“As a matter of fact, I am seeing someone. She’s great.”
His mother gave a nearly unintelligible gasp of surprise.
Father Thomas beamed. “A serious relationship?”
“Very much so. She’s not local. She works for a country inn. Actually, she’s invited me and my sidekick to spend the week there.”
“How nice. Julia, are you looking forward to the visit?”
Father Thomas leaned closer, eager for the details. An upsetting mix of bewilderment and annoyance stiffened his mother’s posture.
Blanching, she turned her chilly regard on Ryan. “Why am I only hearing about this now?” she whispered urgently.
The last of the parishioners entered the vestibule, including a young couple with a baby in a charming sunflower bonnet. The couple paused beside Father Thomas. He seemed glad for the interruption.
With a polite farewell, Julia walked out. Disappointed by her reaction, Ryan followed, wondering how to spin this.
Last night he’d stayed with Cat until night crept across the beach. Midnight Boyz left well before then for the drive back to Cleveland, the four band members bleary eyed after their all-nighter. Nathan was the last to climb into the van, shaking Ryan’s hand with admirable maturity and a promise the band would behave once they returned on Thursday. Ryan had capped off the day by enjoying a romantic dinner with Cat in the Sunshine Room, their fingers touching while they sipped wine.
Opening the passenger door of his car, he waited for his mother to climb in. They were nearly home before she broke the frosty silence.
“You’re dating a client.” She made no effort to hide her censure.
“Cat Mendoza, yes.”
“The invitation to stay at the inn . . . what did you tell her?”
“I didn’t accept. I’d like to. I told her I needed to run it by you first.”
“Why does she want us both to visit?”
A thorny question, but Ryan soldiered on. “I mentioned you’ve been nervous lately. A vacation will help you relax.”
“How nice,” she murmured with sarcasm. “Thank you for discussing my emotional state with a stranger.”
“A week in the country will do us both good. There’s also the issue of the miles I’ve been piling up since September. It’s been hard, making the drive constantly. I have to work the account every day next week.”
“You’ve been piling up miles? You told me you were handling the account from the office.” Julia fastened her attention on the road with faint indignation. “I don’t appreciate being lied to. Frankly, the behavior is beneath you.”
A misstep. Parking in the driveway, he silently chastised himself.
His mother didn’t wait for him to help her from the car, rushing up the front steps to let herself inside. The door banged shut behind her.
Mentally Ryan counted to ten before following. There was time to turn this around, but barely. Let her stew too long, and she’d nurse the slight for months to come.
Stacks of fabric were neatly arranged on the coffee table. In the dining room beyond, the sewing machine sat on the table amidst Halloween costumes partially completed in a wild array of colors and designs. Flicking on the machine, Julia reached for a red vest. The spangles covering the fabric sang out as she positioned the garment beneath the needle.
Ryan let the sewing machine whir for a minute before sheepishly taking a seat across the table. An air of injury surrounded her as she kept her attention fixed on the task. It was his well-deserved payment for betraying the trust governing their relationship.
His hand strayed to the scar beneath his eye. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.” Fending off the nervous tic, he drummed his fingers against the table, stopped. Three weeks of allowing her to believe he left each morning for Adworks wasn’t a series of lies told to protect. It was an outright deception. “I should’ve been more up front about my schedule.”
“You haven’t been up front at all. We had one chat over drinks weeks ago. You left me with the impression you can’t pursue a relationship with a client.”
“I changed my mind.”
Finishing the seam, she yanked the vest sideways. “That much is obvious.” Snapping down the presser foot, she continued sewing. “I’m stunned you’ve told me anything at all. When you were younger, there was never any duplicity between us. You’ve changed. Ever since you—”
At a loss, Ryan searched the remark for validity. “I haven’t changed.” He wasn’t sure why she believed otherwise. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“I’m not talking about Cat, although I am hurt you weren’t comfortable sharing your feelings. I’m talking about your discovery last April. Has it been five months? I wish you’d never found them. You’ve been more brooding since then, less forthcoming.”
The impassioned speech increased his confusion. Blinking, Ryan finally deciphered her meaning.
She meant the album with the photos of his father torn out, the one he’d found last spring while cleaning out the garage.
He asked, “Why didn’t you throw the photos of George away?” It seemed an oversight to leave them inside the album.
“Lord above, why didn’t I? Not once did I consider you might stumble across them.”
“You believe I’ve been acting differently since I found them?” He nearly discarded the theory, but the sickly emotion rushing through him forbade it.
“Son, why don’t you ask me?”
For reasons he couldn’t analyze, her patience made him defensive. “Ask you what?”
“Stop pretending you don’t understand where I’m going with this. Ask me the question you’ve worked so hard to hide from yourself.”
With painful clarity, he understood what she was driving at. Panic crawled across his skin. He felt nauseated, as unmoored as the day in Twin Falls when he’d walked into their apartment to find her bloodied and battered.
At last he formed the despised query. “Am I anything like George Hunt?”
“Because you can see the physical resemblance?” Pain flooded her gaze—and love, the fierce, maternal devotion she’d always given him. “No, Ryan. You’re nothing like George Hunt. You’re kind, never cruel. Patient, never volatile. You treat women with the highest respect, and you’re unfailingly protective. In my opinion, you take after one of my sisters. You inherited her intellect, not to mention her elegance.”
The praise felt like a reprieve. He wanted nothing from his father, certainly none of his traits.
Then her revelation sparked the curiosity he’d spent a lifetime suppressing. “You have more than one sister?”
“I do.” She smiled placidly, like a sphinx. “I’ll tell you about them someday.”
“There’s nothing wrong with telling me now.”
The statement was poorly timed. Already a grey weariness stained her features, the exhaustion that came with too much remembering. Her past was a minefield he’d never learned to negotiate.
She folded the vest, set it beside the sewing machine. “I’d rather discuss Cat.” A note of expectancy shaded the remark. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Are you in love?”
A fierce longing seized him. “Yes.”
“Is she aware?”
“It’s a safe bet she’s catching on.”
“Why doesn’t she come here for a visit?”
“She will, at some point. The inn’s gearing up for a concert next weekend. She’s awfully busy.” Indecision caught him, and he pressed his palms flat on the table. In a reasonable tone, he added, “Look, if the idea of a minivacay doesn’t suit, no worries. I will get home late every day this week, including next weekend. Not a big deal, just letting you know. Don’t expect me before nine, ten o’clock. Next Saturday, I’ll get in even later. Probably after midnight.”
“You’re not in the office at all?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re talking about a l
ot of travel for one week. I hate the thought of you commuting so much. How far away is the inn?”
The question startled him. With no small amount of guilt, he struggled to recall how much he’d shared about Cat and the Wayfair. He grimaced.
Less than he’d realized.
With a nod of satisfaction, she folded her arms. “Exactly.” She assessed the remorse rising on his features. “You’ve shared exactly nada.”
“Honestly, I thought I’d told you more.”
“You’ve been trudging in late most nights and going directly to bed. Lately I’ve engaged in more conversation with the Polish butcher on Meeting Street. Believe me, he’s no conversationalist.”
“Should I apologize again? How ʼbout we take in a double feature at the cinema?”
“No need to bribe me, son. You’re a mature adult, under no obligation to share every occurrence in your fascinating life.” Pushing the sewing machine away, she regarded him with more understanding than warranted. “Ryan, you’re the most devoted son a mother could hope for. I’m not angry because you weren’t truthful.”
“What is bothering you?”
“It’s no secret I haven’t been myself lately, which is hard on you. I’m not sure I even had the sense to congratulate you on the newspaper feature. I’m so proud of you. It’s inexcusable how infrequently I tell you. What does bother me? My son has fallen in love. He didn’t stop to consider how happy I’d feel for him.”
Another unexpected turn in the conversation, and his head snapped up. “Does this mean you’ll come with me?”
“On one condition. You won’t make a fuss about driving separately. If this little adventure makes me anxious, I’ll drive myself home. I’m looking forward to meeting Cat, but I’m no more enthusiastic about a week in the country than you. Let someone else listen to the crickets bringing in the night. We’re both better suited for the city.”
“I may change my stripes.”
Astonishment flashed through her mossy-green eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“There’s a lake by the inn. Blue waters as far as the eye can see. A forest too, which I’ve visited with minimal panic attacks. Actually walked pretty far in yesterday morning.”
“You’ve told Cat about our past?” She swiped at the moisture gathering in her eyes. “How much have you discussed?”
“Not everything.” The horrors were best shared in small doses. “I will at some point, though.”
“Did you mention the name change?”
“I wanted to.” Pride blocked the attempt. Nothing singled him out as an abuse survivor like the extraordinary means his mother took to stop George from tracking them. Ancient history, now that he was an adult. Still, he didn’t want to appear weak in front of Cat. “She was pretty upset when I explained about the scar.”
“I can’t imagine her opinion of me.”
“Mom, she doesn’t hold you responsible for what he did to us.”
“She sounds like a considerate girl.” Dispatching with the sorrow, Julia added, “All right. I’ll go. We’re leaving tonight?”
“Mind if we take off this afternoon?” Checking his ill-concealed buoyancy, Ryan added, “Tonight’s fine, if you’d rather wait, wrap up a few of the costumes.”
“I have three weeks to sew. The costumes will be finished long before Halloween.” Her attention drifting, she tapped an index finger on the table. “Did I put the suitcases in the garage? I’ll take the carry-on. Might as well pack light. Seven days in the country is probably more than I can stand; I’ll ask the neighbors to check the houseplants if I’m gone all week.” She looked up suddenly. “How long is the drive?”
“An hour and fifteen.” Given the infrequency of her trips outside the city, he added, “You’ve probably never heard of the town.”
“Enough with the mystery. Does the town have a name?”
“Yeah, sure.” He grinned at the curiosity brightening her features. “Sweet Lake.”
The light fled her face. “We’re going to the Wayfair Inn? Cat works there?”
“You know it?”
The query hung suspended between them. On unsteady feet, she rose.
The thin cords of muscle in her neck worked as she walked to the kitchen. With confusion he followed, the silence falling down around him in oppressive blasts, like unsettled air moving in ahead of a storm. She went to the stove and stared at the teakettle, her hand finding purchase on the knot of scar tissue beneath her right eye. Then she fled whatever thoughts consumed her and snatched up the kettle.
At the sink, she flinched when he paused a scant foot away.
Stifling his questions, she nodded toward the garage. “Get moving,” she said. “We can’t go anywhere until you find the luggage.”
Chapter 14
Running through the mental checklist, Ryan slammed the trunk of his mother’s car.
Their neighbor promised to grab the mail each day, and the timer was set to ensure lights went on and off inside the house at suitable hours. With less enthusiasm than Ryan would’ve liked, because of his mother’s subdued behavior, he’d told Cat to expect them in the early evening. Inside the house, Julia watered the last of the houseplants. The luggage was already stowed in the Beemer’s trunk.
With dusk approaching, long shadows painted the driveway. As they crept toward his shoes, the sense of unease returned. Confident his mother was still busy inside, he retrieved the keepsake from his pocket. The gift from Cat was a Siren’s token, similar to the headdresses the women wore during their morning ritual on the beach—similar to a memory buried deep inside Ryan and still out of reach.
Which wasn’t the most disturbing thought.
His mother was familiar with the Wayfair Inn. While she bustled around the house, he’d tried a series of subtle conversation starters to unearth the specifics. None of his ploys extracted the tiniest fact. To his knowledge, she’d never visited the town.
Yet she knew the inn, and something about the country retreat upset her. She’d done her best to mask her initial reaction, but not before he saw the distress rippling across her face.
She trotted down the front steps with her purse in one hand and a magazine in the other. “Ready?” she asked.
“Just about.” He slipped the token back into his pocket.
She held up the magazine. “I also packed a book. If I’m bored, I’ll find a quiet spot to read. I don’t want to be underfoot while you and Cat are working.” She produced her car keys.
“I printed out the directions and put them on your passenger seat.” He’d never lose her on the highway, but she’d insisted on the backup plan. “Last chance to take me up on the offer. I’d rather drive together.”
She climbed into her car. “No, thank you. If we’re in one car, I’d pay a fortune for a taxi if I decided to come home early.”
Eager to see Cat, he nodded in assent. “Keep your phone out. If you want to stop and stretch your legs, it’s no problem.”
“Stop mothering me. I’ll manage.”
With forced gaiety, she winked. Yet he noted her tight hold on the steering wheel, the muscles in her forearms tensing. Her knuckles locked in an arresting pose. The image brushed against the seedbed of his mind.
Catching his appraisal, she rammed the key into the ignition. “Well, come on. Are we going or not?”
A strange impulse worked through Ryan. Uneasy, he strode to his car. The memory flirted with his consciousness before darting away. It was like trying to catch a playful child intent on evading capture.
When the memory finally broke through, it did so with dismaying clarity: his mother clenching the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as she drove them away from Twin Falls on that unspeakable night. Blood clotting on her jaw. The car swerving onto the highway. He recalled how the force of the maneuver whipped his neck sideways, landing his attention on the pouch spilling its contents across the backseat.
The pouch was blue. Ryan inhaled sharply. The bag, made of velvet.
Heeding the whim, he retraced his steps to her car. “I forgot something.” His eyes strayed to the house.
“Honestly, Ryan. You’ve had hours to pack.”
“Be right back.”
He didn’t dare analyze the instinct that sent him sprinting inside. Striding to his mother’s bedroom, he caught the memory fully, every bleak, terrifying instant. They’d raced out of the apartment with clothing heaped into garbage bags—and the velvet pouch she’d placed on the backseat of the car.
The bedroom drapes were shut, the bed neatly made. Searching the contents of her dresser was a terrible breach.
He deliberated for only a second before riffling through the drawers. In the third drawer, he found the pouch, blue like sapphires. He dumped out the contents.
Feathers, stones, and tiny shells strung together on various lengths of twine. Most of the items represented a child’s handiwork. The technique seemed to improve over time, and he examined a token presumably created in the maker’s late adolescence or early adulthood. The royal-blue feathers, and glittery silver paint on the stones and the shells, were similar to the artistry of the keepsake from Cat.
He selected one of the oldest-looking tokens. The feathers were haphazardly painted. The stones were done with primary colors applied with clumsy strokes. But only a fool would miss the similarity to Cat’s work.
With care, he returned the rest of the tokens to the pouch.
A disorienting fog carried him back outside. He strode past his mother’s car, his mind churning. Swinging around, he pulled out of his musings. She wasn’t behind the wheel.
At the end of the driveway, she stood facing the street.
Hearing his footsteps, she turned. Her hands wound together, then unspooled. She looked wounded, like an abandoned child, and just as fearful.
His heart sinking, Ryan guided her back to the house.
Chapter 15
The shriek rocketing from Linnie’s old suite went right through Cat’s molars. The ear-splitting sound made her mother, scooping up clothes, jerk upright. Tripping on a lacy bra, she flopped into Beefcake Bill.
The Comfort of Secrets (A Sweet Lake Novel Book 2) Page 16
