Always on My Mind

by Susan May Warren

  He pulled out a journal, flipped through it. Poetry. A letter fell out and he picked it up. Opened it. Beside him he felt Raina lean in as if peering over his shoulder.

  He held it lower so she could read it with him.

  “It looks like it’s in a man’s handwriting,” she said. “The letters are choppy.”

  Casper read it aloud.

  “Dear Aggie,

  By the time you read this, it’ll be too late for you to judge me, but I pray you will be gentle with my memory. I think, in fact, you’ve known the truth about Duncan for years. In my defense, I did what every husband would do to keep his family safe. Every day I look to the Lord for peace, and I find it in your eyes. Loving you has been the greatest reward, and I found redemption in the joy of our rich lives and in your surprising faith in the Word of the Lord. You are His light to me. Thank you for the treasure of your great love.

  Thor”

  He finished and glanced at Raina.

  “What do you think it means?” she asked.

  He read the letter again. Set it down. No, it couldn’t be.

  “Casper, you know something.”

  He looked at her. Wow, seriously, she could read him that easily? “There’s local lore about this guy named Duncan Rothe.” He shook his head. “Certainly Thor didn’t have a run-in with Duncan Rothe. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not? What’s the story?”

  He tucked the letter back in the book. Set it in the box. “It’s just a legend. Probably not even true, but according to the stories, Duncan Rothe was a gangster and bootlegger back in the Roaring Twenties. Some say he robbed a bank; other stories tack on murder. Whatever the truth, all agree he escaped north with a million dollars of US Steel bonds in his possession.”

  “Did he come through Deep Haven?”

  “Yes. The law came looking for him, but he’d disappeared.”

  “Like . . . maybe met up with Thor Wilder, who killed him?”

  Oh, she had pretty eyes. They could distract a man, if he let them.

  “I think that’s a reach—Thor wasn’t even around then. The Wilders didn’t open the trading post until the forties, I think.”

  She smiled then, and he’d thirsted for it so long that he drank it in. “Sounds like a mystery.”

  Casper nodded, searching for his voice. “Actually, the Duncan Rothe mystery was one of my first curiosities. Back in the nineties, someone found an old 1920s roadster in the woods—near Mineral Springs, actually—and it set off all sorts of speculation about Duncan Rothe and where he might be. US Steel offered a 10 percent finder’s fee for the bonds, and it stirred up a few treasure hunters sniffing around. One of them stayed at Evergreen Resort. He regaled me with the Rothe rumors and for three long months, all I could think of was finding that million dollars.” He closed the lid on the box. “Silly, I know.”

  But she wasn’t laughing. “Not silly. Sweet, actually.” She smiled at him again. “It’s nice to see you, Casper. But . . .” Her smile fell, and she lifted a shoulder. “I’m really trying to move on. It would be better if maybe—”

  And then he said it. Without thinking, without letting her decide their fate. “We can still be friends, Raina. No one has to know anything.”

  She swallowed, a sudden rawness on her face, and he realized that in an instant, he’d opened her wounds. “I mean—I’m so sorry—I just thought, you know, maybe we could be friends.”

  “I don’t think . . .”

  “Claire and her band are playing for Valentine’s Day. You remember her from last summer . . .” His voice trailed off as he became aware how close their conversation treaded to danger, to memories and hurt.

  “I have a date.” She looked away, her expression rueful. “Sorry.”

  Oh. Right. He tried to shake off the sense that he’d been jackhammered in the solar plexus. A date.

  I’m really trying to move on.

  And he should be too.

  “That’s . . . great.” He forced a smile. Wow, that hurt, the words like fire in his chest. “That’s really great.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Okay. If you . . . um, ever need any help hauling things from Aggie’s house or . . . Well, you know where to find me.” He wanted to wince or crawl under something.

  But Raina was merciful. “Yeah. Thanks, Casper.” She turned, not looking at him. “See ya round.”

  Then she was gone. Just like that. Moving on.

  And he was stuck right here in the past.

  No wonder bears hibernated. Maybe Raina should go to bed for the next three months, sleep away this terrible emptiness, the cold that seeped into her bones.

  Although she had a wretched feeling the cold wouldn’t vanish with the advent of the sun. Like a shadow, it hovered over her soul, chilling it from the inside out. She stood by the stove, willing the brass teakettle to whistle, staring at her wan reflection in the dark window—her hair pulled back, her face freshly washed.

  She knocked her spoon against the counter.

  And why did Casper have to return, walk right into the debris of her life? Looking good, too, in a pair of khakis and a dress shirt under a zip-up flannel vest, as if he were respectable and not about to jump on his motorcycle and roar out of her life. He still hadn’t cut his deliciously dark-brown hair, though, and it lay long and curly against his collar.

  She’d nearly reached out, wrapped a finger around one of those curls as she listened—no, watched—him read Thor’s letter. “In my defense, I did what every husband would do to keep his family safe.”

  Thor’s words on Casper’s lips strummed through her, and she pressed her fingers to her eyes, hating that after a month, the pain could still sear through her, as fresh as the moment she surrendered Layla. She’d done what she had to in order to give her daughter a good life, a real life. To keep her safe. She believed that down to her bones.

  Then why did the doubt haunt her, right there on her shoulder every moment?

  The teakettle whistled and she picked it up, poured the water into the hot cocoa mug. Stirred it into a frothy darkness. She tied the fuzzy oversize bathrobe around her, still wearing her jeans and turtleneck under it, and headed out to the quiet family room. Light glowed from the Tiffany lamp onto the denim sofa, and a fire crackled in the hearth.

  Outside, the wind whistled off the lake, hammering the windows. The thermometer outside listed twelve below, and just the trip from her car, at the curb, to the house had nearly frozen her lips off.

  Maybe she should change her mind, turn Monte down whenever he called to set up their date. It wasn’t like she would fall in love with him.

  And Casper had looked—what, hurt?—when she told him she had a date on Valentine’s Day. She hated the lie, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

  No. She refused to keep thinking about Casper. Or her daughter. Only, not her daughter. Not anymore. This week, finally, she’d managed to get through the day without breaking down in tears, successfully keeping the howling tucked in the back of her mind.

  At least until the quiet hours of the evening, when emptiness roared to life.

  Someday it would fall silent, right?

  Curling up on the sofa, she pulled a knit afghan over her and picked up her book. Stared at the pages. They blurred. She put her cocoa down on a coaster and leaned back into the pillows. Propped the book on her knees.

  Her eyes dropped twice before she laid her head back, just to rest for a moment.

  The voices came from every direction, and it dawned on Raina slowly that she stood in the middle of a room, surrounded by a crowd. The men wore suits, the women cherry-red dresses. And they all held babies.

  A cry rose from one of them, bounced through the room—a plain room without color, gray walls rising to a gray ceiling.

  And the cry. High-pitched, angry, afraid. It tugged at Raina, and she turned, running to the nearest man. She tore open the blanket in his arms, but it fell to the ground, empty. She turned to the next, fo
und that blanket empty.

  The cry grew louder, shrill, clawing at her. She ran to the source, tore the baby from a woman’s arms.

  The blanket crumpled in her embrace.

  Then a thousand cries, from the armada of faceless infants in the arms of slate-faced caretakers. And every blanket Raina grabbed fell in on itself, leaving her clutching air.

  She woke with a start, her heart pounding, the wailing still in her ears. She cleared the nightmare, but the sound tightened, shrilled from the kitchen.

  The teakettle. She must have put it back on a hot burner.

  The steam had turned the room sweaty. She shut off the stove, then grabbed the handle. Jerked back, her hand stinging. Hot pad. She found one, then moved the kettle off the burner and ran her hand under cold water. A hot red burn crossed her palm, but it hadn’t raised skin.

  Still, the experience left her shaking.

  Faceless, crying babies. She’d had enough of these nightmares. At some point, her subconscious would have to catch up with her decisions.

  But clearly the romance she was reading needed a bit more excitement if she hoped to stay awake. Unless . . .

  She walked over to her satchel and pulled out the diary of Aggie Wilder. What was the hurt in reading it before she donated it to the historical society?

  She pulled the afghan over her again and opened the book. Every page was filled, and it seemed the years spanned from 1929 to the midseventies, although she spied big gaps, years without entry.

  Still, fifty years of a person’s life. Of Aggie’s life. Raina had never thought of keeping a journal. Why, really? Just so she could look back and reread her mistakes?

  Maybe Aggie had nothing to regret.

  Raina found where she’d left off and read the next entry.

  MARCH 1930

  Four times Father’s man, Duncan, has surprised me, waiting for me in the parlor, his hat in hand, to inquire after my well-being. Supposedly for Father, although I had begun to suspect he had ulterior motives. And tonight confirmed it. I admit, I didn’t know what to expect when he asked permission from Mrs. Etheridge to take me to the symphony tonight. She agreed, despite her reservations, I’m sure believing it a request from my father, as did I. But when Duncan escorted me to the box on his arm, I realized Father most likely had no inkling of Duncan’s attentions. And how could he, a thousand miles away?

  Duncan makes me feel wonderful. Dark, wavy hair, those starlight brown eyes that seem to devour me. I’ve never experienced such a feeling as the one when he looks at me. Yet he is a gentleman, despite his reputation, one I am loath to believe after the way he squired me around town in Father’s Rolls. I feel safe with him, as if he could protect me, give me the world. After the show, he took me to a club, fed me oysters, then repaired me home just as the sun rose over Lake Michigan.

  The most perfect evening of my life. After Jean-Philippe, I never believed I could fall in love again.

  But perhaps that wasn’t love. Perhaps it was simply an infatuation with a boy hoping to win my father’s fortune. Duncan is a man in no need of a fortune.

  If I were to ever truly fall in love, it might be with a man like Duncan Rothe.

  Raina closed the diary. Clearly Casper’s description of Duncan didn’t quite match up with how Aggie saw him.

  Like her feelings for Casper. Her head said to run away; her heart couldn’t seem to push him from her mind. But like Aggie, perhaps what she felt for Casper was only an infatuation ignited by the summer breezes, the sense of loneliness.

  Maybe it had never truly been love.

  The fire flickered against the glass. Which meant that someday she might find someone who made her feel like Duncan made Aggie feel. Safe.

  MONTE WAS GOING TO CANCEL their date. And frankly, she didn’t blame him.

  Raina stood at the window, peering through the frosty glass to the outside thermometer. Sixteen below zero. Sixteen. Even indoors, the chill pervaded her bones, despite the house pumping out heat full blast just to keep the place above sixty-five. Outside, the wind scraped up snow, hurled it into the air, and it hung there as if afraid to move.

  Everything should be afraid to move in weather like this.

  She glanced again at her cell phone, just in case she missed his call.

  Nothing. Not even a message, which might mean that he still planned on picking her up at seven, taking her out for that burger he’d promised when he called two days ago.

  Conveniently it just happened to fall on Valentine’s Day, fulfilling the lie she’d spoken to Casper.

  It didn’t lessen her guilt, despite the wisdom of dodging any interaction with him.

  Now she stared out into the night, wondering if fate might be playing at revenge.

  Please, don’t let Monte’s car be lying upside down in a ditch. He’d called before the storm of the season hit, turning the roads into a sheer plate of ice. Every plow in town mustered up, frantically salting to keep the destination open for the flood of tourists planning to escape for a romantic weekend to the frozen—yet breathtaking—north shore.

  Yes, Monte could easily be bleeding in the ditch or still trying to navigate his way here and—

  Breathe, Raina.

  She pressed her hands to her chest, let her worry sift out. It wasn’t as if her future hung on this date. Or that she even liked Monte that much. He was handsome, yes, and solicitous—he’d called twice to check on her progress at the estate and listened without interrupting as she told him about the collection of Life magazines she’d found in the cabinets in the family room. And the milk glass perfume bottles in the bathroom. And the newspapers of major historical events—Kennedy’s assassination, the lunar landing, the announcement of D-day—tucked into the china cabinet.

  Every day seemed to unearth a new adventure. And every night she read a little deeper into Aggie’s romance with Duncan, who really had known how to woo her, taking her to nightclubs and out to dinner and even for a walk along Lake Michigan. The perfect gentleman, despite their age gap.

  She glanced again at her phone, then headed to her room to find a sweater. She wore her hair down, and she’d picked out a red dress, added leggings to ward off the cold, but mostly because her dress pants didn’t quite fit yet. She’d stood in front of the mirror today and tried to close them around her remaining baby bulge.

  No, just bulge. She refused to allow the word baby into her vocabulary.

  For now. Maybe someday.

  Her cell rang and she ran to pick it up, expecting Monte. Instead, she saw Grace’s name. “Hello?”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, friend! How are you?”

  Raina sat on the arm of the sofa. “I’m good . . . real good.” Yeah, actually, for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t lying. Completely. “How was Hawaii?”

  “Warm.”

  “Are you married?”

  Grace laughed. “Not yet. He golfed, I caught up with friends, we cooked—and decided that we’d probably set a date over the summer.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Tennessee. Max and I are here for a game against the Predators. He didn’t want me to be alone for Valentine’s Day. I think we’re going to a private concert tonight—Brad Paisley.”

  Grace lived a life that Raina couldn’t yet comprehend. How had her friend gone from schlepping pizza at Pierre’s to private parties with country stars?

  She’d found the right man. Or the right life. Or realized that she couldn’t stay stuck in one place anymore.

  See, going out with Monte tonight? Good idea.

  “I’m jealous. It’s sixteen below here.”

  “Sixteen.” Grace’s voice betrayed the right amount of sympathy. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s about twenty degrees here. I can admit I wish I were sitting on a beach right now. Maybe I should follow Casper down to Roatán.”

  Raina swallowed.

  “Oh, Raina. Sorry. My mouth takes over sometimes and—”

  “No, it’s okay. Like
I told you, I’m over Casper. But for your information, he’s here.”

  “Here? As in Deep Haven?”

  “Your family needs to communicate better. Yeah, Casper’s here. Working at the historical society.”

  Silence. Then, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Raina got up, stared in the mirror. Smiled. She’d made an effort tonight for Monte, adding golden-brown shadow around her eyes, dark lipstick. She didn’t at all resemble a woman trying to piece her life back together.

  “I’m more than okay. In fact, don’t worry, I’m not going to freak out every time you mention Casper’s name. I know he’s your brother. We had a summer romance, but that’s all it was. I’m moving on. I even talked to him a few days ago.”

  Grace’s voice came through low. “You did? How was it?”

  “It was fine. And I have a date tonight.”

  “With Casper?”

  “No, Grace. With Monte Riggs. His grandfather runs the antique store—I’m working for him.”

  “Monte. Yeah, I think I know him. He was a year or two behind me in school. Thin, scrawny blond kid.”

  “He’s not thin or scrawny anymore, believe me.”

  “Really.” Grace laughed on the other end. “So a hot date for Valentine’s Day . . .”

  “It’s not a hot date. We’ll probably talk about business. I’m cataloging this estate for them.”

  “It’s a hot date, and I’ll bet you look fabulous.”

  Raina’s smile dimmed. How she wanted to share in Grace’s sweet enthusiasm. “It’s hard to look fabulous when you’re dressed in fifty layers.”

  “If anyone can, you can. Where are you going?”

  “Just out for burgers.”

  “Oh, then he’s taking you to the VFW. Yum. Now I’m hungry. Gotta run—have a great time on your hot date.”

  “It’s not a hot . . .”

  But Grace had already hung up.

  Raina was tucking her phone into her purse when the doorbell rang. Through the glass she spied Monte, dressed in a long wool overcoat, gloves, a gray scarf, and a black stocking hat, stomping his feet on her porch.

  Silly man was wearing dress shoes. She opened the door. “Get inside right now.”