This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel)

by Miranda Liasson

  “But you looked like you wanted to be fooling around,” Alex said, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Time to cut you off, dear,” Olivia said, pushing the pitcher out of Alex’s reach and sliding up a plate of loaded nachos.

  “Lukas’s little nephew is adorable,” Meg said. “He and James really hit it off.”

  “And Annabelle,” Olivia said. “She would not stop talking about Stevie after he left.”

  “Seriously, Sammy, we like the guy,” Alex said. “Besides his hotness, he was great with the kids.”

  Meg took a sip of her drink. “Lukas saved the day. Ben told me even Brad was impressed.”

  “Oh, Brad’s bark is worse than his bite.” Olivia flicked her wrist dismissively. “His being tough like that is just his way of showing love for you, Sam. He still feels a need to protect you. Please don’t take it personally.”

  She tried not to, but still, Brad was Brad. Sam took a deep breath. Something was niggling at her and now would be the perfect time to bring it up, if only her courage didn’t fail her. “You three are all married.”

  “Yes, we are,” Alex said, making a loud sucking noise with her straw as she hit the bottom of the glass. “To your brothers.” Then she giggled.

  “Right. Anyway, I was just wondering something. “Does the—” She cleared her throat and stared again. “Does the romance get tired after a while?”

  Sam swallowed hard. She was setting herself up as a butt for all sorts of jokes, but she had to know. Because everything new faded with time, right? She’d had so little experience with seeing couples go the distance. Her own parents had died young, and she’d never known her grandparents except for Effie.

  “Sounds like your question really is, is the sex still good?” Alex set down her glass with a thud on the surface of the wooden table. “Damn right it still is.”

  God bless Alex, whose bluntness didn’t disappear with her tipsiness. “Even after twelve years of marriage and four kids?” Sam asked. “I mean, doesn’t it get . . . boring?” Oh, she needed a drink. Where the hell was her margarita?

  “Girls, is that Effie?” Olivia asked.

  Everyone turned to see Sam’s grandma scooting down the single bar aisle holding a beer, joining a table of Assisted Living friends. She wore a brightly flowered shift dress with her orthopedic tennies, not her usual ensembles of jogging suits or colorful cardigans and dark pants.

  Sam closed her eyes and prayed. Please, God, don’t let her see us. Just for tonight. Just for one—

  “Yoo-hoo,” Effie called, waggling her fingers. “Hi, girls!” Sam cracked a smile and waved back halfheartedly, hoping not to encourage her to join them.

  “Since when does Effie drink?” Meg asked in a whisper.

  “Since she’s been going through some kind of crisis,” Olivia said. “Does anyone know what it is?”

  “She told me she’s sick of being the nice grandma, whatever that means,” Sam said.

  “Effie not wanting to be nice is like Santa barhopping instead of delivering presents on Christmas Eve.” Alex pulled a nacho off the pile, the melted cheese stretching all the way to her appetizer plate. “Completely out of character.” She took a bite and turned to Sam.

  “To answer your question as honestly as I can after three drinks,” Alex continued, “when you get married you find there’s a lot of different kinds of sex. Makeup sex, haven’t-had-sex-in-a-while sex, blow-off-steam sex, I-really-love-you-and-I’m-so-into-you sex, or I-don’t-really-feel-like-it-but-you’re-into-it-so-that’s-okay-too sex. It’s all good. Marriage is hard but sex can really help to get a couple back on the same page. When we’re not totally exhausted and falling asleep, that is.”

  “We always try to have date night once a week,” Olivia said. “It’s easy to get caught up in all the kids’ activities all the time and forget about time with one another.”

  Everyone looked expectantly at Meg, who blushed deeply. “Oh, come on you all. I’m not going to lower myself by talking about my sex life.”

  Olivia nudged her. “We already know all about that, Meg.” She looked around the table and smiled. “She’s Hot for Doctor.”

  Judging by the way she blushed, Sam knew it was true. These women were totally in love with her crazy brothers. Ew.

  “Is there a problem with Harris?” Meg asked gently. Maybe Meg didn’t want to talk about her own sex life, but it appeared she had no trouble asking about Sam’s.

  “No! Of course not. Absolutely not.” Finally, finally, her drink arrived and Sam took a big gulp. The slushy coldness slid easily down her dry throat. But that didn’t make it easier to talk. What could she say? That in bed Harris was sweet, so sweet, accommodating to her needs, but she often ended up . . . faking it? A lot. So she took another sip.

  “You know,” Olivia said gently. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s stuff like when you’ve had a really rough day and he rubs your feet as you sit there and watch Dancing with the Stars together.”

  “With Tom it’s Naked and Afraid,” Alex said. “He tapes it every week so we can watch it after the kids are asleep. He needs to be prepared for survival after nuclear Armageddon. Kind of endearing, you know?”

  “Sounds like he’s been doing too many disaster drills with the other first responders in town,” Olivia said.

  “I think it’s touching,” Meg said. “How about when you’re exhausted and a kid is crying in the middle of the night and he gets up instead?”

  “Sometimes things get off track and you have to work to get them back on,” Alex said. “Like, when the kids were little and we were dog tired, super exhausted all the time. One night we left them with a sitter and walked down the street to the B and B and checked in and fooled around until we had to go home. We ordered pizza and ate it in bed. It was so fun.”

  “We could have watched the kids all night for you,” Olivia said. “Or all weekend. Why didn’t you ask?” That was the great thing about having a ton of family in town. Instasitters and Instacousins.

  “It was spontaneous. We just did it on impulse. We walked three blocks but you would’ve thought we’d flown to Vegas for the night.”

  Sam mulled over Alex’s Vegas comment. She’d used words like spontaneous and fun. Those two traits were not exactly a big part of Harris’s gene code. Plus, he’d think it was a waste to spend money like that for just a few hours. He was great and thoughtful about bringing her gifts . . . but when was the last time they’d spent an evening together and just vegged out on the couch? Hung out and ate ice cream? She’d been chalking all of his recent behavior up to his being overworked and stressed. She’d cut him slack because of the pressure he was under. But what if this was the norm? Life was stressful. The stress wasn’t going to stop after the case was over.

  From across the table, Meg was staring at her. Sam knew that look. She was reading her emotions in that empathic way Meg had. “It’s all about how he treats you, Samantha,” she said.

  “Harris treats me very well,” Sam said and flashed her biggest smile. He did. Look at all the surprises—tickets to shows, flowers for no reason. He loved her. So why was she obsessed about sex? Besides, Harris was well-liked and really good-looking. Maybe she was the problem. And there was no way she was bringing that up.

  The table grew quiet. “Look, I just asked a question, okay?” Sam said. “Don’t go reading all kinds of stuff into it. I mean, I’ve been dating him for six years. I—I think he’s going to ask me to marry him soon.”

  “That’s great Sam,” Olivia said, squeezing her hand. “We’re happy for you.” But she sounded kind of lukewarm. Guarded.

  Meg sighed. “Forgive me for this in advance. But a marriage proposal isn’t something you earn. It’s not a prize to be dangled in front of you that you win if you’re good enough.”

  The table went silent.

  “You’ve got a lot of common sense, honey,” Olivia said. “We trust your judgment.”

  “Exactly,” Alex agreed. “But you should know it’
s okay if it doesn’t work out, right?”

  “Of course.” Sam dug some money out of her purse and put it on the table. “Thanks for the company. I’ve got to be going.”

  She’d made it almost to the door when someone grabbed her elbow. It was Meg.

  “Where are you going now?” she asked.

  Sam closed her eyes. Driving to Boston was out of the question. She was tired and upset and she’d just downed a giant drink. Going back home . . . dangerous because Lukas would be one hundred feet away in the guesthouse. She really didn’t have any clue what to do.

  “We all love you, Sam. We want you to be happy. And you don’t look happy right now.”

  Tears suddenly sprung up behind her eyes. It was that damn kind tone. That caring that got her. In another minute she’d be bawling in the aisle. She had to toughen up. “Look, Meg, you’re not my mom. I can make my own decisions.”

  Meg frowned. Sam immediately felt bad for being edgy with her, but Meg seemed unabashed. “I’m not trying to mother you.” She paused. “Well, yes I am. I care about you. We all do. Did . . . did something happen between you and Lukas?”

  “He kissed me,” she blurted.

  “On the lips?”

  Sam swiped at her eyes. “Of course on the lips. Several times in a row and I—I didn’t stop him. I stood there and . . .”

  One of Meg’s fine dark brows raised. “Enjoyed it?”

  Sam shook her head. “Everything in my life has become a mess since he’s come to town. How could I have let this happen? I’ve learned nothing. I’m still the stupid infatuated girl, going after the gorgeous but irresponsible guy. And this time it’s going to ruin my life.”

  Meg pulled her into a hug. “Stay at our place tonight, okay? Come home with me.”

  Sam nodded and promised she’d wait until Meg settled up her part of the bill. In the little alcove near the exit, there was a large antique mirror mounted to the wall. Sam knew she shouldn’t have looked, but she did. The woman staring back looked sad and stressed. Diminished somehow. The glass was wavy and there was some distortion, but even so, Sam didn’t recognize her reflection. She wasn’t sure who she was anymore. Nothing in her life seemed to fit. Her entire life view had been disrupted by Lukas’s arrival.

  Which was a shame. Because he had come and gone too many times, pulling her in with tidal-wave force and causing a tsunami’s worth of wreckage everywhere. You’d think she’d have learned her lesson. This time, she was fairly certain her heart simply couldn’t sustain any more breaks.

  Why would she ever want someone who made her feel like nothing in her life fit anymore?

  She’d clung to Harris for so long as her anchor of stability. He was cute, Ivy League educated, and going places. That had pleased her family and given her a respectable standing far from the lonely, on-the-fringes one she’d had in high school.

  But maybe she’d clung to him like a crutch. Maybe she loved the idea of him more than she loved him for himself. She’d poked fun at Jess for relying on guys too much. Maybe she was just as guilty, but in a different way. And maybe it was time she started relying on herself.

  Monday-morning sun streamed into the art room, lifting Sam’s mood a little. The familiar smell of paint and paper soothed her, too. Art always calmed her, even though she was still upset about Lukas and that kiss, and she still had no idea what she was going to do about Harris. And she’d had to share a bed last night with Meg’s one-hundred-fifty-pound Saint Bernard.

  As she set up her paints and prepared a place for Effie to sit, Effie wandered around, looking at all the students’ projects Sam had hung up all over the room.

  Joe Malone popped his head in. “Good morning, Sam. Morning, Effie. Glad to see so many of you teachers here closing their rooms up for the summer.”

  Or forever, Sam thought, looking dismally around her beloved classroom. Maybe it had been a bad idea to bring Effie here today to try and finish up her portrait. Sam was feeling too emotional. And confused.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Joe gave a knowing little smile. “You know, your job’s still open. But it’ll be posted within the week. So if you’re having second thoughts, let me know soon.”

  “Right. I will.” She managed a smile back.

  “Well, got to be moving along. There’s a pot of coffee in the office if you want any.” With a wave, he was gone.

  She just wanted to survive the day. That damn kiss had changed everything. Lukas couldn’t stay in her guesthouse. Or she couldn’t stay. He shouldn’t have done it. She shouldn’t have let him. But man, was it amazing. Oh, she was a terrible person. Maybe she should—

  Effie called her name, thank God, breaking her stream of panic. She was standing in front of an iconic charcoal drawing of Bruce Springsteen, done by Calvin, in fact. “My goodness, Samantha. The talent your students have. Except what’s this one?” She pointed to an abstract painting hanging next to Bruce. “It looks like a boob.” She tilted her head sideways to view it from a different angle.

  “It is a boob.” She steered her grandmother to the chair she had set up. “Please come and sit down now. I need to finish your portrait before the big benefit.”

  “You looked a little upset last night talking to Meg in the bar.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “And you have dark circles under your eyes this morning. Surprising, because you and Lukas seemed to be having so much fun yesterday at the party.”

  Pry, pry, pry. That’s what Effie did, but you hardly knew it because she always did it in the gentlest way possible.

  Jess walked in then with three steaming coffee cups. From Mona’s, not Joe’s dank coffee from the office. “He kissed her. On the lips. And she liked it.”

  Sam made sure to secure a coffee before she shot Jess an icy stare. “I haven’t even told you that yet.”

  “Meg was getting coffee this morning, too. She needed to vent.”

  Vent my ass. There were times Sam wished she lived in New York or San Francisco, someplace where you didn’t always run into people you knew. Or at least a place where the people you did know knew how to keep their mouths shut.

  “I didn’t like it.” She squirted out some paint onto her palette. Except she squeezed too hard and it spurted across the desk.

  “That’s not what Meg said,” Jess said in a singsongy voice.

  “Jess, I know you’ve got a lot of end-of-the-year cleaning to do.” Sam stood and escorted her friend to the door. “So why don’t you get right to it and come back later—much later—when it’s time for a break?”

  Sam sat again. “I’m starting to worry we’re never going to finish this.”

  The fact that Effie was actually in place for once signaled the end of their discussion. For now. But Sam had no sooner painted a couple of strokes when there was a knock on the door.

  “Can I come in?” a male voice asked.

  Effie turned—of course. “Oh, come in, Evan dear,” she said. “My, you’re looking handsome.”

  Sam stopped her work—again—to look up. Then did a double take and holy moly, Evan had vanished. And in his place was another man who vaguely resembled him except that he didn’t.

  This person was not wearing smudgy glasses. His hair was cut. He was wearing a navy polo shirt!

  “I was on my way out and I thought I’d stop and say hi.”

  Jess popped her head in the door of the art room and nearly fell over. “Hey, I heard voices and wow—Evan? Is that you?”

  “Hello, Jessica,” he said.

  Jess immediately walked over and began stalking him in a circle. “You got your hair cut. Are those contacts? Nice shirt! And what’s this?” She picked up the book he’d set down on one of the long countertops. “This isn’t a physics book,” Jess said. “This is . . . French poetry.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  Her eyes narrowed, as in Who are you and what happened to the real Evan Wolensky? “Why are you reading French poetry?”

  “Because I like it. It r
elaxes me.” He tugged his book gently from her hands. “Besides, I’ve always read French poetry. You just never noticed.” He gave a wave from the door. “See you all at the donor dinner Saturday. Have a nice day, Jessica.” If he saw that her mouth was hanging open, he was too polite to say anything.

  CHAPTER 13

  “It’s too hot to hike,” Stevie whined as Lukas pulled into the MetroParks parking lot the following Friday afternoon. “I wanna go home.” In the rearview mirror, Lukas saw him swipe his forehead with his blanket. Lukas rolled his eyes, unable to decide whether or not to ignore Stevie or tell him to suck it up until he felt a tap on his knee. Mrs. Panagakos was eyeing him solemnly from the passenger seat.

  “I’ve got this, Obi-Wan,” he said, then pointed out the window. “Oh, look, Stevie, James and his dad are here already. But if you’re too hot, we can always turn around and go home. But that would be a shame, huh, since they invited us.”

  “I wanna go play with James!” Stevie said, releasing the latch on his booster seat and grabbing for the door handle.

  Lukas met him as he jumped out. “Sunblock first.” Lukas managed a few quick slathers while Stevie gave him a disdainful glare and wiggled out of reach to go find his friend.

  “How am I doing, Teach?” Lukas snapped the cap shut on the suntan lotion. “Am I getting this dad stuff down?”

  Mrs. P., who had left the car and was now tying her sneaker, smiled. “You’re doing very well, my dear. Bit by bit, he’s learning and you’re learning. Oh, except I have to ask you if it’s okay to sign him up for swim lessons? He won’t swim with the Rushford kids. I’m afraid he’s going to miss out on a lot of fun if he doesn’t get over his fear.”

  “I’ll try to work on that some in Samantha’s pool.” Actually, after that kiss last weekend, he wasn’t sure she’d talk to him again, let alone allow him back on her property, since he’d just moved their things out of her guesthouse today.

  “Very well.” She pinched his cheek, kind of hard, but Lukas tried not to wince out of politeness. “I am proud of you. Just keep diverting him when he gets feisty—and using the force, Luke.” She chuckled at her own joke—that is, until she straightened up and glanced across the parking lot. “Oh, dear. Looks like you might need it.”