Cabin by the Lake

by Desiree Douglas

  She opened a window and stuck out her head, letting the cold rain hit her face. She looked up into the heavens. “I don’t get it,” she said softly, her words barely audible. “Don’t I matter, too? Even a little bit?” Of course there was no answer. But at least the rain sobered her hysteria. She closed the window, locked it, and drew the curtains shut.

  Now resigned to her fate, she knew she had to leave. A deep sadness settled in, but also a sense of calmness, now that the decision was made.

  Outside, Rocco shivered as he lay in the cold, wet leaves. He had stared through his binoculars, watching as Lydia leaned out the upstairs window. He could see her lips moving. He saw the droplets of rain wet her face and hair. Was she crying? He thought so. Another shiver went through him that had nothing to do with the cold, rainy night.

  He smiled.

  Chapter 17

  Lydia packed up all her things and tidied her room. She wrote a long note to Vivian, explaining that she needed to be on her own for a while, thanking her for her hospitality and apologizing for the abruptness of her departure. She didn’t expect her aunt to understand, but she didn’t know anything else to do. She tried to keep it light and cheerful, as if her leaving was a spontaneous adventure that she had decided to embark upon.

  She also wrote a short note to Mike, confessing her love for him in flowery prose, which she promptly wadded up and threw in the trash can. Time to move on, for real! She left Vivian’s note and the computer Mr. Lincoln and Emily gave her on the sitting room desk. She glanced at the clock. Four thirty in the morning, time to go.

  She slung her duffle bag and purse over her shoulder, and decided to come back for the rest. Taking one last look around, wishing she could stay, she quietly made her way downstairs. She glanced down the hall toward Vivian’s bedroom and her eyes misted over again.

  Vivian would probably call up the stairs that breakfast was ready in a couple of hours, and maybe come up after a few minutes to say that her eggs were getting cold. She would find the note and…

  She turned abruptly and shut down her thoughts. She couldn’t bear to picture the hurt on her aunt’s face; she didn’t want to cry anymore. She was wrung out emotionally. It was for Vivian’s own good, even if she didn’t know it. Her aunt would be safe, and that was all that mattered.

  She tiptoed through the living room and kitchen without turning on any lights. The rain had stopped long ago, and there was enough moonlight coming through the windows to see. She eased the front door open and stepped out, pausing for a moment to look around. The early morning was chilly and eerily quiet. She hadn’t been out at this hour since her short stint in college, and then she’d been coming home from a night out instead of leaving.

  She crunched across the gravel driveway toward her car, wincing at the noise she made. It was loud enough to wake the dead. She reached for the door handle just as a dark figure appeared in her peripheral vision. She spun around, a cry catching in her throat, and she immediately fell back against her car in a defensive posture—the posture of a victim.

  She always thought that if she were attacked she would spring into action, shouting, punching and kicking. But all coherent thought fled from her mind in a split second as terror took over and she melted in on herself, dropping her bags and raising her arms in front of her face.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” someone said, but her mind couldn’t process it. Strong hands clutched her wrists and she began to struggle like a wild animal, her instincts finally kicking in.

  “Lydia, it’s me. Stop, it’s me, Mike!” Her fear was so great; it seemed to take a while for his words to sink in, even though she could now see his face.

  It’s Mike! she told herself, her mind turning the words into gibberish until they finally began to sink in. “Mike!” she whispered, her legs rubbery with relief. She threw her arms around his neck and he held her to him. Then her relief turned to anger. She pushed him away, her hands on his chest. “You scared me! Why would you sneak up on me like that?”

  “I didn’t sneak,” he said. “I just heard noise out here and came to check it out.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk,” he said simply. “What are you doing out here?”

  It was then she realized how intimately they were standing, her hands still pressed against his chest, feeling his heart beat, his arms encircling her waist. His face was close, and his eyes searched hers for an answer she did not readily have.

  “I couldn’t sleep either,” she finally said.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “No, I—”

  They both looked at her duffle bag and purse on the ground beside her. “Yes, I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I’d go somewhere, um, to the IHOP in town, and get some breakfast.”

  “Dirty laundry?” He indicated the duffle.

  She had never been a good liar, and she felt her cheeks burn as she fumbled for an explanation. “Oh, stupid me, I meant to drop that off in the laundry room. I don’t know where my mind is. Let me just take this back inside.” She grabbed the bag. “I’ll be right back.”

  She went inside and ran up the stairs with the bag, dumped it on her bed, slid the note out of sight under the computer and rejoined him, breathless. He was leaning against her Volkswagen, arms folded across his chest, looking completely at ease.

  “May I join you?” he asked. “Pancakes would be good right about now.”

  She was disgusted with herself. She couldn’t even sneak away successfully. “Sure, I guess so.” What else could she say?

  They found the IHOP a surprisingly busy place for so early on a Saturday morning. Farmers arrived in pickups for a quick breakfast before heading over to the Co-op for supplies. Fishermen towing boats were leaving to get on the lake while the fish were biting.

  The drive over had been tense; both of them wondering what the other had been up to. They placed their orders and Mike said what he had been thinking since they got in the car. “I thought you said you were going to be careful.”

  She started to protest that it was none of his business; she could take care of herself. But she remembered how she turned to putty when he’d surprised her, how defenseless she proved to be. She had looked like an idiot, the stereotypical damsel in distress who couldn’t lift a finger to protect herself. That rankled to her very core, and she wanted to take it out on him.

  “I don’t think going to breakfast is an incredibly dangerous thing to do,” she said icily. “I was just fine until you snuck up on me and nearly gave me a heart attack. And I don’t believe your story about how you couldn’t sleep and just happened to be wandering around the grounds at four thirty in the morning. That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”

  He gazed at her steadily. She looked away, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, pretending interest in the corner table surrounded by a group of regulars, older men guffawing loudly about their glory days.

  He didn’t buy her story, either. He knew firsthand the look of someone who was running away. “You want to tell me where you were really going?”

  “You want to tell me what you were really doing?” she shot back.

  He shrugged. “I had a bad feeling. I couldn’t sleep, like I said. I thought I’d just take a walk, look around and make sure everything was all right.”

  “And it was, until you showed up.”

  “Where were you going?” he persisted. He felt as if he’d almost lost her, and was surprised at the depth of panic he’d felt when he saw her with that duffle bag. He kept thinking that she almost slipped through his fingers.

  And what was that all about? Wasn’t he the one with the noble thoughts of sparing her a life riddled with shame and disgrace? She didn’t deserve that, but now he wondered how he ever thought he could be happy without her in his life.

  It occurred to him then, that perhaps he never thought it was possible for him to find happiness, after everything that happened. He had been living his life on automat
ic, taking what came—and that included being thrown together socially with Kendall—and assuming everything would work out for the best one day. Now he thought that maybe he had found someone worth caring for, something worth fighting for. He felt torn by his need to protect Lydia and his selfish need to claim her for his own.

  The waitress arrived and slid plates of eggs, bacon, grits and pancakes across the table. It looked like enough food to feed a small army. “What time does the salvage yard open?” Lydia asked her.

  “Six o’clock,” the waitress replied. “This town goes to bed early and wakes up early.”

  “That’s good timing,” she said to Mike, hoping the interruption would put an end to his questioning. It was difficult to transition her mind from her intent to leave, to participating in the plans as if nothing had changed. She still intended to go, but she would have to be smarter the next time.

  She mentally switched gears and tried for her usual chatty demeanor. “I’m hoping to find a bargain in a stove; the one that’s there is on its last leg.”

  He nodded, letting her off the hook for the moment. He was relieved to see that she was making an effort to return to a sense of normalcy between them. “I agree. It was nothing special to begin with, and it wouldn’t be worth refurbishing.”

  Their attention was diverted by the arrival of a boisterous group coming through the door. It appeared to be the remnants of a wedding party stumbling in after a long night of drinking. All of them looked a little worse for the wear with rumpled shirts, one man’s unbuttoned to the waist, and a disheveled bridesmaid who was carrying her shoes. Bringing up the rear was Ace Colbert, his arms wrapped around a giggling woman twice his size whom he appeared to be using for support.

  Lydia ducked her head, concentrating on the plate in front of her, as a waiter led the group to the rear corner of the restaurant. Halfway there, Ace spotted her and turned in an exaggerated double take. “Well, looky here,” he said, weaving his way toward their table. “If it isn’t Lydia Steadman, the snob who thinks she’s too good for me.” He steadied himself by holding onto the edge of their table, swaying back and forth.

  He swung his head toward Mike and squinted, then looked at Lydia, a knowing sneer on his face. “Enjoying a morning-after breakfast with the construction worker, I see.”

  “Move along,” said Mike quietly.

  “Move along?” Ace shouted. He jerked upright, incensed by Mike’s words. “Who do you think you are to tell me to move along, ditch digger? Do you know who I am?”

  By this time, they had the full attention of all the surrounding tables, including two deputy sheriffs who were eating close by.

  “I’m Ace Colbert. I’m Big Jim Colbert’s son, in case you’ve been living under a rock.” His face was flushed a bright red and he was sweating profusely. Satisfied that he had put Mike in his place, he turned his attention back to Lydia.

  He wagged a finger in her face. “Naughty girl,” he said, slurring his words. “You got old Ace in a bit of trouble, and I don’t take too kindly to that.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.

  His eyes took on a vicious glint and he leaned close to her face, breathing sour fumes as he spoke. “Nobody treats Ace Colbert like that, you little jailbird. I’m gonna make you sorry you ever met me.”

  With that, Mike was on his feet. He grabbed Ace by the collar and hauled him backward, right into the arms of the two deputies who were approaching.

  “Did you see that? He attacked me. Arrest that man!” Ace slurred his words as he struggled to free himself from their hold. His friends had gathered around and were cheering him on. “You tell ’em, Ace!”

  The short, stocky deputy pressed the button attached to his epaulet and called for backup.

  “Let’s go, Ace,” the taller officer said, obviously familiar with the troublemaker. “We can do it the easy way or the hard way; your choice.”

  “Get your hands off me. I was just trying to have a conversation with the little lady here, and this Neanderthal attacked me. I wanna press charges!”

  “We’ll talk about that down at the station. Come on now, you don’t want resisting arrest added to the charges, do you?”

  At that moment two squad cars, sirens wailing, pulled up to the door and two more officers joined them. Ace’s companions quietly returned to their table when it grew clear that he wasn’t going down without a fight, and none of them wanted to spend the day with him in the drunk tank. The officers dragged him out, kicking and screaming that Lydia hadn’t seen the last of him yet.

  The stocky deputy wrote down personal information from Mike and Lydia, along with other bystanders’. He left with a suggestion that they have themselves a good day. Mike tried to pay for the food they had only half eaten, but the manager insisted that it was on the house, and apologized for the trouble.

  Outside the sun was rising and the morning was shaping up to be another stellar spring day, despite its rough beginning. “Are you okay?” he asked as Lydia slid behind the wheel.

  “I’m okay. I certainly didn’t expect to have breakfast with a side of drama, though. That was crazy.”

  “No kidding,” he said, getting in the passenger seat and slamming the door as she cranked the car. He held up his hands questioningly. “What in the world was that all about?”

  She tried to shrug it off. “Not much of anything, really.” When he continued to scrutinize her, she added, “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  He looked confused. “You’re not supposed to talk about what?”

  She pulled out of the parking lot and turned in the direction of the salvage yard. “Let’s just say it’s work-related and Mr. Lincoln asked that I keep it confidential.”

  “I see.” He could make an educated guess as to the nature of the request. “I assume that’s the reason you’re now working from home?”

  “Something like that. Can we change the subject, please?” She hoped that he hadn’t heard Ace call her a jailbird, or that it just hadn’t registered with him, but she had little confidence in that. If she could just delay that conversation long enough, she would never have to have it at all.

  He cleared his throat. He was reluctant to let it go, but he thought it might be the best strategy at the moment. “Okay, what would you rather talk about?”

  “I’m excited about shopping today,” she said, jumping on the first subject that came to mind. “I can’t wait for you to see this place. I came here with Uncle Todd a few times as a kid. There’s a fenced-in yard full of junk and ornamental iron, things like that, a showroom floor with interesting stuff salvaged from old buildings, and an attached antique store that’s chock-full of unusual pieces. I could spend all day in that section alone.”

  This was right up Mike’s alley, and it didn’t take much for him to catch her enthusiasm. When she turned the corner a few minutes later, he could see why she was so excited. She hadn’t exaggerated about the size of the place; it was enormous, covering the entire block. They parked on the street and went in.

  As they walked through, she forgot about her troubles and soon she was bubbling with happiness at the seemingly endless possibilities. She felt his eyes on her at times, but she kept up the pace, pulling him from the kitchen and bathroom sections to the antique store and back again.

  “This tile is beautiful,” she said, examining one of the many samples. “There’s no backsplash in the kitchen right now, but I was thinking it would be so pretty if we added one. These are fairly cheap.”

  “We could,” he agreed. “These are a good buy. If we installed them ourselves, the cost would be minimal.”

  “What about the bathroom? What would it take to make it, well, not ugly?”

  He laughed. “More than Vivian has to spend on this renovation.”

  “I have some money put back,” she said. “I’d really like to make it nice. We wouldn’t have to tell her how much it cost.”

  “I don’t know if she’d approve.
”

  “Please. We won’t tell her. And I can help you; it can’t be that hard. Let’s really do this.”

  By early afternoon they had chosen a farmhouse sink for the kitchen and a classic oval for the bathroom, along with faucets, a new toilet and tile for both rooms. Mike called Dugger who helped them load their finds in the back of his truck, and he and Lydia followed him back to Vivian’s. They were relaxed and on a bit of a high with their plans for the cabin, the ugliness of the scene at the restaurant forgotten—or at least put on the back burner.

  They turned into the driveway, laughing at the smudges of dirt they had both accumulated while pawing through rusty items, until Lydia spotted the last thing she expected to see. “Oh no, my mother’s here!”

  Chapter 18

  “Your mother is here?” Mike looked at Lydia’s face. “Is that bad?”

  “It can’t be good.” The last thing she wanted was for him to meet her mother. “You and Dugger go ahead and unload the stuff. I’ll see you later.”

  “I’d like to meet her.” He followed her, uninvited, into the house, with Dugger trailing along behind.

  Katie and Vivian were sitting at the kitchen table, Katie crying into a paper towel.

  “Oh Lydia,” she said when she spotted her daughter. “I need your help.”

  “What’s wrong?” She felt dread creep into her chest.

  “It’s Brittany,” Katie cried.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Oh, it’s too horrible! She’s on drugs, Lydia. Robert has left her and taken the children. She’s moved home with me, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “What?” She was shocked. Her perfect sister was on drugs? “How can I help, Mom?”

  “She’s hooked on that Oxy stuff,” said Katie. “You have to talk to her. You know all about drugs like that.”

  Her mouth fell open. “I don’t know anything about drugs,” she said, feeling all eyes upon her in this nightmare-come-true.