Читать книгу Nice To Come Home To - Liz Flaherty - Страница 13

CHAPTER TWO

“WHEN ARE WE going to go see your aunt?” Royce stood at the bar that separated the lake cottage’s minute kitchen from its living area.

Cass slid the take-and-bake pizza out of the oven. “Come and get it. Ouch!” She licked the thumb she’d accidentally dipped into pizza sauce. “I don’t know. It’s complicated with Aunt Zoey. You know that.”

“Not to be rude—” which meant that was probably exactly what the teenager was going to be “—but everything in your family is complicated. Once we move back to the real world and I go back to school, I’m going to write a paper on it. You and your aunt and your past and present stepparents and Dad can be my expert witnesses. Do you want some milk?”

Cass shuddered. “No, thank you. And don’t forget, you’re related to some of that family, too.”

Royce bit into her pizza, chewed and swallowed before saying, “Just you and Dad. Mom’s not weird like you guys.”

“No, she’s not.” Cass poured coffee, glad whoever had been in the cottage last had left an opened bag of breakfast blend in the pantry. “Your mother has been a port of calm for me ever since I met her.” She eyed her sister’s plate when Royce took two more slices of pizza. “At least until now. Can you really eat that much pizza?”

“In a heartbeat.”

A half hour and an entertaining conversation later, Cass was surprised to realize that she, too, could eat four pieces of pizza without so much as blinking an eye. “What do you say?” She got up from the table with a groan and put their plates into the dishwasher. “Want to take a walk along the lake? As I remember it, there’s a nice path. Or we can walk on the road.”

Royce looked scandalized. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it, Sister Authority Figure, but it’s dark out there.”

“I know.” Cass put on one of the hooded sweatshirts they’d hung inside the entry closet and tossed the other one to Royce—the evening air was cool. “That’s why I’m taking you along. I might need protection.”

Royce was right about it being dark, but it seemed to be social hour on the lake’s narrow graveled roads. Not only were people walking and running, the bicycle and golf cart traffic rivaled that of the retirement community where Marynell had lived.

Cass had thought she might recognize people and had dreaded it. She’d also looked forward to it. She’d love to explain to them why she’d left without saying goodbye. Why letters forwarded by her grandmother had gone unanswered. Why, when people had looked for her, she hadn’t responded. Why, in an electronic world that fascinated her, she remained anonymous.

But she couldn’t even explain it to herself.

“Where was the house where you lived with your grandparents that year you were here?” Royce interrupted her admittedly maudlin thoughts.

“On the other side where the condos are. They sold it to a development company within a few years after I left. The lake has gotten a little more upscale than it was when I was in high school. We’ll drive around there tomorrow and see.” She pointed toward a large Craftsman house. “That’s Christensen’s Cove. Two of my friends lived there. Arlie’s dad, Dave, and Holly’s mom, Gianna, were married. They were some of the best people I’ve ever known.”

When they reached the south end of the lake, Royce stared at the two estates that took up most of the frontage. “They look really out of place here,” she said finally. “It’s like a what’s-wrong-with-this-picture thing.”

“It is. The one over there is where the Grangers lived. Chris and Gavin were always away at school, although they were here in the summer. I think their family owns the winery we drove past. What was it called?”

“Sycamore Hill. We liked its sign, remember?”

“That’s right. The other house is Llewellyn Hall. Everyone just called it the Hall or the Albatross. Jack Llewellyn was a senior when I lived here. He dated Arlie. His brother Tucker was in my class and he dated everyone, but he was such a nice guy you didn’t even mind it. Libby Worth—” she turned in a thoughtful half circle trying to get her bearings “—she was in my class, too. Her brother, Jesse, was a senior. They lived on the farm out by the winery. As a matter of fact, I think the winery used to be part of that farm.” She turned the rest of the way, heading back toward their cottage.

Royce stayed in step with her. “Who else do you remember?”

“Sam. We dated for a while.” The prom had been the last time they’d gone out. “His dad worked at Llewellyn Lures and his grandfather owned the hardware store. It was called Come On In. Sam had a bass voice you could lose yourself in. Gianna used to say he was Sam Elliott in training.”

“The hardware store’s still there,” said Royce. “I saw it when we drove through tonight. It was just down the street from the bulk food store where we got the pie from the Amish bakery.”

“We should probably get another one of those, since all that’s left of that is the pan,” said Cass drily. “Between that and the pizza, I’m still feeling fairly miserable, and we’ve been walking for at least a half hour.”

“I’m walking. You keep starting and stopping. There’s a difference.” Royce gave her a sisterly elbow that felt better than Cass could have begun to explain. “Come on. Who else?”

“Let me think. Nate Benteen. He was one of the best high school golfers in the country. He was so much fun! He and Holly kept us laughing all the time.”

“Which one was your BFF, the one you’d have stayed in contact with forever and ever if you had any normal social skills?”

“That was cold. And we didn’t say ‘BFF’ then,” Cass retorted. She walked a little farther, separating herself a few steps from Royce. Maybe her sister wouldn’t notice that her breathing had somehow gone awry or that the color had left her face—she’d felt the blood drain from her cheeks as soon as Royce asked the question.

She would say she didn’t remember if her sister pushed her for an answer. Chemo brain hadn’t entirely left her, after all. Getting lost in the middle of a conversation was nothing new. Rather, it was exhaustingly old. So was being pale and washed-out and a mere tracing of who she’d once thought she was.

“Cass, wait up.”

She realized her pace had taken her away from Royce as if her intent was to leave her behind. “Hey.” She stopped. “Can’t keep up with the old lady?”

“Y’know what?” Her sister caught up with her and tilted her head, waiting. Cass couldn’t look away from the blue-green eyes she knew were replicas of her own, a gift from their father.

“No,” she said lightly. “What?”

“You don’t have to answer me. I get that you’re the grown-up and I’m the kid. But don’t make things up or fluff things like those ‘alternative facts’ they talk about on television. If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so. I’ve been on my own most of my life, just like you. I can deal with it fine. I’ll see you back at the house.”

Royce took off at a run Cass couldn’t have kept up with on her best day, so she didn’t try. She went down to the path that followed the curves of the lake and sat on a park bench. She thought of those friends she’d told Royce about. They’d been closer than anyone she’d met in all the years both before and since. Although there’d been much to grieve for in that time, she mourned nothing more than the empty space she’d created in herself when she left the lake without looking back.

Cass closed her eyes, leaning her head back because suddenly it felt too heavy to hold up. With the scent and sound of the lake filling her senses, she remembered that year and gave herself permission to wallow in it.

Her father had been in Iraq, her mother in a new state, job and marriage that didn’t allot room for a recalcitrant daughter. Her grandparents had been willing to keep her for the school year, but not one minute longer. She was sixteen when she arrived at the lake, five feet eight inches of long brown hair and attitude. Especially attitude.

By the time she’d been there a week, improved posture had given her an additional inch and her hair had been streaked by the sun in a way she’d maintained until chemotherapy robbed her of it fifteen or so years later. She’d made more friends than she’d ever had at one time. She’d even been recruited for the high school volleyball team. “We suck,” Arlie had said complacently, “but we have so much fun.”

And they had. She’d spent as many nights at her friends’ houses as she had in her grandparents’ cramped cottage. She’d never missed attending a football or basketball game and the volleyball team had managed—for the first time in a history the length of which they exaggerated when they talked about it—to garner a winning season. She’d asked Mr. Harrison, the high school principal, if there was a writers’ club in the school, expecting to be either ignored or forgotten. Instead, he’d said there wasn’t such an organization at the present time and suggested she form one.

She wondered if the Write Now group still existed. Holly had thrown in with her to start monthly meetings. It had been a thrill, but not really a surprise, ten years before when she’d been in an airport bookstore and found a Holly Gallagher romance on the shelves. Cass had bought that book and at least one copy of the dozen the author had released since then. Sometimes in reading them, she thought Holly had written subliminal messages directly to her; however, life had taught her not to be fanciful, so she always set the notion aside. Mostly.

Sometimes, hidden in the chapters of her own Mysteries on the Wabash stories, Cass left messages to the friends she’d left behind. Of course, those friends didn’t know who Cassandra G. Porter was—they’d never understand the messages.

The sound of footsteps on the paved lake path brought her out of the pleasant reverie of memory, and she straightened in her seat on the bench.

“Hello.” The voice was cheerful, welcoming. A blast from the past that made Cass’s heart feel as if it blossomed in her chest, one whose name had been in her mind only seconds before. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat to make her voice audible, but her breath still hitched and hesitated on its way in and out. “It is.”

Not only did she know the musical voice of Holly Gallagher, she recognized the tall profile of the man who walked beside her. Jesse Worth. Always quiet, always a loner, and one of the good guys she’d known in her life. He’d been a gifted artist, but he had gone into the navy after high school and eventually become a veterinarian, opening his practice on the farm where he’d grown up.

Panic rose in her throat.

Cass hadn’t thought it through long enough before she came back. She hadn’t considered that she’d come face-to-face with the one person who would never want to see her under any circumstances. The one who’d loved Linda Saylors—the BFF Royce had wondered about—as much as Cass had. The one who would remember more than anyone else that Cass should have been sitting in the van seat Linda had occupied. The one who would know that on that prom night so long ago, it should have been Cass who died, not Linda.

* * *

LUKE STOPPED BY Zoey’s the next morning as he often did. It gave him a chance to keep her up on business concerns and to see if she needed anything done. She would never ask, but he was nosy enough that he could usually find out on his own.

“She’s here, then?” Zoey handed Luke a cup of coffee and set a piece of coffee cake in front of him. “How does she look? Healthy?”

He hated the anxiety in the voice of the woman who’d slipped effortlessly into the place of the favorite aunt he’d never had. “Still thin, I think,” he said, “but not like she was at your sister’s funeral. She’s not wearing a wig and her color’s good. Her hair—it’s about the color of maple syrup with gold stuff in it—is pretty. About this long.” He shelfed his hand just below his ear and squinted at the woman who’d sat across her kitchen table from him. “I thought she had your eyes, but they’re more green than blue.”

“They’re like her father’s. Marynell’s were darker, like mine.”

Luke thought of Seth, of Rachel and their sister, Leah. They’d been fighting each other all their lives. Their parents made a practice of professing amazement that they could have four so completely different children. Yet the siblings had never stopped speaking to each other, even when most verbal communication was done in shouts.

“What happened?” He didn’t want to pry, but the sadness in her expression prodded him.

Zoey shrugged, staring past him out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining area of the farmhouse kitchen. “Just one of those family stories they make TV movies about.” She lifted her cup, then set it down without drinking. “I was engaged to Ken when he discovered he preferred my younger, prettier sister. While I was covering the afternoon shift for her one day at the orchard, he picked her up in his snazzy convertible and they eloped.”

“Ouch.” Luke remembered when Rachel and Leah had argued over a friend of his they’d both liked. It hadn’t gone well for the guy. Afterward, the girls had sneaked cheap wine into their room and played the “Sisters” song from White Christmas until they’d emptied the bottle and nearly wore out the videotape.

He needed to call his siblings.

“Marynell came back here with Cass when they divorced two years later. She left her with me and married a navy pilot. It was a pattern. She was married several times, lived in different places. If Cass couldn’t spend her summers with Ken or if he or Marynell just needed time with a new spouse, they shipped Cass back here.” She stopped, as if gathering her thoughts, and regret deepened the lines in her face. “The last time, when Cass came for her junior year, I had said no, she couldn’t come. The folks had retired and weren’t well, and I was working half the time at the orchard and half of it as a phlebotomist in Indianapolis. Marynell brought her anyway and left her with our parents, even though dementia and rheumatoid arthritis were severely limiting their ability to take care of themselves, much less a teenage girl. My sister told Cass I didn’t want anything to do with either of them and I was too exhausted to argue the point.”

“And that was it? Seriously? A whole family split asunder over that?”

She sighed. “Pretty much. Marynell and I made up, of course. She came and visited and helped when our parents’ illnesses progressed and later when they died. She created no difficulty with the management of the orchard after we inherited, although she chose to remain uninvolved.” Zoey chuckled almost soundlessly. “Oddly enough, the thing she never quite forgave me for was introducing her to Ken. He’s one of those men who is ethically and maybe even morally good, but is an emotional empty shell.”

“What about Cass?”

“She and I always exchange birthday and Christmas cards. I sent a gift when she got married right out of high school, but I never really connected with her again until her mother died. I know she was ill, that she had chemo, but that’s all I know. I thought I should go and help then, but she said she was all right, that it would be better if I helped with her mother. It probably was—Cass could take care of herself, but taking care of her mother at the same time was too much. We would see each other in passing, but that was all.”

Luke heard all that she said, but his focus stayed on one point. “She’s married?”

“Not anymore.” She raised her hands, palms up. “I sent money when she got the divorce, just in case she needed it. She sent it back with a very nice thank-you.”

“Children?”

“Not that I know of. Her little sister’s a sweet one, though. I think I know her better than I do Cass, and I only met her when Marynell died.” Zoey looked away from him again. A tear crept unchecked down her cheek. “There’s this part of me that says Cass should have been my child and that failing her is like failing as a mother.”

“That’s crazy, Zoey.”

She smiled at him, just a little curve of lips that had thinned and paled over the years. “You have a problem with crazy?”

“No.” He tilted his head, looking at Zoey’s long neck and the shiny white sweep of her short hair. “It wouldn’t be much of a stretch. I think Cass favors you more than she did her mother.”

“You’ll let me know if she needs anything?”

“I will. Or you could let her know yourself. You come to the orchard nearly every day. Are you going to stop because your niece might be there?”

Zoey frowned. “I don’t know.” She filled his go-cup and gave him a push. “But you have given me something to think about.”