Cutting the motor, he pressed a button and dropped anchor. We shared the lunch I’d packed – club sandwiches, potato chips, fresh sugar baby watermelon, and sweet tea. While we ate, he told me the story of the lake. At first, I thought he was spinning tall tales, but he insisted it was all true. Then, eyes sparkling, he told me to look over the side.
I couldn’t believe it. Not twenty feet down, I saw the mossy outline of a chimney. I stared harder, and other things took shape – a roof. An old-fashioned streetlamp.
“Have you ever swum down there?” I asked, enthralled.
He shook his head. “It’s tempting, but no. A good many people have died trying.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “They get snagged on things and run out of air, I imagine. The locals have a different explanation, though. They say the lake is cursed.”
“By what?”
“Legend has it that there were those who refused to sell out to the power company and wouldn’t leave their homes. After months of doing everything they could to coerce the holdouts and failing, one night, the dam “accidentally” broke and the next morning, the valley was flooded. Those who had stubbornly remained in their homes drowned in their beds.”
“That’s horrible!” I exclaimed. A shiver suddenly ran the length of my spine. I once heard the sensation referred to as “someone walking over your grave”. I’m not sure how accurate that analogy is – or how anyone would know what it felt like to have someone walk on your grave – but at the time, it seemed eerily apropos.
“I think you’d be safe, though,” he continued, eyeing me carefully. “The legend also says that the spirits won’t bother anyone descended from those who stood up to the power company.”
“And you think that includes me?” I asked warily.
He nodded. “According to the good people of Harken, your ancestor, Seamus Sullivan, was the driving force against the whole project. You’re practically a celebrity.”
I felt the color drain from my face. “They know who I am? What else do they know?”
His expression changed to one of concern. “Nothing, and I can tell you, it’s driving them crazy. The only reason they know that much is because your last name is Sullivan and there was some kind of stipulation in the will that the land could only go to a blood descendent. Hey, you okay?”
I shook my head.
“Talk to me, Rissa.”
“Okay, but not here. Let’s go back out there, in the sun.”
I’m sure it was purely psychological, but ever since Travis started talking about the curse I felt odd. The same kind of thing happened whenever I watched one of those horror movies involving the devil. I caught fifteen minutes of “Children of the Corn” once on late-night cable and didn’t sleep for two weeks. Up until about two years ago, I broke out in a cold sweat every time I drove past a corn field.
Thankfully, Travis didn’t tease or mock me, which just strengthened my perception of him as the perfect man. Without another word, he pulled up the anchor and took us back out into the middle.
I let the sun warm me for a few minutes before I spoke. There was not another living soul who knew my secret, except for the attorney who’d arranged everything, and he was bound by client confidentiality. Was I really considering confiding in someone I barely knew?
You might not know him, my heart said, but you are falling in love with him. And if you want this to go anywhere, you have to tell him the truth. My brain remained eerily silent on the matter.
“My last name isn’t Sullivan. At least it wasn’t until about seven months ago.” I took a deep breath, hoping I would not regret this. “And this isn’t my first time in Harken.”
I gave Travis the CliffsNotes version. I told him about coming to live with great-uncle Eli all those years ago. That even though my maiden name was Donnelly, I really was a blood descendent of Seamus Sullivan, and that I had been contacted years ago by a private investigator hired by Eli Sullivan’s executor. Given my less-than-fond memories of the place, I wasn’t in a hurry to claim it. For some reason, I never did tell Mark about the inheritance. I’d never told him about my prior time there, either.
I found it marginally odd that I felt more comfortable confiding to a man I barely knew than a man I lived with for five years. Maybe I never really trusted Mark. Maybe some part of me knew even then that I would need a place to escape to someday.
Travis’ face darkened when I mentioned my ex, so I glossed over most of it, summarizing by saying that it just wasn’t working and that the accident was a real turning point for me.
“Mark didn’t want me to leave,” I said quietly. “I don’t know why.” That was kind of a lie. I knew why. Because he was a controlling asshole, and because he would rather torture both of us (mostly me) than admit that we’d made a mistake and move on.
“Did you love him?” That was the first question Travis had asked since I started talking. So far, he’d been listening quietly, taking it all in without interrupting.
“No,” I said truthfully, shaking my head. “He didn’t love me. I didn’t love him. I can’t even tell you how we ended up together. He refused to be reasonable.”
I looked down at my hands, remembering some of those discussions, how they’d turned so ugly so quickly. It was another lie. Kind of. I was pretty certain I knew why Mark needed me. It was his way to keep up appearances. For a long time, I suspected he was gay, or at the very least, bisexual. It certainly explained a lot. He’d never admitted it, though, and true or not, it wasn’t my secret to share.
“Did he hurt you?” Travis’ voice was quiet, deadly.
“No,” I answered honestly. “Not physically, at least.” Mark’s abuse had been more of the psychological kind, tearing me apart piece by piece until there wouldn’t have been anything left. Breaking me down until my entire sense of self-worth was dependent on him.
“And nothing that would probably hold up in a court of law. But I had to do something. I found someone to help me, a lawyer. I left and legally changed my name to Sullivan. You know the rest. I just wanted to start over,” I finished on a whisper.
Travis was quiet for so long I was sure I had ruined whatever had been blossoming between us. Then he took my hand in his and put his finger beneath my chin, gently but firmly forcing me to meet his eyes. I’m not sure what he saw there, but I know what I saw in his: doubt.
Sharing something so personal had been a mistake. So was telling him that I had been in a serious relationship and had failed spectacularly. That the reason I had chosen to live alone was because I simply wasn’t suited to being around anyone else.
Another line crossed. And this line, it was a big one.
“I’d like to go home now,” I said.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then shut it again and nodded. Turning the boat around, he took us back toward the landing. The afternoon had taken a somber turn. As if it sensed the change, the weather shifted accordingly. The blue skies gave way to gray and a chill wind moved in from the north, making the water choppy.
We moved at a faster clip, reaching the shore in less time than I’d expected. I followed Travis’ lead, helping him guide the boat onto the trailer and secure it. He didn’t say much and neither did I. All too soon, we were back at my place.
I stood at the door and watched Travis drive away. Ripper did, too. Then my dog looked up at me questioningly.
“Guess it’s just you and me tonight, buddy,” I said, giving him a scratch.
Travis
After I’d taken Rissa home, I didn’t linger. I didn’t even get out and open the door for her. Maybe I should have. The image of her looking at me with those big blue-green eyes was burned into my retinas. Visions of Rissa had been swimming behind my lids for the last couple of weeks, but not with that look.
It bothered me. A lot. I absently rubbed at the pain in my chest.
She had wanted me to stay, but she hadn’t come right out and asked. Nor would she. Whether out of
her own pride or because she sensed I needed a little time to digest everything, I didn’t know. What I did know is that the distance I had put between us wasn’t doing me any good. I wasn’t thinking any clearer. Just the opposite, in fact. Things would make a lot more sense if she was in my arms instead of in bed alone on the other side of the field.
Which was part of the problem. I was falling hard and fast for a woman I knew next to nothing about. This afternoon proved that.
For the first time in more than a year, I pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured myself a decent amount. The burn down the back of my throat was both welcome and familiar. Mr. Daniels and I had become pretty tight there for a while. The Tennessee whiskey had often been the only way to make my mind go quiet enough to allow me to get some decent sleep.
It was kind of telling, I think, that I was reaching for it again now. It had only taken a fraction of the time for Rissa to accomplish what Sienna had done in five years.
Five years. That’s how long I was with Sienna. Also how long Rissa said she was with that other guy.
I finished off the glass and poured another. I admit, the thought of Rissa being with someone bothered me. I didn’t dwell too much on that, though. People make mistakes all the time. Hell, I almost made the same one. Would have, if I hadn’t shown up unexpectedly where I did, when I did. The fact that she admitted it had been a mistake helped, too. If she’d said she’d loved the guy, it would have made a difference.
But the running away? The hiding? That didn’t sound like my prickly neighbor at all. The Rissa I knew was strong and confident and independent as hell. Maybe that’s what had me off-balance. I was having a hard time reconciling the woman she was talking about today with my Rissa.
Lightning flashed; thunder followed soon after. The front that had started rolling in while we were on the lake had finally arrived full-force. If the storms got as bad as predicted, we were likely to lose power. On auto-pilot, I made the rounds, filling a few buckets with water, filling the oil lamps and putting them within easy reach, fastening the shutters. I hoped Rissa was doing the same. If I’d followed my gut, I’d be down there with her now, making sure she was prepared.
No, I couldn’t think like that. Rissa was a grown woman, perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I settled into bed. The Jack I’d already had was giving me a nice buzz; one more would have me sleeping like a baby. That sounded good to me. With a good night’s sleep and a fresh start in the morning, maybe I’d be able to make more sense of all this.
I didn’t sleep like a baby. I slept like the freaking dead. My eyes cracked open, spotting the now-empty bottle beside me. The room was still pretty dark, though, so I couldn’t have been out that long.
My head felt like it weighed about a hundred pounds, no big surprise. I dragged myself to the head and took care of business, chewing down a handful of OTCs and splashing some cold water on my face. I would have gotten a shower, too, but the power was out, which meant my well pump wouldn’t be operating till I got the generator up and going. Better to conserve for now.
All seemed to be quiet now, so I went around, opening up the shutters. It was later than I’d thought.
The storm had passed and the air was markedly cooler. The oppressive humidity of the last few days was gone. Now there was a different kind of moisture in the air - the kind that came from the heavy rain the front dumped on us and was now evaporating into the drier air. From each window I saw a couple of branches down here and there, but nothing worrisome.
While waiting for my headache to subside, I brewed some coffee over my propane-fueled Coleman stove. Got the generator going. Took a shower.
Yeah, I was stalling.
I didn’t have all the answers, but somehow, over the course of the night, Jack had helped me realize a couple of things. First and foremost: I was falling in love with Rissa. I’m not sure exactly when or how that happened, but it had, so I had to deal with that.
Second – and just as important – Rissa was not Sienna. It was unfair of me to assume that just because Sienna had been a spoiled, selfish bitch, Rissa would stomp on my heart, too. I tried unsuccessfully to picture Sienna on her hands and knees in the dirt. Chopping firewood. Struggling for hours with a temperamental old tractor, or taking a broken, bloodied stray into her home.
So what if Rissa had some secrets? So what if she’d made some bad choices? Christ, I could have been the poster boy for both of those things. I was hardly in a position to throw stones.
Besides, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that little by little, she had been revealing pieces of herself. Somewhere along the line, she’d decided that I was worthy enough to start trusting. Couldn’t I do the same?
Yeah, I could.
Once that was decided, I started moving faster. If I was out of power, then Rissa was too, and I didn’t remember hearing her generator when I’d opened things up earlier. I’d get that going first, then we’d talk.
I made it halfway across the field before I froze in my tracks. And then I ran like hell.
Because half of Rissa’s cabin was gone.
“Rissa!” I shouted her name repeatedly, panic coursing through me as I got closer to the carnage. A huge oak had come down and was now taking up the space where her bedroom had been. I could even see a corner of her fluffy comforter through the leaves. It was surreal.
I heard Ripper bark, the sound growing closer. I turned around toward the orchards and saw him trotting my way. I held my breath and prayed.
Somebody up there must have been listening because a minute later I saw Rissa, too.
She was moving slowly, her limp more pronounced than I’d ever seen it. Next thing I knew, I was beside her. I didn’t even remember moving.
She was still in her pajamas. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. She was wet and covered in dirt as if she’d been rolling around in the puddles.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
My hands grabbed her far too roughly, crushing her to my chest for a full minute before I realized she wasn’t holding me back. I pushed her away enough to look into her eyes. They were vacant. I’d seen that look before in-country and recognized it immediately for what it was: shock.
I scooped her up into my arms and tucked her into my chest, wincing at her cry of pain. Christ, I knew she was small, but she felt like nothing in my arms. I ran back to my place, Ripper on my heels, and set her down on my couch.
“Are you hurt?” I said, my hands roaming over her arms and legs. My rational mind knew she was relatively unharmed, at least physically. I’d seen her walking under her own power, and there was no sign of blood or traumatic injury. My irrational mind told my rational mind to shut the hell up because it needed to make sure. I needed to touch her and know that she was okay.
“I’m fine,” she said finally, batting my hands away after several minutes. I ignored her.
“What happened?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. I guess I was. I sure as hell felt like one. While the storm was raging, blowing trees down onto the house of the woman I loved, I was getting drunk and trying to sort out my freaking feelings.
“Travis,” she said firmly, grabbing my hands with her much smaller ones, “I’m fine.”
It was her voice that finally cut through the haze. I sat back and gave her some space, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop touching her completely. “But the tree...”
“When the storm got really bad, I took Ripper down into the cellar. We stayed there till it passed.”
The cellar. Where her crazy uncle had shackled her for a week when she was a kid. The paleness of her face made a lot more sense (because obviously, having a tree crush your bedroom wouldn’t be enough to make anyone pale). Shit. I really was an idiot.
“Half of the orchard’s gone,” she said woodenly. “Straight line winds.”
Who gave a shit about the orchards? Was she kidding? Then I remembered what shock was like. How you needed to focus
on the little things to keep it together.
“Let’s get you into something clean and dry,” I said. “Then get you something to eat.”
She looked at me, her expression far too calm. “Ripper didn’t have breakfast.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him, too.”
A little while later, she was wearing a pair of my boxers and a USMC T that went halfway down her thighs; the shoulder seams were somewhere around her elbows. A plate of scrambled eggs and toast sat untouched in front of her, a mug of coffee clutched tightly between her hands. Despite her assurances, my gut told me something (beyond the obvious) wasn’t right.
Chapter 9
Clarissa
“Can you watch Ripper for me?” I asked suddenly, turning my eyes his way. He looked concerned. He shouldn’t be. I was fine. A bit numb, perhaps, but that was preferable to the aches I knew would hit later from hunkering down in the basement most of the night and then wandering around for a couple of hours this morning. I would worry about that later, but now I had things to do.
“Why?” he asked.
“I need to head down into New Berlin and get some things, see if I can get someone willing to come out here and take a look.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, thanks. You have enough of your own clean-up.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Mine can wait. Yours can’t.”
I put the mug down, surprised to find it still full. Usually, I couldn’t drink my first cup of coffee fast enough. This morning, I just didn’t have a taste for it, I guess.
“Exactly, which is why I need to get going. Half the day’s almost gone already, and I don’t know what kind of shape the roads are in.”
I got up and began walking toward the door. I felt strangely comfortable. I paused, looking down at myself. “I think I’ll try to find something else to wear first, though.”
“Rissa, I’m coming with you.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I need you to watch Ripper for me. He won’t like that I’m leaving him.”
The Realist Page 8
