Dear Diary

by Nancy Bush

“How do you know that—”

  “Say it, Rory. Say how you feel about me.”

  “I think you might have misinterpreted…”

  “Say it!”

  She looked at him helplessly. She had been about to tell him she loved him. He knew it. But she had always struggled to admit her feelings and called on the spot, she felt the words would come out mangled and dull-sounding.

  “I’ve written it down for years, ever since we met.”

  “Written it down?” He frowned.

  “The words… my feelings. In a journal,” she said softly. “A diary, I guess. I started in the third grade and though there’ve been times when I left it for years, I’ve just recently been keeping it up again.” She flushed, embarrassed to add, “You’re my main subject.”

  “Really?” His lips curved.

  “Yes, you egotist.”

  “Well, where is it?”

  Rory thought of all the moments she’d recorded: her feelings after she’d caught her father with his lover; the misery she’d felt over Nick’s marriage; the love she’d finally admitted to. Her most private thoughts and fears, all the emotions she’d kept hidden from the outside world, would be there on paper, raw, bare and unedited. It was the biggest risk she’d ever taken.

  Without a word she went into the bedroom and found the diary, returning to the living room before she lost the courage.

  She handed it to him with a shade of reluctance. “It stops at your wedding, but I have more on my laptop. You’re my friend…” she murmured in a voice unsteady with emotion. “And the only man I’ve really ever loved. But even though I trust you, I’ve always been afraid you’d turn out like my father somehow.” Drawing a breath of courage, she added, “When I was seventeen, I caught my father in the arms of his lover. They were at my house, my mother’s house, drinking champagne, kissing and… having sex against the kitchen counter. I told myself I would never trust a man. Any man.”

  Comprehension slashed across his face. “You never told me.”

  She shook her head. “But it’s all in there.”

  Nick’s gaze turned to the book lying on his palm with the winking jewel on its cover. “You’re trusting me with this?”

  Rory lifted her shoulders, unable to speak. He reached a hand over, yanking her down beside him once more.

  “I love you, Rory,” he said fiercely, cupping her chin, and kissing her with so much emotion that her limbs turned to water. She lay limp beside him, reveling in the taste of him. “I’ve loved you from the moment you saved that poor frog.”

  She laughed against his mouth. “Oh, come on. No more lying, Nick. You did marry Jenny Sumpter.”

  “Only because she reminded me of you.” Rory pulled back, her blue eyes wide and suspicious. Nick’s gray ones stared right back. “Oh, I didn’t know it at the time, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it. But that’s why I married her. I wanted her to be you, because I couldn’t have the genuine article.” Softly he added, “I told you, didn’t I, that I never really loved her.”

  “You told me, and I thought that you meant you couldn’t love anyone.”

  “Maybe that’s what I wanted you to think. I didn’t really want to face my feelings, either. Your rejections hurt.”

  She drew his mouth back to hers, rubbing her lips against his. “I only rejected you because the timing wasn’t right, and because I was afraid. I promise I won’t be afraid anymore.” A pause, and she whispered, “I love you, Nick. Pinkie swear.” She lifted her pinkie, and with a whoop of joy he grabbed her, kissed her hard, then hooked his little finger through hers.

  “That’s a solemn oath, y’know,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “So, will you solemnly swear to marry me?” he asked casually, his gaze traveling back to the diary. Across the front ‘Rory’s Diary’ was written in bold third-grade handwriting, the dot of the i a tiny circle.

  Nick turned to the first page and read:

  I met a new boy at school today. He’s in the third grade in my room. He got hit by those mean sixth graders. There was lots and lots of blood. He saved my life!!!! His name is Nick.

  He slid her a sideways glance, amusement tugging at his lips.

  “I solemnly swear,” Rory answered with love shining from her eyes. “After all, you saved my life.”

  Following is an excerpt from the opening pages of SUMMERTIME BLUES, the first book in the SUMMER LOVIN’ series duet.

  Maggie Holt pushed through the cafeteria doors into the hospital corridor and told herself that, in her professional opinion‌—‌and, as a registered dietician, she was a professional‌—‌the food at Briar Park Hospital flat-out sucked. She wasn’t in charge of all hospital meal planning; she had a separate office on the west side of the hospital’s sprawling grounds for individual patient care. But honestly, the institution manager could really use some help. In fact, given the chance, Maggie thought –

  She saw the two men outside the exterior doors, the one in front reaching for the door handle while the second was staring at him steadily, listening to him, and stopped short. The door cracked open and Maggie’s eyes darted around for escape, her heart racing in sudden panic.

  “…sure you won’t join me? I could use a few more hours to extol Briar Park’s virtues. You know what I’m saying.” The man speaking was Dr. Emil Schorr, one of the hospital directors. The man he was speaking to was Tanner Baines. Dr. Tanner Baines. The love of Maggie’s misspent youth, and the last person in the world she wanted to run into.

  Tanner was shaking his head. Said something about having to get going. By this time Schorr was half inside and Maggie didn’t wait for Tanner to change his mind. She pushed through the nearest door and found herself in the private dining room which could be reserved by appointment and luckily found it empty.

  Tanner Baines. God. Maggie had just learned this morning that she would be meeting with his diabetic daughter and had been preparing for their afternoon session ever since. She didn’t know what that meant and had been living in fear that she would run into Tanner again, though she suspected the girl’s mother, Tricia Baines, would be more likely to bring her in. But maybe not. Tanner was a doctor. And here he was.

  Oh, please, Lord, don’t let him come with her to the session.

  Grinding her teeth together, she willed her heart to slow down. It’s no big deal, Mags. It’s been years. A bad love affair. Everybody’s got them.

  But her brain kept churning away. Recalling the first time she’d met Tanner Baines‌—‌in his bedroom‌—‌when she was fifteen years old.

  If she let herself, she could still feel the scrape of bark from the gnarled oak beneath Tanner’s window as she shimmied up the tree; the thrill of danger as she hung from the upper limb, her toe searching for the windowsill; the shock of sliding inside to find that Tanner was silently waiting for her. She remembered his surprise at her sudden entrance and could still hear him asking in his drawling way, “And who the hell are you?”

  He’d been naked to the waist, clad only in a pair of beat-up jeans, and it had been some time before Maggie could explain why she’d come. Even then he’d regarded her with narrow-eyed suspicion, certain she’d had some ulterior motive beyond the one she’d stated.

  Good. God.

  Now, carefully, she opened the door to the corridor to see that Schorr and Tanner were both long gone. It amazed and annoyed her how fast she’d turned into a schoolgirl with just one look. This wasn’t like her. It wasn’t like her at all! All that was behind her and now she prided herself on her cool control.

  Pushing through the exterior door with authority, she glanced around the parking area but there was no Tanner.

  A male voice yelled, “Hey, Maggie!” and she jerked as if electrocuted.

  But it was just Greg‌—‌Dr. Greg Collins‌—‌her…what? Lover? Boyfriend? Almost fiance? The one she wasn’t in love with. The one she was sort of trying to avoid.

  “Meet me at Foster’s tonight? Six?”


  “Sure,” she said, though she didn’t really want to. On the other hand, maybe this would be the time that she could break off whatever it was they had going.

  “I’ve got news,” he said, and he gave her a quick kiss before heading back to the hospital.

  So, have I, she thought, dreading the impending break up.

  Two hours later she was staring into the eyes of Tanner’s adolescent daughter, searching for some resemblance between Shelley Baines and her father. But there was little to distinguish her as Tanner’s child. The pale, somewhat sullen girl casting her resentful glances from behind a curtain of long brown hair was nothing like Tanner. Shelley’s resemblance to her mother, Tricia Wellesley Baines, was far more apparent.

  “Dr. Kempwood notes here that you were diagnosed as diabetic several years ago and have recently been having trouble with dizziness,” Maggie said, flipping through the pages of Shelley’s file. “She wants me to check your diet.”

  Shelley regarded Maggie with bored eyes and said nothing.

  “You just moved here?”

  “Uh huh.” She examined her fingernails.

  “Do you think the change interrupted your usual habits, both with meals and your insulin intake?”

  “I told the doctor everything already.”

  “Okay, well, maybe you could help me out with the same information. Your file’s still incomplete.”

  The girl’s gaze focused on the pin on Maggie’s lab coat. It read MAGGIE HOLT, R.D., and though Maggie was certain she must already know what it stood for, she said, “I’m a registered dietitian, and I’m Briar Park Medical Center’s nutrition consultant.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “You carefully monitor your blood sugar levels?”

  “You’re not my doctor,” she answered stonily.

  “I’m just bringing myself up to date.” Shelley’s rebellion was more in her tone than her words. Her teeth were set, her young body stiff with affront, and she looked anywhere but directly at Maggie. “Are you here by yourself, or is your mother…or father...with you?”

  “My mother’s dead.”

  Maggie couldn’t prevent her stare of disbelief. Tricia dead? How? Why? From last fall’s car accident?

  The news swept over her in a wave of unreality. She’d heard tales about the accident, of course, but after the first buzz of gossip had died down she’d been left with the impression that Tricia Baines had been unscathed‌—‌while Tanner, one of Boston’s most noted surgeons, had lost the use of his right hand…and therefore his career.

  Silence lengthened in the room. While Maggie tried to pull her thoughts in order, she saw the gleam of triumph in Shelley’s eyes. If it hadn’t been for the fear lurking there, too, she might have felt little sympathy for the girl. As it was, she said sincerely, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Is your father here, then?”

  “No. I came with Mrs. Greer, our housekeeper. Dad is‌—‌my father doesn’t go out much.”

  But I just saw him this morning, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Shelley’s comment sounded like the truth, in the larger sense, and it was another piece of information Maggie didn’t want to hear. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Doesn’t go out much.

  Drifting memories passed over her, snatches of conversation she’d heard, malicious bits of gossip that had nevertheless been burned into Maggie’s brain.

  “The bones of his hand were crushed to dust…”

  “His surgical career is over, completely over…”

  “Looks like Lake Chinook’s shining star finally got what he deserved…”

  She gazed down at the open file again. Shelley’s home was listed as Boston and there was no Oregon address as yet. But Dr. Kempwood wouldn’t have bothered sending her to Maggie if Tanner wasn’t planning on staying. And it sounded like Schorr had been trying to offer him a job.

  Maggie closed the manila folder. “Well, then, maybe I can set the appointments up with you. I’ll give you these sheets and I want you to write down everything you eat for the next few days. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir, but watch the carbohydrates‌—‌especially sugar. We want to find out exactly what your stability level is. Be smart, Shelley,” she added, seeing how hard the girl was trying to close her out. “I’m sure you know the dos and don’ts already. I’ll go over your history with Dr. Kempwood, and then let’s meet again on Thursday, say around two o’clock?”

  Shelley shrugged and rose from her chair, grudgingly reaching for the information held out to her. Without a goodbye she passed through the outer office, and Maggie walked to the door in time to see Mrs. Greer, the housekeeper, put down her magazine and follow the dark-haired girl out into the warm June sunshine.

  The smells of summer flowed through the open window of Maggie’s car‌—‌dust, dry grass and the occasional sweet scent from the heavy-headed roses. It was the kind of day that tugged at her memories; the kind of day she dreaded. She breathed deeply and her mind swirled with images from her youth, as if the very act of inhaling brought the past touchably close.

  She wished Tanner had stayed in Boston where he belonged.

  Hitting the button for the sun roof on her Pathfinder, she kept just ahead of the speed limit around Lake Chinook, the cool air fanning her hot cheeks, her mind clearing a bit with each passing mile. But driven by some unhealthy interest she took a side route, winding up the back hills that looked over the lake, turning down the street where Tanner’s home had once been.

  It had been years since she’d really allowed herself to feel these emotions. Her romance with Tanner was long over and she’d built a satisfying life for herself since their brief, disastrous affair. She seldom brooded about “what could have been.” The past was the past. Or, so she told herself, though sometimes it seemed more real than her present.

  Parking across the street from the stately white colonial, she leaned her arms on the steering wheel. Heat settled inside and she felt her hair stick to the back of her neck. Who lived here now? she wondered. Tanner’s father had left town not long after his son’s marriage to Tricia Wellesley.

  Tricia Wellesley. My God, was she really dead? It seemed impossible to believe that the young woman Maggie had wasted so many bitter tears over, had hated with all the intensity of her adolescent heart, could be gone. Tricia had only loved the same man she had; it was hardly a crime.

  Letting her eyes travel over the familiar three-story structure, Maggie exhaled heavily. It had been a cabin once, like so many other homes around the lake, but Tanner’s father, Dr. Gerrard Baines, had renovated it into its current, imposing condition. Down economy or no, it was undoubtedly worth a small fortune now.

  The gnarled oak tree still reached around the corner and up the side of the house and over the roof. How old was it? A hundred years? Two hundred? Someone had once told her an oak tree lives six hundred years: two hundred to grow, two hundred to live, two hundred to die. It would probably be there long after her life was over, and it reminded her how futile and unimportant her own problems were.

  Shifting gears, Maggie was on the road again, driving blindly down the switchback lanes. To the right and far below, a scintillating blur of green and blue flashed between the droopy-limbed firs. Lake Chinook, the man-made lake that had given the surrounding town its name, ran beside Maggie’s car like a mocking shadow.

  A dry ache filled her, the kind of ache that never seemed to go away. It surprised her with its intensity. Damn it all. This wasn’t like her. With an effort, she concentrated on making the correct turns to her own home and forgetting about her long ago, teenage love affair. Fifteen minutes later she was pulling into the drive of her cottage on the outskirts of the city, a 1940’s bungalow in serious need of an HGTV makeover.

  As she walked to her front door, she pulled out her cell phone and realized she’d received a text. She was the worst about picking them up; she was still old school enough to call more than text.

  It was from Greg:

  Gonna be late
. How about 6:45? Love you. G.

  Maggie let herself into the house, dropping her cell on the kitchen counter.

  Love you.

  It made her mouth dry to think what was ahead of her. Greg offered up ‘I love yous’ with the ease of someone grown used to saying them. He had yet to notice that Maggie had difficulty saying them back. The words stuck in her throat, and only Greg’s lack of perception had saved her from having to explain why she had such a phobia about repeating them to him.

  She glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. She had just enough time to shower and change to meet Greg by six-forty-five. With a swear word meant for life in general, she prepared herself for the task she dreaded, knowing Greg wouldn’t want to hear that his “almost” fiancée wasn’t in love with him.

  “If everything goes well the community will raise enough money for the new obstetric wing by the end of the year,” Greg was saying to the group of coworkers at the outdoor table when Maggie arrived at Foster’s a few minutes late. “That’ll do the trick. The hospital will have to add more staff, too.”

  She’d thought Greg had planned a dinner date just for the two of them, but apparently not. She should have known he would invite his hospital ‘posse’. He chose any and all opportunities to pontificate about his favorite subject: his career.

  Sandy Francis, a surgical resident at Briar Park Hospital, asked, “What if we don’t get the money?”

  “Oh, we’ll get it, and then who knows,” Greg said, slipping an arm over Maggie’s shoulders. “The sky’s the limit.”

  His arm felt like a dead weight. It was all she could do not to move it. Forcing her thoughts elsewhere, she gazed across the patio to the sun-dappled green water beyond. Foster’s-On-The-Lake was the only restaurant with lake access, the only one with a dock for patrons arriving by boat. The restaurant also reminded her of Tanner Baines‌—‌they’d had their first date here‌—‌but until today, she’d managed to squelch those thoughts.

  “Something wrong?” Greg asked in her ear.