by Kathryn Shay
“Very funny. Calm and peace should be your incentive. So, what’s up with you?”
“I’m casting a play right now.”
“Did you decide on My Sweet Caroline?” A mystery by a new scriptwriter about a dancer who’s being stalked. An unusual element in it was the inclusion of a series of ballet scenes where the character dances out her emotions. The other main parts required some dancing, too.
“Yeah. I got the rights from Mitt Rankin. He’s coming out here in a couple of days.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“I need a favor.”
“Sure, anything.”
“Would you come to Hidden Cove and talk to him with me?”
“Why would you want that?”
“Because the play is full of ballet scenes. Which makes it a unique mystery. And why I chose it. But I don’t have a choreographer.”
“I thought you were interviewing a couple of people.”
“They didn’t work out. You could help me try out some local people, too.”
“Um…”
“Eliza, I know you’re still hurting over Taylor. Like you should be. Seeing me will help. Occupying your mind will, too.”
“You’re being selfish.”
“No, I’m asking for something that will be mutually beneficial to us.”
“For how long?”
“A week, maybe.”
“What about yoga?”
“My cousins’ wives and my aunt have taken it up. The studio’s halfway between the lake house and town.”
A spurt of something resembling joy, resembling anticipation, shot through her. She hadn’t felt anything like it since Taylor left three weeks ago. “You know what, Ron? I’d love to do that.”
“I’ll drive down and get you tomorrow.”
“I can take a train out.”
“No. I want to spend time with my sister and little Olivia in Brooklyn, so I’ll pick you up at your apartment after lunch.”
“Sure, I can be ready by then.”
“Can’t wait to have you here, honey.”
They disconnected before she could ask if he got her a place to stay. Hidden Cove had to have hotels, or inns, at least. With renewed energy, she stepped up her walk to yoga, excited she had something to look forward to, for a week at least.
After class, she stopped at a little bistro near her apartment. She ordered a glass of wine and a quiche, sipping the drink while she waited for food. She was halfway through her meal, when someone came up to her table.
“Hello, Eliza.”
Oh, hell.
She studied the man she gave up the world of ballet for. His brown hair had thinned more and deep lines bracketed his eyes. He sat without asking for permission. Cocked his head. “You look well.” He seemed surprised.
“Thank you. You look tired.”
“Well, yes. Trying to keep up with everything.”
“Your son’s what? Four?”
“Nearly five. A handful.”
“Do you get home to spend time with him?”
“Like I didn’t with you and Taylor you mean?”
“I was making conversation.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been short with everybody for a while now.”
She stared at him. She honestly didn’t care if he had a bad day.
“Susan’s, um…Susan’s taken Hamlin to stay with her mother for a while.”
“How nice for her to spend time with family.”
His glance away was furtive. Afterward, he asked, “How’s Taylor?”
“I told you a long time ago, I wouldn’t fill in the blanks for you in Taylor’s life. You need to ask her yourself.”
“I would if she’d speak to me. She left in the summer without even saying goodbye.”
Eliza sighed. “This is an old argument, Craig. One I won’t have with you again. I’m going to leave.” She stood. “Goodbye.”
He grasped her arm to stop her. She recoiled. “I’m not happy, Eliza. I think I made a mistake with Susan. It isn’t working with us.”
“You have to be kidding me.”
“No, sweetie, I’m not. You’ve been on my mind lately. Maybe we could try again.”
Her jaw dropped. “Go to hell, Craig.” She turned and walked out of the shop.
* * *
His gorgeous sister looked like a Madonna as she breast fed her daughter. On his first visit, Hayley had chided Ronan for his reluctance to sit with her while she performed this scared ritual—her term. He’d gotten used to it in the three weeks since little Olivia was born. Tearing her gaze from the baby, she scanned him up and down. “You seem fine. How are things?”
“You first. Tell me how you are.”
“Ronan, you call every day and ask. Which I love, by the way. I’m pretty much the same. Delighted. Serene. Joyful. I had such an easy birth with Livie, so recuperation has been swift. Now, Paul’s a wreck. He wakes up all night long, even when the baby doesn’t, to check on her. Once he woke her up trying to make sure she was still breathing.”
Ronan laughed and scanned the room. “Where is he?”
“I made him go to work. Our law practice is only down the street from here. I told him I was perfectly capable of taking care of my child and myself.”
“Did he agree?”
“No, but he knew you were coming. You said you’d bring lunch, too, not that we don’t have food. His family has us stocked up till Christmas with meals.” Ronan knew most of Paul’s siblings and parents lived in Brooklyn, too. “Matka came and stayed with us for a few days after Livie was born. She was a godsend. They’d all be over here every day, but Paul convinced them he could take care of us. Honestly, Polish families are wonderful.”
“Were they happy about her name?”
“Yeah, Pa especially, since it’s his mother’s.”
They talked more about Paul’s family, then she put her daughter down for a nap, while Ronan got out the Chinese food Hayley had wanted.
She talked over moo goo gai pan. “Tell me about the move to Hidden Cove.”
“One more thing. Has Bridget been to see you?”
“She came to the hospital the day after Paul called her to tell her about the baby. She’s made no overture to come here to visit. I think she expects me to ask her.”
“Did she hold Livie?”
A vee formed on her forehead. “Are you kidding? I’m not sure we ever got held after infancy when she didn’t have a choice. Now, back to you. Are you happy to be living in Hidden Cove?”
“In some ways.” He told her about the play, the playhouse, and their cousins. “Can you picture it? Ali, Kate, Anabelle, Carmella are all in one yoga class. Even Julianne went for a while. That must be a sight.”
“Aw, I think it’s wonderful and makes me envious of their closeness.”
“I know. But they’re our extended family.”
She smiled. “I love being with them. They’ve all been down, too, for a visit, brought more food and desserts. They made a time to come back, so they wouldn’t impose.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Ronan, are you planning to move back to New York?”
“Yes. I’ve only rented the playhouse for a year. And I still have my apartment in the city.”
“Which I’ve never seen.”
“Nothing to see. It’s a one-bedroom flat that has a separate kitchen and living room.”
“Still…”
“When you’re up to going out, then, I’ll have you over for lunch.”
“Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room. I want to know what happened to you all those years ago. I’m not pregnant or near birthing, so I can handle anything.”
“I’d like to wait until Finn can be here so I don’t have to tell it twice.”
“You’re stalling again, Ronan.”
“I promise, as soon as you can get us three together, I’ll tell you.”
“How about Saturday night?”
“Eliza might be with me.”
“Eliza? Ah.”
“Don’t start again. It’s purely professional.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I saw you with her during the play, big brother.”
He explained how she agreed to come to Hidden Cove and help him cast the play.
“Fine, then, next Saturday, six o’clock. With or without Eliza.”
* * *
Eliza stood at the window of her apartment, waiting for Ron to pick her up. She’d put on blue jeans and a light pink T-shirt and carried a matching sweater, as he’d told her it got cold at the lake at night. She was bringing one week’s worth of clothes, too. When the Honda pulled up, she left her apartment, locked the door and took the elevator to the first floor. Outside, horns once again honked as he’d double parked, so she hurried to the car and slid inside.
“Damn, I hate the traffic here.” Ronan checked the rearview mirror.
She kissed him on the cheek. He smelled like the woodsy aftershave he used. And she felt that spurt of attraction every time she saw him after an absence. “Hello, to you, too.”
“I’ll be sane as soon as we’re away from town.” He edged out, maneuvered his way into traffic and headed to the thoroughfare that led to Hidden Cove. Neither spoke—but she watched him. Even from the side, she could tell he was tense. His shoulders, encased in a denim shirt, sleeves rolled up, were stiff. Paired with dark jeans and loafers with no socks, he was still very male.
After they got on the four-lane road, he reached out and squeezed her hand. “I can breathe easy now.” A smile quirked on his face. “Hello, Eliza.” He took a second glance. “God, it’s good to see you again. You look wonderful.”
“Why thank you. I’ve missed you, too.”
“We’re used to spending days and nights together.”
“So, tell me about the author, the playhouse, the play.”
“In a minute. There’s something you need to know before we get to Hidden Cove.” He drew a small square out of his shirt pocket. Handed it to her. She stared down at it. A New York State license. For a man named Ronan Casella.
“Whose license is this?”
He took his eyes off the road for a few seconds. A myriad of emotion filled them: sadness, worry, a bit of fear. “The license is mine, Liza.”
He only called her that when things were tough for one of them.
“Ron—or Ronan, you seem…scared. You can tell me anything. I won’t get mad, I promise.”
“That helps. But there’s more. A lot more. I am Ronan Casella. I have two siblings in New York, whom I love dearly and lots of cousins in Hidden Cove. But I, um, also have another identity.”
“You’re kidding.” The notion amused her.
“No.”
Concern started deep in her belly. Something was wrong. “Who else are you?”
“My stage name was Ronny Case.”
“Stage? As in Broadway? I knew you were an actor.”
“Not Broadway. In films.”
“You’re a movie star?”
“I was. For ten years. I went to Hollywood when I was eighteen, did some commercials, had some bit parts. An agent saw me in those and approached me. I signed, he got me bigger and bigger roles. By twenty, I got the lead in a film called Rebel.”
“Rebel? Why doesn’t that sound familiar? I’m afraid I was too busy building my career that I didn’t get to many movies, or even read about them.”
“There were a series of Rebels.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I was famous. Made a lot of money. But after ten years, I quit. I’d started to party too hard, crashed my sportscar, broke my leg and sprained my wrist after one particularly wild night. The accident sobered me.”
“Were you under contract?”
“I hadn’t signed a new one yet. I think I realized that I was hitting bottom and didn’t commit. So, when I could walk, and my wrist healed, I left town. And came to New York again.”
“What have you been doing since then?”
“Before I hooked up with you, I studied directing, though I was familiar with the process from the other side. I interned under some New York directors before I found my niche. Rebel had quite a few dancing scenes, à la Saturday Night Fever, and I decided on musical theater with a twist—musical mysteries. Then you came into the picture.”
“Hmm.” She was thoughtful. “Ronan. A very nice name. I like it better than Ron.”
“Leave it to you to not be wowed by my career.”
“I am, I guess. And I’m very sorry for your downslide. But I don’t see what the big deal was about not using your fame. And your talent, like in Bludgeon.”
“I didn’t want the plays I put on to be successful because Ronny Case, the ultimate bad boy, directed them. Or worse, I didn’t want to star in them. I had to make it on my own as a director.”
“Hmm.” She did understand that. But still, was secrecy necessary?
“I, um, didn’t see my sister and brother for years, either. I abandoned Hollywood and my career. But first, I abandoned them.”
“Why?”
“That’s a longer story that we can’t have in the car. Let’s wait until we get to the lake house.”
“Whatever you need. Should I get settled at the hotel or inn you picked out for me first?”
“I didn’t get you a room. I want you to stay at the lake with me. Before you worry about privacy, I enlarged and updated the master suite on the first floor, which has a panoramic view of the water. There are three other bedrooms upstairs. I moved what I need to the second floor.”
“I’d love to stay at a lake house. I can’t believe you owned one and never told me. Taylor would have wanted to come up. Me, too.”
“Again, let’s get to the house, get you settled in. I’ll order dinner and we can talk more. I’ll answer why I never told you about my background or brought you two up there.”
“Sure.” This time, she reached over for his hand. “I’m here for you like you’ve always been for me. And I’m glad I’m finally going to know about your past, Ronan Casella.”
“My past isn’t pretty, Liza. But I need to tell you about it.”
* * *
“The lake house is lovely, Ronan.”
“It really is.”
They sat out on the porch, now. He’d ordered Fettucine Alfredo, Eliza’s favorite dish, with salads and crusty bread. Sliding glass doors surrounded them. He’d furnished it with a teak table for meals on the right and a couch on the opposite side.
He pointed to the glimmering sunset happening now. “I love this place.”
“Do you own it with your siblings?”
“Yes. I bought it from my…mother and I gave Finn and Hayley a third each.” He didn’t tell her Bridget did not know her prodigal son had made the purchase offer. He’d been afraid she’d refuse to sell it to him.
“You must be very rich.” Again, she seemed amused. So like her to eschew the trappings of wealth. Tonight, she seemed serene, her auburn hair loose and hanging past her shoulders, moving by the slight breeze coming in from one of the doors he’d cracked open. She’d put on her sweater and he’d donned a navy sweatshirt.
“I am rich. As I said, I made a lot of money in the movies. Even back then, lead actors were paid an obscene amount, and I get royalties on the replays. Apparently, all generations watch Rebel and its sequels.”
“I wonder if Taylor has seen them.”
“That’ll be an interesting conversation.” He smiled. “I got lucky, too, when I invested half of what I earned. I actually doubled my money. Thankfully, I was sane and sober by then and banked it before I started directing.”
She cocked her head. Her eyes were full of concern. “Somehow, I don’t think you were lucky in your life. At least your early life.”
“How astute of you. I wasn’t. My mother and father turned out to be the parents from hell, in ways I never even knew until right before I left.”
“Oh, God, that’s awful.” Eliza was an only child with a doting mother and father, who’d
since passed away.
“Growing up, Bridget, my mother, was stern and remote. She still is. My father was better to us when he was home. But he was gone most of the time, working. Still, we had our cousins at the lake here in Hidden Cove and saw them a lot. My mother felt distaste for his brother and his family because they weren’t rich. Were even poorer than they are now. I can tell you about them later.” He gave a reluctant smile. “They’re successful in their own right.”
She was laser focused on him. “Finish telling me what happened to you.”
“I was eighteen and had a girlfriend from Hidden Cove all through high school. We saw each other in the summers and on a lot of weekends during the year. Went to each other’s proms. I thought we loved each other, in the way only teenagers do.”
“But?”
He took in a breath. He had to do this. Had to tell someone as a release valve, before he spoke about it with Hayley and Finn. And he trusted Eliza completely. “My father died from advanced heart disease in his forties. And Trish was overwrought about it. She was inconsolable through the funeral. I thought she was upset because I was so sad about my dad. I planned to meet her at the lake house the next day, but before she came, I…” His throat clogged, and he gripped his wine glass.
Eliza waited.
“I was drawn to the attic for some reason. You know how I get these feelings when something bad is going to happen.”
“Yes, and they’re usually right.”
“I found a trunk off in a dark corner. I was intrigued because it was locked, and smashed the thing off with a hammer. Inside were…”
His eyes welled. He was right there in that attic again, smelling the dusty odor, seeing light slanting in from the window. All the emotion and betrayal he felt when he discovered the contents swamped him. “I-I found letters.” He swallowed hard. “And pictures and mementos. He’d had an affair.”
“I’m sure you were shocked, but a lot of men have affairs. My own husband did.”
“Yeah, but not with their son’s girlfriend.”
Eliza’s wine glass stopped halfway to her mouth. “What did you say?”
“Albert, my forty-three-year-old father, was having an affair with Trish, my girlfriend, who was eighteen. Some things fell into place, then. How dad hugged her a little too long when she came around. How he complimented her. Then, when he died, she was overwrought. I knew she had daddy issues, but this? I was horrified.”
