It wasn’t exactly true. If anyone fit that description, it was Lane, and she knew it.
You didn’t answer my question.
She stared at the phone, finally typing out her reply: Unfortunately, yes. He’s ridiculously good-looking.
I knew it.
But he’s pigheaded and annoying.
Uh-huh.
Lane put her phone away and took a few steps into the room, surprised to find it empty other than the machines breathing for her brother—the only thing that kept the room from being dead silent. Someone had turned the television on but left the sound muted as though the noise might bother Nate. She sank into the chair beside his bed, dropping her bag to the floor, and stared at him. Like all her siblings, Nate had been blessed with the near-perfect body of an athlete, but none of that mattered when you were fighting for your life.
She laid a hand over the top of Nate’s and let out a deep, heavy sigh.
In a flash, she was fourteen again.
Every summer in Harbor Pointe started out the same way with a weekend that felt like one long parade, as families who owned summer cottages returned, a caravan of vehicles pulling into town one right after the other.
As was tradition, Lane and her siblings climbed out onto the roof of their large Victorian house and waved as their friends arrived. It was like Christmas morning, that first weekend, welcoming everyone back, seeing the friends they waited nine months out of every year to hang out with.
The next three months promised Lane lazy, sun-filled days at the lake with the same girls she’d always known. A tight-knit group of friends that made Lane feel like the luckiest girl in the world. But the summer she was fourteen, everything changed.
That summer, when the girls got out of their minivans, they didn’t run straight to Lane’s house and knock on the door. She sat on the roof, just outside her bedroom window, with her legs pulled up and her arms wrapped around them, watching as Noah, Nate, Lindsay, and Jeremy all ran off to the beach as their friends raced by to pick them up. It was still too cool to swim, but they’d gather on the dock and later build a bonfire.
It was tradition.
After waiting nearly an hour, Lane walked down to the beach by herself. She trudged up over the dunes, slipping her shoes off at the landing halfway down. The sun had just begun to dip down behind the horizon, and the bonfire blazed.
Lane stood off in the distance, watching her three friends, arms linked, hovering around the fire without her.
Why had they forgotten her?
Thinking about it now, Lane regretted going to the beach at all that day. She should’ve stayed up on her roof with her book until the sun went down, then sprawled out and watched the stars until she drifted off to sleep.
But she didn’t. She walked over to Ashley, Maddie, and Sabrina, expecting their usual warm welcome, a hug, a series of giggles, and an “I’ve missed you so much.”
Instead, Ashley stared at her for a long moment as if to ask, Why are you touching me? Lane pulled her hand off the girl’s shoulder and glanced at Maddie and Sabrina, neither of whom would look at her.
“I was waiting for you guys.” Lane’s involuntary admission made her feel naked.
Ashley scoffed. “Why?”
Lane stuttered, emotionally wincing at the comment. “I thought we’d come to the beach together. Like always.”
Ashley gave her a once-over, then walked away, Maddie and Sabrina trailing behind. Nate must’ve seen her face crumple because he swooped in as if out of thin air and whisked her off toward the wooden staircase built into the side of the dune before she lost it completely.
He wanted to know what happened, but Lane hadn’t been able to give him an answer. She had no idea. She just knew her best friends suddenly weren’t, and nobody seemed to care but him. He’d left his friends that night and spent the evening hanging out with her instead. She’d told him not to—told him to go back to the beach; she was fine. But he insisted on popping a bowl of popcorn and letting her pick the movie.
Miss Congeniality.
He said he didn’t mind the chick flick because he got to see Sandra Bullock in that tight little dress after Michael Caine made her up to look like a beauty queen.
He could’ve been at the beach with his friends.
The manufactured breath of the machine at Nate’s bedside caught her attention. She pressed her forehead to his hand. How could she even have considered leaving him like this? Nate—the brother who had always stuck up for her. The only one who stopped calling her Pudge because she asked him to. The one who’d told Lindsay what she was doing was wrong.
She couldn’t leave now. Not when he was still fighting for his life.
No matter how much she hated being home.
Lane woke up the following day with a throbbing headache. She blamed Jett. She rolled over and looked at the clock. Not even 7 a.m. Why did it sound like her parents were having a party in the kitchen?
She’d stumbled in last night after her hospital visit, pulled on her pajamas, and fallen into bed without even bothering to turn on the light. But now, with the early morning sun streaming through the two east-facing windows, she realized her old room had been turned into a sewing room for her mother. There were still small traces of the room that it was when she lived here, but mostly it looked like a completely different space.
The door flew open with a start and Lane shot straight up in bed. Before her eyes focused, she was pelted twice in the forehead with something small and circular.
“Pow! Pow!”
Jett.
“Ow!” She held her hands up in front of her face.
“Got you!” The monster took off down the hallway.
What was he doing in her room before 7 a.m., and why did he have so much energy? Lane flung the covers off and tromped through the hallway, holding the two Nerf gun darts that had smacked her in the face.
She stormed her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, coming face-to-face with a room full of people. No wonder it sounded like a party—half the neighborhood was there. Most of them stood around the island, some were out in the eating porch, and she had everyone’s attention, whether she wanted it or not.
Her eyes scanned the crowd. Noah and Emily, their kids, Lane’s aunt Clarice, a couple of her mom’s friends, a man Lane had never seen, and a few other familiar—but not really—people stared at her.
She imagined Jer and her dad were at the hospital, and as expected, Lindsay was absent. She’d dropped her kid off with her mom, but she hadn’t stayed around. Nice.
“Lane, you’re up!” Her mom sashayed over to her. “We were beginning to think you were going to sleep right through breakfast.” Then she leaned closer to Lane and whispered, “Do you have a bra on?”
Lane folded her arms in front of her chest, wishing she could melt straight into the floor.
“Is that Pudge?”
Every muscle in Lane’s body stiffened at the mention of the nickname in front of such a large group. Where was the Rewind button?
It was Doris Rhodes, their next-door neighbor, the one who’d called Lane to cat-sit every time she went out of town because “I know you’re dependable and you don’t have much else to do.” Doris was a round woman herself with one daughter who’d grown up and left her ages ago. Lane had to commend that girl for making such a wise decision. Doris’s husband had passed away when Lane was in high school, starting a trail of rumors that the old biddy had killed him herself with her nagging. Death by nagging seemed plausible once a person had met Doris.
“Hi, Mrs. Rhodes.” Lane took a step back, wondering if it were possible to vanish into thin air.
“It’s nice to see you’re not so fat anymore,” Doris said. “But still no wedding ring, I see. Holding out for Mr. Right? You shouldn’t wait around forever, you know. Tick-tock.”
“Our daughter is a career girl, Doris.” Dottie handed Lane a cup of coffee, and Lane wanted to kiss the desperately needed caffeine. “Career girls don’t have t
ime for romance.”
Her mother’s words were benign, but her tone was not.
“Have you found a good church in the city?” Aunt Clarice asked. “It’s so hard to find good churches nowadays, especially in the city. Cities are filled with so much sin. You probably haven’t been in the good Lord’s house since you were home last, have you? You have to be careful with your spirit, Pudge. You can’t work your way into heaven, you know.”
Ah, how Lane had not missed this.
Aunt Clarice had been a pastor’s wife for as long as Lane could remember. Uncle Roger was the pastor of one of the churches in town, and he and Lane’s dad spent every family function arguing about theology.
The Kelleys did not attend Uncle Roger’s church.
The cacophony of voices swirled through the room.
“You probably don’t think having a family is important, but in a flash, you’ll be old like me, and . . .”
“You might be too thin, Lane. Do you eat? ’Course if you want to catch a man’s eye, I suppose it’s better to be too thin than too fat. You can let yourself go once the ring is on your finger.” Pause for laughter.
“I heard you’re mostly glued to that cell phone of yours, but studies show cell phones cause brain tumors. You shouldn’t let that thing near your face.”
“Mom, can I have another donut?”
Lane stood there in her lightweight pajama shorts and T-shirt, which she’d fished out of her suitcase in a state of exhaustion—and in the dark—last night when she got in, listening but not listening as they all fired their questions and opinions at her like Jett had fired the stupid Nerf gun that had gotten her out of bed in the first place.
She stared across the room, trying to plan her escape. Noah and Emily’s kids were now sprawled out in the living room looking blissfully unaware of what was going on in the kitchen, and Lane wished she could bypass all of this and join them. There was an oversize pillow next to the oldest one that looked awfully cozy. She doubted her niece and nephews would have opinions on her life. They’d probably let her just sit there and watch cartoons with them.
“Lane, did you hear me?” Her mom stared at her, waiting for a response to a question Lane hadn’t caught.
“What?”
“Oh, Lane, I think that phone has completely ruined your ability to focus. I said, we’ve put you on the rotation.”
“What rotation?”
“At the shop. We were going to close for the week, but your brothers offered to pitch in so we didn’t lose the money. It’s so tight this time of year, you know—well, actually, it’s tight year-round now with tourism being down.” Dottie’s eyelids fluttered. “Are you listening to me?”
Lane didn’t respond.
“You’re going to have to help at the cheese shop and the farmers’ market while you’re here, maybe around the house a little, and then, of course, visiting Nate. We all need to do our part to keep his spirits up. Your father milked the cows this morning, but we want you to do it tomorrow. Noah will do it Thursday and then Jer; then we’ll start all over.”
The room stilled. She was amazed these people, who’d woken her with the sheer volume of their conversation, could be this quiet.
“I can’t stay long enough for all that, Mom.” She kept her voice low as if that would prevent the others from listening. Lane wished she could run out the door, get into her car, and drive straight back to Chicago. But the memory of Nate’s unmoving face haunted her.
“You’re not staying?” Doris squawked. “I thought for sure you’d change your mind.”
“I told you.” Aunt Clarice shook her head in a way that only older, disapproving women seemed to be able to.
“I have work,” Lane said, her voice quiet.
The commentary started up again.
“All these young people do anymore is work, work, work . . .”
“Priorities out of whack . . .”
“Brother in the hospital for goodness’ sake . . .”
Lane stopped listening, but as the bodies shifted around the room, a familiar silhouette appeared. Aunt Clarice took a step toward the donuts and Doris took a step toward the eating porch. Like the parting of the Red Sea, their movement revealed Ryan Brooks, who’d been sitting in a chair at the edge of the kitchen, hidden by the others, the whole time.
His eyes met hers, and Lane felt as exposed as she would have if someone had opened the door on her just as she’d stepped out of the shower.
Why was he here at this hour? Why was he sitting there all quiet and handsome? What must he think of her after hearing everything the others were saying? She was selfish, a workaholic, a former fat girl with a ticking clock.
But he already knew all those things, didn’t he? And what did she care? It wasn’t like she wanted to impress him or something. It was just Brooks.
Lane looked away, but as she did, he stood and moved into the kitchen.
“I’ll take Lane’s shifts,” he said. “You can add them to mine.”
Dottie waved him off. “That is far too much, Ryan. You have your own work to do.”
Lane met his eyes again.
“I’d be happy to do it.” He held Lane’s gaze as he said the words.
Lane couldn’t even protest—she didn’t know what to say. He must have an ulterior motive or something and—oh, my gosh, he’s seeing me when I just woke up. She set her untouched cup of coffee on the counter and left the room, anxious for this terrible, confusing nightmare to be over.
And even more anxious to eliminate the knowledge that Ryan’s generous offer and pointed gaze hadn’t only quieted the room; it had quieted the frenetic buzzing of anxiety that had seemed to be a constant undercurrent at Lane’s center ever since the day she found out the truth about Lindsay and Jasper.
CHAPTER
10
“SHE’S VERY ODD,” Doris Rhodes said when Lane walked out of the kitchen.
Ryan resisted the urge to go after her. Being here seemed to have her permanently on edge—or maybe she was just like that now. Edgy. He told himself his irrational desire to protect her came from a sense of duty to her family. After all, he owed the Kelleys a lot.
And yet a part of him knew it was more than that.
“It was very thoughtful of you to try and smooth things over with her, Ryan.” Dottie poured herself a small glass of orange juice. “It’s a shame she still has such a chip on her shoulder.”
“Ma.” Noah’s tone sounded off a warning, and Ryan wished he’d already left. As much a part of the family as they made him feel, there were still some things that seemed best kept within their tight, blood-related circle. They did a good job of not discussing their dirty laundry in mixed company. He’d only put the whole mess together himself because he was observant—not because he’d been offered an explanation.
She held her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying. Bitterness is the root of all evil. That’s what the Bible says.”
“I thought money was the root of all evil.” Doris frowned. “Maybe evil has more than one root.”
“Give her a break, Ma. This isn’t easy for her either.” Noah gave his mom a stern nod, and she seemed to take the hint because she didn’t say another word.
Jett walked in, carrying an iPhone with a floral case that was definitely not a toy. He reared back as if he was going to throw it like a football, but Ryan snatched it from his hand before he could let it fly.
“Hey! No fair!”
Man, that kid needed some discipline. Ryan reminded himself that Jett was not his child and clenched his jaw to keep himself from talking to him like he was.
“Oh, Jett, that is not polite,” Dottie said. “Why don’t you go sit down with the other kids?”
“Why is he here so early?” Noah cracked four eggs into a bowl. “And where’s Lindsay?”
Dottie shot him a look but didn’t reply. Ryan understood what wasn’t being said, and he hated that everything was so upside-down right now.
“I’m going to
head out,” Ryan said. “I’ve got to get back to the cottages.”
“Ryan, are you sure it’s a good idea for you to be working so soon after the accident? An almost concussion is nothing to fool around with. You could become a vegetable.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Ma,” Noah said without looking at her.
“Well, maybe not, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” Dottie stuck the orange juice back in the fridge.
“I’ll be fine. No real harm done.” The pain in his head had mostly gone away. Besides, Ryan had a deadline. Investors. And lots of work to do. It seemed, in a way, the whole town was depending on him to single-handedly revitalize the tourism industry of Harbor Pointe, though he knew that wasn’t the case. Still, he had to get those cottages ready in time for opening day.
The phone in his hand—he recognized it as Lane’s from her constant attention to it—vibrated. He glanced at the screen and saw a message from someone named Chloe.
Mrs. Pim is demanding to hear from you today about the drapes in the lounge. Apparently she’s changed her mind again—shocker. But enough about work. . . . Any more run-ins with your brother’s hot (annoying) friend?
Ryan shouldn’t have read that, but even he had to admit, the phone was difficult to ignore.
“Well, if you must go, you should at least take something to eat.” Dottie wrapped two donuts in a napkin and handed them to him. “And thank you so much for being here this early while we sorted out the schedule. We’ll see you at the hospital later this afternoon.”
The screen went dark and Ryan passed the phone to Dottie. “Sure will.” He said his good-byes and walked out the door into the brisk spring air. He tried to ride his bicycle around Harbor Pointe as much as possible, but Dottie had wanted him there practically before the sun rose, so his worse-for-the-wear motorcycle waited for him in the driveway.
He stared at it for a brief moment, a part of him not wanting to get back on it.
Get a grip, man.
As he swung his leg over and sat on it, Lane appeared in the driveway near the garage, likely attempting an escape out the back door. A little black-and-white dog on a leash followed her out. She’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail and now wore a pair of running shorts and a tank top. He gave himself a fleeting moment to admire her curves.
Just Look Up Page 10
