The River House

by Carla Neggers

  “Good.” She shifted back to the monument. “I loved David, Gabe. His energy, his can-do approach to life, his charm. His laugh—he has a great laugh. I was devastated when he left me. I never saw it coming. I blamed myself for the failure of our marriage. Part of me still does.”

  “I’m sorry, Nadia.”

  “He’ll do right by the company we—you built. He’s not why I’m here. Not directly, anyway. I’m here because I’ve been so lost. I didn’t have a relationship with my grandmother in her last years because I always put David first, and now she’s gone. It’s over. I can’t undo the past and have a relationship with her.” She looked back toward the library, lit up against the dark night. “Seeing the people here—your family and friends—has made me realize what I gave up and can never, ever get back.”

  “You have family and friends,” Gabe said.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” She turned back to him, her expression less strained. “I know my relationship with David has nothing to do with you, but did he tell you he planned to leave me? Did you guess?”

  “Nadia...”

  “Unfair question, sorry. It’s not your fault my marriage dissolved. The signs were there. I just didn’t see them.”

  “Nadia, don’t take on what he did. Why don’t I walk you to your car—”

  “I can’t help but have regrets. You’re young, Gabe. You’re very young for what you’ve accomplished. Don’t isolate yourself the way I did. You have friends and family here in Knights Bridge. You matter to them. They matter to you.”

  “I know that, Nadia.”

  “Do you?” She crossed her arms on her chest, as if she needed to hug herself. “I’m parked in front of the country store. I don’t need you to walk me over there.”

  “Where are you staying tonight?” Gabe asked.

  “My grandmother’s house. The buyers are talking about turning it into a bed-and-breakfast. They shared some of their ideas with me. It’ll be a sweet place if they can pull it off. This has been difficult emotionally, but it’s also been...” She paused, sighing. “Cathartic, you know? In a good way. Has being back here been good for you?”

  He didn’t want to talk about himself. “You’ll get through this, Nadia.” He motioned toward South Main. “I need to go. I’m chief box hauler tonight.”

  She laughed, or tried to. “I can think of a dozen people off the top of my head who’d love to see you right now, playing the Knights Bridge hometown boy. Enjoy your box hauling, Gabe.”

  “Take care, Nadia.”

  He watched her walk across the common toward Main Street and the country store. He could see a car parked there. He waited until its headlights came on. Then he let out a breath and returned to the library. When Gabe crossed South Main, Felicity was shoving an empty box into the back of her car. She glanced at him with a measure of sympathy. “Nadia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fun way to end the evening. You okay?”

  He nodded. “I’m fine. Come on. I’ll help pack up.”

  * * *

  No way was Felicity going into her house first. Gabe could see that thought take root as she pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine. “What if Nadia booby-trapped the place?” she asked, hands still on the wheel.

  “Do you believe that?”

  She sighed, loosening her grip on the wheel. “No. That’s why it’s a what-if question. She doesn’t strike me as dangerous. That said...” She turned to Gabe in the dark. “I’d have felt better if she’d come inside tonight and enjoyed herself instead of lurking out on the common, but all this talk about locking my doors has me a bit on edge. She’s your friend.”

  He felt his jaw tighten. “Friend is a stretch.”

  “Yes, well—you go first. Reconnoiter and come back and tell me she didn’t short-sheet my bed or spread dog poo on the kitchen counters.”

  “What if she’s hiding in the bushes by the driveway and jumps you while I’m inside?”

  “Good point.” She let go of the wheel and reached for the door handle. “I’ll go with you and stand outside the screen door until you give me the all clear.”

  They got out of the Rover, and, leaving everything they’d brought back from the library in the car, they headed across the driveway to the house. Gabe understood Felicity’s humor and intentional exaggeration were in response to his somber mood since they’d left the village. Nadia’s troubled state of mind didn’t automatically make her a danger to anyone. But wasn’t that often the way? People would see signs and ignore, downplay or dismiss them, only later to wish they’d done something when the unacceptable behavior first arose. At the same time, Gabe knew he’d done what he could to steer Nadia onto a better course for herself. Russ Colton had agreed they had no reason to do more. So had Marty, who’d spent hours on a plane with her the night before. Her family knew she was struggling. She knew she was struggling.

  If she showed up in Knights Bridge again, that could change things.

  Felicity did as promised and stayed just outside as Gabe made quick work of a search of her house. He was convinced no one had been inside. It wasn’t just drama on Felicity’s part, he knew. Nadia had behaved badly, lying and sneaking around, justifying her intrusiveness because of her own emotional pain. Her misplaced actions would only get her into real trouble if she didn’t come to terms with the big changes in her life.

  “All clear,” Gabe said as he opened the door for Felicity. “Anything we need to get out of your car?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait until morning, but we might as well get it over with.”

  He followed her back to the Rover. All the badgers had gone home with guests, leaving just the empty box. There were a few other items to deal with—her laptop, binder, decorations and posters. Three trips and they were done.

  “What’s your next event?” Gabe asked, opening the refrigerator.

  Felicity plopped onto a chair at the table. “Let me enjoy pulling this one off before I think about the next one. Not that I haven’t been thinking about it. I mean now.”

  “Good to take time to celebrate a great night.”

  “It wasn’t my night. It was Kylie’s night.”

  “Celebrate a job well done, then.”

  She opened her mouth but shut it again before speaking. He pulled a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. “Where did that come from?” she asked.

  “Imagine.”

  “You sneaked it in here? That’s an expensive label. Did you buy it in town?”

  “Boston,” he said, setting the bottle on the counter.

  “In anticipation of a reason to celebrate?”

  “Champagne is always correct.”

  He got two glasses out of a cupboard and set them on the counter before opening the champagne. He filled the glasses and handed one to Felicity. She rose with it, nodded toward the living room. “Sit outside and drink champagne to the stars?”

  “I was about to suggest that myself.”

  “Uh-oh. We’re thinking alike.”

  But he heard an odd note in her voice that he couldn’t pinpoint—whether she was being sarcastic, frank, funny, hopeful. He let it go and followed her out to the deck.

  “Let’s not light any candles or turn on any lights,” she said softly next to him.

  He slipped into the living room and kitchen and turned off any interior lights. He went back out to the deck and stood next to Felicity, turned to her to click glasses with a simple “cheers.” They leaned on the rail, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The stars were out, spread across the night sky in sharp relief, as bright as he’d anticipated they’d be.

  “No moon tonight,” he said. “It’s beautiful out here at night.”

  “You don’t do much stargazing these days?”

  “Even if I took the time for it, the stars wouldn’t be as amazing in Boston or San Dieg
o as they are here.”

  “It’s a good spot,” Felicity said, picking up her champagne again.

  “I didn’t pay much attention to the stars when I was growing up here.”

  “Neither did I. We didn’t know what we were missing.”

  “We didn’t know what we had,” he said.

  She let out a deep breath. “Heavy, Gabe. Damn.”

  “Stars and bubbly bring out the Yoda in me.”

  But he couldn’t quite make his attempt at humor sound genuine or stick, and he settled for drinking his champagne in silence next to Felicity.

  “Will you go back to Boston in the morning?” she asked after a while.

  “I don’t have a set schedule. I didn’t expect to be back here so soon. Justin Sloan offered me a room at Red Clover Inn if I end up staying longer. They haven’t started renovations. They’re still working on the plans. He says the rooms are in good working order.” He paused, finished the last of his champagne. “I don’t want to be underfoot here.”

  “Whisking me off to swim in my undies isn’t conducive to getting work done.”

  “Can’t beat it for a break on a summer day.”

  “Not unless you get me arrested. Well, since you don’t have a plan, we can worry about tonight. I say we plan on pancakes and sausage at Smith’s in the morning.”

  “Works for me.”

  She yawned. “Champagne and post-event wind-down are taking their toll. I’m turning in. Thanks for the help with the party.” She angled a smile at him. “Swimming today was fun. A little well-chosen rule-breaking once in a while is good for the soul.”

  Gabe let her go without a word. He didn’t know why, except that he hadn’t the vaguest idea what to say—which also troubled him. He might say the wrong thing but he always said something.

  He walked down to the river in the dark, without the benefit of a flashlight. The stars helped but not as much as a full moon would have. He jumped onto a boulder that jutted into the water. He used to come out here as a boy. His parents never noticed, or if they had, they’d never said anything. Normal in their world, a kid slipping down to the river in the dark.

  A different time if not a different place, he thought, watching bats swoop in the sky above the river, against the stars. If he had any sense, he’d head to Red Clover Inn now, before it got too late and he risked waking Justin and Samantha.

  But when had he ever had any sense, at least here on the river?

  He dipped a toe in the water, the river swifter and colder here than at the swimming hole. He could feel the air turning, a front moving in that would lead to cooler, dryer air. In Boston, he’d be—doing what? He didn’t even know. Having drinks with friends, maybe. Flirting with pretty women. Thinking about life back in Knights Bridge. His grandfather in assisted living, his brother and his wife looking forward to their new baby. His father, working on his old motorcycles. Friends. Family. Where did Felicity fit in?

  He looked behind him, up the steep bank toward the house. Her house. But wasn’t that as he’d always seen it?

  Aggravated with himself for overthinking, he headed back up the footpath to the deck. Felicity had left her glass on the rail. He grabbed it, and his, and headed inside. He thought he’d wash them, but he left them in the sink.

  He walked down the hall and raised his hand to knock on her door, but she opened it before he could make contact. She was in her nightgown, hair down, face washed of makeup, eyes wide and soft as they connected with his. “Gabe, what are we doing?”

  “I have a feeling you know.”

  “I have a feeling I do, too.”

  There would be no Red Clover Inn tonight. No guest room across the hall from Felicity, and no couch.

  Twenty-One

  Felicity slipped out of bed early, without waking Gabe—or maybe he was pretending to be asleep, giving her a moment to process last night. He lay on his side, facing the window. They’d kicked off the covers hours ago, but sometime during the night he’d pulled the top sheet over them. It was now just over his hips, leaving his torso exposed in the milky light. She inhaled at the sight of the muscles in his arms and shoulders, his smooth skin, his tawny hair. Her own skin tingled, and her fingers twitched at the memory of touching him, holding him, feeling him inside her.

  With no neighbors to worry about hearing them, they’d both cried out, more than once.

  “Oh, Gabe,” she whispered now, still loose and warm from their lovemaking.

  She grabbed a robe and slipped into it as she tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen. She put on coffee, standing by the counter while she waited for it to drip through the filter. Her entire body felt raw, exposed, satiated, as if he’d touched every inch her. Of course, he pretty much had. And she’d done the same with him. Neither of them had held back, as if they’d been building up to this moment for the past thirteen years and all the pent-up longing and need had burst, and they’d known exactly what they wanted. He’d pulled off her nightgown without a hint of tentativeness. She’d reached for him, pulled him to her with the same abandon, the same urgency.

  “I want you inside me,” she’d whispered. “Now, Gabe.”

  Even as she’d spoken those words, he’d thrust into her. She’d been ready. So ready.

  They’d exploded in seconds, clawing at each other, crying out shamelessly.

  Later, when they made love again, they’d taken time to explore each other’s bodies, to kiss, to nip, to lick, to tantalize. She still could feel his tongue between her legs. Her tongue on him. The way he’d parted her legs, entering her again, slowly, as if to make sure she felt every inch of him and would never forget that moment.

  “No chance of that,” she whispered to herself, grabbing a mug and pouring coffee.

  She took her coffee and a notepad and pen out to the deck and jotted a note for him:

  Help yourself to breakfast. I’m off to pick wild blueberries. Taking today off (sort of).

  Felicity

  She didn’t specify where she’d be picking blueberries. Would he remember their favorite spot? Maybe, maybe not, but it wasn’t a test. She could very well be back before he got up. They could make blueberry pancakes together. That thought—the images that came with it—made her throat feel tight with emotions she didn’t want to explore, or didn’t dare to.

  She finished her coffee, took her mug inside, left it in the sink and tiptoed back down the hall. She grabbed clothes, making as little noise as possible, and got dressed in the guest bathroom. Gabe hadn’t stirred by the time she emerged. She returned to the kitchen for insect repellent, a water bottle and a container with a cover. She left the note on the table where he couldn’t miss it and headed outside.

  It was a gorgeous morning, the sort she’d be thinking about in a few months, on a cold winter day. In a few minutes, she parked at the Quabbin gate at the end of Carriage Hill Road. She took an old pre-reservoir road, or what was left of it, into the woods. She hadn’t been out this way since moving back to Knights Bridge, but she knew this part of the protected wilderness well. After about a hundred yards, she veered off the road onto a footpath that cut back toward the McCaffreys’ land. She could have parked at Dylan and Olivia’s new place or at the Farm at Carriage Hill, but it was so early—she didn’t want to disturb them.

  She took in the early-morning sights and sounds. Birds, dew-soaked leaves, ferns and grasses, a cool breeze in the trees.

  “I do love it here,” she said aloud.

  Finally she came to the field behind Olivia’s antique house and made her way to a section by a stone wall where low wild blueberry bushes spread out before her, laden with their ripe and ripening fruit. She’d have no trouble filling her container. All she had to do was stay at it.

  She started with the bushes in the sunlight, figuring she could switch to shade as the morning progressed and the sun grew hotter. She stepped pa
st an anthill in the sandy soil and relished the sound of the first tiny berries plopping into the bottom of her container. As a kid, she’d use a coffee can, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought coffee in a can.

  After a while, she heard a rustling sound behind her. Not a squirrel. Bigger. A deer?

  “The best spot in Knights Bridge for blueberry picking,” Gabe said, his shadow falling across her.

  Felicity stood, feeling a pull in her lower back from her crouching. “I’ve been at it forever, and I only have half my container filled. Did it always take this long?”

  “Wild blueberries are small.”

  She laughed. “Thanks for that tidbit.”

  “Goes faster with help.”

  “Another useful tidbit.”

  He grinned at her, the sun on his face now. He’d obviously showered. He wore shorts and a faded Red Sox T-shirt. “I brought my own container,” he said, holding up a quart-size freezer container. “We can combine what we pick and have a blueberry feast.”

  “Your favorite is cobbler, as I recall.”

  “Now my mouth is watering.” He pointed his container toward the shade. “Why don’t I take a look over there and see how ripe the berries are? You haven’t been there yet, have you?”

  “Not yet.”

  He set off, picking his way through the low bushes, skirting the anthill. Felicity watched him, wondering if she looked as at ease out here as he did. It was familiar territory, but it had been years since either of them had picked wild blueberries.

  “Do you know what to do?” she called to him.

  He glanced up at her as he crouched by a cluster of low bushes. “Nothing to it.”

  “I have bug spray if you need it.”

  “So far, so good.”

  But in five minutes, he’d attracted a mosquito, and she tossed him the repellent. The weather turned hot quickly, but they managed to get a quart and a half of ripe blueberries between the two of them. “Enough for cobbler, muffins and a small batch of pancakes,” she said.

  “Can’t go wrong.”