The next day, I returned to the cabin. It was a sad walk from Gran’s house. So few houses were left. Trees I’d walked under for as long as I could remember were gone. I held back tears and by the time I reached the pond, I wanted to keep going, running until I came to a place where no one would ever tell me I had to leave my own home. I sat on my boulder and put my feet in the water, and when I was sure I wouldn’t cry, I went inside the cabin. I never cried in there. It was my one rule.
The cabin would go soon, too. It was in the watershed that had to be protected so the natural filtration process could occur. A drop of water entering Quabbin, they said, would take four years before it came out of a tap in Boston.
There was no running water at the cabin. I would get water from the pond or from a shallow, hand-dug well, probably from one of the valley’s original settlers, that was in the woods not ten yards behind the cabin.
I had grabbed my bucket to fetch water from the pond for dishes when I heard a noise in the woods. It sounded like a deer stepping on fallen branches. Instead, a man staggered out of the trees. He was bloody and filthy and hadn’t shaved in several days. “I need help,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
I gasped at his English accent. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Philip. I’m not…” He went very pale and almost sank to his knees, but he managed to stay upright and even give me a faltering smile. “I won’t hurt you. You’re—”
“Grace.” I believed he wouldn’t hurt me; it hadn’t occurred to me that he would. “We need to clean those wounds. Are you hungry?”
He attempted another smile. “Starved.”
I got him inside and onto my cot. He didn’t moan or complain but I could see he was in pain. I found a pan and soap, and I heated water from the well on the wood-fired kitchen stove. Philip was shivering under the quilts, and I realized he must have a fever. I touched his forehead. His skin was fiery hot.
“I can run and fetch my grandmother,” I said.
“No. Don’t tell anyone about me. Please, Grace. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“I know you won’t.”
I cleaned his wounds. He had superficial cuts and scrapes on his hands and arms and a small gash on the left side of his face. He was lean and muscular, but I knew he wasn’t one of the reservoir workers.
“No one will bother you here for now,” I said.
“Thank you, Grace.”
I saw then how handsome he was. He had a strong jaw and clear, deep blue eyes. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
He touched a book I’d left on the cot. “I see you like your swashbucklers. I’m more of a scoundrel.” He sank into the thin mattress. “Will you read to me, Grace?”
I know I blushed. “Latin verses or The Scarlet Pimpernel?”
He smiled. “Not Latin.”
His eyes were shut but I could tell he wasn’t asleep. I opened The Scarlet Pimpernel and read to him.
Seventeen
Olivia couldn’t sleep and got up at four to finish her Carriage Hill website. She wouldn’t go live with it until after her mother-daughter tea. As night gave way to dawn, she wandered through the downstairs rooms, still and quiet in the dim light. There was still so much more to do, but the place looked good. The colors, the fabrics, the flow and style of the furnishings had all come together the way she’d envisioned. She would add more artwork and make adjustments as she went along, but she was satisfied with what she’d accomplished in such a short time.
If people decided they wanted ultratraditional New England, then what?
She pushed back the doubts and went into the kitchen. Buster stirred on his bed in the mudroom. She smiled at him. He had settled down since he’d adopted her. She trusted him not to scare off guests. Everyone coming today liked dogs, even a big, homely mutt like Buster. With the sunrise just peeking over the hills, she took him for a quick walk, turning back before she got to Dylan McCaffrey’s house on the corner. She hadn’t mentioned the decades-old jewelry robbery to anyone since reading about it in the library, especially not to Grace.
Maggie O’Dunn arrived early, as cheerful and relaxed as ever. How she pulled off everything without breaking a sweat amazed Olivia, who tended to agonize over details.
All the mothers and daughters were friends and family. Maggie’s mother was the first guest to arrive, but the rest followed soon after, curious about Carriage Hill—and, of course, the man up the road. Both Olivia’s grandmothers were there. Grace had declined to come, instead sending an opening-day gift, a set of binoculars so that Olivia could watch the birds.
She wasn’t sure her own mother would turn up, but Louise Frost arrived with Jess. Olivia hugged them both, finally convinced that she’d chosen the right event for her opening day.
The tea went beautifully. The only problems were so minor as not to be real problems. She needed a quieter lock in the downstairs bathroom, and she needed to double the number of cloth napkins she owned. As the mothers and daughters left, several asked about bookings for a baby shower, a garden club meeting and a one-day training workshop for a local business.
Jess lingered on the terrace while Olivia saw Maggie off. Her friend was tireless, calm even after helping to serve a full tea to a dozen people. After she rattled off in her van, Olivia joined her sister out back.
Jess was on a yellow-painted bench, staring at the lavender. “Do you have a passport?”
Olivia kept her expression neutral as she sat at the table. “Yes.”
“When did you use it last?”
“When I drove to Montreal last summer on business.”
“I’ve applied for one. My first passport at twenty-seven.”
“Good for you,” Olivia said, meaning it.
“My passport picture is awful. Everyone says that, apparently. I want to go places, Olivia.”
“You should, then.”
“Don’t you want to dust off your passport? Go to London, Paris, Ireland, Tuscany? Australia?” Jess looked down at her hands. “Mom wouldn’t sleep a wink.”
“That’s her problem. Don’t make it yours.”
“What about you?”
Olivia felt the familiar tightness in her stomach at the prospect of flying but smiled through it. “I think it’ll be Mark going with you not me.”
She followed Jess out to her truck, the afternoon temperature the warmest yet that spring. “I left a bottle of champagne in your refrigerator,” Jess said, climbing in behind the wheel. “Everything went great today, Liv. Time to celebrate.”
Olivia watched her drive up the road, then decided her sister was right.
It was time to celebrate.
The air was cool and still, the sky clear, when Dylan walked down the quiet road to his neighbor’s house. It was dusk, and he was finally certain that all of Olivia’s guests were safely on their way. He found her sitting on the kitchen steps with her legs stretched out.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your tea,” he said. “How were the mothers and daughters?”
“Terrific. Everything went well. I’ve already had champagne. Of course,” she added, “everyone was curious about you.”
He grinned as he headed up the stone walk. “I love small towns. Do they know Noah was here?”
“I didn’t get that impression, no.”
“He likes you. He thinks you’re a lot like him.”
“A genius-tech type?” She laughed and leaned back against the step. “I don’t think so.”
“People who give too much of themselves and end up getting burned. Would that describe you, Olivia?”
“Sometimes. I think sometimes that would describe any of us.”
“You’re probably right about that. Noah asked about your tea. He had business in New York but he’s on his way back to San Diego now. Flying,” Dylan added, coming closer. “Noah likes to fly.”
Olivia averted her eyes. “I’m sure that’s a plus given his lifestyle.”
“You, on the other hand, don’t like to f
ly. A lot of anxieties percolating in the Frost family.” He left it at that; he was standing at her toes now, noticing that she just had on wool socks, as if she’d come outside expecting to stay only for a few minutes. She didn’t make a move to get up. “Your future brother-in-law stopped by to see me.”
“Mark? Why?”
“I asked him to. I wanted to talk to him about the property.” Dylan deliberately didn’t say his property but wasn’t sure why.
“About tearing down the house, you mean.”
“About my options.”
“Dylan, Grace understands she sold the house. She was ready to make a move. She knows it’s in bad shape. You won’t be making enemies here if you tear it down and have Mark design a great house for you to build in its place.”
“Is that what you envision?”
“It’s not my property. I suppose you could build a house and sell it. This area isn’t the draw Cape Cod and the Berkshires are for wealthy second-home owners, but there are some. They tend to be people who want a genuine small-town atmosphere and don’t mind that we don’t have a five-star restaurant tucked away on a side road.” She paused, and Dylan watched her as she shoved a hand through her hair. In the gray light, her eyes took on more of the blues than the greens and gold. “Never mind. Mark and I were in the same class in high school, did he tell you?”
“He mentioned it.”
“No one ever thought he’d come back to Knights Bridge, but now no one can imagine him living anywhere else, least of all him.”
“He’s worried Jess thinks he’s boring because he doesn’t care about going to Paris, that she’ll go off and have adventures without him.”
“Then he should talk to her about it.”
“I suspect he’s the sort who doesn’t talk to anyone. He didn’t tell me in so many words. I put the pieces together. He likes a quiet life.”
“We’ve all assumed he and Jess are more or less engaged. A friend of hers who was at the tea wants to throw her bridal shower here.” Olivia jumped up suddenly, strands of dark hair flying into her face; she pushed them back with one hand. “You don’t like a quiet life, do you?”
Dylan shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one.”
“Rest my case,” she muttered, then spun around and yanked open the door.
Dylan hesitated for a fraction of a second before he followed her into the kitchen. He glanced into the living room and noticed that she had a low fire burning in the old fireplace; Buster was asleep on the hearth. “How many nights around here are warm enough for you not to want a fire?”
Olivia glanced back at him from the counter. “I like fires. Is it cold at your house? My offer of a room here is still open. I don’t want you going back to San Diego and telling all your friends that Knights Bridge is an unfriendly little town with old houses with leaky roofs. Maybe one of them will want to book an event here.”
“Maybe.” He walked over to the counter. “You’re freelancing to make ends meet until this place provides a stable income.”
“I have plenty of projects. I focus on my work, my clients—”
“You were the talk of the town for a while. One of the hottest designers in the Northeast. Don’t forget, I looked you up before I flew out here. What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I kept working. I still am working. I just bought this place and decided to move back to Knights Bridge.”
Dylan shook his head. “Something happened.”
She turned away from him and grabbed a small saucepan soaking in the sink. Nothing like doing dishes to end a conversation, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook. Whatever was going on with her design work had been eating at her for a long time. He could see it just in the way she moved.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked softly.
Her back stiffened visibly. “No.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“Jess.”
“Not all of it,” he said.
Olivia dumped water out of the pan. “Right. Not all of it.” She glanced back at him. “Did you take classes in reading body language, or are you just a natural?”
“I’ve been paying attention to the Frost family and Knights Bridge dynamics. You’re a proud, tight-lipped bunch.” He leaned against the butcher-block island; she turned away from him again and flipped on the faucet, filling the pan with fresh water. “So, what happened? Who screwed you?”
“She didn’t screw me. She just…she took care of herself and I didn’t take care of myself.”
“She’s a designer? A friend?”
“We’re friends but we aren’t as close as we once were.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said.” Olivia shut off the faucet, steam rising from the soaking pan. Without looking at him, she said, “Actually, I had an email from her just before you got here. That’s why I went outside. I needed to think. She’s very tapped in to what’s going on, and she heard a former NHL player and Noah Kendrick had been here.”
Dylan frowned. “Noah doesn’t keep a low profile even when he’s keeping a low profile.”
Olivia’s tension seemed to ease, at least for a moment. “I can see how that would work after meeting him just for a short time. You two—”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Trying to.”
“What’s this woman’s name?”
She sighed and turned once more to face him. Her expression was unreadable, intentionally so, he thought. Finally she said, “Marilyn Bryson. She’s from Providence but she just moved to Boston and started as a senior designer at the same studio where I worked.”
“Ah.”
“She’s a very good designer. She’s hot right now.”
“And you’re…what?”
“Established but not that hot,” Olivia whispered, then jerked her chin up as if he wasn’t supposed to hear. “I don’t feel sorry for myself.”
“What did you do, take a victory lap and let things slide?”
“No! I’ve always worked hard. Marilyn and I had been friends for several years and her career was floundering. Nothing she was doing was working the way she wanted it to. She asked me what I’d do in her position. We put our heads together and mapped out a strategy. She took my advice and added her own talents, ambition and willingness to roll up her sleeves and get the job done.”
“That was decent of you. So, what happened? She steal your clients?”
“One client,” Olivia said, her voice almost inaudible.
“Your biggest client?”
She nodded. “I think he was restless, anyway. It happens. I hadn’t seen or heard much from Marilyn in months, so it wasn’t the slap in the face you might think.”
“It could have been worse, you mean. It was bad enough.”
“Yes,” she said. “I was doing a good job for this particular client but I wasn’t…as cutting edge and unique as he apparently thought I should be.”
“And there Marilyn was. She called him?”
“That’s right. I’m not jealous, Dylan. That’s not how I operate.”
He stood up from the counter. “What did she do, dump you as a friend once her career took off?”
“That sounds like first grade, I know.”
“Nah. Sixth grade.”
She managed a small laugh and reached for a towel on the island. “I wanted to celebrate her success and wish her well, but she disappeared. I got over that, more or less, and then in mid-March I stopped at my favorite restaurant…” Olivia looked down at her hands as she dried them. “Marilyn was there having lunch with my biggest client.”
“What did you do?”
“Got out of there. Then I looked at my life and what I wanted and decided to get this place off the ground. I never expected Marilyn to do what she did. Or Roger Bailey, for that matter—”
“The snake-in-the-grass client.”
Olivia set the towel back on the island, a spark of humor in her eyes. “He’s
not a bad guy. He just—”
“Relax. People can be jerks. Even good people. It’s not a sign of weakness or pettiness to say so. We’re not all that evolved. Maybe Roger was just looking after his business and didn’t know the rules of yours. This Marilyn woman used you, dumped you and stabbed you in the back.”
“That’s a little blunt.”
“Is it accurate?”
“I let her—”
“Not what I asked.”
“I put her in the freezer,” Olivia said abruptly.
Dylan angled a look at her. “You what?”
“I was drinking wine alone one night, which is never good, and I let everything get to me. So I wrote Marilyn’s name on a slip of paper and stuck her in the freezer.” Olivia pointed at the refrigerator on the other side of the island. “She’s still in there. I feel like a four-year-old.”
Dylan couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Wait, what? You put her in your freezer to freeze her career?”
Olivia reddened and turned back to the sink. “It was meant as a ritual to help me. I don’t mean her any harm.”
“Why not? If you’d been in her shoes, what would you have done if a friend went out of her way to help you turn your career around?”
“I didn’t go out of my way. Not really. She was a friend. It was fun. We had a good time. I didn’t expect her to disappear and steal my biggest client. When I didn’t hear from her, at first I told myself she was just busy.”
“Then you ran into her and this Roger character having lunch together.” Dylan pictured the scene. “Ouch. Tough way to figure out what was really going on.”
Secrets of the Lost Summer Page 19
