The Summer Everything Changed (17 page)

He made no attempt to kiss her. She was very grateful but also very disappointed. Isobel got out of the car and he pulled off immediately.

Isobel felt chastened. Jeff always waited to be sure she got inside safely. But it was still light out and they had had a fight, their first fight . . .

The sound of typing on a keyboard led Isobel back to the kitchen. Her mother was at the table, engaged in Blueberry Bay work, no doubt. She looked up briefly at Isobel, and then looked back to the computer.

“How was the party?” she asked. “Did you have a nice time?”

“Yeah,” Isobel said. “But I'm really tired. The sun was super-hot . . . I'm going to go upstairs and read for a while before bed.”

“Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

Without looking up from the computer again, her mother said, “Okay, good night.”

Isobel escaped to her room. It had never felt as much like a safe haven until now. Still, she lay awake for hours, her mind racing and turning back on itself. Mostly, she felt guilty about what had happened at the party.

Maybe, she thought, watching the light fade from the sky through the window, she just wasn't ready to date; maybe she should let Jeff go before she did something to really embarrass him. He hadn't even introduced her to the hosts, the Blackmores. He had probably been afraid she would say or do something stupid or immature.

Still, Isobel felt that Jeff shouldn't have been flirting so openly with that girl. But she was a fair-minded person, wasn't she? She and Jeff had never been at a party together before today. Maybe Jeff was just a flirty guy. Some people were and they didn't mean anything serious by it. It was a personality type, really, like the way some people were cutups and others were wallflowers.

Isobel tossed the covers off and minutes later, pulled them back up. She plumped the pillows. She got up and paced. She realized that as bad as the night was, she dreaded the morning more, when she would have to do something, take a step, make a decision . . .

Finally, surprisingly, she slept, and dreamed of nothing she could remember.

 

Once again, Jeff made the decision for her. He sent her a text at 6 a.m. to ask if he could come by the inn later that morning. Isobel said that he could.

At ten he arrived.

Isobel's mother had gone to Wells to get a haircut. Bella was cleaning up in the kitchen, soon to leave for the day, and the housekeeping staff was busy putting the guest rooms back in order. Isobel met Jeff on the front porch. She realized she had absolutely no idea what to expect from their meeting. She felt more awkward than she had ever felt in her entire life.

“Thanks for letting me come by,” Jeff said. His tone was apologetic. At least, Isobel thought it was. At the moment, she didn't feel sure of very much. Her stomach was one big, uncomfortable knot; she hadn't been able to eat a bite of Bella's beautifully prepared breakfast.

Isobel found that the only reply she could give was a nod.

“I guess I had a little too much to drink at the party yesterday,” Jeff went on. “I'm so sorry, Isobel. I swear I'll never let anything like that happen again. Please, believe me.”

“Okay,” she said, though she still wasn't at all sure she believed him. She wondered if it would be fair to take that “okay” back . . .

“You didn't say anything to your mother, did you?” Jeff asked.

Isobel shook her head. “No.”

“Good.” He put his hand over his heart, as if in relief. “I wouldn't want to worry her over nothing. So, do you forgive me?”

He looked so sad and so serious. The only person Isobel had ever had trouble giving a second chance was her dad—and that was only since he had left them for Vicky.

“Of course I forgive you,” she said, and now, she was sure that she meant it.

“Thanks. I mean it.” Jeff grinned. “Really, Izzy, the whole thing is kind of your fault. You're so pretty, you make me crazy with jealousy. The only reason I was talking to that other girl was because I had seen you talking to that guy, and, well, I . . . I guess I kind of flipped out. I've never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you.”

“Really?” Isobel felt a smile creep to her face.

“Really. And then you were wearing that short skirt, and I swear every guy at the party was giving you the eye.”

Short skirt? The skirt she had worn to the party came down to her knees. She remembered Jeff's feelings about that cool orange dress in the resale shop. The dress wasn't at all revealing, but he hadn't liked that, either. And the vintage bathing suit . . . It provided more coverage than most modern one-piece bathing suits did. You could see more skin on Main Street any day in July or August—and you usually did!

Could Jeff really be so conservative in his tastes . . . But if he was, why had he been flirting with a girl in such a tight and revealing outfit? Was his behavior, as he had confessed, all due to alcohol?

Isobel felt a sense of uncertainty taking hold again. Nothing about the whole incident made much sense to her, but . . . Life was uncertain. Everything about it was always up in the air and unresolved. Things changed from moment to moment. Maturity meant learning to accept that.

Jeff reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a white box tied with a purple ribbon.

“Here,” he said, holding the box out to her. “I got this for you the other day. I was going to save it for a while, but I think that now's the right time. You deserve it.”

Isobel stared at the box in Jeff's hand.

Jeff laughed. “Go ahead. It won't bite.”

With a nervous smile (it had to look nervous because she felt all tingly inside), she took the box from him and untied the ribbon (noting that it was a wonderful shade of purple, like the skin of a plum). Carefully, she opened the box. Inside, resting on a piece of what looked and felt like satin, was a slim bracelet, a bangle scattered with clear, sparkling stones. Isobel was speechless.

“It's white gold,” Jeff said.

Jeff didn't say anything about the stones in the piece, and Isobel didn't dare ask.
Probably,
she thought,
they're crystals, maybe Swarovski. Wow.

“It's beautiful,” she said, fighting the urge to cry with happiness. “I—Thank you.”

Jeff put the bracelet on her wrist and squeezed her hand gently.

“Better than that ugly brooch you were going on about,” he said.

Jeff, of course, meant the Marena piece that woman in town had been wearing. “Well, this is prettier . . . in a more feminine way,” Isobel admitted.

“So, are we good?”

Isobel nodded.

Jeff laughed. “I was really worried you were going to dump me. I swear, I didn't sleep at all last night. I couldn't believe I had been such a jerk.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I mean, eventually I fell asleep but . . .”

Jeff took her hand and pulled her down to sit next to him on the top step.

“Well, everything is back to normal now,” he said. “It's all good.”

It was all good, Isobel thought. And she didn't want to dwell for one more second on the past.

“I keep meaning to ask you,” she said brightly. “Why haven't you told me you have an older brother? I heard someone at the party talking about him.”

Jeff frowned. “We're not close. And I wouldn't believe everything you hear about him.”

“Why? It wasn't anything bad. In fact—”

“Isobel. Can we not talk about this please?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Jeff smiled and squeezed her hand. “Good. Let's just be here together.”

But that wasn't meant to be. Just then a car pulled up the drive and came to a smooth stop. A woman slid out of the driver's seat. It was one of the inn's guests. She was tall and thin—she had not-so-casually mentioned to Isobel's mother that she had worked as a model for some years before getting married—and was wearing a wraparound dress in cobalt blue with black platform/stiletto heels. It was an outfit meant to be noticed.

“Who's that?” Jeff asked.

“That's Mrs. White,” Isobel said. “Her husband goes off every morning to play golf and she goes off for a bout of retail therapy. I can't say I blame her. Golf seems pretty boring, and shopping is so much fun!”

Today Mrs. White had been to the outlets in Kittery. Isobel spotted a bag from Banana Republic, one from Coach, and another from a store she didn't recognize. Idly, Isobel wondered what was inside the bags. Mrs. White's style didn't much interest her; Isobel called it “women on parade,” a slightly more sophisticated version of “girls on parade,” and you saw it all the time.

Jeff let go of Isobel's hand and leaped to his feet. “Let me help you with those packages,” he offered.

Mrs. White showed her gleaming, perfectly straight teeth in appreciation. “Why, thank you,” she said, holding out her shopping bags for Jeff to take. The diamonds on both hands winked blindingly.

Jeff went ahead of her into the inn. Mrs. White stopped to smile down at Isobel.

“What a nice young man,” she said. “Such manners. You don't find that often these days, even in men my husband's age. Somewhere along the line they lost the training they might once have gotten. Either that or they just stopped caring.”

“Yes,” Isobel said, smiling up at the woman. “Jeff is very polite.”

“And so handsome . . .” Mrs. White sighed. “I'd call that one a keeper!”

She followed Jeff inside, leaving Isobel to ponder those final words. Yes, maybe Jeff was a keeper. Maybe what had happened yesterday afternoon at the party was just an anomaly, just one of those things that was the odd result of a series of odd circumstances coming together in a rare and random way . . .

Jeff rejoined her a moment later. He took both of her hands now in his, and looked into her eyes. “Thank you, Izzy,” he said. “Maybe I don't deserve to be forgiven, but thank you for doing it.”

“You're welcome,” she replied. His eyes, she thought, were really so expressive. Eyes as windows to the soul. She wondered who had been the very first person to express that lovely truth.

He leaned down and kissed her gently and lingeringly on the lips. Isobel felt happier, more blissful, than she remembered ever having felt.

“I have to go,” he said finally. “I'm needed at Dad's office. But I'll check in with you later, okay?”

Isobel nodded. Happiness, it seemed, had robbed her of the ability to speak.

Jeff then got into his car. Isobel watched him drive off. She felt so, so much better than she had earlier, before his visit. He had been so kind and gentle. And Mrs. White's appreciation of Jeff's gentlemanly behavior had helped her to see and to understand the good things about Jeff that she might have been missing or underestimating.

Isobel sighed in sheer contentment. The bracelet Jeff had given her winked and sparkled in the sun, almost as brightly as Mrs. White's rings! Or maybe not quite, but it was a beautiful piece. If Jeff hadn't given it to her—if she had seen it in a display case in a jewelry store—she might not have considered it as something she would like to wear. But somehow Jeff had known . . . Better than she had known her own taste, Jeff had known that the bracelet would suit her.

She couldn't wait to show the bracelet to her mother. On second thought, Isobel considered, maybe she would keep it to herself for just a little while. She would treasure it like the very special gift that it was—like the flowers Jeff had given her, like the way he held the door for her, like his incredibly exciting kisses.

Isobel looked up at the lovely green leaves of the big oak tree down by the white picket fence and smiled.
I am such a lucky, lucky gal,
she thought.

“No . . . No! Please!”

Louise's eyes flew open and she gasped, struggling for a normal breath. The sheets were tangled around her ankles. Her nightgown was soaked through. One of the pillows had fallen to the floor.

It hadn't happened for a long, long time.

Louise managed to find the switch on the bedside lamp and struggled free of the sheets to a seating position against the remaining pillow. Her heart was still racing. Her mouth was dry; she reached for the bottle of water on the bedside table and drank deeply, spilling some of the water on her already wet nightgown. It was just about three o'clock in the morning, the dead of night, the time when demons both real and imagined invaded and tormented the soul.

It had been so horribly real—the fear, the dread, and then the panic, the certainty that something very, very bad was about to happen. And then the worst of it all, the absolute inability to move, to run, to escape the dread that was inexorably descending.

It had been so long, almost a year now . . . Still, how could she have forgotten the intensity of the nightmare? She put her hand on her stomach, as if to protect what she had not been able to protect all those years ago, in the cold, hard light of day . . .

This time, caught fast in the bondage of the dream, she had seen Ted's bloody death, had heard the sound of the gunshot that had brutally ended his life. He was only twenty-three when he died. But he had already wasted his life almost beyond salvation. And he had ended the life of his child. The fact that it was an unwitting act didn't matter to Louise. When he had pushed her down that flight of stairs, after beating her and chasing her out of their apartment and through the hallways when she had finally broken away, he had destroyed the life of his own flesh and blood. Not that he had cared. How could he have? Maliciously, he had tampered with her birth control pills. When she found out she was pregnant, he had roared with laughter, and, as quickly as the laughter had erupted, it changed to insults and vile condemnation. “You were stupid enough to make that thing,” he had snarled. “Now, get rid of it.”

But he had taken care of that . . .

Louise put her hands to her face and pressed her fingers against her eyes. She wished she had some antianxiety pills on hand. Her doctor had prescribed a medication for her after Andrew had moved out, but she hadn't taken it for long. The last thing she had wanted was to risk becoming dependent on prescription drugs. How would having a junkie for a mother have helped Isobel cope with the divorce and its attendant upheaval?

Well,
she thought now, getting slowly out of the wreck of her bed,
there's always booze . . .
But the problem with booze was that it made you fat. The inane thought almost made her laugh. To be worried about weight gain . . . Wouldn't life be a joy if your biggest worry were gaining a pound or two?

Louise set to work putting the bed back into some order. While she retrieved and plumped the pillows and shook out the covers, she wondered why the dream, the nightmare, had visited her just now. Stress, of course. Inordinate stress could resurrect the terrors you had tried so hard to face down and put behind you. Flora Michaels was at fault. That was it . . .

When the bed was done, Louise went out into the hall and headed for the bathroom. A few ibuprofen were in order. She glanced toward Isobel's closed door. All was quiet. Ah, the sleep of the young and the innocent and the blameless . . .

When she got back to her room, she changed into a fresh nightgown and collapsed into her bed. Reason was returning. The occurrence of the dream could not be blamed entirely on Flora Michaels, if at all. The real culprit was probably the fact that Isobel was entering the world of dating. That reality must have triggered Louise's deepest fears, the store of bitter memories she thought she had permanently locked away, the nasty old demons she hoped she had exorcised forever.

Louise adjusted the pillows under her head and sighed. Thank God Isobel's first experience with the opposite sex was with such a decent guy. If there was anything bad to know about Jeff Otten, surely she would have heard it by now. Just because a dog didn't like him didn't make him a criminal. And Flynn had vetted him and surely Bella had her ear to the ground, even though she didn't indulge in the worst sort of small-town gossip like so many others. Even the sometimes prickly, suspicious Catherine had come around enough to admit that Jeff did seem to be a genuinely decent person.

And then a thought came to her . . . She felt ashamed it hadn't occurred to her before now. Did Andrew know that his daughter had a boyfriend? She hadn't asked Isobel if she had told her father about Jeff, and she was not in touch with her ex-husband in any regular or consistent way. The child support checks arrived on time each month, as did the check for spousal support. Other than that . . .

And when, Louise asked herself, was the last time she had reproved Andrew for not being in closer or more frequent touch with Isobel? She had been remiss there, probably because Isobel having more contact with her father might mean more contact with Vicky, and that was something Louise wasn't eager to encourage. Of course, as she told herself (and anyone else who would listen) all the time, she would never actively stand in the way of a relationship.

Suddenly, Louise felt she had been neglectful. Maybe her guilty conscience had punished her with the dream, as well it should. She vowed that she would have a talk with her ex-husband. She would urge him to call his daughter more often, especially now that another baby was on the way and his attention would be more and more required at home. That would be understandable, of course, but it would only add to the estrangement that had grown up between Andrew and Isobel.

And that estrangement was troubling enough. Louise had asked to see the birthday card Andrew had sent to Isobel; Isobel had shrugged and said that she had thrown it out.

“But why?” Louise had asked. “I mean, not that you have to keep a card forever, but it's only a day after your birthday. You usually keep—”

“It was nothing special,” Isobel had interrupted. “It's not like it was handmade.”

“Did he at least write you a nice note?”

“No.”

“Did Vicky sign it, too?”

“Yeah. I mean, he signed it for her.”

Louise rubbed her eyes now until they hurt. Why hadn't she taken Andrew to task for not even having written a note to his daughter? Sixteen was a special birthday; even someone as unconventional as Isobel admitted that. And she couldn't help but wonder why Vicky, the mother of two girls, hadn't urged Andrew to make the day special.

Then again, she had no idea what part Vicky played in Andrew's current relationship with Isobel. Did Vicky know how he ignored her? Did she demand that he do so? Or did she encourage him to maintain his relationship with his child?

Louise sighed and turned out the light. She doubted sleep would come again. That was all right. She feared that if it did come, the nightmare would come with it. One horrible dream a night was quite enough. Better to lie awake and have your guilty conscience berate you.