She arrived in the kitchen just in time to hear Vivian ending a phone conversation. “Sure, I’ll tell her to stop ignoring your calls. Right, right. Okay, love you too. ’Bye.”
“Let me guess,” said Lydia. “That was Mom.”
“Yes, she says she’s been calling you and I told her you’ve been busy.” She took the pot of stew, made from the leftover pot roast, from the stove and set it on the table.
Lydia helped her plate, feeling that she might just choke to death if she ate. “I haven’t had my phone turned on. I guess I’ll check it tonight.”
“Have you been crying?” Vivian asked, looking at her as she sat down.
“No, no.” She forced a small laugh. “I got some of that dust in my eyes.”
Vivian eyed her narrowly. She wasn’t one to pry, but it sure looked as if she had been crying, to her. “I guess we’re going to need some goggles as well as masks,” she said, dryly.
“Looks like it.”
“Is everything okay with Mike?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, forcing a light-heartedness into her tone. “He seems to be quite the professional.” Professional heart-breaker, she added to herself.
“Yes, he does.” Vivian took a bite of cornbread and chewed thoughtfully. She had noticed the looks that passed between them. There was obviously attraction there; a blind man could see it. Now Lydia had been crying and she was reluctant to butt in, but she couldn’t leave it alone just yet.
She cleared her throat. “Um, I know this is none of my business, but you would tell me if Mike has done something inappropriate, wouldn’t you?”
She looked at her aunt and firmly swallowed the lump growing in her throat, threatening more tears. “If a grown man kissing a grown woman is inappropriate, then yes, he did,” she said.
Vivian raised her eyebrows. “He kissed you?”
“Last night.”
“Did you kiss him back?”
“You betcha,” she said with a wry laugh, rolling her eyes at how quickly she had succumbed to Mike’s charms.
“And?” Vivian prompted, leaning slightly forward.
“And nothing. It was nothing; just a kiss.”
With a grimace, she said, “No fireworks?”
Lydia laughed at her aunt’s girl-talk enthusiasm. “Oh, there were fireworks, all right.” She stirred the food around on her plate while Vivian waited.
“For gosh sakes, Lydia,” she finally said in exasperation. “Then what happened?”
“Like I said, nothing,” she said lightly. “Last night was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again.”
Vivian expelled a long-suffering sigh. “May I ask why not?”
“We’re practically strangers, Aunt Vi. Like two ships passing in the night. He’s going to be gone soon and, to be quite frank, it was a mistake. Last night there must have been a lover’s moon, because today it was back to business as usual. He was polite, but he made it clear that he wasn’t interested. End of story.”
Vivian flopped back against her chair. “I don’t believe it, not for a minute. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Believe it.”
“Maybe you misunderstood.”
She reached across and patted her aunt’s hand. “Aunt Vi, let it go. You’re a romantic at heart, obviously, but there’s no love story here.”
Vivian raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Whatever.”
“Speaking of love stories, though, are you going to the Spring Fling with Dugger?”
That question brought Vivian up short. “Oh. Why, no, I don’t think so.” Then she seemed to come to a decision. “No, definitely not.”
It was Lydia’s turn to raise questioning eyebrows. “And why not, may I ask?”
“You’re not eating.”
“Aunt Vi.”
Vivian got up and began to scrape her plate. “Let’s just let sleeping dogs lie. How about that?”
“Has he called?”
“No, and he probably won’t. We’ve been friends for too long, and he’ll probably forget he even said anything about it. Dugger’s always been famous for planning, say, a small picnic and then inviting the whole town. I’m sure he stopped fifteen places along his route yesterday, inviting people left and right.”
“So I take it that you’re not planning on calling him.”
Vivian snorted. “That’ll be the day.”
“All I’m saying is, you should keep an open mind, in case he calls.”
“Are you keeping an open mind?”
“No, but that’s not the same thing,” she argued. “It’s apples and oranges.”
Vivian held up a hand in the stop position. “Enough. I’m just not ready, okay?”
“Okay, I just love you and want you to be happy.”
She smiled. “I know, honey. I love you, too.” They began to clear the table when she casually asked, “Oh, by the way, are you going back to the cabin tonight?”
Lydia shook her head and pointed to her eyes. “I think I might be allergic to the dust,” she said, and they both laughed.
“But you have to. I found the level that Mike was asking about. Don’t you want to walk it over?” She held it out, tempting her with an excuse to go back to the cabin.
“Nice try, Cupid.” She gave her a wan smile. “I’m going to go get caught up on some phone calls. See you later.”
Upstairs she dug her phone out of her purse, found that it was dead again, and put it on the charger. She decided a long hot bath sounded like an excellent idea. Nothing like a little pampering to help a girl’s ego. She took off her clothes and slipped into a short robe, piling her hair on top of her head while she waited for the tub to fill. She thought some bubbles would be nice, too.
Also, a book. She hadn’t had room to pack books, and had given all hers to Jessie. A good book would get her mind off Mike. She really needed to rest her brain and fill it with something other than thoughts that made her want to cry again. Aunt Vi had always had her nose stuck in a book, and she was sure she could find something good on the bookshelves in the living room.
She padded downstairs in her bare feet and grabbed some bath beads from her aunt’s bathroom. In the living room she ran her finger along rows of books lined up neatly on bookshelves, choosing three that she’d heard were good. She could hear her aunt rattling around in the kitchen, the radio on the oldies channel, singing along with Paul McCartney who wanted everyone to just let it be.
“I’ll let it be,” she mumbled to herself. “You can bet your bottom dollar I’ll let it be.” She stood up and turned around and ran right into Mike Rodgers.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, dropping the bath beads, and then the books, trying to catch the container of beads before it hit the floor. “What are you doing here?” she said through gritted teeth, pushing his chest away with more force than was necessary.
“Sorry,” he said, as surprised as she was.
They both dropped to their knees, rounding up the small balls of scented gel rolling across the hardwood floors. She clutched the robe to her chest, suddenly horrified that she was caught so precariously dressed in front of this man—this man who was still so attractive to her, and she was nothing to him. And why wouldn’t her fingers work? Why was she fumbling so ineptly trying to pick up the books, as if they were coated in cooking oil, slipping from her grasp?
She felt hot tears of frustration start to burn in her eyes and that made her even more furious.
“Stop,” she commanded, standing up, clutching a book to her chest and a handful of bath beads. She mustered all the dignity she could manage and said calmly, “I’ll clean it up later. I have a bath running.” She turned on her heel and walked up the steps, just as she heard Vivian coming through from the kitchen.
“What’s all this?” her aunt said. Then, only mumbles reached her ears because she closed the bathroom door, dropped the bath beads in the tub and got in.
She let the warm, lilac-scented water engulf her. She breathed deeply, trying to
calm her pulse rate. She knew she had overreacted. And what kind of message did that send? Why couldn’t she just be cool? Mike probably thought she was crazy. She’d just have to get control of herself and fix that. The next time she saw him, she vowed, she would out-cool Whitey Boggs!
Chapter 11
Lydia climbed into bed, wishing it were later, midnight maybe. Then she could just close her eyes and blissful sleep would come. She propped herself up on pillows and settled in, deciding to get the call to her mother over with. She punched in the number, hoping the call would go to voice mail and she could just leave a message. No such luck. Her mother’s voice made her feel depressed.
Yes, she was doing fine. No, the new job wasn’t too hard. Yes, it was better than waitressing on her feet all day. Yes, much classier, too. No, no interesting men. (She was relieved to know that her aunt could keep her mouth shut.)
In addition to the usual inquisition, she learned that Bull Barnes, Katie’s latest conquest, was on the verge of asking her to marry him. “I can just feel it!” her mother gushed. Bull Barnes was rich and old, just the kind of man her mother was looking for.
All of Katie’s exes had been rich, except for her first husband, Brittany and Lydia’s father. Katie and Kip had been poor but happy, according to her mother, until Kip ran off with his secretary and left her with two little girls and a bunch of bills. After Kip left, her search for wealthy husbands began. Each marriage ended in divorce, but with each divorce she was left a little more secure and much more frantic to score the big one. And this time, the big one was Bull Barnes.
She listened as Katie went on and on, regaling her with tidbits of Brittany and Robert’s fabulous life, their two perfect, smartest-in-the-world children, and Katie’s upcoming fiftieth birthday celebration that Bull Barnes was throwing for her.
“And Lydia, don’t worry, I totally understand if you can’t come. I know it’s a long way, and I’m sure you’re super busy with your new job and everything.”
She assured her mother that, yes, it was a long way and, yes, she was super busy. She ended the call feeling lower than ever. It’s not that she wanted to attend the birthday bash, but it would have been nice if her mother had wanted her there.
She hung up and saw that Anne, her good friend and former PO, had left her a message: “I’ve got news. Call me!” Anne was probably checking in to see if she had gotten settled. Right now she wasn’t in the mood for local gossip. She’d call her back later.
She checked her text messages next and there were several. Her old roommate, Jessie, texted to say she had met someone new, and he was hot! Also, that she had forgotten her favorite Old Navy sweatshirt, which she would never see again because Jessie had adopted it. Lydia sent her a smiley face.
There were two texts from a number that she didn’t recognize. The first one made her blood run cold. It read: “I’m watching you.” She scrolled down. The next one, sent earlier today, said: “I’m coming for you, my little Pocahontas.”
It couldn’t be! No one but Rocco had ever called her Pocahontas. But he was in prison. Wasn’t he? Maybe it was just someone phishing random numbers. But the content was unsettling, threatening. And she had sensed that uneasy feeling of being watched a few times since she’d been here.
No, impossible. He couldn’t know her number or where she was. Could he? She felt troubled with thoughts of Rocco back in her head.
As she held the phone, staring at the words, she received a new text, also from a number she didn’t recognize. She opened the text and all thoughts of Rocco disappeared. It said, “This is Mike. I’m sorry.”
She felt her stomach do a flip. Mike texted her? He was sorry? Sorry for what? For giving her the best kiss of her life and then treating her like it never happened? Sorry for sneaking up on her and scaring her half to death when she was looking for a book to read? Sorry for discovering that she’d had the bad judgment to think she could run downstairs in a skimpy bathrobe and grab a book and zip back upstairs without causing a scene?
And how did he get her number? First a threatening message from Rocco, and now a text from Mike. What, was her phone number plastered on every billboard from Chattanooga to Savannah?
“Well!” She punched her phone off and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. She picked up the copy of Gone Girl and started reading where she’d left off, shooting angry glances at her phone as she irritably flipped the pages. Soon, not even Flynn’s masterful art of suspense could keep her from reaching for her phone to re-read Mike’s text.
This is Mike. I’m sorry.
His enigmatic apology rankled. What was she supposed to do with that? Text him back and say—what? No, just ignore it.
Her thoughts wandered back to Rocco. Rocco—aka Denny Lee Howe as she later came to know him at his trial—was dangerous. She’d been put into protective custody because of his threats until she testified at his trial, and she’d felt safe. Not like the uneasy feeling she was getting now as chill bumps went up her arm. She knew Rocco couldn’t possibly be here, but she grabbed her phone and tried to call Anne—parole officers usually know what’s going on—but Anne’s phone went to voice mail. She’d try again later.
It was that stupid name Pocahontas that bothered her so much. That was much too personal to be a coincidence. She knew that items such as cell phones could be had in prison, and he’d probably gotten his hands on one. Sure, that was it.
Meanwhile, Rocco held little power over her now. She wasn’t afraid, not really. Just because someone had your phone number didn’t mean they knew where you were. That was the beauty of cell phones. He’d never find her here, tucked away in small-town Georgia. And surely he would get bored with sending her harassing texts if she simply ignored them and didn’t fuel the fire.
The thought of fire sent her back to Mike’s text.
This is Mike. I’m sorry.
The words hadn’t changed and she couldn’t squeeze any more information from them. She really felt that she needed to respond. But which direction should she take? She’d made an error in judgment and had fallen head over heels for him way faster than was even believable. Time to forget that and move on, she told herself. She hoped her heart was listening.
And really, she was sure he was not apologizing for breaking her heart. He was referring to the earlier incident of her overblown reaction to being caught off guard in her flimsy robe. She closed her eyes tightly and wished she could have a do-over. When he’d come up behind her she could have elegantly swirled around, looked him in the eye and said something witty like “Oh, there you are. Tell the servant to bring me a martini. I’ll be lounging in the bath.”
In her re-do she would have not juggled the books and dropped the bath beads and acted like a nut job. But she had. So, damage control was her thought. Just think of something casual to say that would let him know it was no big deal, he’d just surprised her. And, after all, that was the truth. She wouldn’t say that her heart suddenly exploded in her chest at his unexpected nearness, or that she’d been on the verge of tears and was only happy that she hadn’t started sobbing right in front of him.
She got up and walked through the length of the second floor, pacing back and forth. She didn’t want to make any rash decisions, using words she would be sorry for later. You can’t take back texts.
She needed to think. When she reached the north end of the house, her thoughts were interrupted by a distant whining noise. She opened the window and listened. The sharp sound of a power saw cut through the air and she could see dots of light through the trees at the cabin. The screech of the saw ended on a high note and she heard a piece of lumber hit what sounded like a pile of wood scraps.
She wished she were there. The cabin was hers! She had a lifetime of memories wrapped up in that cabin, and now she felt excluded from the fun. Renovation had never been in her scope of awareness, but she was quickly caught up in the exciting possibilities of what the cabin could become. She felt protective about the cabin and she dadgum wanted a
say-so in what was going on there.
She slammed the window shut and paced back and forth a few more times, fuming about the unfairness of the situation. But did she have to be excluded? Of course not! If Mike wanted to pretend that nothing happened between them, then she could, too. The only important thing was that she shift gears, put a lock-down on her feelings and get on with her life.
She went back to her bedroom, picked up the phone and turned it on.
Mike: This is Mike. I’m sorry.
Lydia: For what? You surprised me and I overreacted. Silly me.
To her surprise she saw the little bubbles that told her he was instantly responding to her text. He must have had his phone right in front of him.
Mike: I thought you heard me come in.
Lydia: No, I think Aunt Vi’s music was too loud. Ha!
Mike: So we’re good?
Lydia: Of course.
Mike: Excellent. Vivian told me about a salvage yard in town. Want to check out some sinks and a toilet Saturday morning?
She stared at her phone. She definitely wanted back in on the cabin reno, but she didn’t know how well she could pull off being around Mike. Still, he’d set the parameters of their relationship; she could pretend her way to success. She was a strong woman—at least she wanted to believe that. Mike was now officially relegated to her Hall of Fame of Past Mistakes.
Lydia: Sounds good.
Mike: It’s a date.
It’s a date? She turned off her phone and, once again, threw it on the end of her bed.
Mike pocketed his phone, a satisfied smile on his lips. When he returned to the cabin after that horrible scene with Lydia, he had started working again. The sight of her panicked face, being caught unaware in her bathrobe, made him feel like a jerk.
He stared thoughtfully at the board he’d just cut. Night had fallen and he’d rigged up a drop light in the yard to finish cutting the framing for the new kitchen island. Todd left a large supply of scrap lumber in his garage, and he was thankful that Vivian would likely get by without the cost of additional lumber.
Cabin by the Lake Page 11
