The Cottage at Firefly Lake

by Jen Gilroy

  Maybe if he’d waited, he’d have admitted Sarah wasn’t right for him, and she’d have admitted it too. But she’d been pretty and fun and, by wanting to be with him, she’d helped dull the pain of Charlie’s betrayal. When she wanted to get married and start a family, he decided he could settle. Turned out he’d been wrong, and Ty paid the price. More shame, this time mixed with guilt and regret, rolled over Sean.

  “Hanging out with Naomi makes me happy,” Ty said, his eyes cold. “Just because you screwed up your life doesn’t mean I’ll do the same with mine. You can stop with the advice.”

  Ty set off down the path at a jog, Shadow at his heels. Seconds later the workshop lights went on and country music blared out from the iPod dock Ty kept on his workbench.

  Sean sat on the bottom step, his legs shaky. Purple mackerel clouds hugged the pine-fringed shore. At the end of the point, water splashed against the rocks. Lights twinkled out of the darkness, the chorus of crickets and tree frogs a counterpoint to the music.

  Even before he’d had his face glued to her breasts earlier, it hadn’t been over between him and Charlie. There was unfinished business—feelings he didn’t want to have and had no idea what he was going to do—or even if he should do anything—about. His responsibility was first to his son, and then to the rest of his family and the business.

  When the last notes of a Dean Brody song about “Canadian Girls” that Ty had found on YouTube faded away and was replaced by Taylor Swift singing “Love Story,” choices Sean guessed were deliberate and meant to torment him, he went back up the steps and into the dark house.

  The house he’d built after he and Sarah split up. Where he rattled around on his own and Ty lived with him the weeks he wasn’t with Sarah and Matt.

  He flipped on the kitchen lights to reveal granite countertops, stainless-steel appliances, and the white, Shaker-style cabinets Linnie and his sisters helped him pick out. At one end, a farmhouse table and six chairs, a set meant for a family, not a divorced dad who struggled with his one kid—who was so afraid of losing that kid he sometimes came down too hard. Like his dad and grandfather had on him.

  He pulled out a chair and sat, took the phone from its charger, and scrolled to Sarah’s number. Marriage should be forever, but he’d failed his ex, or maybe they’d failed each other. But he wouldn’t fail his son. He had to talk to Sarah and fix this mess. He counted to five and hit her number.

  “Hey, Matt,” he said when his ex-wife’s husband answered. “It’s Sean. Is Sarah around?”

  “Sure. Hang on a second.”

  Twenty miles down the road in Kincaid, Sarah had made another life, another family. And until tonight, Sean would have said Ty was okay with how everything had turned out.

  “Hi.” Sarah came on the line. Her voice was still girlish, like it was the summer he met her when she waitressed at the Inn on the Lake. The same voice she’d probably have when she was a grandmother and they were still trying to make an effort for Ty’s sake, splitting time with Ty’s children. “Is Ty okay? He’s not hurt, is he?”

  “Ty’s okay.” At least okay in the way Sarah meant. “But we need to talk.”

  Chapter Ten

  I don’t like leaving you alone out here all afternoon.” Mia patted Charlie’s arm. “You’re sure you won’t come to the movie with the girls and me?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Charlie closed her laptop on Max’s latest email and got up from the couch. “You go have fun.” The air was sticky with heat, and she lifted the hair off her neck. Firefly Lake was as still as glass. Dark clouds were banked at the town end, and heat lightning flashed over the hills.

  “You promise you’ll lie down?” Mia picked up her purse. “Rest your leg?”

  “I promise.” After she emailed Max and made yet another excuse about why she hadn’t sent him the background research she’d promised. The research Max was pressuring her for, and she’d started half a dozen times and not finished. Research for the story that was waiting for her.

  Mia cleared her throat. “It means a lot you’re on my side. Jay, he…I still don’t know what to do.”

  “Hey.” Charlie hugged her sister. “We’ll figure something out.”

  Mia’s eyes glistened. “I know you don’t want to sell to Tat Chee, but—”

  “There’s got to be another option,” Charlie broke in. If she couldn’t find one, she’d have to make a terrible choice. Another one.

  “I miss Mom so much.” Mia hesitated, halfway out the door. “But with you, us together here, it’s like I’ve got a part of her back.”

  “Me too…with you.” Charlie’s throat got thick. “Go on. The girls are waiting in the car.”

  “Okay.” Mia touched Charlie’s cheek, like their mom used to do.

  After the door closed behind her sister, Charlie moved to the piano and ran her fingers across the yellowed keys. “I love you, Mom,” she whispered. “Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you didn’t always do what Dad told you to. Maybe you didn’t tell him about the woodlot because it was the only part of yourself you had left. Am I right?”

  She played a chord and the notes echoed, high-pitched and musical like her mom’s laugh. “We didn’t always understand each other and a lot of that’s my fault. I shut you out because I thought you loved Mia best. I was wrong and I need you. I need your help. What am I going to do? I have to help Mia, I want to help her, but I want to do the right thing too. For you. For all of us.”

  Dust motes danced in a shaft of sunlight, and Charlie closed the piano lid. Ghosts didn’t answer, no matter how much you wanted them to. Thunder rumbled, and she wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself.

  And then there was Sean, who was all too real, all too present. The man she’d made out with like some sex-crazed teenager. The man she couldn’t stop thinking about. Her sister needed her help, needed her as an ally. Sean was their adversary and she wasn’t on his side, so why couldn’t she stop thinking of him?

  Her thoughts circled like a hamster on a wheel. She wandered into the hall and kept one eye on the sky. A cloud blotted out the sun, and she shivered.

  “Charlie?” Sean’s voice came from the other side of the screen door, deep and as smooth as dark chocolate and twice as tempting. “Can I talk to you?” He wore a white Carmichael’s polo shirt and navy chinos, and his expression said he wasn’t going to leave unless she agreed.

  She opened the door, the hinge squeaking. “What is it?”

  Thunder rumbled again, closer.

  He came into the hall and stopped in front of her. The scent of wood and some spicy soap tickled her nose. “I drove by Mia and the girls heading into town, so I figured you’d be on your own.”

  Charlie’s heart pounded. “This isn’t a good time.”

  Lightning forked over the lake, where the water was gray and sullen.

  “Charlie.” Sean stopped her. “When you were in my arms, I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”

  She curled her bare toes into the rag rug. “I haven’t either.” The heat in his gaze bored into her. “But we’ve gotten it out of our systems.”

  “Have we?” Sean’s voice was gruff. His big body filled the small hall.

  “I did.” She linked her shaky fingers together. She couldn’t let him guess how she felt, couldn’t strip her emotions bare to leave her heart exposed and defenseless.

  “You keep on lying and your nose is going to grow. Like Pinocchio.” His gaze sharpened.

  Charlie winced as new guilt piled on top of old to lodge in a hard lump at the base of her breastbone. “I…”

  Sean’s mouth twisted. “I don’t trust you, but it doesn’t mean we can’t help each other out. I had another call from that San Francisco attorney today, and Tat Chee wants the marina, so they’ve upped their offer.”

  “You said no?” The lump moved to her throat; she forced the words out.

  “Of course.” Sean’s face was dark. “Then I called a guy in the Rotary Club who works for the regional pl
anning commission. He might be able to pull some strings and make it harder for this site to be used for anything commercial.”

  “Is that ethical?” Lightning lit the sky and she shivered.

  “Maybe not, but you could argue what Tat Chee’s doing isn’t squeaky-clean either. They’ve cut out the local Realtor. They’re pressuring a neighboring property owner.” A gust of wind jangled the chimes on the porch, and Charlie jumped. “Besides, to build the complex they’re talking about, they’d have to cut down a big chunk of old-growth forest, maybe even dredge part of the shoreline for the water feature.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Charlie crossed her arms.

  “You have any contacts in the Burlington media?”

  “No.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Mine are in New York and Boston.”

  “A story about a big developer coming into this special place with plans that could destroy the environment and change the way of life might help nudge a building permit hearing the right way, if you get my drift.”

  “That would be good for you, but Mia and I could lose a buyer.” She hugged herself. “It sounds like Tat Chee will up their offer to us too. Despite what you think, Mia needs the money.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Although she got where Sean was coming from, she was on Mia’s side. Her sister and nieces needed the fresh start and independence from Jay the money from a sale to Tat Chee would give them. She had to help them.

  “Does it have anything to do with her husband?” Sean searched her face, his expression probing.

  Charlie picked at a hangnail. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Sean let out a breath. “Okay, Mia needs money.”

  “I do too.” The ever-present worries gnawed at her. Her investment portfolio had tanked along with the economy, and London was expensive. How would she save for her future? And what if the nightmares didn’t go away and she couldn’t work for months, years?

  Lightning illuminated the hall, followed by a clap of thunder, which rattled the windows. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut as the familiar panic spiraled through her.

  “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.” Sean steered her toward the couch. “Sit.”

  “I’m not Shadow.” She tried to laugh but failed, flinching as thunder boomed again.

  “You never used to be scared of storms.” He patted her back like he’d have patted his dog.

  Charlie opened her eyes. “I’m not scared.” Another crack of thunder hit, and she lurched to her feet. “I’m fine.” She stumbled to the window and slammed it shut. Rain lashed the beach, and the trees in the woodlot were bent almost double in the wind.

  “If you say so, Pinocchio.” Sean dragged her against his chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Hold on to me.”

  Fear rose in her throat and choked her. Past and present blurred until Sean was the only solid point in a world that tilted and spun out of control. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t.” His voice was steady.

  She curled her fingers tighter around his. “Loud noises, they, it’s…” She was babbling. She couldn’t stop. Nor could she stop her teeth from chattering, nor the tremors that cascaded through her body.

  “It’s only a summer storm.” He pulled her onto the couch and grabbed the blanket from the back. “Breathe with me.” He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

  Charlie focused on Sean’s regular breathing. Her breath came in short wheezes. “I’m trying.”

  “One, two,” he said. “Easy does it.”

  “But—”

  “If you’re talking, you’re not breathing.”

  Charlie breathed with him until she lost track of time and almost forgot the storm. Until the world narrowed to only her and Sean, the thump of his heart against her chest, the rhythm of his breath and his hands tracing slow circles on her back.

  She opened her eyes and eased away from him. “The storm stopped?”

  “Looks like it.” Sean pointed out the window to where a watery sun poked out from behind a cloud and steam rose off the lake. “It’s moved over the mountain to Kincaid.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice shook as she grabbed her phone. She’d hung on to him for twenty minutes. “I don’t usually, you know…”

  She winced as the reality of what had happened hit her. Not only had she had a panic attack, but she’d had one with Sean. She’d hidden the attacks from Mia, her friends, everyone, because she was afraid of being judged, afraid of that post-traumatic stress disorder label. Yet she’d had a crack-up in front of the one person she needed to be on her guard with. The one person she couldn’t trust and who couldn’t trust her either.

  “It’s okay.” Sean rested his forearms on his thighs. She didn’t see judgment in his face, only compassion, maybe even understanding.

  She took a breath. Despite everything between them, she needed him to know this was part of who she was now. “The thunder was a trigger. It reminded me…”

  “Reminded you of what?” His voice was gentle.

  “All the time I’ve spent in war zones. Kids only a few years older than Ty, but with old men’s eyes, killing like it was a sport. The heat, the noise, the dirt.” She looked at her hands, at the faint white line on the left one that marked the fishhook scar. “Their stories haunt me, but they’re stories I had to tell.”

  Sean’s eyes darkened. “Tell me. Help me understand. It’s a world away from what I know. I build boats.”

  “Which isn’t likely to get you blown up.” She let go of her phone and set it on the coffee table.

  “True.” He gave her a wry smile. “I want to know about your life. What you do. Why you do it.”

  “I chase stories like some people chase storms. I show how global political issues impact ordinary people and their families. I loved it until…” Her heart pounded. Until the earth had blown up in front of her. And people she’d talked to five minutes before had been blown up too.

  He held her gaze. Waiting.

  She gulped. “You asked if I’d written about what happened in Syria. Nobody ever asked me that before. Maybe if I write, I can start to let it go.”

  “And then?” Sean’s gaze never left hers.

  “I’ll go where I’m sent, where the next story is. It’s not always about people trying to kill each other for a cause most of them don’t understand.” She got to her feet and put distance between them. “I’m a foreign correspondent. It’s my life. It’s what I know, what I’m good at, who I am.”

  “Did you ever think it doesn’t have to be that way?” His voice was quiet, and the words dropped between them like pebbles into the lake.

  “I fought for years to do front-line reporting. To be accepted.” She willed herself to keep talking, even if she didn’t like his answer. “Are you saying I should give it up?”

  “Of course not. All I’m saying is the job almost got you killed, so maybe you should think about that.” He stood and rammed his hands into his pockets.

  “Everybody, the guys in the newsroom, my dad, they all said I’d never make it. But I did. Even my mom wondered why I couldn’t do something like travel writing or fashion journalism.” Charlie backed toward the window. “Can you see me writing about beach resorts or hemlines? That’s Mia’s life, not mine.”

  “What I hear is you’re still hung up on being good enough for your dad and competing with your sister.” He followed her, and his gaze drilled into hers.

  “That’s a cheap shot.” Charlie shrugged because she didn’t want him to see he’d hit a nerve. “Especially coming from a guy like you whose future was mapped out for him from the day he was born. My dad’s dead, and why would I compete with Mia?”

  She hadn’t competed, because her sister was so perfect she couldn’t. She’d run away instead. Except Mia wasn’t as perfect as Charlie assumed and had been fighting demons of her own.

  “You’re right. It was a cheap shot, but maybe I know where you’re coming
from. I don’t have much of a life beyond work either.”

  “Oh.” Her breath caught at his soft admission. For the Sean she’d known, work had always come first and he’d never complained, never questioned it.

  “I care about you. Whether I like it or not, whether I want you to be or not, you’re part of my life.” He stared at his feet, his voice almost inaudible. “It matters to me what happens to you.”

  Emotion lodged at the back of Charlie’s throat like the big green marble Sean had given her for her seventh birthday. The one he’d bought with his allowance after the two of them had spotted it at the hardware store in town and which she still had in her box of treasures.

  “You’re part of almost every memory I have of summers in Firefly Lake.” His voice was unexpectedly intimate, and his eyes turned misty blue. “I want you to take care of yourself.”

  She shouldn’t let herself get close to Sean again, but he looked good. He smelled good. And when she was around him, she felt like herself again. Like the girl she’d lost all those years ago. The one who thought she could take on the world as long as she had Sean by her side. She moved toward him.

  “What the…?” He pushed by her. “The woodlot’s on fire, a lightning strike.”

  She spun to face the window. An orange glow flickered over the trees. Sean spoke into his phone, sharp, urgent sentences, before he disconnected and ran into the hall.

  She followed him and shoved her feet into the nearest pair of shoes, Naomi’s sneakers.

  “Get out to the road, away from the fire.” He flung open the screen door and shaded his face with his hand. “Take my car into town.” He tossed her the keys.

  She let the keys fall on the mat. “No. I’m staying here to help you.” She darted in front of him and blocked his way. On the porch, a smoke smell mingled with the fragrance of her mom’s rosebushes.

  His eyes narrowed. “What about your leg?”

  “It’s fine.” Fanned by the wind, the flames crackled. Cold sweat beaded on the back of her neck.

  “I don’t believe you, but I don’t have time to argue with you.” Sean took the porch steps at a run and she followed him. “It’ll be half an hour or more until the volunteer fire department gets here from town. We need to try to save the cottage.” He turned toward the smoke, which curled over the trees, and checked the wind direction.