The Things We Knew (19 page)

“Look . . .”

Nick pushed to his feet. “Trust me, Lynnie is the last person in the world I want to see hurt. She's been through enough.”

“Yes, she has.” David stood shoulder to shoulder with him. “What are your intentions?”

Nick tried not to laugh and wondered if the guy knew how eighteenth century he sounded. “Uh, I don't exactly have any. I mean, I'm not about to propose or anything, if that's what you're asking.”

“Do I have your word that you won't hurt her?”

Nick rolled his eyes, pushed his arms high over his head, and stretched. “Relax. Lynnie and I are friends. That's all there is to it right now.” But as soon as Mindy got her act together, he hoped that would change in a hurry.

“Fine.” David pulled on a pair of shades and jangled his keys. “There's something else.”

“What?”

“It's about Cecily. Lynnie thanked me for getting her to come back. The thing is, I didn't. Neither did Liz or Gray. Did you hire her to come back and work at the house?”

Nick ran his tongue over his sunburned lips and stared at his shoes.

“Nick, we can't pay—”

“I'm not asking you to.” He jerked his head up, indignation taking him by surprise.

“You don't owe us anything.” David gave a wan smile. “You know that, right?”

Nick shrugged and tried to look convinced.

“Well, thanks.” David smiled. “Anyway. Guess I better head home. Going to start replacing the shingles around back this afternoon.”

Nick nodded, checked his watch for no particular reason. “Need a hand?”

David raised an eyebrow. “Sure, if you've got nothing else to do.”

“Nope.”

Nick followed David up to the club. He felt drained from the morning's sun, sea air, and David's questions.

Maybe he should stop kidding himself. What he really wanted was so far out of reach, so far beyond reason, it bordered on the ridiculous. And were she to ever learn the truth about their parents . . . the whole situation was far too sticky for his liking.

Maybe the sooner the Carlisles fixed up the place, sold it, and moved out, the better.

L
ynnie, you're killing me!”

Lynette squeezed the brakes, stopped her bike, and turned. Gray pedaled up behind her, red-faced and none too happy about it. She smothered a laugh. “Come on, slowpoke. The windmill is just around the corner.” It had taken some convincing, but eventually he'd agreed to a bike ride.

Gray stopped next to her, panting. “You do know CPR, right?” He took off his shades and reached for his water bottle. “I'm so out of shape it's not even funny.”

She let him rest a minute, then pushed forward. “Let's go. You'll feel better when we get there.” The Prospect Street bike path was one of her favorite jaunts, but it had been some time since she'd enjoyed a bike ride.

They soon pulled off the road and sat on the grassy embankment by the old windmill. Lynette smiled as she watched Gray stretch out. She'd kept an eye on him the whole way, in case he passed out on her, but despite his complaints to the contrary, he looked okay.

“Here.” She pulled out a couple of granola bars wrapped in clear plastic from her backpack and tossed one his way. “Victoria made these. They're really good.”

Gray opened one eye. “Any spinach in them?”

“Not that I know of.” If there was, she'd never tell.

She drank from her own water bottle and flexed her feet. A
breeze cooled her face and she relaxed to the creaking of the blades as the windmill turned.

“This place is old as dirt, huh?” Gray sat up and adjusted the blue bandana around his head. The past few weeks seemed to have worked some magic on her brother. The sun gave color to his nose and cheeks, his eyes starting to sparkle the way they used to. He looked a little less like a Tim Burton character.

Lynette stared at the gray structure with its red lattice arms and nodded. “It was built in 1746. Pretty old.”

“How do you remember this stuff, Shortstop?” Gray laughed and threw some water in her direction.

“I don't know.” But it was a good question. Why did she remember facts and figures of no real importance and not her own past? She bent over and undid the laces of her sneakers and freed her feet.

He stretched out again, one arm flung over his eyes.

“Gray?”

“Yeah?”

Lynette tapped sand out of her sneakers. “Is there a story between you and Victoria?”

A muted sigh slipped out. “You could say that.”

“Is it a sad one?”

Gray folded his arms across his chest. “Very sad.”

“Oh.” She was almost sorry she'd asked. “Well. I like her, Gray.”

The corner of his mouth curled upward. “Me too, Lynnie.”

Lynette bent over her legs and pulled back on her toes, feeling her spine loosen. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

“Did I have a choice? You know I'd still be asleep, right?”

“At three in the afternoon?” She nudged him with her foot. “I sure hope not.”

“Hey, I work nights.” He struggled up with a dramatic groan. “Used to.”

So did she, but he didn't need to know it.

Lynette wondered what to say next. Since he'd come home
they hadn't had a sincere conversation about anything. Just argued mainly, about Nick, the house, and Dad's failing health.

Gray took a long swig from his water bottle, put it down, and smothered a belch a little late. “I owe you an apology.”

“For that?”

“Not for that.” He held her gaze for a moment. “You know what I'm talking about.”

“Probably.” Lynette wrestled with upended emotions. “Where would you like to start?”

He narrowed his eyes and fiddled with the thin silver hoop in his ear. “Where do you want me to start?”

Old grief settled in again.

The question was impossible to answer.

Years ago he'd never have complained about coming on a bike ride. She and Gray spent hours outside, exploring the garden, roaming the beach, riding the path they'd come down today. They were closest in age, and he never seemed to mind spending time with her. She could tell him anything without fear of judgment or teasing. Yet somehow she'd always known he'd go—known he would one day leave the place he'd come to loathe—but she never believed he would leave her behind.

“I'm going to get out of here one day, Lynnie.”

They sat on the wall at the end of the garden facing the ocean, feet dangling over the side. The practice was strictly forbidden, which made it all the more exciting. Gray tossed pebbles onto the rocks below and they watched them disappear into the white foam of the waves. Lynette glanced back over her shoulder. If Mom or Dad found them sitting on the wall, they'd be locked inside for a year.

“Why do you want to leave so bad?” Life was pretty good as far as
she could tell. Parties, barbeques, staying up late all summer, sometimes even on school nights in the fall, before it got too cold. And on days when Mom's headaches were too bad for her to drive, they got to stay home from school.

Gray pulled his arm back and released another fistful of pebbles, and they waited to see if any of them would hit the water. “You're only nine. You wouldn't understand.”

Lynette rolled her eyes. She hated when he acted all superior. “Well, you're not so grown up. You're not even twelve yet.”

“Almost. And when I get out of here, I'm going to make my own rules. Nobody's ever going to tell me what to do.”

“Who tells you what to do anyways? You get away with everything.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He nudged her with his elbow and she gripped the edge of the wall, just in case.

“What were Mom and Dad yelling about this afternoon, Gray?”

“Who cares? They're always yelling.” But he moved a little closer until their legs were touching. His were starting to get prickly with thicker blond hairs.

“They always yell after parties, like when the Coopers are over.” Lynette rubbed her sunburned nose, pulled at a piece of skin. Mr. Cooper and Daddy were supposed to be friends, but they sure knew how to argue like worst enemies.

“That's grown-ups for you.”

“I don't like it.” She turned her head a bit, just to make sure he wouldn't laugh. “I get scared, Gray.”

“You don't need to be scared.” Her brother put an arm around her shoulder. This was so unexpected and surprising that her fears suddenly didn't seem so stupid. “Whatever happens, I won't leave you. You don't need to worry about that. You can come with me, okay?”

Lynette wiped her eyes without Gray seeing and watched a couple of cars go by. A few other bikers passed. White strips of clouds crossed the sky, spread out toward the sun.

Finally she found her voice. “I want to know why you left. Why you cut me out of your life.” It was almost a whisper. A thought she'd wrapped up and put away some time ago. But he'd given her permission to open it.

Gray's blue eyes settled on her. He raised a trembling hand and pulled the bandana off his head, swatted it against his knees, and sighed. “I had a lot of reasons for leaving. None of them had anything to do with you.”

Moisture pushed over the rims of her lids. “That summer you were going to work at the yacht club and head back to college in the fall, the next minute you were off to California. You walked out of our lives. A phone call once in a blue moon doesn't qualify as making an effort to maintain a relationship. I was still in high school. I . . . I needed you.”

“I couldn't take it anymore.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know what Dad was like.”

Lynette sniffed but refused to look away. “Yeah. I do. Probably better than any of you.”

Gray reached for her hand. “Lynnie, did he ever—”

“No.” She snatched her hand back. “He was never violent. Never abusive. Usually all he wanted to do was sleep. We'd have dinner, he'd pretend to eat, then he'd go into the den, drink, and pass out in front of the television. And you have no right to judge him, Gray. Look in the mirror.”

His silence hinted that she might have crossed the line.

But she didn't care anymore.

“You're right,” he said after a few uneasy moments. “I know I can't make it up to you. I can apologize a hundred times over, but it won't change a thing. Could we just maybe . . . start over?”

She stared at the windmill again. Hundreds of years old, it withstood the test of time, weathered island storms, and still held firm. She wasn't that strong.

All the long, lonely nights missing her family. Wondering where Gray was, if he was okay. Getting the odd phone call now and then at all hours, hardly being able to understand the slurred words.

“Lynnie, I'm trying here.”

“I know you are.” There was still so much pain she couldn't push past. “I don't understand, Gray.” She remembered the young jock, the sailor. “You were always so gung ho on staying healthy. Eating right. I know you liked to party but . . . I don't get it. Why drugs?”

“I don't know. Most addicts can't answer that question.” Gray rubbed his chin. “Pressure, I guess. When things started to pick up with my career, part of me was scared I wasn't going to make it. Wouldn't be able to live up to the expectations everyone was putting on me.” He pulled his knees to his chest and locked his arms around them. “At first it was fun, something everyone around me was doing. So I figured once or twice at parties wouldn't hurt. I never believed I'd become addicted, but then I got sucked in. Ended up in the School of Doing Things the Hard Way, got my degree in Stupid.”

Lynette managed a weak smile. “Hope you didn't pay too much for that.”

“I paid enough.” His jaw twitched the way it always did when he was hiding something.

But she couldn't force it from him.

Wouldn't.

She moved closer and put an arm around his shoulders. “I love you, you know. But I need to know you're going to be honest with me, Gray. No calling and telling me everything's fine when it's not. If you want me in your life, I need to know what's going on with you.”

He shrugged out of her embrace and inched away. The wall went back up. “You wanted me to tell you I was a junkie? That I was in rehab? You really wanted to hear that?”

“I would have preferred to hear it from you instead of Cecily.”

He drummed out a beat on the side of his water bottle. “I didn't want you to know. I don't like what I've become. The look you're giving me right now is exactly the one I wanted to avoid.”

“I would never judge you. I hope you know that. And whether it means anything to you or not, I'm praying. I really believe you can do this, Gray.”

“Thanks, Lynnie. Seems you've got lots to pray about these days, huh?” He gave a short laugh. “What do you think God would do with someone like me?”

A lump pressed against her throat and she wiped her eyes. “Love you. There isn't anything you could do to make Him stop, Gray.”

His faraway look said it was too much, too soon. “I haven't had a whole lot of faith lately. Not like you.”

She gave a shaky sigh and met his eyes. “I haven't had a whole lot of faith lately either, but I'm trying to. I have to believe God's going to work all this out.”

Gray nodded. “I'm sorry I can't help with the house. I don't have the kind of money needed to get the place back in shape. I know you don't want to sell.”

She'd figured as much, but the truth of it squeezed her heart. “It's all right.”

Gray scooched closer and took her hand. “But it's not, is it?”

Lynette lifted her shoulders. “I'll deal with it. At least we've all been able to spend some time together.”

“And lived to tell the tale.” His sly look hinted at old mischief. “So far.”

If only Ryan would show up. And perhaps she could get the others on board with her idea before he did.

The very thought now seemed silly—but something made her forge ahead anyway. “I thought maybe, if we could afford it or get a loan somehow, we could renovate. Turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast. Lots of people around here have done that the past few years.”