* * *
Whenever I mess something up, I think about what you said at camp when I didn’t want to ride the horse. I asked what would happen if I fell, and you said I’d get up and dust myself off. After you and I rode together, I felt like I could do it on my own. Not that I wanted to, but that I could. I think one day when I have kids, I’ll take them horseback riding and teach them the same thing. I know it’s cliché and there’s already a saying about getting back on the horse when you fall off, but it’s so true, isn’t it? It’s a good lesson.
* * *
I gritted my teeth and drank more. Lake had been so lovely, so naïve. Had I sucked it all out of her, just by loving her? After all these letters with no response, after watching me marry her sister, after probably taking a pill to make sure she’d never have my baby, was she still hopeful? Did she let herself love Corbin as completely as she’d loved me?
An ache radiated through my chest. Surely words written on a page could not cause this kind of pain. I must’ve been having a heart attack. I sat forward and put my head in my hands. This was why I couldn’t read the letters in prison. My mind spun out wherever Lake was involved. I knew I should never read another word. If there was any chance Lake had moved on and left me behind, I needed to turn these letters into kindling instead of keeping them to torture myself.
Against my better judgement, I kept reading, consuming all her thoughts and desires and hopes and dreams. But as I did, I realized that I already knew the truth. It was as plain and simple in these letters as it had been the first day I’d talked to Lake. She’d never asked for much. Unlike her sister, Lake didn’t need expensive things or the best home in the neighborhood or a new car to mark every big accomplishment.
Lake would’ve been happy just to have me.
Despite everything, hope still burned in me for us. Lake deserved that much from me.
5
Manning
A couple months after I’d read Lake’s letters, I had visitors. Henry was the most dependable man I knew. By having my back during my sister’s death, when my parents had tried pinning everything on me, he’d saved me, a helpless teenager, from what could’ve been a shit life. And with all the tragedy he’d encountered as a police officer, it would’ve been easy for him to send me on my way afterward. Instead, he continued to check in on me, making sure I finished high school despite my situation.
The furniture business was booming, and I didn’t trust many people to help me out, but I had a particularly important rush order and needed a hand. Having retired, Henry had been able to come up and stay at the house for a few weeks to help me get the workload under control.
This was his last night in Big Bear, so I picked up some barbeque for the occasion. Since it was the same week Young Cubs Sleepaway Camp was in session up the hill, and Gary was still the director, I invited him and his wife Lydia over for dinner.
Even though it was August, the nights in Big Bear could get chilly. I built a fire in the pit in the front yard and welcomed the closest friends I had with a cooler of beer on ice.
“You’re in a good mood,” Gary said, walking up the drive to shake my hand.
I nodded at Henry, who was prepping the grill. “Henry and I have been working around the clock the past couple weeks. Feels good to do nothing but build furniture day in and day out, but I’m also glad this project is done.”
“So business is good?” he asked.
“Too good. Any time this week you need a break from the chaos up there at camp, I can put you to work.”
Lydia hobbled up the gravel in heels, holding her purse strap to one shoulder and balancing a paper grocery bag in the other. Just like Tiffany, the woman was always wearing something akin to stilts. Always had her brown hair styled, her makeup done. No wonder they’d gotten along so well. “Do you have a website?” she asked, frowning when I shook my head. “You need one. Everyone has them these days.”
“For what?” I asked, handing Gary a Bud. “I already have more business than I can keep up with.”
“You still need one.” When she got to the grass, she gave up and set the groceries down to remove her shoes. “I know a girl who can make you one. Get you some more sales, and then you can hire yourself employees.”
Hire more people—that was what Mr. Kaplan had said when I’d spoken to him on the phone last month and told him I was barely keeping up with orders. I didn’t see how it could work, though. I built furniture because it was my passion. I used my hands to bring my visions to life, and when I finished each piece, it was no longer mine. It saw my customers through good times and bad—births, weddings, funerals, or just plain dinner each night. Not that I was exactly happy to have missed out on being a cop like I’d planned, but I could see now that it hadn’t been my path—my passion was being strong and capable enough to help people, to bring goodness to their lives, and Lake had taught me that there were lots of ways to go about that.
“I like things how they are,” I said to Lydia. “Don’t need too much else.”
An outdoor picnic table was one of the things I had yet to finish for my place. Truth was, four years on and I was still building my own house and the things in it. In the beginning, I worked mostly to push through the guilt and shame I harbored over Lake, Tiffany, and the baby. But then one night, I’d started on cupboards and remembered how Lake had designated a place in her New York kitchen just for guest dishes. She wanted people to feel special in her home. So as I’d made myself a cabinet just for nice china, it hit me just how often Lake had been on mind as I’d laid planks, carved wood, and sanded and varnished surfaces over the years. While my body labored, my mind escaped, often into Lake’s warmth. The things she’d wanted, the pieces she’d be proud to have in her home. That was why this house had taken me so fucking long.
I set up fabric folding chairs around the fire while Henry served us burgers and hot dogs. He and Gary caught up for the first time since the wedding. Once the conversation stalled, I nodded at Lydia.
“How’s Tiffany?” I asked. Gary and I had introduced the girls, but she and Tiff had remained close since the divorce.
“She’s fine. Mostly dating and working. How are you?”
“Also fine,” I said. “Working.”
“Dating?”
I took a swig of my beer. “Nah.”
“Because that girl I mentioned is very pretty—”
“Who?” I asked.
“The one who makes websites. She’s lovely and sweet and hates drama.” Lydia curled her toes in the grass, her smile warm. “I love Tiffany, you know I do, but after her, you need someone who’ll go easy on you.”
“I appreciate it, but no,” I said. Lovely and sweet and drama-free all sounded fine, but not better than Lake. “I’m good with the way things are.”
“You keep saying that,” Lydia replied, “but we don’t believe you.”
“We?” Gary asked. “Don’t drag me into this. Although, I will agree, Heather is pretty. And I’m not just saying that to get you to meet her. She’s nice, and she’d be good for you, Manning.”
Henry and I exchanged a look. He was a simple man, who’d lived a simple life. He didn’t know about Lake, but he’d seen that I was doing work I loved, and that was good enough for now. “Sounds like you’re dragging yourself into it, Gary,” I said.
“Heather needs a good, solid man,” Lydia said. “Do it for her.”
“Wish I could,” I said. “But I just can’t.”
Henry cleared his throat. “Anyone need another beer?”
“Me,” Lydia said.
“I’ll take one,” Gary added.
I put my plate on the ground. “I’ll get them.”
I reloaded the cooler and carried it out, setting it down in the middle of the group—which had gone suspiciously quiet.
“What?” I asked, tossing Henry a beer.
He caught it and held up his hands as if to surrender.
I went to hand Gary one as well but took it back as h
e went to grab it. “Why do you all look guilty?”
Gary glanced between the Bud and my face, and said, “We were talking about you and Tiff. God knows we’ve heard her side of the story, but in four years, we’ve never heard yours.”
“That’s intentional. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”
“Tiffany made it our business,” Lydia said. “But we want you to talk to us about it. It’s not healthy that you’re up here all alone, taking your emotions out on helpless pieces of wood.”
“That’s not what I do.”
“She’s right, son,” Henry said.
I sat down, schooled. A couple beers weren’t enough to get me talking about my private life, even if Tiffany felt the need to. These people were my family, though. Henry had been there for me as a teen in a way nobody else had. He didn’t pester me about these things, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. And Gary’d been like a brother to me. “You know the story,” I said. “She got pregnant, we lost the baby, and things just fell apart. We had problems before all that, and we just weren’t strong enough to take on that kind of heartbreak.” That was only part of the truth. After my time in New York, I didn’t want any woman but Lake, and I couldn’t fake it. I went back to Tiffany out of duty, but without the baby, I’d had no reason to stay.
“You make the divorce sound like it was mutual,” Gary said.
“It was, even if she won’t admit it. She wasn’t happy.” Tiffany had wanted the beautiful Newport Beach package—cute kids, shiny marriage, big house. She wanted what her parents had on the outside, even if we’d been worse off than them on the inside. Even if it meant she and I weren’t truly happy. By the end, she’d known my feelings for Lake had run deep, and though she got her barbs in, she still hadn’t been willing to confront me head on about it.
My friends knew me well, and they left it at that. At some point, night fell, but we barely noticed for all our talking and drinking. A few six-packs in, Lydia was giggling, Gary was smoking a blunt, and Henry just got more stoic, watching and listening to us. Or me, mostly. I had a feeling he had things on his mind, but he was a private man and wouldn’t want to talk about them in front of the others.
“Let’s have s’mores,” Lydia said.
I squinted at her over the top of the fire. “I don’t have the ingredients for that.”
“We brought some,” she said. “Except we need something to put the marshmallows on. Do you have any long, sterile pieces of wood, Carpenter Man?”
Living in the woods with a fire pit in my front yard, this wasn’t my first encounter with s’mores. “I think there are some in one of the drawers by the stove,” I said.
While Lydia was inside, Gary leaned toward me, nearly toppling out of his chair. “Tiffany must’ve been a tiger in the sack for you to put up with her for so long.”
I glanced at Henry, but he’d fallen asleep. I’d had Tiffany in every way imaginable except one. I had never made love to her the way I had Lake. Afterward, I’d never had the urge to demand every thought in her head, to feel her heart beat against my chest, to touch every inch of her to know she was real. I’d wanted kids, even if it was with Tiffany, but I’d never felt the deep-seated instinct to get her pregnant the way I’d wanted to with Lake. “You know me well enough that I’m not going to answer that,” I told Gary.
“Damn. I was hoping you were drunk enough.”
“Almost,” I joked. “Not quite.”
Lydia nearly skipped out of the kitchen with metal skewers in one hand, waving the Us Weekly Martina had brought over months ago in the other. “It seems our Manning has a secret indulgence.”
Lydia fisted the magazine, sending a crinkle right through Lake and Corbin. I had a secret all right, but an indulgence? I hadn’t indulged in Lake in years, not the way I wanted to. What I wouldn’t give to run her silky strands through my fingers again, to tug her hair hard enough to make her bite her plump, watermelon-flavored lip.
“Hollywood gossip, man?” Gary asked. “Really?”
“Not that.” Lydia showed him the cover and pointed to Lake.
“Aww.” Gary squinted at her photo. “Look at our girl, all famous and shit. Is that Corbin she’s with? They look happy.”
I looked into my beer bottle and repeated to myself the question that’d been running through my mind since Martina had asked it. What if she’s not?
“Have you seen the show?” Lydia asked.
It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. “No,” I said.
“Why not?”
I’d tried once more since getting rid of my TV. I’d been at a bar in town and the fucking show had been on in the background, ten o’clock at night. Watching her on screen was like taking a screwdriver to my chest. I’d made it half an episode. When she’d gone on a date with some guy with tattoos and a bike—fine, fuck, it wasn’t some guy, his name was Sean and I’d never forget it—I’d paid my tab and high-tailed it out of there. I had no idea if he was still in the picture or if it was just Corbin. “I don’t have a TV,” I said.
Lydia flipped through the magazine. “There’s something about Lake, don’t you think, Manning?”
Gary rolled his eyes. “Lydia.”
She sat down, piling all the s’mores paraphernalia in her lap as she showed us the tribute to Lake’s dating life. “Look at those guys. They’re crazy about her. I hope she’s dating them all.”
The beer bottle slipped a little under my grip. All? Corbin was enough to deal with. I hadn’t considered she might be seeing more than one of them at a time. What right did I have to be jealous? I’d married her sister. I’d fucked women after being intimate with Lake. I thought of kneeling before Lake that first time, dawn breaking outside the window as I’d explored her. Did she remember my confessions about wanting her in the truck? Did she remember how I’d cleaned her between the legs just to fill her with myself? Did she still feel my hands around her waist after we’d fought and I’d thrown her over my shoulder?
“Say something to me you wouldn’t’ve said before.”
“Okay. On the bed so I can fuck you, Lake.”
“Say another,” she pleaded.
“I want to feel your hands on me.”
“That right there.” Lydia pointed at me, turning her head to her husband while keeping her eyes on me. “What did I tell you, Gare?”
My collar got a little tight, and I felt like I was back at camp again, the police calling me away in front of all those kids. “What?” I asked.
“You get this look when Lake’s name comes up. You always have.” Lydia held the magazine to her chest. “A look you never get about anything else in your life. Or anyone.”
I chugged the rest of my beer and tossed the empty bottle with the rest of the garbage. It didn’t surprise me that I got a look. I knew that about myself. Charles had noticed it. Tiffany, too. I was pretty sure Lake’s mom also knew.
“I always had this theory,” Lydia said. “I think you have a teeny tiny thing for Lake.”
Years ago, I would’ve taken my secret to the grave, but tonight, amongst friends, as an older and wiser man, I just shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
“Ah-ha! So it’s true!” When she puffed up, she had to catch the bag of marshmallows before it slid off her lap. “I have a nose for these things.”
Gary looked the definition of perplexed, his eyebrows knitting as he whipped his head between Lydia and me. “How teeny is tiny?” Gary asked.
“I’m not talking about this,” I grumbled.
“Is this . . . for real?” Gary asked, drawing out the question. He was high enough to look fucked up, but I knew that wouldn’t get me out of this. I’d seen him hold his own during a political debate after smoking way more than he had tonight.
“No,” I said. “It’s not that simple . . .” I sat forward as Lydia passed me a stick with a marshmallow. I fumbled, nearly dropping it in the fire. “There’s no crush.”
“Who said anything about a crush?” Ly
dia asked.
I stuck the marshmallow in the fire. “You know what I meant.”
“Dude.” Gary shook his head. “You’re so flustered right now.”
“I’m not flustered.”
“Your marshmallow is in flames,” he pointed out, laughing too loudly.
I blew it out, but the thing was nearly black.
“Was it like that at camp? Did you have a thing for her then?” Gary asked. “You dirty bastard. Flirting with one of the counselors.”
I was sweating. The beer made my thoughts hazy. I ran a hand through my hair and checked to make sure Henry was still asleep. Luckily he was, because he didn’t need to hear this. He was a cop, and a good family man. “It’s not like that,” I said. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . .” Except I was, and I did. I couldn’t deny it, because I couldn’t lie to them. I’d gotten way too close to the line with Lake when I was supposed to be the adult.
“Dude, relax,” Gary said. “She was a sixteen-year-old hot blonde. You think I never flirted with one of the junior counselors?”
I expected Lydia to smack him, but she just rolled her eyes. “You creepy old man.”
“What?” Gary said. “I’m just human. You have any idea what I was up to at sixteen?”
“Spare us,” I said.
“I would’ve put my dick in anyone that let me, but nobody did. Lydia, on the other hand, slept with a college professor.”
I raised my eyebrows at her and teased, “Did he at least give you an ‘A’?”
“She was in high school!” Gary added.
“I told you that in confidence.” Lydia threw a marshmallow at him, then looked at me. “My girlfriends and I had fake IDs and daddy issues. It was bound to happen.”
“You weren’t eighteen?” I asked.
“Seventeen. He was late-twenties.” She stuck her tongue out at Gary. “To this day, it was the best screw of my life.”
Move the Stars Page 29
