Cabin by the Lake

by Desiree Douglas

  Mike laughed along with her while she waved her hand in front of her face at the offensive smell. I was right, he thought as he watched her. Her eyes are green; the kind you could drown in.

  Chapter 3

  Chicken sizzled in the skillet and biscuits browned in the oven. Vivian was amazed she even remembered how to put a meal together. Like riding a bike, she thought, maybe your hands don’t forget the mundane things you did repeatedly for so many years. It felt surprisingly good to be cooking; she hadn’t fixed a real dinner since Todd died. Two years—it didn’t seem that long. On the other hand, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  After caring for Todd through treatments that seemed to make things worse instead of better, the horrible, messy, nightmarish months finally ended, and she had been exhausted, drained of emotion.

  In the last two years she had tried to get back on her feet, to pick up with friends she used to visit and activities that occupied her time. But she didn’t feel comfortable going places without him. At first, when couples invited her to go out to dinner with them, she’d ended up feeling like a third wheel, even though they did their best to make her feel comfortable.

  When she was with friends, she was reminded constantly that the seat next to hers was empty. She felt more alone around other people than when she was by herself. In church, her favorite old hymns made her cry, which was embarrassing, and left her feeling emotional and vulnerable instead of uplifted. So she finally quit trying to go anywhere.

  Their old friends from high school, Pete and Ally, had invited her over for dinner often, but without Todd there, the conversation didn’t flow between the three of them as it had before. Pete would try to carry on with his usual banter, but Vivian could see how awkward he felt, and he would finally drift off to watch a ballgame on TV.

  Afterwards, she would drive home by herself and go into the quiet house alone. Even though she left all the lights and the television on, she didn’t like that creepy feeling of coming into an empty house at night. It was better for her to not go at all. She began to turn down their invitations, and they eventually quit asking.

  She fell into a quiet routine, making half-hearted attempts to clean out some of Todd’s things, but it felt somehow disrespectful to just erase the evidence of someone’s life. She knew she could not keep all his things around the house, which were daily reminders that he was gone, and it was depressing. But she had not been very successful in her attempts to clear away the remains of his possessions. She cried daily, usually at night when she missed him the most, and talked to him out loud. She didn’t know if that was healthy or not, but it felt right to her.

  After about a year she stopped crying every day, and made plans with herself to get involved in life again. But one day led into the next, and that didn’t happen. Her world narrowed as each month passed, and she felt old and used up, as if her purpose for living was over. She hoped this spring she would feel a renewal of life. She was trying, one day at a time.

  She remembered her lowest point, two years ago, when she got out the gun and contemplated ending her life. That was so foolish, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She was a firm believer that God had a plan for her, although she hadn’t seen any relief from her loneliness and grief yet.

  But now that she’d passed through what she thought of as two years of purgatory, she was amazed at how happy she was to be throwing together a meal. The low-grade depression she had been living with seemed to be lifting, and the relief was immense.

  She poured the pot of boiling potatoes through a colander, automatically added butter and cream and began to mash out the lumps. She shook her head and smiled at the situation in which she found herself. Her head was spinning a bit; she’d gone from zero to sixty, as Todd used to say. Before today, it seemed she had nothing meaningful to do. Now she was making dinner for two strangers who sat on her back porch watching the tail-end of a rain storm. She felt alive for the first time since he died.

  And, sadly, Lydia was virtually a stranger. She was no longer the child she loved so long ago, and certainly not the basket case from their last experience together, but Vivian thought she might like this new version of her niece very much. Maybe more than she had when she was the sweet child whom she thought was lost to her forever. She was suddenly glad to have the company.

  She wondered at her snap judgment call on this Mike Rodgers fellow. Lydia was probably right. Maybe she had finally gone off the deep end, but she was pretty sure she knew more than he wanted anyone to know, and she felt confident about her decision to welcome him into her home. Oh well, what’s done is done. Time would tell. And she had plenty of time, if nothing else.

  From the back porch, Lydia could hear her aunt banging around in the kitchen. She had been unable to hide her astonishment when Vivian announced she was going to fry some chicken and would call them when it was ready. A suspicious stranger drops in and she just rolls out the welcome mat like it was an everyday occurrence?

  “Aunt Vi,” she had said sweetly, as if she were talking to a child, “Mr. Rodgers just asked for directions to town. I’m sure he’s anxious to be on his way.”

  Mike just stood there, both thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets with an aw-shucks look on his face. “Fried chicken, you say?”

  “I’m a little rusty,” Vivian said, “but I think I can pull it off.”

  Lydia shot her aunt an unconcealed look of dismay. Of course, she herself had only just arrived, so who was she to have any say-so about who her aunt entertained.

  Mike grinned at Vivian, obviously enjoying Lydia’s consternation. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good that sounds, ma’am. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in, well, I can’t remember when.”

  “Coming right up.” Vivian had disappeared inside with a slam of the screen door. Mike took her place in the rocking chair, hooking one arm over the back as he raised an eyebrow in an innocently questioning look at Lydia.

  She stared at him in open-mouthed horror, then saw in her mind what an amusing picture she must be presenting of herself. She pressed her lips together and turned more sharply than she meant to, crossed her arms and stared out over the lake which had slowly come back into view as the storm passed. She felt his eyes on her for a few moments before he also turned, slid down to a slouch, rested his head on the top rung of the chair-back and closed his eyes.

  That irritated her. Apparently he found her company so boring, that he felt the need for a little nap before dinner.

  She fumed inside. She knew her anger was out of proportion. Could it be she was ticked off because he wasn’t falling all over her? Ridiculous! She wasn’t even interested. Loser! A ridiculously good-looking loser! He was probably on the run from the law. They were almost certainly aiding and abetting a criminal.

  She stole a sideways glance at him. He reminded her of Liam Hemsworth, only a little older and more rugged. Good gosh, he was yummy. Suddenly he opened one eye and caught her staring. She gasped and turned bright red. And then he closed his eye and chuckled. Actually chuckled! That’s it! She bounded up from her chair, leaving it rocking wildly, and went in to freshen up for dinner.

  Upstairs, she jumped in the shower, hoping to cool down her irrational anger. She quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around her. One look in the mirror left her with a need for a boost to her ego. She ran a brush through her hair, dropping the brush twice in the process. Not cool, Lydia!

  She felt like a freshman in high school again when the senior quarterback winked at her in the hallway. She’d given him her sexiest smile—right before she slammed the locker door on her hand. Pull it together! This isn’t high school, and you’re a grown woman. She couldn’t believe she was so flustered. That man! Well, he would be gone after dinner. Fine! Good riddance to bad rubbish! She didn’t care.

  She applied a little lip gloss, simply because her lips felt chapped. Certainly not for his benefit! Good. On second thought, maybe a bit of blush wouldn’t hurt; she was looking pale after the long wint
er—and if that man made her blush again, maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious. She gazed at herself in the mirror. Did she look tired? Just a touch of mascara. Done.

  She eyed her suitcase still unopened on the bed. Aunt Vi was going to so much trouble preparing dinner, the least she could do was dress in something a little nicer than the clothes she had traveled in. Yes, the white slacks would do just fine.

  Now she was grateful that her mother had taken her shopping. She loved her new clothes. She desperately hoped that was the last time her mother ever had to help her out. At twenty-eight, she vowed she would not only stand on her own two feet, but make the most of this opportunity and create a decent life for which she could be proud.

  She fished the travel iron out of her duffle and ironed out the wrinkles in the slacks, and the red blouse with the fringe on the bottom. Cute. The three-inch black sandals with the red soles made her a full five-and-a-half feet—much better when confronted with what she guessed was over six feet of the backpacker. Take that, Mike Rodgers!

  The smell of fried chicken wafted up the stairs, reminding her that she was not dressing for prom night, just dinner with her aunt and a homeless man. Maybe that silver necklace with the diamond chip in the center. And Barney’s clover leaf bracelet. Yes, just the right touch. And a dot of perfume behind each ear. This was the most dressed up she had been in years and, just like most women, new clothes made her feel quite beautiful. Ready or not, here I come! She descended the stairs with more dignity than she had previously exhibited.

  She entered the kitchen to find her aunt alone at the table, quietly eating. “Where’s Mike?” she asked before she could help herself.

  “Sit down and eat before it gets completely cold.” Vivian eyed her outfit with a questioning look. “You look very pretty. Going somewhere?”

  She pulled out the chair in front of the only clean plate and sat down. “No, just thought I’d freshen up a bit before dinner. Sorry I took so long.” She began helping her plate with the one remaining chicken thigh, a spoonful of mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and the lonely half a biscuit left in the basket. She ate in silence for a few minutes, surprised at the depth of disappointment coursing through her at finding Mike gone.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! She felt her face heat up just thinking of how she thought she was going to knock this guy’s socks off when he caught sight of her. She was supposed to be strong, the one with the new life resolutions. She had arrived just a few hours ago armed with a set of rules to live by, rules like no men in her life—certainly not handsome low-lifes that meant trouble with a capital T.

  What had she been thinking? She just spent a ridiculous amount of time freshening up, and for what? Why? This was supposed to be the place where she could chill out, lay low, start a new job and become the person she was meant to be. A place where she was safe from the people in her past. This was not the place to find a new man.

  And in walked this guy, the exact opposite of what she should be looking for—if she were looking, which she was definitely not—and what did she do? Go absolutely crazy with a silly need to make him notice her. She thought she’d learned her lesson. But obviously not. Was she destined to be attracted to losers?

  “This is delicious, Aunt Vi. You always were a good cook.”

  “That’s what Mike said,” Vivian replied. “That boy has a good appetite.”

  “Boy?”

  “Mid-thirties, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, hardly a boy.”

  “And he seems very well mannered.”

  “Oh?” She sniffed. “I thought he was quite haughty. Especially since he seems to be reduced to begging for his supper.”

  Vivian laughed. “I don’t think he’s reduced to begging. He seems quite educated, and I suspect he has a very successful life when he’s not out trekking the wilds. We had a rather interesting conversation over dinner.”

  “A short conversation, I assume. Looks like he had to eat and run.”

  “He didn’t exactly linger over supper,” Vivian agreed. “We got to talking about the cabin and he’s gone over to check it out.”

  “Check it out for what? I thought he was leaving.” She was once again dismayed. Obviously she had no control over her own thoughts or emotions, so she had counted on Mike to just perform a disappearing act. She may have been attracted to bad boys in the past, but the attraction she felt for him was above and beyond her experience. She could only assume he must be the ultimate loser to have so strongly and quickly affected her. Her judgment was just that bad.

  “He asked if he could stay the night in the cabin, rest up a bit, and I thought that would be okay. He said he’d probably move on at first light.”

  “Oh, he’s staying the night. Well, isn’t that just lucky for him. And maybe he won’t murder us in our beds tonight.”

  “I certainly hope not. He seems like a good boy.”

  Lydia shook her head in disbelief. During their shopping trip her mother had told her that Vivian had practically become a recluse after Todd died. It didn’t make sense. First Aunt Vi didn’t want people around. Now, overnight, she’s got a houseful. Well, maybe not a houseful, but she seemed a far cry from being reclusive. She wondered if her aunt was thinking clearly.

  “I’ll clean up,” she said as Vivian began to clear the dishes. “You go put your feet up.”

  “Thanks. It’s been a long day. I think I’ll take some scraps out for the dog.”

  Lydia ran hot water in the sink, and soon she could hear the mumble of conversation and muffled laughter coming from the back porch. Really? How cozy. It occurred to her then that this Mike Rodgers could be pulling a con on her aunt. She wondered if Vi had been on one of those on-line dating services. That would be understandable; she was a lonely widow.

  A vulnerable widow!

  Even his name irritated her. Mike Rodgers. How generic could you get? The more she thought about it, the more she thought it was obviously a fake name. He was probably a catfish, looking for a fresh victim from the Lonely Hearts Club. Vivian was only fifty-five and still a very nice-looking woman. There was no reason she should not wish for love in her life. Lord knew she had to be lonely. But if this guy—Mike Rodgers—thought he was going to swoop in and charm her aunt out of her last penny, he had another think coming!

  If that was his plan, he probably didn’t count on Lydia showing up. Surprise! She was suddenly cured of her mindless attraction toward this nefarious playboy. She may have come here thinking that her aunt was doing her a big favor, but maybe the reverse was true. Maybe she’d come just in the nick of time to save Vivian from a disastrous heartbreak.

  Beware, Mike Rodgers! Or whatever your name is, she thought. If this man wasn’t gone first thing in the morning—and she suspected that he would not be—then he would have to deal with her! Tomorrow was a brand new day, in more ways than one! She dried her hands on a dish towel and joined her aunt, now alone, in the rocking chair zone on the back porch, and assumed Mike was now comfortably bunked down in the cabin.

  She and her aunt sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the fresh spring evening. The air smelled wonderful after the pollen and dust was washed from the trees, and the moon began to make sparkles of light on the lake’s surface.

  “Aunt Vi,” she began tentatively. “Do you still miss Uncle Todd?”

  “Of course I do. Every day.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the funeral.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure you would have come if you could have.”

  “I would. You’re not going to believe this, but I just found out about it last week. Mother didn’t call to tell me, and I had no idea. I was devastated.”

  Vivian sat quietly in thought for a moment. “I’m glad you told me that. I thought about you a lot during that period after he died, about the old days.”

  “I think a lot about the old days, too. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. And I can’t believe I’m really back now.”

  �
�Well, things have a way of working out for the best. I’m glad you’re back, too.” She stood up and announced she was going to read a few minutes before calling it a night. She rested a hand on her niece’s shoulder and, impulsively, Lydia gently took her hand and kissed it. “Thanks, Aunt Vi.” Vivian gave her hand a squeeze and disappeared into the house.

  Alone now, Lydia thought she could be happy for the rest of her life, just sitting on the porch in the dark, listening to the night sounds and watching the sparkle of lights from the far shore. Too bad it was probably temporary. She looked down the trail at the little cabin. The lights were on, but the windows were so dirty she couldn’t see through them, not at this distance anyway. As she watched, the lights went off, and she guessed Mike, the catfish, was turning in for the night.

  She should be getting to bed herself; tomorrow was the first day of her new job. It would be her first office job, and she was scared. The worst that could happen was if they found out she wasn’t qualified for the job and fired her. She knew how to type, answer the phone and file. How hard could it be? But it seemed way above her practical skills when she was used to asking “Would you like fries with that?” on her previous jobs.

  Not yet feeling sleepy, she got up and walked down the flagstone path to the dock and out onto the pier. Two weathered Adirondack chairs occupied the end of the pier and she sat down in one, thinking of the whole new chapter that was about to open in her life. She hoped she didn’t screw up this opportunity as she had so many before.

  The dog ambled up beside her, lay down, and she absentmindedly began to stroke its head, her thoughts drifting to her mother.

  Airhead. Screw-up. Why can’t you be more like Brittany? Get your head out of the clouds! These comments from the past spun through her mind in a well-worn circle. Her sister was just two years older, but as different from Lydia as daylight and dark. The words were probably meant to be constructive criticism, not hurtful, but they were said often, and no matter how much she tried, she wasn’t Brittany, the over-achiever. After a lifetime of being unfavorably compared to her sister, her self-confidence had taken a blow.