“Ike,” he called, knocking on the door. “It’s Michael. You in there?”
No response.
Michael waited on the doorstep, growing more agitated with each passing second.
“Ike!” He pounded harder this time. Looked like Ike’s hearing was going, too.
Nothing.
Impatiently, Michael tried the handle to find the door unlocked. He pushed inside, calling out loudly as he did, but it didn’t take long to realize that no one was home.
Yet Ike had obviously left in a hurry because a full coffee cup—now stone-cold—sat on the table beside an open newspaper.
The shotgun rack above the sofa was empty.
Michael was getting a bad feeling. He couldn’t be sure whether guilt or the darkness fueled his imagination, but his head raced with every horror story he’d ever seen in the news.
Had Jillian gotten into trouble? Had Ike taken the shotgun out to rescue her?
Had the old guy succeeded?
Racking his brain to remember what Jillian had told him about her interviewees, Michael found himself cursing that he hadn’t paid closer attention. But Camp Cavelier was Jillian’s pet project and he’d apparently only listened with one ear.
Guilt, definitely.
Heading back outside, he pulled the door shut behind him. Sounds from the stabled horses and forest wildlife filtered through the darkness, and he made his way to the trail. He’d circle around to the cabins. It was the only thing to do. There were cars, which meant Jillian was somewhere.
He’d damn sure find her.
Something crashed in the underbrush, startling the night quiet and drawing Michael to a sharp stop. With his heartbeat spiking hard, he waited for something—Ike, wildlife or a murderer?—to appear on the path ahead.
As the seconds ticked past, stillness settled over the night again.
He came upon the boys’ cabins first, and the rustic structures that had once seemed so offhandedly inviting now loomed eerily empty in the moonlight. There were no windows in these cabins, only screens to keep out the snakes and spiders. No air-conditioning, either, which made the bunks inside a stifling ride during the sultry summer.
He mentally rattled off the cabin’s names by rote: Company Thirteen. Pirates. Lightning Bolt. Dreadnought. Wave Runners. Hackers.
“Jillian,” he called out then waited to hear a reply, or any sound to indicate she was in trouble and needed help.
Nothing.
Making his way toward the girls’ cabins, he stumbled over what he belatedly realized was the ring of stones surrounding the bonfire pit. He almost landed face first inside a crater filled with winter-rotted leaves and ash.
He caught his balance at the last possible second, but dropped the flashlight.
“Oh, man.” He sank his fingers into the decomposing debris to retrieve the flashlight, which had managed to bury itself deeply enough to cut off the light.
An owl hooted sharply.
“I don’t need this grief,” he informed the wildlife. “I knew this camp was going to be trouble the instant Jillian came home with the idea.”
Not only had the investment run their credit dry, but the workload was creating conflict in their otherwise perfect lives.
Scowling into the darkness, Michael heard another sound, so faint at first that he might have imagined it.
Laughter?
He didn’t think it was a cry for help.
Rooted to the spot, he tried to make out the sound, but the night had fallen silent. Then he heard it again.
Laughter, definitely.
Following the direction of the sound, he found himself following the trail around the cabins toward the river.
What would Jillian be doing out on the bluff…? Then Michael saw light glowing through the darkness.
The caretaker’s cottage.
With a tentative sense of relief, he headed down the winding dirt path until he found soft light glowing from open windows and heard the sounds of more laughter.
And a fiddle?
Yes, a fiddle. He bolted up the porch steps and knocked loudly on the door.
He had to knock again to be heard, but finally a rather round woman with curly gray hair pulled open the door and broke into a big smile.
“Well hello, handsome. I don’t suppose you’re looking for me, since I just got here.”
The young man playing the fiddle screeched to a halt, but before Michael could reply, he heard Jillian’s silvery laughter.
There she was, standing by the kitchen sink with an apron around her waist. While he’d been getting an ulcer on his midnight tour of the camp, she was having a party.
The trade-off seemed wrong in the extreme.
“Heya, Michael.” Ike sat at the picnic-style dining table with the shotgun propped beside him. “You tracked us down.”
“Good evening, Ike.” Michael flipped off the flashlight. “I dropped by your place, too, looking for my beautiful bride.”
Jillian wiped her hands on the dish towel and joined him. “Widow Serafine, this is my husband, Michael.”
“The dentist,” said the woman with the unusual name, eyeing him with an approving smile.
He nodded. “I take it we have new caretakers.”
“In fact, we do.”
Given Jillian’s thorough screening process, he hadn’t expected this problem to be solved anytime soon. But when she introduced the younger generation of the Baptiste family, he thought the group seemed a nice enough bunch.
After exchanging greetings, Widow Serafine motioned him inside the kitchen. “Are you hungry, Dr. Michael? Marie-Louise whipped us up a welcome feast. You need to sit yourself down and get some before it’s all gone. Got growing boys around here.” She eyed Ike, who rubbed his stomach appreciatively.
Michael hadn’t ever seen Ike smile that widely, and his own stomach growled, recalling how long it had been since lunch. Casting Jillian a sidelong glance, he gauged her mood while deciding whether to deal with the issue between them now or wait until later when they were alone.
One way or the other, he’d better address his tardiness.
Since her honey-gold eyes didn’t give him a clue to what was happening behind them, he decided on the path of the least resistance.
Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he said, “Sorry, Jilly. I almost made it out the door on time.”
“What happened?”
As much as he hated to admit it… “Thought I had enough time to dictate a few of my patients.”
“You fell asleep.” Not a question.
Widow Serafine shot a curious glance between them. “You need some coffee then, don’t you, Dr. Michael?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer before she was gesturing to her granddaughter. “Put on the pot, Marie-Louise. We could all do with some waking up.”
With a nod, the dark-haired teenager busied herself at the counter. Widow Serafine ushered Michael to a seat at the table. He helped himself to a feast of shrimp, buttery oysters and a rice dish seasoned with bell peppers and green onions.
The great meal made up for the lousy start to the night. He ate while listening to Jillian, Ike, Widow Serafine and the boy Raphael discuss the various tasks to be accomplished to ready the camp for the summer campers. From the conversation, he pieced together the talents the Baptistes brought to the table.
Widow Serafine clearly reigned like a queen over her younger generation, and Michael felt his first hope that Jillian might actually pull off this stunt and survive the first season.
“I’M NOT MAD,” Jillian told Michael, not slowing her stride as they made their way back to the camp office.
But that wasn’t true. Still, several hours spent with the Baptiste family and Ike, discussing the various jobs to be accomplished during the next few weeks, had alleviated some of her unease about the Baptiste family’s unorthodox hiring.
And her concern about running this camp without reliable support from Michael.
“You look mad,” he persisted.
Jillian knew he felt guilty for being late. He wanted reassurance but, unfortunately, she was just tired enough, and angry enough, not to give him any. Why should she put forth more effort than he? She’d wanted his help tonight, but he hadn’t been available.
“Let’s let it go, Michael, please,” she said. “It’s been a long day for us both. I’m not up to this conversation right now. I have caretakers in place. That’s really all that’s important.”
If the man was smart, he’d cut his losses, but apparently good Creole food had dulled his senses.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Jillian took a deep breath. The rational part of her mind reasoned he only persisted because he felt bad. Michael didn’t ever like to let her down—when he realized he was letting her down, of course.
But somewhere along the line, their priorities had gotten confused. Their relationship had taken a back seat to dental school, then his practice. Jillian didn’t mind caring for the day-to-day things that kept their routine running smoothly. But on the rare occasions she asked for help, she thought Michael should step up to the plate.
Camp Cavelier proved they weren’t even playing in the same ball field.
A part of Jillian understood. Michael had devoted himself heart and soul to getting through school and establishing his practice so they could live a comfortable life. She’d supported him unconditionally because she’d wanted that, too. But they were living a very comfortable life.
So when would their relationship come first?
They’d discussed the situation numerous times, but didn’t seem to be managing any changes.
She was beginning to think they never would.
And as Michael walked beside her, waiting expectantly as if he’d deserved another reminder to show up tonight, Jillian couldn’t help but question how many reminders she was obligated to provide. Two? Four? Why couldn’t one be enough?
Along with those questions came a niggling voice in the back of her head, a voice that jogged her memory about all the times she’d reminded him and he’d forgotten anyway.
She’d found a lump in her breast and just last week had gone in for a mammogram. Michael still hadn’t asked about the outcome. She’d been just busy enough since then, and annoyed enough, not to volunteer the information.
She didn’t think he’d ever notice.
“I didn’t see the point in calling,” she said matter-offactly. “The clinic phones would be on the answering service, and I knew you wouldn’t have your cell phone on.”
“You didn’t try?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Such simple words, but his frown told her he heard everything she wasn’t saying aloud.
If my wishes had been important to him, he would have shown up on time without another reminder.
That truth hung in the air between them, the weight of disappointment so tangible and real. She felt cloaked in that heavy silence.
And righteous.
Michael should feel bad. Was what she’d requested of him really so much to ask? He didn’t have to ask her to balance his books every day, schedule his appointments, buy birthday gifts for his staff, for his family…. He wouldn’t have even remembered his own parents’ anniversary had she not stuck a card under his nose and placed a pen in his hand to sign it.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair, Jillian?”
“Unfair? I told you about this interview a week ago. I mentioned it again at the house this morning. And I reminded you before I left the office. How many reminders did you want?”
Emotions played across his handsome face, beginning with a startled hurt and working quickly to anger. He was wrong. He knew it. And he didn’t like it.
“Is that why you left your phone in your purse, so I couldn’t reach you?” he asked. “Did you want me to worry?”
“Did you worry?”
The exact wrong thing to say. She’d known it as the words had formed in her head, yet she’d let them out anyway.
Michael’s expression darkened into a scowl that transformed his face into a stranger’s. She’d known her good-natured husband most of her life but always found herself shaken by the heat of his anger when it reared its head, which wasn’t often.
They didn’t argue.
They discussed. They negotiated. They compromised.
But there didn’t seem to be any compromise with Camp Cavalier.
Michael liked to think he was the perfect husband. He always felt bad whenever he didn’t live up to his expectations. Unfortunately, she was too angry about his tardiness, and his disinterest in her mammogram appointment—not to mention a host of other things she usually dismissed—to let him feel no guilt. She should have reassured him. Reassurance would have taken so much less energy than this argument.
“Michael, I’m sorry I asked you to come tonight.” She didn’t make much of an effort to tone down her resignation. “I know it’s difficult for you to know exactly when you can get out of the office. I do understand.”
But there was no retreat from the road they’d started down. Especially not with such a half-hearted attempt.
“Jillian, the problem isn’t me getting out of the office. It’s you taking on this camp.”
Ouch. He’d made it clear from the start he wasn’t gung-ho about the whole idea, yet hearing him toss it out in anger still stung. “I know you had concerns, but I thought you loved this place as much as I do.”
“Not enough to run it.”
She came to a stop and stared. “It’s not as if I’ve asked you to do a whole lot. You make it sound as if you don’t think I can handle it alone.”
“Camp Cavelier is a full-time job. You’ve already got one of those. So do I—a practice and more patients than I know what to do with.”
“Now there’s the truth. It’s a catch-22. We shouldn’t work all the time, but you know as well as I do that if we didn’t work together, we’d never see each other.”
He arched a dark eyebrow in a look that she’d once thought was sexy. Now the expression only cut his point deep. “You don’t call running this camp work?”
“Not once we get good people hired and a feel for what needs to be done. I was hoping to renovate Bernice and Carl’s cottage. Then we’d have a great weekend getaway. We’ve wanted one for a while but have been too busy to find one. The camp is the perfect compromise. It’s an easy drive from the office. We won’t have to maintain the place, or a boat or a stable. All that’s already here. Yet, we’ll still be able to do all the things we enjoy and don’t have time to care for.”
“We’re caring for the whole damn camp, Jillian. A boat doesn’t sound like such a big deal by comparison.”
She didn’t know why she was trying to sway him to her side, but couldn’t seem to stop. “What about our children? Shouldn’t we make the effort to preserve history for them? I’d hate for them not to spend their summers at Camp Cavelier.”
“What children? We didn’t have time to make any even before we bought the camp.” He gave a sharp laugh. “But you’ve solved that problem. You’ll have kids swarming all over this place in a few weeks. How many are coming this season—eighty, ninety?”
One hundred and three, but she managed the impulse control not to admit it. Not when Michael was looking all inconvenienced and superior, as if he’d been the one doing all the work around here when he couldn’t even make an interview on time.
“I admit this place gets crazy in the summer, but the campers are only here for two months.” She tried to interject reason into a subject that didn’t feel reasonable tonight. “We still have the rest of the year. Spring and fall are gorgeous. Winter can be, too. Can you imagine celebrating Christmas here?”
“I can imagine celebrating selling this land to a development company and making a fortune. Then you can spend Christmas on that Tahitian island you’re always talking about.”
“I haven’t mentioned visiting a Tahitian island since we were planning our honeymo
on. Are you saying you’d actually leave your office long enough to take a vacation?”
He scowled harder and didn’t answer.
She scowled right back. Of all the low blows…
“I can’t believe you’d even bring up developing this land. You know I promised Bernice and Carl. That was the whole reason they sold it to me for the price they did.”
“There’s nothing in the contract prohibiting us—”
“It was a verbal agreement I took seriously. Bernice and Carl trusted us to bring the camp into the twenty-first century. They had enough heartache losing their only son in the Vietnam War. Doesn’t trust mean anything to you?”
Her reminder fell flat between them. She could see Michael trying to rein in his anger, recognized how much effort it took, effort that felt as hurtful as his whole uncaring attitude.
What did he have to feel angry about?
She hadn’t asked anything of him except for a little support. She’d honestly thought he’d come through. And not the half-hearted, whenever-it’s-convenient efforts he’d been making. Not when she’d always done her one-hundred-and-ten-percent best to support everything he’d ever wanted.
Why else would she have given up a full ride to Duke if not to accompany him to college?
Why would she have crammed her course load into half the time if not to accompany him to dental school?
Why would she have turned down so many job opportunities if not to start up his practice?
Folding her arms over her chest as if that would help her keep her mouth shut, Jillian glared at him.
“Camp Cavelier is a life calling, not a hobby,” Michael said through clenched teeth. “Look at the Virgils. Look at Ike. Unless you want to close my practice and relocate here to do this job right then developing this land only makes sense. Bernice and Carl couldn’t find anyone to buy the place because it’s a lot of damn work.”
“That’s why I hired caretakers.” She shoved the words through teeth as tightly clenched. “We chose to return to Natchez to start up your practice and rear our family, so shouldn’t we be willing to put some effort into steering Natchez into the future? Life might be a little hectic for a while, Michael, but how is that any different than it’s ever been to reach our goals?”
If You Could Read My Mind Page 3
