The Comfort of Secrets (A Sweet Lake Novel Book 2)

by Christine Nolfi

  With uncanny precision, Cat read his thoughts. “Do you need privacy? I have a few items to run by Linnie. I can go now.”

  Although the subject never came up, Cat was increasingly aware he never stayed out of touch for long. The number of times she found him on the veranda in muffled conversation was a particular embarrassment.

  “I’ll call back later.”

  “If you need to touch base—”

  “It’s not an emergency. My mother is just having one of her more anxious days.” At this slim revelation, Cat’s soft gaze followed him to the chair before her desk. The compassion she sent emboldened him to add, “Lately she’s really on edge.”

  They were entering territory he’d marked off-limits with a dozen cryptic remarks. Guilt nicked his heart. The past was a topic he never explored with outsiders, but Cat wasn’t a stranger. In the last weeks, she’d woven through his emotions with the sturdy threads of her easy companionship, and the earthy glances she sent whenever she presumed he was too busy to notice. The impulse to let her in equaled his dread at what she’d find once he did.

  “What’s bothering her?”

  “She insists someone’s been in the backyard. Most likely the neighbor kids, chasing stray baseballs.” Opening up, even in a small way, felt good. Which gave him the confidence to add, “She’s been messaging nonstop since the feature in USA Today.”

  He searched without success for a way to continue. Discussing why a newspaper article caused so much grief meant bringing up George Hunt. His emotions shifting, Ryan appraised the photo of the Mendoza family propped on the windowsill. A handsome family, dressed ridiculously in matching red-and-green sweaters for a holiday shot. Cat didn’t mention her older sister very often, but she chatted regularly with her brother in Columbus and her parents. The short calls were punctuated with laughter.

  They were nothing like the tension-filled exchanges he shared with his mother.

  Rescuing him, she said, “Do you need pointers on how to calm down an emotional parent? I’m an expert.”

  “Yeah? What’s your most winning strategy?”

  “Hugs. They work wonders. And brownies.”

  He liked the way she became earnest in a flash, as if a confection might vanquish the ghosts his mother faced. “I’m not sure brownies will do the trick, but you never know.”

  “I’m glad my parents aren’t big on texting. I’d never get them out of my hair.”

  “And you have incredible hair.”

  She shrugged off the compliment. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. If they delved too deeply into a discussion of their torrid attraction, he’d attempt to lure her into his arms. For days now, he’d been battling the temptation.

  Instead, he confided, “The news coverage frightened her more than I expected. She’s been watching the street with binoculars.”

  “What’s she looking for?”

  “My father. She’s afraid he reads USA Today. I’ll wager there’s a better chance he’s too busy drinking or picking up women to read a newspaper, but my mother isn’t convinced.”

  “Why does it matter if your father saw the article? Are your parents divorced?”

  “Long time ago.”

  “You aren’t in contact with him?”

  “No way.”

  “I’m sorry your mother is upset. Ryan, it was a great feature. All the good work you’ve done for charities is fantastic.”

  The encouragement she offered vaulted past his aversion to sharing the details of his complicated life. “I should’ve declined the interview. She’s afraid my five minutes of fame have destroyed our safe obscurity. The feature came out more than two weeks ago—she should’ve calmed down by now.” Although the facts might lead Cat to view him in a less than positive light, he refused to gloss over his shortcomings, adding, “She’s aware I’ve taken on an out-of-town account. I’ve led her to believe I’m handling the work from the office. Not exactly a winning move, but I don’t want her frantic because I’m outside the city limits.”

  This was the closest he’d come to confessing the true reason he chose to commute an absurd amount of time. On the rare days at the office, he spent most of the time brooding over Cat, torturing himself with what-ifs they would never have the opportunity to explore. Even if he could imagine uprooting her from her country paradise—and the idea made no sense whatsoever—he refused to contemplate sharing the responsibility for his mother.

  A relationship with a third person hovering on the sidelines didn’t have much chance of success.

  “Ryan, why don’t you go back to Cincinnati? I’ll need your help leading into the concert, but we’re still two weeks out. We can handle most of the tasks remotely.”

  “I’m not done interviewing employees.”

  “You’re not obligated to talk to the entire staff.”

  “I’d like a few more. We’ll archive most of the interviews, rotate them on the updated website.”

  Anguish filled her eyes. Quickly she blotted it out. “Do the interviews over the phone.”

  Her resistance made him more intent on forging ahead. “There are other tasks on the agenda, including Penny Higbee,” he said, aware he was drumming up excuses to hang out with Cat. “She’s our top photographer. I’ve asked her to drive down tomorrow. She’ll shoot the interior of the inn, get a few shots of the staff.”

  “We’re shooting the day of the concert. Why make her come twice?”

  They were perilously close to discussing their predicament. He wasn’t prepared for a conversation sure to conclude with disappointment. Ryan prided himself on his practical nature. Yet his feelings for Cat flew in the face of every pragmatic instinct he harbored.

  Ridiculously he clung to the belief he’d find a solution, a way yet undiscovered, to grant their relationship a future.

  On impulse, he rose. “I need some fresh air,” he announced, mimicking one of her oft-used phrases. He never accompanied her on the short breaks to “breathe in the sunshine,” another colorful phrase in her vernacular he liked.

  “You’re inviting me outside? Ryan, you don’t like the great outdoors, except parks inside the city walls, or stadiums with blue sky above and a crush of screaming humanity around you.”

  “Cities don’t have walls,” he offered dryly. “Or moats.”

  “All the same, want to reconsider?”

  When he’d agreed to take the Wayfair account, he’d given no thought to working outdoors. Now he knew that on the Saturday of the concert, he’d spend both the day and the evening traipsing between the inn and the lake with Penny, and overseeing the videographer filming the event. Better to overcome the panic attacks now than in front of his associates—or the concertgoers queued up to hear Midnight Boyz play.

  “If I start to feel anxious, we’ll turn around. Head back to four walls and a roof, where I’ll nurse my ego in shame.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Let’s stay by the lake. I’d rather not take you anywhere near the forest. No reason you must conquer all your fears in one day.”

  Her protective tone nicked his ego. It also moved him deeply. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Tomorrow was the first of October, and Ohio’s temperate autumn remained glorious. Clouds banked on the horizon in a slowly drifting parade of white. The recently mowed grass was fragrant, the calming scent punctuated by the distant activity of the construction crew, their pneumatic tools buzzing and hammers pounding. Overhead, the afternoon sun beat down on Ryan’s shoulders, making him glad he’d left his sport coat inside.

  Cat lofted open palms toward the heavens. “Want to hear a fun fact?”

  “Sure.” A first glimpse of the lake rose up, a sparkling blue necklace tucked behind the green hills.

  “Trees talk to each other. Not like people, obviously, but they do communicate.”

  The forest lay to the left, a dark swath of shadows. Grimly, Ryan became aware of the muscles in his b
ack tensing.

  He swung his attention to her. “How do trees communicate?” he asked.

  “Through their roots, one tree to the next. They aren’t really separate life forms.”

  “Life forms? Paging Spock.”

  “These are fun facts of the natural world, not Star Trek.” Grinning, she pushed against his shoulder. “Root systems intertwine from one tree to the next like a great net. Isn’t that a beautiful image, a net finer than spun gold hidden beneath the earth? They use chemical interactions to talk through their roots. If a portion of a forest is under attack from insects, it’ll send a signal to the healthy trees. Then the healthy trees make defense enzymes to ward off the invasion.”

  He liked how she became freer the moment she tasted fresh air, her gestures more fluid, more animated. Cat was endowed with a voluptuous body with strong athleticism added in. No doubt she’d spent a happy childhood climbing trees and swimming in the lake. The notion soothed him for the briefest interlude. She’d never witnessed violence, or hidden inside a closet in the hope she’d disappear.

  “They use enzymes to warn each other?” He wished to prolong the conversation for the simple joy of listening to her voice. “You aren’t making this up as you go along, are you?”

  “Don’t believe me? Ask Siri.”

  “Guess I’ll believe you. Mostly because the story’s too kooky, even for your imagination.”

  “There’s no harm in a well-developed imagination. We can’t improve our lives without the vision to imagine a better way.”

  “And a Magic 8 Ball to check the odds.”

  “Back to teasing me?”

  “A desperate strategy. Keeps me from thinking about kissing you.” It also kept his attention from being drawn to the trees looming up behind his back.

  The declaration, unplanned, put heat in Cat’s gaze. “Stop, okay? We agreed not to flirt.”

  “Right.” His pulse hammered at his temples, a reminder they were outdoors for a less pleasurable reason than a heavy necking session. With a forced level of calm, he returned to safer topics. “If what you say is true, I’ll realign my thinking about trees and forests in general. Pretty cool if they have the ability to ward off invaders.”

  “Animals within a species do the same thing. Nothing in nature survives by going solo. It’s all about sharing.”

  A fierce and unanticipated gratitude knotted his throat. In her chipper voice, she meant to switch his apprehension regarding forests to appreciation.

  She meant to teach other lessons too.

  He flicked the hair bounding across her back. “Let me guess. You’re a tree hugger? Remind me to make a donation to your favorite environmental group.”

  “The next time you’re hired to do ads for a corporation, put the environment on your to-do list.” The beach rose into view. She slowed her pace, giving him time to compose himself. “I do hug trees. The spirit inhabiting the earth nurtures and protects us. It’s a mother spirit, replenishing us. I showed Linnie and Jada the best way to hug a tree when we were kids.”

  “Who showed you?”

  “The Sirens, of course. My mother and Frances started the group. Frances is miles more dignified than Mami but, that year, she misplaced her usual decorum. She’d cry for no apparent reason. Pretty unnerving, the way she’d be overcome.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Awfully small. Around three, I guess. Frances crying for no apparent reason is one of my earliest memories.”

  “How long did this go on?”

  “Months, I think. Mr. Dufour was still alive. He’d sit on the patio drinking mojitos with Papa while my mother took Frances into the yard to console her. The way she grieved, I guess someone she loved had died.” Cat’s delicate brows puckered. “I’m not sure which one of them got it into her head to make a ritual out of Frances’s grief, walking in circles beneath the moon, calling up the energy of Mother Earth to ease her pain.”

  “Lessons from the baby boom generation. They exited the psychedelic sixties with more than a penchant for tie-dye clothing. They came away with an expanded view of spirituality.”

  “If you’re talking about my mother and Frances, they sure did.”

  “So the Sweet Lake Sirens were founded to help Frances with her grief.” He knew the group held special importance in the town.

  “They founded the group right in my backyard over the rim of a tasty mojito.”

  “How did the other women get involved?”

  She laughed. “You really want to hear this?”

  “You bet.” Listening to the story was preferable to focusing on his crawling skin. They were in open space now, with the hot sands before them, and the lake a blinding field of blue. She’d wisely chosen a path away from the forest, although snatches of dense green were visible far to the left. “I haven’t seen Ruth lately, thank God. I’ll wager she pushed her way into the Sirens. She doesn’t strike me as the sort to need much encouragement.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. Penelope joined next. Her father died, and she was inconsolable. They brought Ruth in later.”

  “Why did they let her in at all?” Given her abrasive personality, he was unable to mask his distaste. It was hard to fathom Ruth enjoying any friendships.

  “Give her a break.” Leaving him stranded on the beach, Cat walked toward the surf. “Ruth has a tough hide, but she’s a good person. Best marksman in the county, and a real help to the PTA during the holiday food drive. She lives in a shoebox, but manages to donate more canned goods than just about anyone.”

  “Guess I’ll revise my opinion.”

  The apology snuffed out the reprimand flashing in Cat’s eyes. She appeared to gather energy from the gentle flow, her arms opening wide. Eyes drifting shut, she tilted her face toward the sun.

  The desire to join her nearly sent him forward. He’d already become aware of the queasy waves of fear invading his blood. The compulsion to return indoors growing, he kept his mind trained on the story Cat seemed eager to share.

  “Before she retired, Ruth was a police dispatcher in town. Sweet Lake doesn’t see much violent crime, not like a city the size of Cincinnati . . . my mother and Frances asked her to join the Sweet Lake Sirens after Tamron Pereira’s father was murdered.”

  “The young woman who owns the greenhouse?” Tamron supplied the inn with flower arrangements; he’d met her briefly. The Wayfair didn’t have the budget for elaborate displays, but her designs were attractive.

  “The murder shook everyone in town, Ruth especially. She was close with Tamron’s dad. He was an officer on the Sweet Lake PD.”

  “Why didn’t Ruth join the force? Why settle for a job manning a desk?”

  “I’ve never asked. There weren’t many female officers back then. Anyway, the murder hit her hard. She became a Siren soon after.”

  The melancholy turn of conversation didn’t seem what Cat intended, and she dropped the subject. From over her shoulder, she gave an appraising look. “Will you take off your shoes?”

  Fear shot through Ryan. She wanted him to join her in the surf.

  “I don’t do water,” he said.

  “Ryan, there are precious few pastimes more lovely than the feel of the surf rushing over your toes. I swear I won’t point out how pathetic it is for a grown man to sweat on the sands when he has the perfect opportunity to cool off. I certainly won’t mention my heartbreak at the thought you went through childhood without once floating around on a rubber raft. Did you go through adolescence without skinny-dipping? Let’s not discuss all the boobs you didn’t see on the sly.”

  “Are you teasing me?”

  Her eyes threw sparks he’d gladly dance in. “Keeps me from thinking about kissing you.”

  The declaration stole something from her, and he watched helplessly as regret sifted across her face. Evidently he wasn’t the only one who’d concluded their feelings for each other wouldn’t lead to a promising future. The reality squeezed his heart. It was miracle enough that their lives
had intersected at all.

  But she rallied, and held out her hand. “C’mon. You can do this.”

  After he tossed his shoes and socks in a heap, he rolled his pants halfway up his calves. Pulling a chicken-shit routine in front of a woman he liked more than was reasonable didn’t appeal, and he came forward quickly. The water was still warm from the long summer, the sand beneath the bubbling surf incredibly soft. He hooked his fingers through Cat’s, like lovers on holiday, and got his bearings.

  A difficult proposition once the surf rolled out. It came rushing forward with a splash. He was significantly larger than Cat, and the wet sand beneath his feet gave way, sinking him to his ankles. With a startled laugh, he threw his arms out. He grappled for balance.

  “You could’ve warned me about the suction,” he said.

  “And ruined the fun? Not on your life.”

  “Tell me that I won’t sink down to my knees.”

  “Not likely.”

  A boat drifted across the center of the lake. It was too far out to see clearly. Ryan admired the sail snapping in the breeze. The anxiety drumming through him eased off. A nearly hypnotic serenity flowed through him.

  He could get used to this.

  Cat appraised the tension melting from his features. She asked, “Have you ever talked about your father with a friend or a colleague?”

  He studied her with growing admiration. She didn’t have a mind for spreadsheets or numbers, but her emotional instincts were infinitely more valuable. Luring him into the soothing waters to unlock his dark secrets was a masterstroke.

  “Cat, I’ve spent most of my life trying not to think about my father. I have discussed him with my mother, briefly. We’ve tiptoed around the subject a few times.”

  “What happened in the forest? Something made you frightened about being outdoors.”

  “Near the forest,” he corrected, hating the apprehension furrowing her brow. “The panic attacks are worse this time of year, but not because of what happened that day.”

  “Why are the panic attacks worse in the autumn?”

  “It has to do with an argument I overhead when I was ten.” Frustrated by his inability to explain in an orderly way, he gathered his thoughts. “Maybe it’s not accurate to characterize it as an argument, although there were several heated exchanges during the phone call. It was more like a heartbreaking goodbye. I overheard the conversation when we lived in Salt Lake City.”