by Mary McNear
“But, Reid, what if it’s . . . what if it’s not a faulty sensor,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What if someone’s actually here?” What if Brandon is actually here? she wondered. Watching them? Listening to them? She glanced down the shadowy hallway. It was empty but it still seemed ominous. She shut Reid’s bedroom door, and locked it, then dragged a desk chair over and wedged it under the doorknob. A lot of good any of that would do them if Brandon was actually here, she thought, her heart still beating wildly. But it seemed better, somehow, than doing nothing at all.
Reid, who’d watched her do all this in silence, now put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Mila, look at me,” he said, when her eyes wandered back to the door. “It’s okay. There’s nobody here but us. It’s a faulty sensor. And, honestly, even the first time it went off, I wasn’t concerned. It’s very safe out here. Trust me. The last time there was a break-in on Butternut Lake, it was in the dead of winter. Some high school kids with a keg jimmied open a window at a rental cabin and had a party there. Seriously, that’s it. That’s crime on Butternut Lake. The only reason my brother even had an alarm installed was because the first home health aide, Mrs. Everson, was worried about marauders. She actually used the word ‘marauders,’” he added, amused, but Mila couldn’t see the humor in this now.
“Reid, you don’t understand,” she said, watching the door.
“You’re right, I don’t,” he agreed. “Explain it to me.”
“There isn’t time now,” she said, impatiently, wondering if she should call the police herself. But some corner of her brain—some rational corner—knew that Reid was probably right, that it was probably just a faulty sensor, and that everything would probably be okay. But there was that word. Probably.
“I need to go down to the basement myself,” she said suddenly. “I need to make sure there’s”—her voice dropped again—“there’s nobody down there.”
“You mean, other than the spiders?”
But she ignored his remark and started to move the chair away from the door. She was afraid if she didn’t leave his room soon, she’d lose her nerve and not be able to leave it at all.
“All right, look, I’ll go,” Reid said. “You wait here.”
“Reid, no. You can’t go down a flight of stairs on your crutches.”
“Why not?”
“Because you could fall.”
“Well, that’s what I’m worried about you doing. I mean, look at you, Mila. Your legs are shaking so hard your knees are practically knocking.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, unlocking the door and opening it.
“Mila—”
“I don’t have time for this,” she said, standing in the open doorway. And neither do you. “I have to go.”
He started to say something else, but she cut him off.
“Reid, please, no more arguing. Just promise me something, okay?”
He hesitated. “Okay.”
“Promise me you’ll lock the door behind me. And promise me if you hear”—if you hear me scream she almost said, but she changed it—“if you hear anything, anything at all, you’ll call the police.”
“All right,” he said reluctantly. “And, Mila? As you come down the basement stairs, there’s a row of windows on the wall directly in front of you. The one with the faulty sensor is all the way on the right.”
She nodded and left him then, closing the door behind her and waiting until she heard him lock it before she started down the hall. Then she walked stealthily to the kitchen, turning on the lights as she went and stopping when she got there to consider whether she should take some kind of weapon with her. A hammer, maybe. There was one of those in the utility drawer. Or the baseball bat she’d seen in the hall closet. But no, she decided. Brandon was stronger, and faster, than she was. If she tried to use a makeshift weapon against him, he could easily turn it on her. Or worse. He could turn it on Reid.
She walked over to the basement door and turned the doorknob quickly, very quickly, almost as if it were hot and might blister her hand if she touched it for too long. Then she pushed the door open and turned on the light. One step at a time, she told herself as she started down the stairs. And she could see Reid’s point now. Her legs were shaking so violently she was afraid they would buckle beneath her. But she kept going, and once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw ahead of her the row of windows Reid had mentioned. The one on the right looked fine. Looked fine, but it still needed to be inspected, as did the rest of the basement.
So she walked toward the window, fully expecting Brandon to materialize out of some shadowy corner or, worse yet, put a hand on her shoulder from behind. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, but there was nothing to see but more basement and the steps leading back up to the kitchen. So she kept going, her cotton nightgown brushing against her legs, the concrete floor cool and damp beneath her feet. Her breath was coming fast and shallow, and her body, even in the chilly basement, was bathed in sweat. But she needed to stay calm, she told herself, or, at the very least, she needed to not panic. Because if Brandon was here, somewhere, she was going to need to keep her wits about her if she wanted to protect Reid.
After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the window, and a tiny but welcome wave of relief washed over her. Nobody had come through this window. Not tonight, and not any other night recently, either. There was an unbroken spiderweb spanning the entire thing, and for some reason, Mila reached up and ran a hand through its sticky strings.
Thank God, she thought, leaning against the wall. And after a minute, she walked, across the basement and back up the steps. But when she came out into the kitchen, she hesitated. Reid was there, leaning on his crutches, waiting for her.
“I know I said I’d stay in my room,” he said, with an apologetic shrug. “But I was worried about you. Is everything okay?” he asked, watching her carefully.
She nodded, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s fine. You were right, by the way. Nobody broke in through that window. I don’t think it’s been open for a long time. There’s a spiderweb over it.”
He nodded. But he didn’t move. “Mila, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said, coming farther into the kitchen. “I just . . . I just got a little freaked out, that’s all. This cabin, out here in the woods, and you and I all alone in it. . . . I mean, do you know how many scary movies start with that premise, Reid? A lot of them. And I’ve probably seen too many of them.” She smiled, or tried to smile, anyway.
But he looked unconvinced. “I don’t mean what’s going on tonight, Mila. I mean, what’s going on in general. What happened before tonight? Before you came here? Why are you so afraid?”
“I’m not, I’m not afraid,” she said, fidgeting with her nightgown.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood perfectly still, watching her, and waiting for her to tell him what was wrong. And, for one wild moment, she almost did. It was so tempting, in its way. She’d start at the beginning, start from the night she met Brandon at the diner, and go from there. His jealousy, his paranoia, his violent outbursts, her running away the first time, and him stopping her, her meeting Ms. Thompson, and her running away again. But if she told him all of it, what then? He might accept it, and her, unquestioningly. Or he might . . . he might tell her that it was more than he could handle. And if he told her that, would she blame him? After all, what kind of man, knowing the truth, would sign on for a life with her? A life lived in fear, a life lived waiting for Brandon to find them. No man, she answered herself. Not even Reid. And if she told him now, what was happening between them might be over, over before it had even really begun. And, selfishly, she couldn’t bear that thought.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he asked now.
She shook her head guiltily.
He sighed, but he didn’t argue the point. Instead, he said, “Do you want a drink? There’s a very good bottle of whiskey in the liquor cabinet. I know because I gave it to my brother for Christm
as.”
“No. No, thank you,” she said, and then she remembered something. “You know what I would like, though?”
“What?”
“A cherry Popsicle.”
“Really? Why?”
“A friend of mine . . . someone I knew once, introduced me to them. And I don’t know why, but for some reason, having one always made me feel better.”
“Did it?” he said, looking a little bemused. “Well, we don’t have any here. But I could ask Lonnie to put them on the grocery list.”
Mila smiled at him, a little shakily. Apparently, just talking about cherry Popsicles was enough to make her feel better.
She must not have looked better though, because Reid was still staring at her worriedly. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine, really,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Easier said than done,” he said, with the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him since the alarm had gone off.
She closed the door to the basement, and they left the kitchen, Mila going first, and Reid following behind her on his crutches. She stopped outside his bedroom door. “I’m sorry I panicked. Obviously, I overreacted.”
He shrugged. “I’ll call the alarm company in the morning, and I’ll have them send someone out to fix that sensor.”
She nodded.
“Are you really going to be able to go back to sleep tonight?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. Not a chance, she thought.
“Well, you know where to find me,” he said with a smile, indicating the open door to his room.
After they said good night, she walked back down the hallway to her room but knew she didn’t want to get back into bed. She was still too keyed up, and she felt a little grimy, too, from the cold sweat she’d broken out into, and from the gritty floor of the basement and the sticky spiderweb over the window. She went into her bathroom, turned on the shower, stripped off her clothes, and stepped under the spray. She stood there for a long time, letting the hot water sluice over her, and then she grabbed a bar of soap and a washcloth and scrubbed herself. After she got out of the shower, she dried herself off, rubbed her wet hair with a towel, and changed into another pair of panties and another nightgown.
She got into bed then, but she didn’t turn off the bedside table light. She didn’t do anything but sit there, for a long time, letting a new realization sink in. She sighed then and got out of bed. The night wasn’t over yet.
Reid was sitting on the edge of his bed when he heard a light tap on his door. “Mila?” he said.
The door cracked open. “Can I come in?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said. She came in and he saw that she’d taken a shower—her hair was still damp at the ends—and changed into another nightgown. And her color was better now, almost back to normal. But he knew she was still afraid. He could feel her fear in the room with them, almost as if it were a third person.
He patted the edge of his bed, meaning for her to sit down on it, but she eyed it uncertainly and kept standing.
“Do you ever feel like we see each other more at night than we do during the day?” she asked him, with something close to a smile.
“Sometimes. But I don’t really care when I see you. As long as I do see you.”
She smiled at him then, a shy smile, and he knew she felt the same way about him. She sat down gingerly on the very edge of his bed.
“Are you okay?” he asked, already knowing that in some important way, she was not okay.
She nodded. “Yes. But I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Then be with me,” he said simply. “It’s not as if I sleep that much anyway. What do you want to do? We could watch a movie. Or play cards. Do you like cards?”
“I . . . they’re okay. But that’s not really what I had in mind.”
“No?”
“Can I . . . can I stay in your bed with you?” she asked, her cheeks coloring almost imperceptibly.
“Oh,” he said, after a moment of confusion. Delightful confusion. At least until he realized what she must mean. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I know the drill. I’ll stay on my side of the bed, and you’ll stay on yours.”
But she shook her head. “No, not tonight. Tonight, I need you to hold me.”
He nodded, slowly, but realized he still needed to clarify something. “Just hold you, Mila? Nothing more?”
“Yes. Is that all right? I mean, I want, I need, actually, to be with you, but not the way I was with you in the kitchen before. Just . . .”
“Just holding,” Reid finished for her. “I can do that,” he said, though inwardly he was less confident. They had slept together before without even touching each other. But that was before . . . well, before tonight. Before the kitchen. Now, it would be harder. Still, if that was what she needed from him, that was what she would get from him. Even if it killed him. And it might actually kill him, he thought ruefully, as he lay down on his bed and made room for her.
“Thank you,” she said softly, lying down beside him, and after she’d arranged the covers over them, she reached over and turned off the light.
He turned on his side and propped himself on one elbow. “How do we do this, exactly?” he asked, looking at her in the dark and feeling like an idiot.
She laughed. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s an instruction manual. Why don’t you lie down and I’ll lie down next to you and we’ll take it from there.”
So Reid lay down and wondered why he always felt as if everything he did with Mila he was doing for the first time. He thought, Is it possible I’ve just asked her how I should hold her? That was ridiculous. Holding a woman was like Seduction 101, and he was pretty sure he’d done well in that class the first time he’d taken it, back in high school
But with Mila, he thought as she lay down next to him, everything was different. He didn’t want to just hold her; he wanted to hold her as perfectly as it was possible to hold someone. So he waited while she nestled against him, and then he helped her arrange and then rearrange their limbs, until they were both comfortable.
“Is this okay?” he finally asked. He was lying on his back, and she was cradled in his arms, her head resting at the base of his neck, her breasts crushed gently against his chest, her legs resting beside his legs, but not on top of them.
“It’s fine,” she said, into his neck. “But can you sleep like this?”
“I’m practically asleep now,” he lied.
“Good,” she said, snuggling closer.
For a long time after that, they lay perfectly still, Mila at last relaxing into his arms, and Reid trying, with every ounce of his being, to not become aroused. He did this by thinking about things far outside of the room. The least exciting things, really, he could think of. He thought about an insurance policy he needed to renew on one of the boatyards. And about the upcoming quarterly tax filing for his and Walker’s company.
And when his mind came back to this room, back to this bed, and back to Mila, he realized that the danger had passed. Mila was asleep, her body resting in his arms, her breathing regular as her chest rose and fell against his. God, she smells so good, he thought, inhaling deeply. She smelled like pure soap and clean towels. And it went without saying that she felt wonderful, too. He couldn’t resist, now, running his hand along one of her bare arms. Her skin was so soft, he marveled, and even now, on a chilly night, it felt warm to his touch, as if it were somehow lit from within.
He returned his hand to the small of her back, where it had been resting, and let his body relax beside the gentle weight of her. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to sleep tonight. He’d fully expected to lie awake until morning, watching over her. But gradually, he felt the tension ebb out of his body, until he was suspended somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. And that was when he realized something. Something amazing. His and Mila’s hearts
were beating in time with each other. He could feel them, pressed together, separated only by the thin cotton of his undershirt and her nightgown. How was this even possible? he wondered. He’d heard of it before, of course, but only in cheesy love songs, or on tacky greeting cards. Two hearts that beat as one. He’d never given much thought, though, to the idea that it could actually happen.
He tightened his arms around her. “I love you, Mila Jones,” he said. But the only answer was the steady rhythm of her breathing.
CHAPTER 20
The morning after the alarm went off, Mila and Lonnie were in the kitchen together when they heard a truck rumbling up the gravel driveway.
“It’s Hank,” Lonnie said, looking out the window as the UPS truck came into view. She was at the kitchen sink, up to her elbows in soapy water, but she snatched up a dish towel to dry her hands on and was out the door before the truck had even stopped. Mila, who was sitting at the breakfast table, picking at the remains of her French toast, watched Hank get out of his truck. He seemed as eager to see Lonnie as she was to see him, though it was the third time this week he’d been to the cabin. Mila wondered if he even had a package to deliver. But he did. He handed it over to Lonnie, and after a few minutes of conversation, he got reluctantly back into his truck and drove away. When Lonnie came back into the kitchen, she was humming.
“It’s a package for Reid,” she said to Mila, setting it down on the table. “Do you want to take it to him when you’re done?”
“All right,” Mila said, feigning interest in her French toast. She knew there was no way Lonnie could know about her and Reid’s unconventional sleeping arrangement last night, but for some reason she still felt self-conscious around her this morning. Mila hadn’t seen Reid yet; he’d been sleeping when she’d left him this morning, and by the time she’d showered and come to the kitchen, he’d skipped breakfast and had Lonnie bring him a cup of coffee in the study instead.
“It’s wonderful that Reid’s working again,” Lonnie said, going back to the sink. “When he first came here, straight from the rehabilitation center, he wasn’t interested in anything. Can you believe what a difference a summer makes?”
