Moonlight on Butternut Lake (9 page)

Mila nodded. Just as she'd thought. So the accident hadn't changed Reid so much as it had scratched all the shine off his surface.

“Well, anyway,” Lonnie said, draining the last of the coffee from her cup. “I'm sure he'll be back to his usual self in no time.”

Mila didn't answer. Even to get that far, she thought, Reid had a long way to go.

Lonnie started to get up from the table then, but she hesitated and sat back down. “I've been meaning to ask you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Is he still . . . is he still having the dreams?”

“You know about those?” Mila asked, surprised.

Lonnie nodded. “I spent a few nights here with him, in between his last two home health aides. And, honestly, I didn't know what to do when I heard him. It scared the living daylights out of me, I can tell you that. Walker had warned me about it, of course. But it's different, having someone tell you about it, and actually hearing it for yourself.”

“So what did you do?” Mila asked.

“Nothing,” Lonnie said, looking a little ashamed. “I was afraid to let him keep dreaming like that. But I was even more afraid to wake him up.”

“I think you were right not to disturb him,” Mila said honestly, remembering what had happened when she'd woken Reid up. “I don't know a lot about PTSD,” she told Lonnie, “but obviously, if I'm going to stay here, I'm going to need to learn more about it.”

“PTSD?” Lonnie repeated.

“Posttraumatic stress disorder.”

“Is that why he has those dreams?”

Mila shrugged. “I'm not an expert, obviously. But I think so.”

Lonnie looked a little frightened. “It sounds serious.”

“It's treatable,” Mila assured her. “On my next day off, I'm going to go to the public library in town and research it. Once I know more about it, I might be able to be more helpful to him.” But she heard the doubt in her own voice. “Ultimately,” she added, “I think he's going to need to see a specialist. A psychologist or a psychiatrist.”

Lonnie nodded thoughtfully. “Well, in the meantime,” she said, “if you want to do some research here, you can use the iPad in the study. I'm sure Walker wouldn't mind.”

“No, that's okay,” Mila said quickly. She'd poked her head in the study. But like most of the cabin, with the exception of her bedroom and the kitchen, it felt somehow off limits to her. Mila heard someone else driving up to the cabin then, and she felt her body tense up again.

“Oh, that'll be Walker,” Lonnie said, standing up and taking her coffee cup to the sink to rinse out. And a moment later Mila saw that it was, in fact, Walker's pickup truck rolling into view. He often stopped by at this time of the morning, on his way to the boatyard in Butternut. Still, it wasn't until he'd parked and was pushing open the kitchen door that Mila finally felt her body begin to relax.

She stood up then, to say hello, but Walker waved to her to sit back down. “Don't let me interrupt your breakfast,” he said. But he let Lonnie pour him a cup of coffee, and when he'd had a chance to drink some of it, he asked Mila, a little warily, “How's our patient this morning?”

“He's fine,” Mila said, with a smile that cost her real effort.

“Good,” Walker said, visibly relieved. “And you'll let me know if there's anything you need? Anything at all?”

“I'll let you know,” Mila said, marveling at the fact that Walker and Reid were actually brothers.

“Good,” he said. “Well, I'll just duck in and say hello to Reid now. Oh, and Mila”—he took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her—“about that appointment we discussed? Here are the directions to Reid's doctor's office. And I'll remind him, again, that you're going to be taking him on Friday, okay?”

Mila nodded, already worried about this outing. If Reid could barely tolerate her presence for five minutes, how would he ever be able to spend a whole morning with her? But she wouldn't think about that now, she decided, as Walker left the kitchen and Lonnie came to clear away her breakfast dishes.

“Oh, Lonnie, I can do that,” Mila protested, reaching for them.

“Okay,” Lonnie said. “But, Mila?”

“Yes?”

“In the future, don't feel guilty about my doing the cooking, or the dishes, or the housework. I
like
taking care of people. I like keeping busy, too. And now that my boys have all moved away from home, and my husband has . . .” Her voice trailed off now, and her normally cheerful expression clouded over.

“I'm sorry, Lonnie,” Mila said softly, knowing that Lonnie's husband had died, suddenly, the year before.

“Don't be sorry,” Lonnie said, smiling again. “Just let me do the dishes.”

R
eid was staring sullenly at his closed window shade when he heard Walker's quick, but decisive rap on his bedroom door.
It was amazing how much you could tell about someone from the way they knocked on a door, he thought. Lonnie, for instance, had a knock that sounded cheerful. Cheerful and hopeful. Just like her. And Mila . . . Mila's knock seemed to him, somehow, to be both anxious and determined at the same time. It was a knock that said she didn't want to be there, knocking on his bedroom door, but that she'd be damned if she'd shirk her responsibility by
not
knocking on his bedroom door.

“Reid?” his brother said, through the closed door, when he didn't respond. But Reid ignored him. He heard Walker sigh heavily and knock again.

“Not now,” Reid said. “I'm busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

Busy avoiding people,
Reid almost said.
Well-meaning, but otherwise annoying people, like you.
But he didn't say anything. He was hoping if he kept ignoring him, his brother would eventually go away. He'd done that before, though admittedly not very often.

“Reid, I'm coming in,” Walker warned, before he opened the door and walked into the room. He took a quick look around it, as if inspecting the area for any illegal contraband, and then his gaze settled on Reid.

“Close the door,” Reid said, by way of a greeting.

Walker closed it, then asked, “Mind if I sit down?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“Probably not,” Walker conceded, sitting down in the armchair in the corner. “How are you doing today?” he asked Reid.

Reid didn't answer.

“I see you didn't eat your breakfast,” Walker said, glancing at the untouched tray on a nearby table.

Reid shrugged.

“Would it be all right if I had some of it?”

“Knock yourself out,” Reid said.

Walker walked over to the tray and helped himself to some bacon and eggs. “You don't know what you're missing, Reid,” he remarked between bites. “Even cold, these eggs are so good.”

“What, no breakfast at your place?” Reid asked, annoyed.

“Not this morning. Things were a little . . . hectic over there.”

“Hectic, huh? Does that mean there's trouble in paradise?”

“No, Reid. No trouble,” Walker said as he ate another piece of bacon. “It's just hard getting everyone out the door in the mornings. But I'm sorry to disappoint you. I know how little faith you have in the institution of marriage.”

Damn right,
Reid thought, though how it could be otherwise, he didn't know. His parents' whole marriage, as far as he could see, had been one long public service announcement urging him and Walker to stay single.

“There is one thing, though . . .” Walker said now, spreading jam on toast. “One
tiny
little problem,” he added, taking a big bite out of that toast.

“Well, whatever it is, it's not your appetite,” Reid observed, watching Walker demolish the rest of his breakfast and then throw himself, satisfied, back into the armchair.

“No, that's not it,” Walker agreed. “It's the whole . . . you know, ‘sex after children thing.' The whole ‘sex after baby thing,' really.”

“Why, what about it?” Reid asked, not really wanting to know.

“Well, there just isn't enough of it,” Walker said, lounging in the armchair. “I mean, don't get me wrong, what we have is still good, but . . .”

“Is it really that difficult to have sex when you have children?” Reid asked now, curious in spite of himself.

“It's not
difficult,
” Walker said. “It's just . . . we're never alone
together anymore, and when we are, we're so damned tired. Like last night, for instance. By some miracle, we'd gotten both the kids to bed at a reasonable hour, and we were both still semiawake, so I'm lying in bed, waiting for Allie, and she comes in, and she looks . . . she looks good. I mean, she's wearing this new nightgown, and it's, you know, kind of sexy. Not in an over-the-top way, not see-through or anything, because that's not her style, but it's pretty, and I know she must have chosen it with this in mind—”

“Does this story have an ending?”

“Oh, it has an ending.” Walker said, unfazed. He was used to Reid's rudeness. “It's just not a very happy ending. Allie got into bed, and we started kissing and—”

“Okay, you can skip this part.”

“And I see this thing on her nightgown,” Walker continues. “Right on the shoulder. And I realize that after she fed Brooke, Brooke must have spit up on her, without Allie realizing it. And I know if it's your own kid you're not supposed to feel this way, but, honestly, it was kind of gross. It looked like . . . old cottage cheese or something.”

“That does sound gross,” Reid agreed. “So what'd you do, ignore it?”

“No, I couldn't ignore it. A better man than me would have ignored it, but I pointed it out to Allie, and she went to put her nightgown in the laundry, and by the time she came back to bed . . .” He shrugged. “I was asleep. She tried to wake me up, but I was out cold. I'd been up since five
A.M.
that morning with Brooke. She's teething and for some reason—”

“Stop, please. I can't take any more,” Reid said, holding up his hands. “Really, if the point of this is to impress upon me what a . . . domestic nightmare your life has become, consider it done.”

Walker, usually immune to Reid's barbs, looked genuinely hurt. “That is
not
the point. And if you think that's how I see my life now, you're dead wrong. You just don't like it when I talk about the good stuff, Reid. Every time I try to tell you about something cute Wyatt or Brooke has done you cut me off and—”

“There's a reason I do that,” Reid said, cutting him off again. “It's because when you start to talk about them that way you get this moronic, goofy expression on your face, Walker. I can't stand it, really. You look like a total idiot.”

Walker was silent for a moment, studying him, an unreadable expression on his usually readable face. “Yeah, you would think that, I guess,” he said, finally, with a shrug. And then, changing gears, he said, “But I didn't come here to talk to you about any of that, actually.”

“Ahh, at last, the lecture of the day,” Reid said. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to get to that. But now that you have, can you hurry it up a little? Because the sooner you get it over with, the sooner I can get back to . . .”
To what?
he wondered. Well, to nothing, he supposed. But it was a nothing that was easier to bear when he was alone.

But Walker ignored the last part of what he'd said. “The lecture of the day, huh?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Reid nodded, barely.

“And what might today's topic be?”

“I don't know,” Reid grumbled. “My poor attitude, maybe? Or my lack of interest in our business? Or—”

“Actually, you've got it all wrong,” Walker said. “There's no lecture today. In fact, I'm here to congratulate you.”

“Me?”

“Yep. You. Because you've reached a milestone, Reid. As of today, Mila's been here for two weeks. You never got that far
with the other two home health aides. Or have you forgotten?” No, he hadn't forgotten. Especially since the second one, Mrs. Bolger—the one with the cloying personality and the too-sweet perfume—had quit in such a spectacular fashion. It was only a week into her stint when Reid made a particularly nasty comment that led to her resigning. But
before
she'd resigned, she'd told Reid exactly what she thought of him. And the funny thing was, it was the first time he'd liked her. No, not
liked
her, exactly. But found her entertaining. He hadn't known before then that she was capable of such colorful language. Such incredible profanity. It made her seem, if not interesting, then at least tolerable.

“I'm assuming things are going well with Mila, though,” Walker said now.

“What do you mean by ‘going well'?”

Walker hesitated. “I mean, you haven't antagonized her yet. Have you?”

Reid shook his head. “I don't think so,” he said. And he hadn't. At least, not as far as he was concerned. He'd been direct with her, of course. To the point. Okay, maybe he'd gone a little beyond directness, maybe he'd bordered,
no, landed,
right on rudeness. But he'd agreed to let her be his home health aide, for God's sake. Not his personal companion.

There'd been only one time since she'd come to live there that his behavior had crossed the line. That first night, when she woke him up from his nightmare. He'd been furious then, and he hadn't held back, either, when he'd told her, in no uncertain terms, never to come into his bedroom uninvited again. And she'd been afraid. No, not afraid. She'd been
terrified
. He shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair, remembering the expression on her face, and remembering, too, the crying he'd heard after she went back to her room. He rubbed his temples now, as if trying
to rub away the memory of that sound. But he couldn't get rid of it, not when he knew he'd been the one responsible for it.