by Toni Blake
“Well, if it isn’t Lila Sloan,” Meg’s older friend said with her usual welcoming grin once she’d shed her coat and boots. She wore a kitschy, artsy scarf sporting purple and pink snowmen. “Nice to see you, my dear.”
“You, too,” Lila said, pleased when Dahlia sat down in an easy chair next to hers. As Dahlia drew her ongoing blanket project from a basket, Lila glanced back toward the door. “No Suzanne tonight?”
Dahlia shook her head, wrinkled up her nose just a bit. “Afraid she’s not feeling very merry—wanted to stay home.”
Oh crap. Like Lila didn’t have enough to feel conflicted about. “Any idea why?”
Dahlia tilted her head, hesitating only briefly before she said, “I guess it’s okay to say this since she confided in you about it the last time we were here. I think it’s about her interest in Beck.”
Lila’s chest hollowed as heat rose to her face. “Oh.” She dropped her gaze, unsure what to say, unsure what Dahlia knew.
Until Dahlia let her off the hook with “It’s okay, Lila. I’ve seen the two of you in town.”
Why did she feel as if she’d stolen Suzanne’s man? Despite having done nothing wrong, she still suffered the need to defend herself. “I never planned—I mean, I never wanted—I mean, I tried to get rid of him, I really did.”
Dahlia had abandoned her knitting in her lap to lift gently hushing hands. “Now, now—no worries. Nothing here is your fault. Suzanne just has bad timing, that’s all. This isn’t your problem.”
“It isn’t?” Lila asked, at once relieved but still steeped in guilt. “Because... I feel bad. I feel bad about...” She stopped, shook her head. “A lot of things.”
“What other things?” Dahlia asked, brow knit as she leaned slightly forward, perhaps hearing the gravity of the last words.
And before Lila knew it, she’d told Dahlia everything. Of course, she’d already shared her guilt over Meg when they were young, and worrying about the trees being torn down on her watch, but now she added all her conflicted feelings about Beck—and how she’d originally been under the impression Suzanne had no interest in him. And how she felt like a criminal for liking him even while hating what he was doing to the inn and Meg. Then, without quite planning it, she even heard herself telling Dahlia about Simon, and Whitney, and how now Whitney had been courageous enough to do what Lila hadn’t—and how awful she felt about what her ex-best friend was going through, even if Whitney had completely turned her back on Lila.
Dahlia listened patiently and said all the right, perfect things. She absolved Lila of all wrongdoing. About Beck. And about Simon. And about running away to Summer Island rather than staying in Chicago and speaking out. “You’re not to blame—for anything you seem to feel bad about. Sometimes bad things happen, Lila—that doesn’t mean they’re you’re fault, or that you’re able to fix them.”
She took that in, thought it over. “Even though I didn’t let people know the truth about Simon?” That one had been weighing on her even more heavily since learning about Whitney’s actions. “I mean, isn’t this one of those things where if you don’t do the right thing, you’ve done the wrong thing? Like if you don’t report a crime or stop a wrongdoing you’re just allowing it to happen again to someone else?”
Dahlia blew out a thick sigh at Lila’s heavy way of putting it. “It’s a big question—and one not everybody would answer the same way. But this is one situation, dear, where I feel each woman is entitled to decide what’s right for her.”
Beck had said as much, too, but maybe hearing it from another woman—or having Beck’s opinion seconded—justified her lack of action a little more.
“And in all honesty,” Dahlia added, shaking her head, “why any woman would want to heap that kind of firestorm upon herself, I don’t know.”
“That’s the thing,” Lila said, having thought this through a lot lately, and certainly even more since yesterday. “No one wants to. No one wants something like this to happen to them. And no one wants to talk about it if it does. And certainly no one wants to talk about it in front of the whole world. And yet, some women find it within themselves to do it anyway—for the greater good.”
“It does take courage,” Dahlia agreed. “And I admire those that do. But I don’t blame those who don’t. Your choice is entirely valid. Every choice is valid. We’re all unique animals on this planet—there are no cookie-cutter answers for anything.”
Just then, an older lady approached and introduced herself to Lila. “Hi—I’m Audrey Fisher. My husband and I run the Rosemont Inn. I hear you’re Meg’s sister. We all love Meg. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
In one way, Lila wished she could continue the conversation with Dahlia, but when Audrey pulled up a chair, drew out her knitting, and started talking about her grandchildren, and her holiday plans, and saying she hoped to hire Seth to do some work on their inn come spring after seeing the renovations he did to Meg’s kitchen... Lila rolled with it. Maybe enough had been said. Enough that she felt better than when she’d arrived anyway.
And at the end of the evening, as they all stowed their knitting projects and started putting their snow boots back on, she found a moment to grab Dahlia’s hand and whisper, “Thank you. For listening.”
“My pleasure. I hope it helped.”
The truth was, every time she talked to someone about her troubles, it did help. Each person saw the world through their own unique lens, and the more people Lila confided in, the more she began to see through their lens, and realized that maybe her lens was a little clouded from things that had happened long ago.
She didn’t return to the Summerbrook Inn free of her worries, but she felt a little lighter inside than when she’d arrived at the Knitting Nook. She still didn’t know what her future held beyond spending the holidays with her family downstate, but maybe she was finally ready to stop running from her problems.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE SKIPPER’S WHEEL occupied a Harbor Street storefront far deeper than wide, served all-day breakfast only, and sported a seafaring theme. Or, given the location, Lila surmised as she stepped inside, maybe it was actually more of a lake-faring theme. Either way, fishing nets, captain’s wheels, and old-time black-and-white photos of fishing boats and fishermen graced the walls. Though right now some sparkly lights and garland were mixed in, round red mini-ornaments hung from the fishing net, and an advent calendar featuring a felt snowman wearing a boat captain’s hat and smoking a pipe indicated that it was exactly a week until Christmas.
Moving back through the narrow space between the counter and a row of tables for two, she spotted Beck smiling at her from the only slightly more roomy area at the rear of the restaurant, lifting his hand in a wave. Though flagging her down wasn’t necessary since just one other table was occupied—by an older couple—and the whole establishment was the size of a postage stamp. And while she knew the place stayed busy during tourist season, she didn’t mind that it was quiet tonight. Despite herself, she was happy to see Beck, who had somehow started feeling as much like a friend as a lover.
“Hi there,” he greeted her.
Unzipping Meg’s parka, Lila slid into the old diner-style chair across from him. “Hey,” she said with a soft smile.
He tilted his head. “You seem...different.”
“Do I?” But she supposed she couldn’t argue the point. Compared to most of the time she’d spent with him, she felt a lot...calmer inside. A change was truly coming over her. “I’m glad to see you,” she added gently. Honestly. Tired of pushing so hard against things—fighting her feelings, fighting conditions she had no control over.
His dark eyes fairly glittered as he took that in. He lowered his chin, perhaps trying to decipher what was taking place here, before remarking, “I think that’s the nicest greeting I’ve ever gotten from you.”
She simply shrugged. “I guess I’m suddenly feeling n
icer.”
He eyed her skeptically, playfully. “Is this a trick? Should I expect it when I least expect it?”
A soft trill of laughter left her. “No—it’s just me starting to...let go of some things, I guess.”
Just then, a blonde waitress named Jolene approached, order pad in hand. Lila ordered a Belgian waffle and Beck went with bacon, eggs, and biscuits. When they were alone again, she said, “So there’s a new development in the Simon Alexis story.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Neither did I.” Then she filled him in on the recent news that Whitney had sometime in the past few weeks become his next victim, and that she’d been brave enough to apparently tell his wife—and the Chicago Sun-Times.
“That’s...wow. That’s huge,” he said, eyes going wide.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, to tell you the truth. I mean, part of me feels vindicated, and part of me feels terrible since I know what it feels like to go through it, and part of me is still hurt that she turned her back on me. Part of me wonders if I should reach out to her, but part of me thinks she should be the one reaching out to me. Part of me admires her for calling him out, trying to stop him, and part of me feels ashamed I didn’t do it.
“I mean, she’s back in Chicago, bearing the brunt of this—being attacked online and who knows in what other areas of her life. Just like me, she lost her job—and I’m envisioning her trying to find one when her name is plastered all over the city in a way no one wants to have as their calling card. I’m sure these are dark days for her—same as they have been for me, but...even worse, you know?
“And I know blowing the whistle on a powerful man isn’t something everyone is cut out for, and that no one would blame me for not doing it, but...well, I just keep thinking...maybe if I’d been the brave one, this wouldn’t have happened to Whitney.”
Across from her, Beck gave his head a slow tilt—pausing even longer when Jolene arrived with drinks. After she departed, he said, “Lila, honey, you have to forgive yourself for that. Nobody is at fault here but Simon—and well, maybe Whitney, too, for not being a better friend and believing you in the first place. I wish for both your sakes that she had.”
“Oh, that’s true,” Lila mused. She hadn’t thought of it from that perspective. She hated that Whitney had gone through something ugly with him—and if only she’d trusted Lila, maybe she could have avoided it. Or then again, with a man like Simon, maybe not.
“From where I sit, you haven’t done a damn thing wrong,” Beck went on. “Not with Simon, not with Whitney, not even with Meg when you were young. You beat yourself up too much, hold yourself to some impossible standard. You need to let all that go.”
“That’s pretty much what Dahlia told me at the knitting bee last night, too,” she informed him.
“Well, Dahlia strikes me as a wise woman, so you should listen to her.”
“I know you’re both right—I really do. And I guess guilt can become...a habit. But I’m going to try, really try, to put it all behind me. I’m getting closer to that. Part of which is thanks to you.”
The food came—and both agreed a hearty breakfast for supper was sometimes the perfect thing on a wintry night.
As Beck shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, he regarded the woman across from him. So different than she’d seemed upon their first meeting, and it was hard to believe they’d gotten from there to here...wherever here was. A nebulous sort of place. A place she had called pointless—since she was leaving.
But he didn’t see it that way—couldn’t see it that way. He didn’t sit around confiding in people about his past troubles, or much of anything else. He was a guy, and he mostly just dealt with his shit on his own, as best he could. Yet something had made him open up to her. And she’d opened up to him, too. And he didn’t know what this was between them, but even if it only amounted to a couple weeks of attraction and lust and sex and communication, it wasn’t pointless.
And maybe knowing that was what made him say, “Remember that story I told you about the coat my dad gave away?”
She nodded. And he went on to tell her about the box of sermons and letters from his dad. And how at first reading them had only left him feeling judged and persecuted all over again. “But the more of them I read, the more I actually...miss him. The more I realize that maybe I should have overlooked more, just sucked it up, put up with it, and been there more for my family rather than pulling away.”
Across the table, Lila poured maple syrup onto her waffle, the scent turning the air around them sweet. “Isn’t that exactly doing what you’re telling me not to do?” she countered. “Beating yourself up? If the way he treated you was enough to make you back away, it must have hurt you a lot. You shouldn’t have to put up with that in order to be a part of your family’s life.” Then her voice went softer. “But I’m really sorry if you miss him and have regrets about that. Regrets...are hard.”
Simple but true words. He only nodded, feeling more connected with her than he wanted to.
Then she tilted her head, raising her gaze from her waffle to his eyes. “Only...what does any of that have to do with him giving the coat away?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He’d gotten a little sidetracked—but now he told her the incredible outcome of his dad having gifted that coat to a stranger.
When he was through, her pretty hazel eyes shone wide. “Oh my God, Beck, that’s...amazing.”
“I almost didn’t keep reading the papers in the box,” he told her, “and if I hadn’t, I’d never have known. I’ve spent the years since then assuming, frankly, that the coat had kept someone warm—but nothing more. I mean, you don’t expect a coat to do more, you know? What are the chances the one guy he’d pick to give that coat to would let that one solitary gesture inspire him to get back up on his feet? And that he’d succeed? And that he’d also be the kind of guy to keep paying it forward?” He shook his head a bit, the news still feeling fresh to him and just as astonishing as when he’d read it.
She looked thoughtful as she chewed a bite of waffle, then mused, “They say God works in mysterious ways.”
Beck couldn’t help smiling. “My dad always said that.”
She smiled back. “Sounds like he knew what he was talking about. Well, at least in some respects.”
He knew she’d added that last part not wanting to imply his dad had been right about him. Which was sweet of her. Especially under certain circumstances. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as sure about it himself anymore.
“Do you feel better now,” she asked, “about the coat? Knowing it went on to serve such a big purpose?”
He nodded. “How could I not?” Then spilled a confession that had been weighing on him, the realization growing in him, the last few days.
“The thing is, though... I like to think I’m a good guy, but maybe I’m actually...not. That coat, my family, your trees—maybe I’m an ass who doesn’t care about anything but my own damn agenda.”
Lila nearly choked on her food. He was saying he might be wrong? About the trees? She should care about more—care about the big picture of everything he was sharing with her—but it was hard not to latch onto the part that affected her personally. Because it could be a chance to agree, a chance to tell him he could change all that by surrendering the trees. She could work his newfound guilt to her advantage and save the woods behind the inn and have a happy ending to this story, after all.
Only...it wasn’t the right thing to do.
The right thing to do was to be honest. The hard, better thing to do was to be honest.
And the honest truth was... “No.”
“Huh?”
“No,” she repeated. “I’ve seen how caring you are from the moment we met. You looked out for me when I was an idiot out in the snow in my pajamas. You’ve been kind and caring to Cade. You’re a caring g
uy. You didn’t even take the bulldozer key when you could have, despite it potentially curbing a lot of problems for you. In fact, you have a lot of nerve telling me I have to let go of my hang-ups when you’re just as bad and need to do the same.”
She couldn’t read his expression—she only knew she found it surprisingly troubling to think of him feeling...the way she so often did. No one should be mired in guilt for doing their best to get through life, for doing what they thought was just.
“The difference is,” he told her, “my hang-ups—as you so unpleasantly put it—are new, not just a pattern I got into. I think you judge yourself too harshly because you’ve gotten used to doing it, and comparing yourself to people who you think are nicer or braver or better than you in some way. When they’re actually not. Whereas, me—I’ve never done that. I’ve always felt justified. I’ve always believed I was doing the right thing. Until right now. So I think my hang-up holds more water than yours.”
Lila lowered her chin and cast him a chiding glance. “Look, Indiana Jones, don’t be trying to trump my hang-up with yours. I have a long history of this—yours is mere child’s play. Because, like I said, I’ve seen how kind you are. You’ve been kind to me when I was a total jerk to you.”
At this, he shrugged. “Okay—true.”
“Much as I may hate to admit it,” she said a little more gently, “you’re one of the good ones.”
“Even though I’m going to tear down your trees?”
“Even though.”
* * *
BECK WALKED LILA HOME, holding her hand. The street lay still, silent, bathed in wintry white. With the lights lining the storefronts and a gentle snow beginning to fall, he thought it almost a shame more island residents didn’t come out on such nights to enjoy it—but he also didn’t mind feeling as if it was theirs alone. They didn’t talk—they’d already reached that point where the silence was comfortable—and he liked that, too.