyes glassy with tears.

“When? When will it ever get better?”

With anyone else he could have told the lie she needed to hear. But he couldn’t lie to Andi anymore.

Never again.

“The truth is that it won’t ever go away completely.” Another sob rocked her—and the old porcelain horse she was sitting on. “But it will fade, and you’ll wake up some mornings and actually be able to convince yourself that you’re okay.”

“But what if—” He had to get closer, had to practically press his ear to her mouth to hear the raw whispered words. “What if I get too okay and forget him?” Pain clawed at each word. “What if I’m already forgetting the way he smells and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the way he used to drive me crazy by humming ‘God Bless America’ all the time?”

With each word, Andi’s breath came out shakier, the words barely coming through her tears. She was tearing his heart apart one soft broken word at a time.

“Your father loves you, Andi, and wherever you are, believe me, he knows how much you love him. You don’t have to mourn forever to prove that to him. Or to yourself. Your father wants to look down and see you smiling. Laughing. Forgetting.”

Nate was ready for her to rail at him for making things worse. He was ready for her to scream at him to go away. The only thing he wasn’t ready for was her whispering through her tears, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Not sure what she was asking him about, he gently asked, “What did you need me to tell you?”

“How much you needed me. When your parents died.” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “I left you. I know I left you. But I swear I didn’t know what it felt like, not until Daddy died, Nate. If I’d known, I would have been there for you.” He couldn’t keep up with the tears streaming down her cheeks, couldn’t wipe them away fast enough. “I would have been there, Nate. Please believe me.”

She was crying harder now, his strong Andi no longer strong, and it was breaking the last part of his heart that hadn’t been broken out in the boathouse on Loon Lake.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Not now. We don’t have to do this now.”

“I’m just so sorry for what happened. For what I did.”

“I know you are. And I’m sorry, too. I wasn’t there for you, either. Not when you needed me the most. Let me be there for you now.”

She shook her head, tears launching from her cheekbones and landing on his skin, searing him with her pain.

“I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have, Nate. I don’t ever want to hurt you again.”

“Come here.” He knew she needed arms around her. His arms. “Just a hug, I promise.”

And then she was in his arms, his chin on the top of her soft hair, her face buried in the crook of his shoulder as she cried, the wind taking the end of her scarf and wrapping it around him too.

T
he following night, Andi wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing walking in the door of Lake Yarns. After her experience the previous Monday, she’d planned to stay as far away from the knitting group as she could. Only she couldn’t stand the thought of another second alone in her bedroom with nothing but her computer for company.

But when she walked inside and heard the words, “Andi, honey, you came,” a dozen smiling faces turned around with smiles. Dorothy said, “I knew you’d be back. Didn’t I say that, Helen?” Helen poured her a glass of wine. “Here you go, my dear.” Andi knew exactly why she’d come here tonight.

Nate’s arms around her as she cried on the carousel at the Fall Festival had confused her more than ever. She desperately needed comfort, and she’d known deep inside that there would be laughter here. Not only softness from the yarn, but the true warmth of other women who’d surely loved and lost before, just like her.

Catherine walked in just as Dorothy asked, “Do you have your shawl?”

Andi didn’t want to admit that she’d been so flustered by the end of the previous Monday night, she couldn’t remember what she’d done with it. Wishing she didn’t feel so uncomfortable around her old friend, Andi suddenly wasn’t so sure that being a part of the Monday night knitting group was such a good idea after all.

Flustered all over again, she said, “Actually, I’m not sure whe—”

Rebecca handed the shawl to her. “I must have accidentally grabbed it last week when I was packing up my things.”

Andi thanked her with her eyes.

“Honey, I didn’t know you were working on a shawl.” Carol looked simultaneously pleased and maybe a little bit hurt that Andi hadn’t mentioned knitting something to her at any point that week.

Evelyn patted the seat next to her. “Come sit next to me. Just like you used to when you were a little girl.”

Andi did as she was told, taking a deep breath and trying to get comfortable. She was just about to make her first knit stitch when her grandmother said, “I was telling everyone about how we’re going to save the carousel.”

Her heart skipped a beat or two before it went down like a heavy rock. She hadn’t planned to lead with the bad news but not telling her grandmother now would feel like lying.

“I talked to my client about the carousel, Grandma.”

“Of course, they’re not going to save it.” Evelyn patted Andi’s knee, giving her a moment to recover from her surprise. “I never thought they would. Not when there isn’t a dime to be made from it.”

“Actually,” Andi made herself say, “I was hoping to talk with all of you about the details of my project tonight. That is, if you don’t know already.” She could feel Catherine’s eyes on her. Not angry. Not cold. But watchful. Knowing her old friend worked as Nate’s part-time assistant at city hall, Andi chose her words extra carefully. “I’m working with a builder to build several beautiful residences on the waterfront,” she began. She knew the women who had been at the group last week, but there were several faces she didn’t recognize. “In addition to bringing in additional revenue to the town and the store owners, they are also going to add in some wonderful extras.”

“Like what?” one of the women asked.

“A new boat launch.” When no one looked particularly excited about that, she was glad she had something else to give them. “And a new football field—lights, locker room, bleachers—the whole nine yards.”

The woman who had looked so unimpressed before suddenly smiled. “That’s wonderful. My sons are both on the team.” She turned to the woman next to her and said, “Isn’t that great news?”

Andi silently breathed a sigh of relief as the conversation blew off course for a few minutes as several women started talking about the team’s chances at a championship this year. No one was freaking out. In fact, it was abundantly clear that the football field might end up being the tiebreaker.

Catherine leaned across the coffee table. “Can we talk in the back?”

Andi put down her knitting and made an excuse about getting another bottle of wine before following Catherine into the back room.

“I’ve been trying to keep my mouth shut, but I can’t anymore.” Catherine’s voice was quiet but determined.

“If you’re upset about my project, I’d be happy to meet with you tomorrow morning to discuss it.”

“I don’t care about your project,” Catherine said, her mouth pulling into a tight line. “I want to know what you’re doing with Nate.”

Andi felt the remaining color leave her cheeks. “I understand that you care about him, but my relationship with Nate is private.”

Catherine crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you last week, but I know something is wrong. He’s not himself.”

Pain flared behind Andi’s breastbone. Catherine was right. She should have never let things get as far as they had.

She should have never come back.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re so concerned about him,” Andi said in as even a voice as she could manage. “But what’s between me and Nate is just that. Between the two of us.” Andi turned to leave.

“I know your type.”

That stopped Andi cold. “My type?”

“I was married to one of you.”

Andi couldn’t keep her eyebrows from going up, her arms from adopting the mirror image of Catherine’s defensive crossed position in front of her chest.

“Are you comparing me to your ‘rat bastard’ ex-husband?”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Seems sometimes like you think you’re too big, too important for a place like this.”

“I grew up here, Catherine,” Andi reminded her. She’d expected to take some flak tonight at the knitting group, but about the project, not this personal attack. “We used to be friends. Why are you so angry with me?”

“The fact that you don’t know why says it all.”

“Are you in love with Nate?” Andi guessed, even though the pieces didn’t quite add up.

Catherine laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t you think I wish I could have fallen in love with him instead of—” Her mouth wobbled slightly around the corners.

“I’m sorry,” Andi said softly. And despite the way Catherine had just attacked her, she was.

But the other woman wasn’t interested in her apologies. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for Nate after his father killed himself? All of us were there for him, babysitting, bringing over food, cleaning up that dank trailer the best we could, teaching him how to deal with a baby. But not you, Andi. The one person who should have been there wasn’t.”

“I was wrong.” Andi knew that now, had always known it. “If I could make it up to him, I would. I care about him, Catherine. More than you know.”

More than he knew.

“If you care so much, then you should stay.”

“Here?” It wasn’t until the word had left her mouth that she realized just how insultingly incredulous she sounded.

“Yes, here.” Irritation flashed again on Catherine’s face.

“No,” Andi said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t stay here.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“My job, my apartment, they’re in the city.”

“So get a new job and sell the apartment.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is.”

“You know I never wanted to settle here, Catherine. Emerald Lake is a great town and everything, but I’d go crazy here if I knew I couldn’t get out. It’s too small. Too quiet.”

“So let me see if I get what you’re saying,” Catherine said slowly. “Emerald Lake is fine for quieter, smaller people, but not for you because you’re too big for it?”

“It isn’t personal, Catherine.”

Only, every word between the two of them since Andi had returned to town had been deeply personal. Hurtful.

“Why can’t you see that I’m not trying to hurt anyone? I’m just trying to be true to who I am.”

“I’ll tell you exactly who you are,” Catherine said. “You are a woman who was damned lucky to be loved by one of the best men I’ve ever known. You are a woman who’s about to throw it all away again for a bunch of flashing city lights. You are a woman who’s too damn scared to even give love a chance.” Catherine’s gaze was stony. “Whatever you’ve been telling yourself all these years, that’s who you really are, Andi.”

Andi could feel how hot, how red her face must be, and she only just barely stopped herself from covering her cheeks with her hands.

She wanted to deny everything Catherine was saying. But how could she when the truth was that the glamorous life her father had lived, the very life she’d aspired to, hadn’t really been all it was cracked up to be? Long nights in the office. Friends she never really got close to because she didn’t have enough time to form strong bonds.

And yet, it was those very truths that had her fighting what she was feeling. Because realizing that her feelings for Nate hadn’t gone away, realizing that her life in the city wasn’t as fulfilling as she’d thought it would be, made her feel weak. Like she wasn’t as strong as her father. Like she was somehow letting him—and herself—down by allowing herself to get too comfortable at Emerald Lake.

Andi opened her mouth a couple of times to respond to what Catherine had said, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know what to say.

Because she didn’t know what to feel.

A moment later, her mother started screaming.

Everything moved in slow motion for Andi from that moment. As they rushed back into the main part of the store to find Evelyn lying on the floor in Carol’s arms, Andi could hear Rebecca calling 911, her calm explanation that Evelyn had started coughing, then had passed out coming through Andi’s ears as if through a long, thin tube. Andi was barely aware of dropping to her knees and putting two fingers on Evelyn’s pulse, finding a faint heartbeat.

She heard someone say, “Please, god. Not her. Not yet,” and only barely realized that it was her, that she’d been the one begging for her grandmother.

Andi didn’t know how much time passed on the floor, just that every second felt like an eternity until they heard the sirens of the local volunteer ambulance crew, the only crew that could get there quickly. And then like magic, Nate was there with another volunteer paramedic, both totally focused on her grandmother, getting her up on the gurney and taking her vitals.

Andi held onto her mother as they watched them roll Evelyn into the back of the ambulance. Andi couldn’t think of where she’d put her car keys so they could follow them to the hospital.

Nate returned to Andi and her mother. “Evelyn needs both of you right now.”

He led them out to the ambulance, and it was a tight fit in the back, but Andi had never been so glad to be squeezed in. She held onto one of her grandmother’s hands while her mother held the other.

In a calm but not at all detached voice, he asked them for whatever details they had about Evelyn’s health.

Andi looked at her mother, saw that she couldn’t possibly speak with the tears rolling down her cheek one after the other. “She’s been coughing a lot. I sent her over to Dr. Morris. She said he told her to rest.” Andi was fighting back her own tears. “I should have gone and talked with him myself to make sure she wasn’t just hearing what she wanted to.”

Nate’s hand was warm on her shoulder. “It’s good that you had her see him, Andi. And even good doctors like Dr. Morris sometimes miss things.” Obviously sensing she was desperate for reassurance, he said, “Syracuse General isn’t a big hospital, but it’s a great one with doctors that have trained at all of the best schools.

She knew he was trying to allay her concerns about taking her grandmother to a bunch of hick quacks. Still, Andi couldn’t stop thinking that if they were in the city, they would already be at the nearest hospital.

Evelyn’s lungs moved up and down as she took in the oxygen through the mask they’d put over her mouth and nose, and Andi couldn’t stop asking herself, when was the last time she’d sat with her grandmother? With her mother? Talking or eating or knitting rather than just dropping in for a few minutes before flitting away to take care of her “important” life. Even this week, she’d been hiding out from them. Too afraid that they would look into her soul and see everything that was wrong with it.

It shouldn’t have taken her grandmother in an ambulance to pull them together.

But it had.

Andi was sorry, so sorry that she hadn’t been there more. She knew she would never forgive herself if the last real conversation she’d ever have with her grandmother had been last week in the cottage about the carousel, when Andi had been impatient to get going, to send e-mails, to convince Nate that she was right about everything she wanted to be right about.

Nate stayed with them as the doctors saw Evelyn. Carol still hadn’t spoken, but she took the cup of coffee he handed her. When Andi shook her head, he gave her water instead and watched to make sure she drank it all down.

Carol’s suffering, her fear, was written all over her face, in the slump of her shoulders, in the shadows under her eyes. Andi was clearly hurting, too, but she’d obviously assigned herself the role of holding it together.

He wanted to pull her aside, tell her he’d hold it together for her.

He couldn’t take the burden of strength off of Andi’s shoulders—he’d been there, knew just how heavy it was—but he could bring her food, he could sit with her, he could watch over her.

And he could pray.