Carson gets up from his snoozing spot and walks over beside us, looking up at Keegan and whining softly. It’s as if he senses her suffering and wants to console her. She reaches out and puts a tentative hand on his head. He sits perfectly still, his tail making a soft swish-swish sound on the rock terrace.
“He’s really special, isn’t he?” Keegan says softly.
“I think he is,” I say. “Of all the living beings I’ve met, dogs have the most incredible ability to just be what you need them to be.”
She rubs his head again, and he gently licks the top of her hand.
I smell something burning, remember the vegetables and step back to open the grill. “Looks like they’re done,” I say, “with the exception of the edges.”
“They smell great,” she says. “I’ll go check on the rice.”
I watch her walk to the house, step onto the porch, and disappear inside. I glance at Carson, and I swear he’s got this look in his eyes. A look that makes it clear he knows I’m in trouble.
You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories.
– Stanislaw Jerzy Lec
Keegan
I MIGHT AS well write RUN on my forehead. It wouldn’t be any less effective a method of scaring off Bowie Dare.
I turn down the rice and then head for the bathroom, where I rinse my face with cool water until I look at least a little more in control. I stare at myself in the mirror and wonder why I just told him all that. I’ve never told anyone else before.
Not even my children.
Evan just thinks I’m weird where dogs are concerned, and I’m not even sure why I’ve never shared the memory with him, except that it seemed like too awful a picture for me to paint of my childhood.
They know that I grew up in the foster-care system, but I’ve never shared any of the details with them, so I’m not sure they could imagine that things like that had happened to me.
I’ve never wanted them to feel sorry for me, never wanted anyone to for that matter. So why tell Bowie Dare? I have no answer except for the fact that I have a feeling he’s seen far more horrible things than I could put in front of him.
As for seeing pity in his eyes? There had been none. Anger, yes. And if I’m not wrong, something like admiration. Which I can’t begin to explain.
I towel my face dry, wish for some makeup and then roll my eyes at my own vanity. With everything I’ve just shown him, I hardly think makeup is going to cover up the imperfections.
There is no respect for others without humility in one’s self.
– Henri Frederic Amiel
Evan
I IN NO WAY intended to put myself behind a ski boat when I agreed to go with Analise to her club meeting.
And yet here I am, holding onto the ski-rope and getting ready to do another face plant. The driver of the Ski Nautique is a surprisingly nice guy named Mark who has managed to keep from running the boat into a dock, even though he can’t seem to keep his eyes off Analise.
Not that it’s hard to understand.
She’s sitting on the back of the boat, giving me advice on what to do differently every time I fall. I’m mostly taking it in, except for the moments when I fail to keep my gaze on her face instead of the bikini she’s wearing.
And that is way easier said than done.
“Lean back a little more, Evan,” she calls out over the low roar of the boat’s engine. “You’ve almost got it. Really!”
I’m not anywhere near sure that I believe her, but I’m convinced that she knows what she’s talking about, so I wait for the rope to lose its slack and give the signal that I’m ready.
The boat lunges forward, and I tilt back a little more this time against the yank of the rope. I teeter for a moment, but then regain my balance, and I’m up, skiing in the center between the wakes, on two skis, admittedly, but skiing!
“You’ve got it!” Analise calls out. “Woo-hoo!”
Mark throws a fist in the air, keeping his gaze straight ahead. Despite the fact that he obviously has a thing for Analise, he clearly takes his driving seriously.
I follow the boat to the end of the cove, swinging out to the right as it makes a turn to circle back. I cross the wake holding my breath, but manage to navigate the rise and fall without crashing.
I make two whole rotations of the course before Mark heads back to the dock, indicating with a wave when I should let go of the rope and glide to a stop just short of the group of people clapping for my success.
It’s a little embarrassing since I’ve already seen some of them ski, on one, like pros, but then I guess they all started out on two.
The boat is back in a minute. Just as I look over my shoulder, Analise jumps into the water, landing next to me with a big smile on her face.
“That was awesome,” she says.
“You’re being kind. And generous,” I say, smiling despite my desire to look cool about it.
“I’ve seen people take days to get up on two skis. You’re a good athlete.”
“Thanks. For the instruction and everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
The boat lines up twenty yards or so away, and another skier prepares to take off.
We watch, floating in our life jackets. The boat hits it, and the skier, a girl in a skimpy orange bikini hits the water with expert skill, dipping to the right and zooming out the side, cutting hard, and then zipping back across the wake.
“Wow,” I say.
“She skis competitively,” Analise says. “Great, huh?”
“Yeah. She must have started really young.”
“She did. And she loves it.”
“That’s obvious.”
“I’m not a native here myself. But it’s been pretty easy to make friends. There’s something to that saying that people are friendly in the south.”
“And you think it’s more exciting here than England?”
She tips her head, her blue eyes on mine. “In some ways, yes. I’m different here.”
“How so?”
“I went to a private school there. I guess there was a lot of emphasis on who has what.”
“Try L.A.”
She laughs. “I can imagine. But you miss it?”
“Why do you say that?”
“You just remind me of me when I first decided to stay here with my dad.”
“How’s that?”
“You don’t think it will ever compare.”
“I don’t see how it could.”
“I didn’t either. But I don’t think we get it until we experience it, you know? People are just more easygoing here. I mean, don’t get me wrong. There’s plenty of teenage drama you can get involved in, if you want to. I just kind of decided I don’t want to be involved in it.”
“You sound older than you are.”
She shrugs, as if she agrees this is true. “I’ve grown up a lot in the past year or so.”
I can tell this isn’t a casual statement. “You mean because of your dad?”
“Yeah,” she says, floating on her back and staring up at the sky. She skims her hands across the water. She bumps my shoulder with her fingertips, and I feel a stab of electricity surge through me.
“Is he just like he was before—” I break off there, feeling as if I’m getting too personal. “Sorry.”
“No,” she says. “He had some memory loss. Some of them came back. Some didn’t. But other than that, he’s pretty great. And I’m going to have a new baby brother.”
“Wow.”
“I know. I’ll be so much older than he is. But maybe that’s good in some ways. I can take him places and teach him stuff.”
“That’s really cool.” I think about Mandy, realizing how very different she is from Analise. And I can’t help questioning the differences. Mandy is a lot more worldly than Analise. I thought I liked that about her. Do I?
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” I ask, diverting my own thoughts.
“How do you know I don’t?”
The question catches me up, and I stutter a regretful, “I mean, I assumed he would be around if you did.”
“You’re right about that. So no, I don’t. At the moment.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m picky.”
“And honest,” I say, laughing a little.
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You should, actually. I’m sure you could take your pick. Mark sure seems to like you.”
“He’s sweet,” she says. “But he’s not my type.”
“What’s your type?”
“I figure I’ll know him when I see him.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone like you,” I say.
“Good,” she says, smiling. “I like being an original.”
She splashes water at me, hitting me in the face.
“Hey,” I say.
She takes off swimming away from me, laughing as she goes. I swim after her, grabbing her ankle and pulling her back to me.
She tries to dunk me, and I let her, going under the surface with a gurgle. When I come back up, she’s laughing. And we both go still for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. I feel the shift inside me, the realization that I haven’t felt this kind of attraction before.
And I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I see it in her eyes as well.
Blame is just a shame game.
– Author Unknown
Keegan
“THE FOOD IS wonderful,” I say, accepting a second portion of grilled veggies on my plate.
“Good,” Bowie says. “Nice job on the rice too.”
“It’s hard to mess up rice,” I say.
“Not true. You can burn it. Undercook it. Overcook it, but not burn it.”
I laugh. “Okay. So I’m great with rice. How’d you get so good with the grill?”
“Practice. I like being outside. So cooking outside is always my first choice.”
“Except in the winter?”
“Even then if it’s not too cold.”
“You’re here year round?”
“Unless I have a trip planned, yep.”
“I hear the winters can get rough.”
“They seem to either end up being mild or pretty harsh. I haven’t seen a lot of in between. Did you grow up in California?”
“No. Actually, I grew up in D.C.”
“So you do know cold winters.”
I nod. “One thing I will miss about L.A. is the climate.”
“What else?”
“Will I miss?”
He nods.
“Not the traffic, that’s for sure.”
“What about your work? With the kind of success you’ve had, won’t you miss that?”
“Maybe eventually. Right now, I just kind of feel the need to regroup. I’m really not sure what I’m going to feel in a year or two.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure, although I can’t imagine that you want to hear any more personal details about me tonight.”
“Are you punishing yourself?”
The question takes me by surprise. It implies an insight that it’s not easy to dodge. Even so, I try. “What do you mean?”
“I just wonder if you left that show because you think you somehow caused your daughter’s rebellion.”
“I—” I get no further than that because I don’t think I could convince him any more than I’ve convinced myself. “I wish I’d eased up on the ambition at some point. Had more time with her and with Evan.”
He looks at me for several long moments. I can feel him assessing my answer the way he might have assessed a suspect in a case. “Do they know about your childhood?”
Again, the question surprises me, and I have to wonder why he would assume I hadn’t told them. “Not too much of it,” I admit. “Why do you ask?”
“Because it seems like your daughter would understand your work ethic a little better if she knew how different your life was from hers.”
“On this side of it, I can see that. I don’t know, when they were growing up, I just never wanted them to have to think about me in that way. I wanted them to feel the kind of security I never felt.” I hesitate, and then add, “I didn’t want to bring the ugliness of my childhood into their lives.”
“What happened to your parents?” he asks, his voice soft, caring.
“They were drug addicts. They both died of overdoses, at different times, but same ending.”
“I’m sorry, Keegan. That sucks.”
“It does,” I say. “I was young. Four when she died. Six when my dad died. I don’t have too many memories of them. And honestly, the ones I do have I’d just as soon not.”
We’re quiet for a bit, and I have the feeling that he’s digesting what I’ve said, trying to find the right thing to say.
“Please don’t feel sorry for me,” I finally get out. “I hate the thought of being pitied.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he says then. “I’m actually admiring you. I can’t imagine how hard you must have worked to get where you’ve gotten in life. It’s not easy to make it in this world even with extreme advantages. Give yourself credit for that. You’re obviously a really strong person.”
I shake my head and laugh a little. “Sometimes, we don’t have a choice, do we?”
“But not everyone holds up to the test. You did. You have.”
“Well, now I know where to come when I’m down on myself,” I say, trying to put a teasing note in my voice, but not exactly succeeding.
“Yeah, you do,” he says. “You’re really good at what you do. That doesn’t happen without a lot of hard work.”
“And how would you know?” I ask, tipping my head and smiling.
He smiles back. “Netflix. I’m now an Aimless groupie.”
I laugh and spear another zucchini with my fork. “Who’s your favorite character?”
“Aside from yours?”
I nod.
“Amos.”
“He’s crazy, isn’t he?”
“But good crazy,” Bowie says. “In a Robin Hood kind of way. I can see why you’re—I mean your character—is in love with him.”
I laugh again, and we talk for a good long while about the show, on set and off. He’s interested in things I don’t often share with others. And it’s then that I realize I haven’t had someone to talk to like this in a really long time. It’s nice. And comfortable. And as the darkness overtakes the evening, I think the best thing I’ve done in a good while was stopping to ask Bowie Dare for directions.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs.
– Emily Dickinson
Bowie
I KNOW I’M getting in over my head.
I’m a rational guy. It’s just how my brain works. It made me good at my job and might be the reason why I’m able to write characters who people seem to identify with. I kind of know when something is going to work and when it’s not.
For now, right here in this moment, or even in this upcoming summer of moments, Keegan and I might work.
There’s attraction here. Both physical and otherwise. I’m drawn to her in ways I’ve haven’t been drawn to anyone since my marriage ended. And I think she’s attracted to me as well. I’ve seen flashes of it in her eyes several times tonight.
But rational tells me that she’s here to get to some place she needs to be. That staying here past that time is not likely.
We’re drying dishes in the kitchen, quiet as we do. And I’m glad she can’t hear what I’m thinking.
Once everything is put away, I expect her to say she needs to go, and I’ll drive her home. But instead, she says, “I’d love to see a little of the lake by boat. Would you mind taking me out for a short ride?”
“Ah, sure,” I say. “The full moon is always nice to see it by.”
We walk to the dock, a couple of feet between us, Carson in front of us, tail wagging at this unexpected night outing
.
“He loves the boat,” I say. “It’s his favorite thing to do.”
“He’s a great friend to you, isn’t he?” Keegan says, and there’s sincerity in her voice, maybe a little envy as well.
“We kind of get each other.” I push the lift button, and the boat starts to lower in its hanger.
“How so?” she asks.
“His main goal in life is to enjoy every minute of every day. I kind of swore to myself when I left the FBI that was what I would do. Enjoy every minute of every day.”
The boat touches the water, and I cut the power to the lift. Carson jumps in, and I hold out a hand to help Keegan step in. I back the boat out of the slip and ease across the glass-smooth water, heading out of the cove to the wider part of the lake. The moon is huge, throwing light across the surface and accentuating the beauty of this place I love.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Keegan asks, as if she’s been considering the life goal I share with my dog.
“Of course,” I say.
“Did something happen to make you leave?”
I steer the boat a little closer to the shore, gliding past house after house, some lit up, others not. I consider giving her the standard answer I give when I’m asked why I left, but she’s been honest with me tonight about things I know were hard to admit.
Maybe it’s this that leads me to say, “There was this little girl who was taken from her home in the middle of the night in northern Virginia. She was asleep in her bed when a man came in through a window and abducted her. She was six. I was involved in the case from the beginning. Those first twenty-four hours, we were sure we would find her because we had reason to believe the abductor was a man who had worked for a contractor hired to refinish floors in the house the week before.”
I stop for a moment, stare out across the lake, as the memory engulfs me, bringing with it all the old feelings of horror.
“You don’t have to finish,” Keegan says softly, and I can tell she’s sorry she asked.
Dragonfly Summer (A Smith Mountain Lake Novel Book 2) Page 9