“I want to,” she interrupts. “Does it make you uncomfortable when people you know read your books?”
I start to deny it, but stop myself. “A little.”
“I’m the same with the acting I’ve done. I’d far rather think of strangers watching me than friends.”
“Weird, isn’t it?”
She nods. “Just so you know, I’m not in the habit of opening up a vein the way I’ve done with you tonight. I’m sorry if I unloaded too much.”
“You didn’t,” I say. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation.” And since it seems like it might be time to do so, I add, “I should be going.”
“Thanks for coming over, Bowie. And again, for what you did for Evan.”
“And thank you for the amazing dinner. Haven’t eaten that well in a long time. You sure I can’t help you clean up?”
“Positive,” she says.
We snag gazes for a moment, the light from the half-moon providing the only relief from the dark. I can’t think of another word to say because all I can do is look at her. I find her beautiful. I can’t deny that. But there’s something else too that draws me to her. Maybe it’s her honesty and the revelations that make her more human than most people I’ve met. Even with her enviable Hollywood life, she is very real and down to earth.
I guess this has surprised me.
I’m overcome with the desire to put my hand to the side of her face, rub my thumb across her full lower lip. I see in her eyes that she knows I want to touch her. She doesn’t step back, and although this isn’t an invitation, I know it isn’t rejection either.
“Mom?”
Evan’s voice calls out from the kitchen, muted through the French doors. The handle turns and Evan and Carson walk out onto the deck. Carson trots over to give me a sniff, as if he needs to make sure I’m still out here.
“Finished with your call?” Keegan asks.
“Yeah,” Evan says. “This long-distance stuff isn’t going to work. She’s already talking to other guys.”
“If she is,” Keegan says, “that will prove she wasn’t the right one for you.”
“So now I’m not only a hostage but a monk as well?”
“Evan—” she begins.
“Chill, Mom,” he says. “We’re cool.”
“We should be going,” I say, reaching down to rub Carson’s head. “Thank you again for the dinner.”
“‘Bye, Mr. Dare—I mean, Bowie,” Evan says.
“See ya’, Evan. Goodnight, Keegan,” I add, not meeting eyes with her again as Carson and I head for the truck.
I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.
– D. H. Lawrence
Keegan
I CAN’T SLEEP.
It’s not for lack of trying. I toss and turn until almost three before giving up. I turn on the lamp and reach for my laptop, opening the lid with a yawn.
I feel physically fatigued, but my brain is wide-open, refusing to shut down.
Maybe I shouldn’t have talked about Reece with Bowie tonight. Doing so has filled me with renewed longing to find her.
For the past couple of months, I have forced myself to stop the daily rituals of haunting her Facebook page, tapping into her Instagram account, checking to see if she’s been on Twitter.
I started to feel like a stalker, obsessed with any possible detail of her whereabouts. For my own sanity, I stopped because she never posted on any of the accounts anyway, unwilling to provide me with clues that might give away her location.
But tonight, I’m filled with renewed determination to find her. With the pain of this past year, I really have no choice but to accept that she wants to live her life apart from me. I just need to know she’s okay.
I search her name in every social media outlet I can think of. Where I find an account for her, there are no new posts for nearly a year. This worries me as much as anything because Reece lived for social media, never went anywhere without her phone in her hand. The phone I got for her, the one that is still on my account, hasn’t been turned on for just as long.
If it weren’t for the email she sent to Evan through a disposable email address, I would start to believe that she is no longer alive.
I slam the laptop shut and toss it to the other side of the bed.
I flick off the lamp and close my eyes against the darkness.
I truly hate being awake at this time of night, because I have no defenses against my own thoughts, my multitude of regrets.
The questions tap at my brain, relentless. How did I miss it? How could I not see the signs, the changes in her?
Was it that I hadn’t wanted to? Or that I simply had not been around enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together?
I know the answer.
The TV series had reached a high point during Reece’s senior year in high school. If I wasn’t on the set filming a new episode, I was traveling somewhere for interviews, guest appearances.
My income was the highest it had ever been. I couldn’t actually believe what they were willing to pay me per show. I had told myself it wouldn’t be forever. And with the realities of an acting career, I knew I wasn’t being unrealistic to think I might never have the same kind of opportunity again.
And so I made sacrifices in the amount of time I spent with my children for the two years when I gave as much as I could to the role and helping the show to prosper.
I would give anything to do it all over again, knowing what I know now.
Except that isn’t possible. Time is the one thing you can’t get back.
I think about Bowie Dare then. The way he’d listened to me tonight. How easy he’d been to talk to.
Lying here now, I can’t remember the last time I shared so much of my personal life with anyone. Somewhere along the way, I learned that some friends don’t remain friends forever. And that tabloids love to find the people in your life who are willing to hand over personal details for the right amount of money.
So I stopped revealing too much of myself, until tonight with Bowie Dare. And I have no idea what makes him different.
But I sense that he is.
Maybe it’s his eyes. It’s as if he’s seen things other people haven’t seen. Wouldn’t want to see. Whatever it is, he feels trustworthy. And maybe I just needed someone to talk to.
I think about that last look between us. The way his eyes had lingered on mine. The dip my stomach had taken. And I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him. Smith Mountain Lake’s “mysterious Mr. Dare.”
But I need a friend way more than I need a boyfriend. Better to ignore that look altogether.
If I know anything, it is that relationships, at least the ones I’ve had, do not tend to last.
I came here to start fresh, create a new life. A person needs friends to do something like that.
So friends. It’s what Bowie and I will be.
After all, a girl is – well, a girl. It’s nice to be told you’re successful at it.
– Rita Hayworth
Evan
IT’S AFTER TEN when I get up and go downstairs to find a note from Mom saying she’s gone to the grocery store and will be back around lunchtime.
I open the refrigerator, stare at the leftovers from last night, a bowl of tomatoes and some yellow squash, before deciding to try out the marina down the road. Mom had said they have a cafe that’s supposed to be good.
I take a quick shower and then get my bike out of the garage, heading down the driveway and then onto the two-lane road that leads to the marina. It’s only a couple of miles away, and I cover the distance in ten minutes or so.
The sun is high and bright this morning, and I have to admit the scenery along the way is appealing in a way I’m not used to. Black cows graze the green pastures of small farms. A tractor with a mower on the back cuts the grass in a large field.
I take a left at the marina sign and follow a sloping driveway to the dock and cafe that sit on the waterfront.
I park my
bike at the rear entrance, wondering if I should have brought along the chain to lock it up. But then I remember I’m not in L.A. anymore, and this doesn’t look like the kind of place where a bike is likely to get stolen.
The marina is busy. Several vehicles are parked in the lot on the roadside of the building. I can see boats parked along the waterfront, a line of five or six idling in the cove while waiting for a spot to tie up.
I walk along the dock, stopping midway to watch a group of children feeding hundreds of carp fish from popcorn containers. One little boy is feeding them piece by piece, trying to aim the piece of popcorn perfectly at the round mouths sticking up out of the water. Another little girl dumps her entire container into the water, causing a feeding frenzy.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
I turn my head to find a pretty girl staring at me with a wide smile. She has a beautiful English accent, and I wonder what she’s doing so far from home. “Yeah, I say. Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
“Me either, the first time I saw them.”
“Do they stay here all year or just in the summer?”
“We feed them all year, so even after the tourists leave at the end of the summer, they have no reason to go elsewhere to look for food.”
“Cool,” I say. I’m finding it hard to meet her gaze, but force myself to do so. Shyness isn’t typical for me, but something about this girl makes me suddenly doubt my appeal to the opposite sex.
“I’m Analise,” she says, sticking out her hand.
I stick mine out in return, noticing how petite her hand is. I raise my eyes to hers then, feeling a little jolt of something I’ve never felt before. “Evan,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Are you here for the summer?”
“Ah, sort of,” I say, not wanting to admit that we’ve moved here altogether because I’m still hoping it’s temporary.
“Are you here to eat?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Is breakfast over?”
“Not if we ask Myrtle nicely. Come on, I’ll show you where to go.”
I follow her, forcing my stride to laid-back speed. We walk along the dock where Sea-Doos are getting gas and several people are eating on the picnic tables set up near the water.
She opens a screen door that leads to the cafe. All the tables are full, so she waves me to the counter and pats a stool. I sit and she takes the one next to me, calling out, “Myrtle?”
A woman with gray hair and one of the whitest smiles I’ve ever seen sticks her head through a door that I assume leads to the kitchen. “Yes, dear?”
“We have a polite request for the breakfast menu. You okay with that?”
The woman glances at me, raising an eyebrow as if she’s wondering why Analise has taken such a special interest in a customer. “Put that way, of course I am. I just have to stay out of Miss Kat’s way. She’s got her Italian lunch special under way. What is it you’d like, son?”
“Pancakes?” I ask hopefully.
“Coming right up,” she says, ducking back into the kitchen.
“She’s nice,” I say, not quite meeting Analise’s gaze.
“She’s the best,” Analise agrees.
“Do you work here?”
“I do. For the summer.”
“Aren’t you pretty far from home? I mean I noticed your accent—”
“Actually, this is home now. I moved here about a month ago to live with my dad.”
“Oh. That must be a big change for you.”
“I love it here. It’s so different from England.”
“I’m sure.”
“Where are you from? Originally, I mean?”
“L.A.”
“Ah. That’s a different world for sure.”
“One I miss,” I admit.
“Girlfriend there?”
I consider my answer, but opt for the truth. “Yes. Not a very happy one, but yes.”
“She must miss you.”
“I guess.”
“Do you miss her?”
“I—yeah,” I say, even though I’m not altogether sure of the reasons.
“Do you Skype and stuff?”
I nod. “Not quite the same though.”
“Long distance is hard. That’s why I wanted to move here to be with my dad. Talking to him on the computer wasn’t enough.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s still in England. She has a busy life. My dad was sick. He had a brain tumor, and we thought he might not make it.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. I hope he’s okay.”
“He is. He married the woman who owns this marina. He’s actually opening up a practice here on the lake. He’s really excited about it. And I have a brother who’s back in England and a new sister named Kat. She’s the one cooking in the back. I think she’s going to be the next Rachael Ray.”
“Do you two get along?”
“She’s awesome. It’s like I didn’t just get a sister but a best friend.”
“That’s really cool.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“A sister,” I say without elaborating.
“Is she here too?”
“No. She—to be honest, I’m not really sure where she is.”
Analise looks startled by this, but there’s something about her that makes me want to be completely up front. Maybe because she’s so open.
Myrtle appears with a plate of pancakes stacked four high. “There you go, young man,” she says. “I hope you enjoy them.”
“They look amazing,” I say, my stomach reminding me that I’m hungry.
She puts a bottle of syrup next to the plate. “Glass of milk to go with that?”
“That would be great,” I say.
She’s back in a few moments with a tall glass of cold milk. I thank her before she heads for the kitchen.
“Would you like to eat alone?” Analise asks.
“Not if you don’t mind watching me devour these.”
She laughs. “Myrtle’s cooking has that effect on people.”
I eat then while she tells me some things about the lake area, the ski club that she’s become a part of. “You should join us,” she says. “It’s really fun.”
“I’ve never water-skied.”
“We’ll teach you.”
“But everyone in the group is probably like expert level.”
“We have a couple of beginners. You look athletic. I bet you’d catch on quick.”
“I don’t know,” I say, wanting to, but at the same time, not wanting to look like a goober in front of her.
“We’re meeting at six this evening. There’s a cove where we have a course set up, and by that time, the water is smooth as glass. I can pick you up.”
I should probably say no. I feel sure Mandy wouldn’t be happy about me accepting Analise’s invitation, but it’s just a friend thing, so what’s the harm. “If you’re sure I won’t look like a fool,” I say.
“We’ll make sure of it,” she says, smiling a really appealing smile. “Just tell me where to pick you up.”
A photograph can be an instant of life captured for eternity that will never cease looking back at you.
– Brigitte Bardot
Keegan
EVAN HAS MADE himself scarce for most of the afternoon, staying upstairs with his laptop. I put away the groceries I’d gotten at the store and then unpack a few stray boxes left from the moving truck.
One is full of photo albums. I almost decide to leave it for later. These are Evan and Reece. I pull one out, open the cover and feel my heart dissolve a little at the sight of the two of them in the bathtub, suds piled high on their heads, enormous smiles lighting up their faces.
I’ve never been good at looking back. It makes me sad for what was. Even so, I find myself taking the album over to a chair by the window, sitting down, and flipping to the second page.
They were such beautiful little childr
en. I know I’m prejudiced, but it’s true. So full of innocence and joy for life. Was there a specific moment when that changed? It seemed as if it was overnight. That one day they were children, happy and open to whatever fun thing I had planned for them. And the next, resistant and closed off.
Was it something I had done?
I’ve asked myself this question a thousand times.
Aside from working so much, was there something else I could have done to prevent them from shutting me out?
I honestly do not know the answer. I’ve rationalized many times that it is nature’s way of preparing them to pull away, to go out and make lives of their own.
I suppose this is true on some levels. But with Reece, at least, it has been so much more.
I lift my gaze to the wide water view outside the window and think of the last day I saw my daughter. Of the anger in her expression and the way it transformed her into someone I truly did not know.
I had gotten home late that night. Filming had gone on until nine or so, and by the time I walked into the house, it was after ten. Reece had been waiting for me in the living room. Evan was out, a fact I would later be thankful for. I knew as soon as I looked at her that she was high on something. Her eyes were glassy, and her mouth had a slackness to it that I had never seen before.
Up until then, Reece had never let me see her under the influence of anything. We’d had confrontations about a couple of things I’d found in her room: a liquor bottle, cigarettes, what looked like the end of a joint.
She’d had explanations for all of it. It belonged to someone else. She had just wanted to try the cigarettes.
And maybe because it was what I wanted to hear, I believed her.
But that night, she’d made no pretense of hiding the fact that she was either drunk or high. And so I’d asked her outright, my voice noticeably uneven.
“What did you take, Reece?”
“Something to pass the time,” she’d said, looking at me through accusing eyes. “Evan’s gone. And you’re never here.”
“I was working late. You could have visited the set.”
Dragonfly Summer (A Smith Mountain Lake Novel Book 2) Page 7