“We’re taking our time,” Mark said as they descended the stairs back to the entry. “We painted and did the floors and a few other updates when we moved in, but the house is in good shape. We can take our time.”
Gabe noticed the bright white walls and polished hardwood floor, peeking out from cheerful throw rugs. “Now that my schedule’s eased up, you can put me to work if you have an unfinished project.”
“Jess wants to plant spring bulbs in flowerpots.”
“Sure you don’t have a wall for me to knock down instead?”
Mark grinned. “Where did this sudden urge to grab a crowbar come from? I thought you were planning your next trip.”
“I am, but I can help out here.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the prospect of being an uncle.”
“Uncle Gabe has a nice ring to it, does it? Come on. Let’s see what’s happening with dinner.”
They joined Jess, the McCaffreys and Felicity in the kitchen and helped set up dinner outside on the patio, at a long table with a sweeping umbrella. It was simple fare: grilled chicken, fresh local corn on the cob, salad and peach pie.
Jess, not yet visibly pregnant, sat next to her older sister, both looking healthy and happy. They had no trouble eating dinner that Gabe could see. As Mark brought out the pie, Felicity eyed him and then Gabe. “What are you doing?” Gabe asked her.
“Noticing the similarities between you and Mark. I don’t think I ever paid attention. Jess and Olivia are obviously sisters and you two are obviously brothers.”
“Mark’s taller and leaner,” Gabe said.
“He’s more precise in his mannerisms and thinking, too. You can see how he became an architect. You’re more abrupt and action-oriented. A natural start-up entrepreneur.”
“Ah, so that’s it.”
She smiled. “Let’s just say I’m glad Mark’s the one who designed my house. But you two have so much in common, too. Coloring, your smiles, your eyes. Brothers.”
Gabe had expected a few digs at him, given their parting three years ago, but maybe their dip in the river had helped. He’d initiated staying with her in part because he wanted closure on their relationship. They’d never cleared the air. They’d moved on with their lives. The lingering feelings from their falling-out weren’t impeding them, but it still felt like unfinished business. Now that she was living in Knights Bridge—on his grandfather’s old campsite—it was time to smooth any ripples in the waters between them.
Olivia and Jess pulled everyone into a conversation on the various merits of peach pie, peach cobbler, peach shortcake and just a fresh, perfect peach. There was no shortage of good-natured opinions. It was the sort of pleasant discussion on a lazy summer evening Gabe hadn’t been a part of in ages. He thought he might get restless or bored, but he didn’t. He smiled to himself. He had a strong opinion about peaches.
The Frost sisters struck Gabe as content with their lives, not just because they were settled into good marriages, expecting their first babies, but because they were grabbing hold of their own hopes and dreams.
After dinner, Gabe joined Dylan and Felicity in cleaning up the dishes. With the inaugural boot camp in the morning, it was an early night for everyone. No one seemed nervous, including Felicity. Gabe had done the driving, and she sat next to him, her window rolled down as she gazed out the window. “It’s a beautiful evening,” he said.
She nodded without looking at him. “It is.”
“Boot camp on your mind?”
“Not right now, no. I’m enjoying the scenery.”
It could be true. Gabe said nothing.
Back at her house, instead of going straight inside, he decided to build a fire in the fireplace his grandfather had built at the edge of the woods, above the river. “Would you mind?” he asked as Felicity came around to the front of his car.
“Not at all. There’s wood in the garage. Help yourself.”
“Great, thanks.”
“I haven’t used the fireplace since I moved in. I keep thinking I will, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe when my niece and nephew spend the night. I’m happy Mark kept the fireplace when he built the house.” Felicity bit her lip. “You and Mark, I mean.”
“Demolishing it wasn’t an option either of us considered. If a fire turns out to be more work than I expect it will, I’ll skip it.” He narrowed his eyes on her, debating whether to say something—invite her to join him, something—but he merely pointed at the fireplace. “I’ll see how it goes.”
“I’ll grab some kindling and matches,” she said. “I keep some by the woodstove.”
She was off before he could thank her. He went into the garage and collected an armload of wood from a half cord neatly stacked along a wall, probably left over from winter when Mark and Jess had moved out. He carried the wood to the old brick fireplace and set it on the cracked cement that passed for a hearth.
Felicity returned with an armload of kindling, a box of matches and a faded patchwork quilt. “I thought you might want to sit out here for a bit,” she said, spreading the quilt on the grass.
Gabe arranged some of the kindling in the fireplace. “Join me?” he asked casually.
“Sure,” she said, the slightest hesitation in her tone. “Why not?”
They had a fire going in minutes. Felicity sat on the quilt and stretched out her legs. She’d kicked off her sandals and was barefoot, still in the maxi dress she’d worn to dinner. Gabe had on khakis and a polo shirt, and he slipped off his shoes before he sat next to her on the quilt. His left leg was so close to her right leg that she swore she could feel the warmth of his skin.
It was past dusk but not yet fully dark, the flames glowing against the silhouettes of trees and the glimpses of the river. “Talk to me about your life, Felicity,” Gabe said cheerfully as he leaned back on his elbows and stared at the fire. “Tell me what you’ve been up to the past three years. Working, going out on your own, buying a house, moving back here. I’d like to hear all of it—whatever you’ve a mind to tell me, anyway.”
She started tentatively, maybe harboring a touch of resentment that he didn’t know the details of her life. Maybe with more than a touch. But if that were the case, she got past it, and he thought it was because she wanted to tell him—and because he wanted to listen. Being a man of action, he had to remind himself not to pepper her with questions, judgments and opinions, and to just let her talk. Three years ago, he hadn’t reminded himself of any such thing. He’d barreled in with what was on his mind without considering what might be on her mind, or even asking. Never mind he’d meant well. It hadn’t been the best approach—obviously so, given her reaction.
Now, in the fading light, with the crackle of the fire, she told him about getting that first job in event management and how it had changed her life. Once back on her feet financially, she’d worked to exchange the hectic life of a Boston-based event planner for the one she had now, on her own in Knights Bridge. She’d done big conferences and corporate board meetings and all the rest and would continue to do so from time to time, but she liked planning small-town events best.
“Some people think I’ve given up on my ambitions,” she said, tucking her feet under her. “I haven’t. This is what I want to do, where I want to be.”
“No guy out here?”
“Where did that question come from? Never mind. Don’t answer. I can say for certain I didn’t come back to Knights Bridge because of a man—one I left in Boston or one here.”
“What about one of the Sloan brothers? I could see you and Adam Sloan together. Quiet guy. Stonemason. You two wouldn’t clash.”
She smiled. “Ha. Adam’s a great guy. All the Sloans are.”
“Brandon and Justin are married, and Eric’s engaged to a paramedic. Mark isn’t sure the paramedic is going to last if Eric doesn’t get his act together and set a wedding date. I don’t see you and Eri
c together, though. He’s the eldest of six. He likes order. You’d rebel. It wouldn’t be pretty.”
“Think so, huh?”
He grinned at her. “Uh-huh. What about Christopher? He’s a firefighter—he’s a bit younger but not by much.”
“He’s getting over Ruby O’Dunn.”
“Ah. Ruby. I understand Hollywood called to her.”
“She’s happy out there but homesick. Maggie wants to get out to California before Ruby comes home.”
Gabe got up and tossed another log on the fire. “I’m staying out of it.”
“This from a man who just suggested I should go out with one of the Sloan brothers.”
“You’re different,” he said without missing a beat. “We have a history.”
“So that’s your excuse.”
He heard amusement in her tone and turned to her, the light from the fire catching her smile. He sat back down, one knee up as he eased close to her. “I have never tried to run your life.”
“Are you kidding? Gabriel Flanagan, you can’t be serious. You told me I was a lousy financial analyst and I needed to change careers.”
He shrugged. “I stated the obvious. You already knew. You got mad at me for telling you what you didn’t want to admit to yourself.”
“You commented on my debt,” she said.
“You were sleeping on my couch.”
“That makes it okay?”
“Not my point. If you’d been solvent, you wouldn’t have needed my couch. Your financial situation was the elephant in the room. And I made it clear it was up to you to figure out what to do with your life. It wasn’t my decision.”
He was being straight with her, as he’d been then—if not diplomatic. He’d been mystified at how she could have taken offense to his comments. Everything he’d said that day at his apartment had seemed straightforward and obvious to him.
“Felicity...” He hesitated. “In my world, it’s a gift to figure out you’re on the wrong course. Then you can figure out how to make the corrections you need to get on the right course.”
“I can see that. I guess sometimes we all need a bucket of cold water dumped on our heads to figure out we’re on the wrong course.”
“I was your bucket of cold water?”
She grinned. “You added ice just to make sure I got the message.”
“I missed that.”
“Mmm. You thought you were just being a friend.”
He said nothing, and they watched the fire die to red coals. The night had turned dark. He saw bright stars above them. He’d never been good with stars. The protected reservoir and small size of its surrounding towns curtailed ambient light and often brought star-gazers to the area.
“You could get into stars now that you live out here,” he said absently.
“What? Yes—yes I could.” She turned to him. “Thanks for asking me to tell my story, and for listening.”
“Would you have become an event manager if I’d kept my mouth shut?”
“I don’t know. I probably would have slept on your couch and watched television for a few more days.”
“And made brownies?”
“That stuck in your craw, didn’t it?”
“That was the idea, wasn’t it? My mouth was watering, and there were no brownies to be found.”
“Should have made some yourself.”
“Not the point.”
“Have you ever made brownies?”
He shook his head. “Never. Easier to buy them.”
Her eyes glowed in the firelight, her cheeks pink with the warm night—or something else. Gabe didn’t want to think about that right now. How attracted to her he was, how much he wanted to kiss her. “It’s your turn, then,” she said abruptly, as if reading his mind. “Tell me about your life the past three years. I’d like to know what you’ve been up to.”
“Making money. Working. Traveling. That’s it.” He slapped at a mosquito that landed on his knee. “Missed. Looks as if the mosquitoes have found us.”
Felicity gave him a skeptical look. “All right. We’ll talk about you another time.”
“You have a big day tomorrow. Why don’t you go on in? I’ll put out the fire and bring in the matches and the quilt.”
“You’re the one speaking.”
“It’s a panel. I’ll speak for maybe ten minutes. You’ll be on all day. Anyway, I’m on California time. Go on.” He blew her a kiss. “See you in the morning.”
She got to her feet, stepping on the hem of her dress, adjusting it quickly. “I sometimes wonder how many times you sat out here as a kid.”
“A lot,” he said. “And later, with you.”
“I remember.” She blew him a kiss back. “Good night, Gabe. See you tomorrow.”
He watched her head back to the house and waited until she mounted the deck steps and disappeared inside before he turned back to the fire.
* * *
So many memories...
Gabe pulled the quilt closer to the fire. Mosquitoes really weren’t a problem tonight, but it didn’t matter. He’d be out here for a while, mosquitoes or no mosquitoes.
He watched the flames flickering against the night sky, but his mind was in the past.
He was seventeen again, aching to get out of Knights Bridge, knowing it meant leaving behind all he knew—the people, yes, but he’d see his family and friends and stay in touch with them. It was the day-to-day life of his small hometown that he’d be giving up forever. Pieces of it, anyway. Hiking and fishing in Quabbin, swimming in the river, ice-skating on the ponds and the rink on the town common, watching the holiday parades. He’d wanted a different life from the one he had, but what that life looked like had been unformed, based more on hope and dreams than firm goals and plans.
Too much like his father.
Gabe remembered figuring that out, deciding to get serious about specifics, dates, actions, deadlines. He wasn’t going to drift through life, always dreaming. He’d also known he’d do just that if he stayed in his small, out-of-the-way hometown.
He’d come out here to the river on a cool late-summer night before his freshman year in college. He got a fire going in the fireplace. Felicity stopped by, sat on his blanket with him, chatting about her plans. She already had everything set for her departure for college in upstate New York. He’d been procrastinating, which he’d done with college applications, too. He hadn’t applied to a single college early, in part because he’d known college—whatever one he ended up attending—would be a stepping-stone, not an end in and of itself, and he hadn’t had any patience with steps. He’d wanted to get where he was going even if he didn’t know exactly where that was.
He’d been driven, no question. Still was.
He’d known whatever he ended up doing, it wasn’t going to involve remaining in Knights Bridge. That was for the Sloans, the Frosts, the O’Dunns, if not all of them, most of them. It wasn’t for him. Mark had already left town, and Gabe wasn’t going to get sucked into staying.
He still could smell the fire that night. He’d gone swimming in the river and he’d been enjoying the heat of the flames on his bare feet. Even now, years later, he could feel the contrast of the chilly night air and cold grass as he’d considered his future. His parents hadn’t provided any wise counsel—any counsel at all. “It’s your life, Gabe,” they’d tell him. “Do your thing.”
He’d seen their laissez-faire approach as disinterest, an abdication of their parental role, even selfish. Why take the time and trouble to engage with him on his plans for his future when they could just indulge whatever they were up to at the moment?
Gabe bit back a wave of emotion. What he wouldn’t give now to have his mother go on with him about her latest craft project. She’d always had something in the works that was bound to make her “good money.” She loved starting new
projects but she’d inevitably lose interest and rarely completed one. They were all, at best, a wash financially and, at worst, a money pit. But he’d never known anyone more cheerful or filled with life.
She’d never talked to him about the cancer that would take her life. “I want you to remember the good times, Gabe,” she’d told him. “My smile, my laugh, my love for you and your brother. If I don’t beat this—this beast...” She’d paused, getting a faraway look. “Never mind. I will beat it.”
But the fight wasn’t in her. It was playacting, as if she was reciting certain prescribed lines—as if it’d be wrong to accept she was at the sunset of her life. She hadn’t wanted her sons to think she was giving in, somehow hastening her departure from them.
She’d loved this camp, too. Money had always been tight for his parents, and they’d come out here, pitch a tent and enjoy themselves, never mind they lived a few miles up the river. For them, their times there were a break from their day-to-day routines, a low-cost vacation. They’d cook over the open fire, swim in the river and not go anywhere near town.
Now Felicity MacGregor owned it. What would his mother say about that?
She’d be fine with it, Gabe knew. His mother had liked Felicity. “She’s focused and direct,” she’d say, eyeing him in her knowing way. “You could do worse, you know.”
Gabe had never seen Felicity as particularly focused. Direct?
He smiled. Yeah, she could be direct. No one gave it to him straight the way she did.
No question he could do worse—and he had. At the same time, he’d resisted any romantic impulses toward her.
Mostly resisted, anyway.
Felicity had joined him that night in front of the fire, out of the blue. Her impending departure had been on her mind. “We’ll stay friends,” she’d told him, her words perhaps a cover for the uncertainty bubbling inside her. “We’ll always be friends, won’t we, Gabe?”
“Always, Felicity. Always.”
The River House Page 13
