by Geeta Kakade
A sound at the back door made Christy look up and her heart jumped in an attempt to throw itself at O’Keefe’s feet. Christy took a sip of scalding coffee and the pain reminded her she had to stay in control.
“Want some coffee?” She hated the squeak in her voice.
“Thanks.” He poured a mug and sat down at the table.
“I want you to spend some time with me this morning.”
“Oh?” Did he want to go over accounts with her? “I have some money now. I can give you a check and I’ve written down a fair amount for the groceries you bought that we used.”
He looked surprised and said. “Forget that. I want you to come out with me.”
“With you?” Christy couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d suggested they do the tango in the kitchen. “Why?”
“We both need a day off.”
Her heart jumped into her throat. “We do?”
“Yes, and there are things you haven’t seen in the area, or even here at the house. Jake’s boat for instance.”
“I’ve seen the row boat.”
“The other boat in the boatshed.”
“There’s another one?” The boatshed was locked and she presumed it was to store the rowboat in winter.
“Bring a light jacket.”
Going into the pantry he came out with a picnic basket and started putting things from the refrigerator into it.
Her frozen feet started to move when he turned and gave her a quizzical look.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” she said.
Upstairs she looked at herself in the mirror. She had on old jeans and a brown sweater. Grabbing her jacket she was glad that Lee had sent her things down and she had her sturdy walking shoes on.
She came down and O’Keefe was waiting his back against the counter, a mug in his hand.
Suddenly Christy was afraid. Maybe she should just tell him she was busy. The kitchen floor needed another coat of varnish, the brass needed polishing, she had to bake something for the party…anything not to spend time with him.
“Come on.” He held his hand out as if he guessed her thoughts. “It’s time you had a day off. You’ve done nothing but work since you got here.”
Christy put her hand into his.
The boat shed was open and she looked at the motorboat that O’Keefe had pulled out to the water’s edge and moored to the dock. It had four seats and an awning and looked large to her. She walked around the boat and her breath caught in her throat. Her name painted on the side jumped out at her. Christy.
“This kind of boat is called a bowrider. It’s perfect for fishing and even for water skiing.”
Christy said nothing. She was staring at her name on the blue and white boat.
“Come on. Get in.” He held a hand out to her and guided her in.
She did as he said, in shock. The roar of the engine made her look at him. He had his back to her and was guiding the boat out of the cove.
“Come up here by me.” She went up to stand beside him, surprised by how smooth the ride was.
They were out of their cove and O’Keefe was guiding the boat out.
“Come and steer it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I’ll show you.” He positioned her in front of him and guided her hands on the wheel.
“I don’t have a license,” said Christy nervously.
“I have my hands on the wheel,” pointed out O’Keefe. “You’re not in control.”
Gradually she relaxed and began to understand his directions. They were going slowly in a circle around the lakeshore and she relaxed enough to start looking at the houses.
“Sit down and pour some coffee,” he said ten minutes later and Christy was glad to get out of the circle of his arms. The urge to turn and lean into him, beg to be kissed, had increased to a pressure point that throbbed in her throat.
He had brought a cooler and a picnic basket on board.
She opened the picnic basket and poured out coffee from the thermos carefully and handed O’Keefe a mug. She watched the scenery unfold. Gulls swooped to their nests after catching small fish, houses lined the water’s edge, the sky was a remarkable blue. Christy lifted her face to the breeze. It was getting warmer.
“There’s a little cove ahead I’m going to pull into in ten minutes and drop anchor so we can eat.”
When he stopped she opened the picnic basket, lifting the folding table between the seats out so she could set the food out. There were Moira’s sausage rolls, heated and placed in an insulated bag, mashed potato leftover from dinner and a bowl of fruit. O’Keefe filled his plate and Christy helped herself to a sausage roll.
Christy gazed at the mallards who came up to the boat to check for handouts. On a large fir, scarred by forest fire, a bald eagle kept watch.
“I read an article that said all the bald eagles don’t migrate in winter from this area,” she said.
“No, they don’t as long as they can find open water and food close to their nesting area. This area is so temperate they migrate here from Alaska and Canada.”
“The view is gorgeous from here.”
The lake stretched out in front and the houses on the opposite end with the tree covered hills behind them, the blue sky above made her feel lucky to live in the area.
“Jake liked to come out here and paint. It was so quiet and peaceful. We would talk and eat and I would fish or read while he painted.”
“This is the life he wanted,” said Christy. “I understand how the fast paced lifestyle of business and Beverly Hills society must have made him feel confined.”
“He stuck it for as long as he could for your sake,” said Mark.
“Dad put in long hours over his art. He was just as hardworking as anyone else.”
Saying it out loud made each discovery about Jake a fact.
The sunpad in the front converts to a fishing platform and there’s a livewell that is used to store the fish we catch. Ever seen one of those before?”
Christy shook her head and Mark showed her the storage area that looked like a tank. “This
is where the fish are kept alive and in great condition even on the hottest days for the longest time. The aerators here circulate the water, and there’s a switch to fill the livewell with water from the lake. We kept them here so they would stay fresh and at the end of the day we could toss the fish we didn’t want back unharmed. This boat can be used to tow water skiers too. You can rent it out by the hour or by the day if you want to in the summer.”
She would think about that later. Right now all she could think about was that it was the first time O’Keefe had voluntarily brought up the subject of Jake, talked about him without resenting her not being there for him at the end. Christy held her breath wishing he would go on.
“To some people it might seem Jake had no ambition but he did. He wanted to paint but he didn’t want to sell his paintings. He said he did it just for the joy it gave him and he didn’t need the money. He liked having a few people stay at Cupid Lodge so he wasn’t alone and the bills got paid but that’s all he wanted. Enough money for his needs. He wanted Cupid Lodge to be well maintained for you. For himself he wanted very little. A day on the lake fishing and painting was his favorite thing to do.”
Was O’Keefe trying to tell her that her father had spent money on the upkeep of the house and the boat for her? It made sense. Even Toby had said he’d wanted the garden kept up.
Christy swallowed. Had he known she would come back one day?
“The longer I stay here, the more I appreciate everything he’s done,” said Christy quietly. “My only regret is and will always be that I didn’t know him. I am so very grateful to you for being here with him.”
“We all have challenges in our past that we have to overcome to be able to face the future.”
“What’s yours?” Christy asked, just to ward off the tears that threatened.
He was quiet for a moment and then he said, “My father died
on active duty when I was ten. My mother changed after that. Suddenly she was out dancing every night, dating different men. She had no time for me. She became an alcoholic. I thought she hadn’t loved my father at all. It took me years and years to realize she was drowning her grief for my father, refusing to accept his death. It wasn’t till I talked with a therapist that I realized she wasn’t rejecting me, she was just unable to handle the blow life had dealt her.
I joined the military just like my Dad, got married and thought I had the perfect life. Then I returned from a tour abroad to find a Dear John letter from my wife. She said she was leaving me because she knew she wasn’t cut out to be a soldier’s wife.”
O’Keefe couldn’t believe he was actually telling Christy about his mother and Jennifer. He had never spoken about them in the same breath and certainly not spilled his guts like this.
Christy was looking at him with her heart in her eyes. Did she understand what he was trying to tell her? That he didn’t believe in love?
“How did you get the name Christabel?” he asked determined to steer the conversation into safe channels.
“It’s in the family tree so I guess my Dad chose it.”
“Bel is a short form of Belle or Bella meaning beautiful and you really are. Jake always said you were his beautiful princess.”
Christy felt her face go red. O’Keefe had actually researched her name?
“I’m Mark.” O’Keefe was looking at her quizzically. “Think you can call me that from now on?”
“Mark,” she said softly, wondering why she hadn’t asked him what his name was all this time.
Christy repacked the picnic basket with their trash, watched Mark make sure everything was stowed securely under the seats before he started the boat and pulled out of the cove.
Christy wished she had said something brilliant; something that showed she understood his past but as usual the right words never came at the right time.
When they got home she knew what she had to do to complete her own healing. She had to read the letters her father had written her, open up the old wound to allow all that was bad to drain out of it so she could begin to heal. Letting go of the pain meant forgiving Mother.
Christy spent the afternoon in the attic, reading the letters her father had written each year on her birthday. The last year of his life he had written a letter every month.
The lone he’d sent on her twenty first birthday had the most effect on her. Daddy had said she was old enough to know the truth…he told her he had left because he could not live in Beverly Hills and take a job in Hathaway Enterprises as Vice President. He had worked in the company for five years and he had hated it. He knew nothing of business and he wanted Ruth to come back to Silver Lake with him. Ruth had been unable to believe he was refusing her father’s generous offer and wanted to go and live in what she termed the “back of beyond”. She didn’t believe he could make a living as an artist and she certainly wasn’t going to run a bed and breakfast as if she were a nobody. They were fighting all the time and he knew he was scaring Christy with the arguments. He didn’t want his daughter growing up scarred by the constant fights and he knew he was suffocating in the Beverly Hills mansion. He could not live there any longer. He had hoped Ruth would follow him for the sake of their love but she hadn’t.
In the last year of his life Daddy had repeatedly begged Christy to forgive him and come to Silver Lake for just one visit.
Christy cried bitterly, glad there was no one to be disturbed by her sobs.
Forgive me Daddy, for not being here when you needed me.
“Why is she taking on so?” Phillip hissed. He was shaken by the sound of Christy’s sobbing.
“She loved her father and I think it hurts most that she was lied to and kept away from him all these years,” Agnes said gently.
“That woman ought to be horsewhipped.”
“They don’t horsewhip people these days Pa,” Agnes informed him. “Christy will be better now that she’s let the bitterness drain out of her soul.”
CHAPTER TEN
She was down at six two days later when the kitchen door opened and O’Keefe stood there.
“Would you like some breakfast?” Christy asked over the noise her heart was making.
“Not right now. Come with me,” he said going to the family room and returning with an afghan.
Taking Christy by the hand, he led her out the back door and toward the tree house.
“Up you go!” He was right behind her every inch of the way and she knew she was safe. He wouldn’t let her fall.
He’d finished the tree house. It had walls with windows on three sides but in front he had left it open except for a rail.
“It’s really looking great. Frank must love it here.”
He’d brought her up here at six to admire his work?
“Look!” He turned her towards the front of the tree house in the direction of the lake.
She looked out at the horizon and her breath caught in her throat. Dawn had painted the most incredible colors in the sky. He put the afghan around both of them and they watched the sun come up. Christy was conscious of the heat emanating from the body next to hers. He’d tucked her into his side to ward off the morning chill and she didn’t want to move away. The memory of the time she’d given him her body heat returned and brought color to her cheeks.
The few minutes before the sun came up were the most beautiful. The explosion of colors reminded her of the canvases her father had done in oil. The healing glow of peach changing to orange, the softness of blue and carmine making a wash of pale purple in the background and in front the reds of happiness yet to come.
“It’s beautiful.” There was something else she wanted to say. “Thank you for sharing your past with me Mark. It helped me deal with my own.”
After the storm of tears she had felt better. Even as she’d cried a gentle breeze had come in through the open attic window and seemed to be patting her hair, soothing her. Each new day showed her the storm of tears had provided the emotional catharsis she needed. The healing had begun. She could think of Jake without being hurt over his desertion.
“For the first time in my life I really know what happened with my Dad and understand why he had to leave. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t accept that lifestyle either, why I always wanted something different. I must be his daughter in more ways than I know.”
“I’m sorry I blamed you for not coming to see him,” said O’Keefe. “I should have known you were a victim too.”
“It’s not your fault.”
He said nothing, just pulled her closer into his side. She turned to him and lifted her face and he kissed her as if he would never let her go. In his kisses she felt the love he wouldn’t speak of. Christy knew he had to trust her completely before he could talk about love. How that would happen she wasn’t sure. She didn’t say anything and they went silently down the ladder and into the house.
O’Keefe knew he should have told Christy he loved her. He’d meant to but two things held him back. One, he didn’t want emotion distracting him from his work. Two, he wasn’t sure he trusted Christy not to leave him the way Jennifer had. What if she decided she was tired of Cupid Lodge and wanted her old life in Beverly Hills back? Like Jake, O’Keefe knew he would never fit in there.
It was best to just keep quiet.
In the days that followed Christy stayed busy. Every spare moment she had her thoughts drifted to Mark. He hadn’t said a word after their last kiss and she was beginning to get the message. He wasn’t prepared to take it further because he didn’t want to.
He took her, Moira and Frank to South Lake Tahoe the following Sunday so they could enjoy the Kokannee Salmon Fish Fest at Taylor Creek. It was an amazing day to watch the fish turn the creek red as they literally jumped over each other to reach their spawning ground. O’Keefe walked around with Frank so he could enjoy the activities and Christy and Moira went for a walk escorted by a Forest Service biologis
t who explained the area in detail. They enjoyed the salmon feast and returned home tired but happy.
The rest of the week she hardly saw him.
The approaching party had everyone excited. Miss Bellinger hadn’t said much but even she had offered to take the flyer to the printers. The arrival of another couple helped Christy’s budget. The Kemps were seniors looking for a house in Silver Lake City and needed a place to stay while they did so. Could she put them up for a month or more? Christy was glad to comply.
They moved in immediately and things got better on other counts too.
In the mornings the couple went out house hunting; the rest of the day they opted to stay home. The Kemps had had four children and Mrs. Kemp loved cooking and she and Moira got on well, planning all the menus together, cooking and deciding on the food for the party. Mr. Kemp got a license and went out fishing with O’Keefe who was back to his usual routine of lazing on the water. Christy told Mr. and Mrs. Kemp there would be no charge for their meals…it was barter for the help Mrs. Kemp was giving in the kitchen.
Frank and Toby discussed designs in secret for the pumpkins and collected knives and tools for their project. Christy had stated on the flyer that the games and activities would be between six and eight so parents would know when to have the children here. She planned the activities involving Frank to know what kids would have the most fun with. They ended up with three. Bobbing for apples. Pumpkin carving. Best costume contest.
So far six of the children in Frank’s class were coming with their parents and he was tremendously excited. A few of the neighbors had said they would be there and all the people she’d invited in town had agreed to come. Henry Brigham with his wife, Dr. Ali and his family, his nurse Alice and her family, Mrs. Burton and her husband.
O’Keefe, Frank told Christy, was planning the sound effects and the smoke in the garage. Moira was up in one of the empty rooms making minor alterations to the costumes and sewing some black curtains for the living room out of old black dresses they’d found with yards of material in the skirt. There was an air of anticipation in the house that everyone enjoyed. Miss Bellinger kept out of the way but didn’t complain for which they were grateful.
