More Than Words Can Say (15 page)

Greg returned his attention to Brooke. “She seems to know
everybody,
” he said.

Brooke nodded. “Serendipity is a very small town.”

Greg smiled. “True enough,” he said.

Just then, Emily noticed them, and she hurried straight over. After eagerly taking a seat beside Brooke, she gave her a big hug.

“Hello,
ma chère
!” she said, her voice carrying a telltale French accent. “It’s been a while!”

“I know,” Brooke answered. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Then Emily gave Greg a discerning look. “
And who do we have here?
” she asked in French. “
My, but aren’t you the handsome one! I thought that Errol Flynn lived in Hollywood, but here he is, at Le Coq Bleu!
”

Greg smiled.
She’s so full of life,
he thought.
And she apparently assumes that I didn’t understand her . . .

“
Thanks for the compliment,
” Greg answered in French.

Emily’s cheeks blushed slightly. “Whoops,” she said. “It seems that I just got caught.”

Brooke laughed. “No fair speaking French, you two!” she admonished them. “But if I had to guess, I think that I got the gist of what you were saying!”

Greg crushed out his cigarette in the table ashtray and stretched out his hand. “Greg Butler,” he said to Emily. “I’m Brooke’s new neighbor out at the lake.”

Emily happily shook his hand. “Ah,
oui,
” she said. “Every time I’ve visited Brooke’s cottage, I’ve noticed how well your place was progressing. So it is at last done, and you have moved in?”

“Yes,” Greg answered, “and I love it there. I’m a painter and a photographer.”

Emily looked at Brooke. “It must be nice to finally have a neighbor after all this time,
non
?” she asked. “And an artistic one, too?”

Brooke looked at Greg, thinking. “It is,” she finally answered. “And he actually fishes as well as I do.”

Emily laughed. “Then the two of you were made for each other!” she said.

When Brooke’s expression suddenly sobered, Emily realized her faux pas and she quickly placed one hand over her friend’s. “I’m so sorry,
ma chère,
” she said earnestly. “I know how much you miss Bill, and I didn’t mean to imply that—”

“It’s okay,” Brooke answered. “It’s just that I’ve become so lonely in his absence. Until Greg moved in next door, I was actually considering going home early.”

“But Bill’s officer’s training will be finished soon,
non
?” Emily asked. “And maybe then he will get some leave and come visit you before he ships out.”

Sighing, Brooke comfortingly rubbed one arm. “I can’t say,” she answered. “I don’t know much about how the army works. All I know is that I miss Bill terribly, and I’m already sick and tired of this damned war.”

Emily nodded. “As are we all,” she said. “But America just got in, and we still have a long road ahead of us, I fear . . .”

Silence reigned among the three of them for a time as they each searched for something more pleasant to discuss. But whenever the war was mentioned, time seemed to literally stand still in a dark and macabre way. At last, Emily broke the silence.

“So, what would you like to eat?” she asked.

Brooke finally smiled a little at Greg. “Have you ever tried a
croque
-
monsieur
sandwich?” she asked. “Emily’s father, Henri, makes them with Gruyère.”

Greg nodded. “I love them, but I haven’t had one in a long time.”

“Okay, then,” Brooke said to Emily. “We’ll have two of those, and I’ll have an iced tea.”

“Ditto on the tea,” Greg replied.

“Oh, and before I forget, Papa has a new side dish,” Emily said.

“What is it?” Brooke asked.

“Seasoned, deep-fried pickle slices.”

Brooke smiled wryly. “How interesting,” she said. “Now, how come I never thought of that?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said, laughing. “But I’m sure that Papa would let you give them one of your made-up names, if you want.”

“I might just take him up on that,” Brooke answered.

“Okay, then,” Emily said. “I’ll be right back with everything.”

As Emily hurried away, Greg watched her go. “Adorable . . . ,” he said.

Brooke nodded. “And one of my very best friends,” she said. “Her father built this place with his own two hands. Have you ever been to Paris?”

While lighting another cigarette, Greg shook his head.

“Well, if you had, you’d know how close to an authentic Parisian restaurant this place really is,” Brooke answered.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Greg answered. “And hopefully, that famous city will soon be crawling with American soldiers, rather than Nazis.”

When Brooke’s expression darkened a bit once more, Greg shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It seems that I just keep sticking my foot in my mouth. Or clubfoot, as the case may be . . .”

Brooke nodded. “No apology needed,” she answered. “The truth is that if I’m going to have a husband fighting overseas, I’d better get used to the idea. And besides,” she added with a bit more authority in her voice, “this maudlin attitude of mine isn’t what Bill would want.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Greg answered. Then he gave her another of his nearly incandescent smiles. “And I’ll bet that when you were at your happiest, you were a real handful.”

At last, Brooke smiled fully. “So I’ve been told,” she answered.

A few moments later Emily brought their food, and they ate for a time in silence. “You’re right,” Greg said. “No offense to your cooking, but this is one of the best things I’ve ever had. And thanks for introducing me to Emily. She’s a great gal.”

Just as they were finishing their lunches, Emily came back over. “Thank you,” Greg said. “And the deep-fried pickle slices were amazing! I’ll be sure to come back here, I promise you.”

“And we thank you,” Emily said. Then she gave him a short, mischievous smile. “Try not to break too many hearts this time when you walk back to the door,
oui
?” she asked. “After all, it isn’t every day we get a movie star in here.”

Greg laughed. “I’ll try to keep that in mind next time,” he said laughingly.

“And please come out to my cottage sometime soon, won’t you?” Brooke asked Emily. “It’s been a while since you visited.”

“
Mais certainement!
” Emily answered.

With that, Greg paid the bill, then he and Brooke left the restaurant. Sure enough, just as many female eyes watched him leave as had watched him arrive . . .

“
A
ND SO
,
G
REG
has made his first visit to the Blue Rooster,
” Brandon read aloud. “
And as I said before, it was a lovely day. We had taken my Cadillac into Serendipity, and before leaving for home Greg offered to drive, and I agreed. And so, we put the top down and drove back through the lush, green countryside to Lake Evergreen. And even now as I write this, I’m not sure what possessed me to do so, but when I laid my head upon his shoulder, it somehow seemed right.
”

Brandon closed Brooke’s journal and set it down on the coffee table.

“Was that the end of the entry?” Chelsea asked.

“Yes,” Brandon answered.

“Does the Blue Rooster still exist?” Chelsea asked.

“Yes,” Brandon answered, “as a matter of fact, it does. Emily Rousseau owns it. She’s a very old woman now, and something of an institution in Serendipity.”

“Do you suppose we could go there sometime?” Chelsea asked.

“Sure,” Brandon answered. “I’m familiar with Emily. And although we can’t know whether she and your grandmother stayed in touch all those years, I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

Suddenly feeling the need to be closer to Brandon, Chelsea scooted over a little. She then said nothing for a time as she watched the flames dance in the lovely rose quartz hearth. Emily Rousseau was someone she very much wanted to meet, and she hoped that she could do so soon. Because of all the citizens of Serendipity, Emily might be the only remaining one who could tell her about her late grandmother.

Brandon ended up staying for another hour while the two of them talked and watched the mesmerizing flames. And when at last he did go home, while standing on the porch and watching him walk down the sandy beach, Chelsea felt yet another tug on her heart.

Chapter 13

W
hy isn’t she responding?
Brandon wondered desperately.
What on earth should I be doing that I am not?

He again checked the vital-signs monitor and saw that both her heart rate and blood pressure were still falling. It was Brandon’s job to keep this woman alive until the surgeon was prepped. But he was clearly losing the battle, both for her and for himself.

To his surprise, she suddenly opened her light-blue eyes and looked straight at him. At first, she began to smile. But as she came to fully understand her surroundings, a look of abject terror overcame her. She started to say something, but before the words could come out, she lost consciousness again.

She knows . . . ,
Brandon thought
. She knows where she is and that I’m trying to save her . . .

Blood covered his latex gloves, and sweat poured into his eyes. Several nurses aided him, their faces a series of taciturn masks as the life inexorably drained from the badly injured woman. Every time he tried to help her, it seemed that he couldn’t work fast enough. And every time he tried to think of something else to help save her, it was as if all of his training had somehow abandoned him. He felt useless and inconsequential as his patient struggled to stay alive.

Then he watched in horror as the final bit of breath rattled from her lungs. The telltale sounds coming from the monitor soon became a steady tone, and the electronic life line went flat. Because they had known this woman, several of the nurses started to cry. And then, quite extraordinarily, he heard the bizarre sound of a dog, plaintively whining . . .

Brandon suddenly awakened and lurched upright in his bed. Outside his bedroom window, the sun was starting to rise. His chest was heaving, and he was drenched with sweat. The nightmare had come again, he realized. Jeeves stood anxiously by the bedside. As he laid his muzzle atop the covers and worriedly gazed at his master, his whining began anew.

Brandon sighed and shook his head. Before reaching down to give Jeeves a comforting pat, he ran his fingers through his damp hair.

“It’s okay, boy,” he said to Jeeves. “Just another one of those nights.”

He tossed the covers off his naked body, put on a robe, and shuffled into the kitchen. He always prepared his coffee the night before and set the timer to start before he awakened. As he took his first sip of the life-giving brew, the warm mug felt good in his hands. After letting Jeeves outside, he went out onto the porch and sat down. Although the sun was still rising, his pilot’s instincts said that the day would be fair, with a slight wind coming off the lake. Good flying weather, he realized, but he wouldn’t be flying today.

He hadn’t suffered his recurring nightmare for a while, and he had been hoping that it had at last abandoned him. But now he knew differently. His real-life failure to save that woman had haunted him incessantly for more than three years. And shortly thereafter, the tragedy had begun invading his sleep as well. The nightmare didn’t resurface often, thank God. But when it did, it rattled his very soul.

Just then the phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He shuffled back into the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?” he said.

“Brandon,” a female voice answered, “it’s Claire.”

Claire,
he thought
. So kismet exists, after all . . .

“Hello, Claire,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” she answered. Her voice sounded frightened, worried.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s Rachel. She’s sick.”

“How so?”

“She’s coughing, and she feels warm to me.”

“Can you bring her to the emergency room?” he asked.

He believed he already knew the answer. But because visiting Claire was something he would rather avoid, he had needed to ask.

“No,” Claire said. “Pug never came home last night, and I’m alone, without the truck. He’s probably off drunk again. Can you come?”

Silence reigned on the phone line for a time as Brandon closed his eyes. “All right,” he finally answered. “I’ll leave soon.”

“Thank you, Brandon,” Claire answered quietly. “And God bless you.”

As Brandon hung up the phone, a lone tear ran down his scarred cheek.

Chapter 14

S
till half-asleep, Chelsea again heard an odd, unrecognizable sound. It was loud, causing her to roll over angrily and wonder why the infernal noise wouldn’t just stop and leave her alone. Then the strange clatter came again, this time growing into a continual racket so strident that it seemed to drill straight through her. Determined to discover the cause of the noise, she clambered out of bed, threw on a robe, and with Dolly in tow, shuffled out onto the porch.

She looked at the lake to find that the mysterious sounds had been coming from Brandon’s floatplane, as its engine had been starting up. The attractive red and white aircraft was preparing to take off. She watched with sleepy interest as Brandon turned the plane into the wind and pushed the throttle to the max.

The roaring plane was soon speeding across the waves, and then it lifted free of Lake Evergreen’s watery grasp. It was an interesting sight to see, causing Chelsea to wonder about whomever Brandon was visiting this time. As the plane banked into an easterly climb, Chelsea watched until it vanished from sight.

Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but she thought she smelled freshly brewed coffee, so she walked into the kitchen to investigate. To her happy surprise, her new coffee machine was burbling pleasantly.
Brandon,
she realized. He must have prepared it for her after doing last night’s dishes.
Bless you,
she thought as she gratefully poured her first cup. She then heard Jeeves whining just outside the kitchen door, so she let Dolly out to join him.