He unhooked his helmet but didn’t put it on. “You look cute.”
She frowned at him.
“I mean, it’s a step up from those pajamas.”
She shot him a look, but as her eyes hit the ground, he could’ve sworn he saw a smile. He’d crack through that tough exterior if it was the last thing he did. She tugged on the leash, but the dog seemed to have no interest in anything but the flowers beside the driveway.
“Yours?”
Another slight tug and the dog came to her side.
“Yeah, this is Otis.” She scooped him up. “Noah took care of him for me last night, but he needs his exercise. He’s a porker.” The dog licked her chin.
“I didn’t take you for an animal lover.”
Another frown. “Why not?” She rubbed between the dog’s ears.
He shrugged. So far, all he’d witnessed was her cold shoulder. It was a different side of her, watching her with an animal that she obviously had great affection for.
When he didn’t offer an explanation, her gaze wandered off behind him. “Thanks for offering to take my shifts, but I’ll do it as long as I’m here. I just don’t like that she assumes I have nothing important in my life. I mean, Nate is, of course, the most important thing right now, but I . . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes focused on her Nikes—turquoise with a bright-pink swoosh. “Sometimes she’s so ridiculous.”
“She’s coping,” he said. “Best way she knows how.”
Lane looked up but didn’t respond.
“Going for a run or just running away?”
She laughed. “Maybe a little of both.”
“You should head down to the new bike path. It’ll take you right by the lake. Just start down Darby Lane that way and go right.” He pointed in the direction of the path.
She stood with her hands on her hips and gave a quick nod. “You’re not leading me into a mud pit or something, are you?”
He chuckled. “Why would I do that?”
“Payback for how I’ve treated you since I got here.”
“Is that an apology?”
She raised an eyebrow. If it was, it was the only one he was going to get.
“I promise it’s not a mud pit.” Ryan buckled on his helmet. “There are a few rabid dogs, but you should be able to outrun them. Or at least beat them off with that attitude of yours.”
“You’re a funny guy.”
He’d missed the playful banter they’d had once. As she looked away, he could see the amusement dancing in her otherwise-stony eyes.
He put the key in the ignition. “I gave your phone to your mom, by the way.”
She patted herself. “I can’t believe I forgot it.” She eyed him. “How did you get it?”
“I didn’t take it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Jett had it.”
Lane shook her head. “That kid, I swear.”
“Yeah, hopefully Dottie can’t go through your text messages. She might find out something you don’t want her to know.” He winked at her, then started the bike. “See ya later.”
She waved dismissively, and as he drove away, he found himself hoping that “later” came quickly.
Ryan headed down Darby Lane and turned right at Lake Shore Drive. Similar only in name to Chicago’s bustling strip, this stretch of road ran along Lake Michigan and one of Harbor Pointe’s beautiful, soft sand beaches. The beaches were what brought so many to Harbor Pointe, but it was the people who kept them coming back. At least that had been the case for Ryan.
After he’d left the Army, he needed to get his bearings—to try to forget the things he’d seen in Afghanistan and concentrate on a new life.
Compared to Newman, Harbor Pointe felt like a completely different universe. It was, he supposed. And if anyone here besides the Kelleys knew about his past, they certainly didn’t let on or seem to care.
He’d walked through those early stateside days in foggy slow motion, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, suddenly faced with all the things he’d run away from the day he joined the Army. He’d hidden in a rented cottage for a week before he ever stepped foot in town. Then he ran out of groceries and decided to try Hazel’s Kitchen.
He’d gone almost every day since.
Something about the town had captured him, as if when he stared out across the lake, the wind whispered over the water one word, meant just for him: Stay.
The week turned into a month, then a year. He’d found a job working construction and still managed to finish his business degree. He’d been back almost six years.
Now he was one of them. A local.
He drove to the other side of town, toward Cedar Grove with its rows of cottages in various stages of renovations. He’d lived on almost nothing for years so he could squirrel away every bit of money he could, almost as if he realized he was going to need it, though he didn’t know what for.
When the owner of Cedar Grove died and they auctioned the place off, he was the only person who bid on it—the only person crazy enough, people said. But the prospect of turning this place into something that could benefit the community was good for everybody.
That was part of how he’d pitched the project to investors after using everything he’d saved on the purchase of the place. And a couple local businessmen—thanks largely to Frank’s good word—took a chance. On him.
With a little more funding, he hoped to expand to Summers Bay next year with a whole new string of lakefront cottages.
But only if his investors were impressed with his work here. And only if he turned a profit.
He pulled up to the work site and met his contractor, Jerry Flanagan, in the street.
“Brooks, where do you want them to unload the stone?” Jerry hitched his thumb toward the front yard of the soon-to-be-finished cottage across the street from the model cottage where Ryan had been staying during the renovations. “Just in the yard?”
Ryan and Jerry fell into step as they approached the unfinished cottage. Jerry was one of those burly guys with a bushy beard and a beer belly, though Ryan had never known the man to drink anything stronger than Mountain Dew.
“Here’s fine,” Ryan said, motioning for the lanky guy delivering the stone to unload to the right of the walkway. The guy was tall and wiry, but his shirt was only partly tucked in and he didn’t look like he’d showered yet this week. “Be careful with it,” he hollered toward the cab of the delivery truck. He’d paid a fortune for that stone. It was perfect for the custom-built fireplace he had planned. The last thing he needed was for a sloppy delivery to hold him up.
A blue sedan turned onto his street and parked at the curb. Barb Lovejoy stepped out, her flame of red hair giving her away before Ryan ever saw her face. Barb’s wide eyes and quick, birdlike movements were a bit off-putting, but she came highly recommended, and heaven knew he wouldn’t be able to get the Cedar Grove cottages decorated without her.
“Didn’t think I’d see you today,” Ryan said as she approached. “Especially not this early.”
“I knew you’d be out here now. Figured it was the best time to catch you in person.” Barb’s head darted around in quick, clipped movements as if connected to a string being pulled by a mischievous toddler.
Her eyes settled on him and she smiled—big teeth that almost didn’t fit in her mouth and reminded Ryan, unfortunately, of a horse. “Place looks great, Ryan. You’ve done an amazing job.”
He caught a whiff of her floral perfume. She’d applied it so liberally, he thought it might make him sneeze. “Thanks. Almost time for you to get in there and do your thing.”
Her smile faded, whisking his away with it.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry, Ryan. That’s what I came here to talk to you about.” She clutched the floppy brown bag that hung on her shoulder, and her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m moving. My husband was offered the job of a lifetime in California. We leave next week.”
Ryan tossed a glance at the nearly fin
ished cottage behind him, then back to Barb. She was finally supposed to get started on decorating the cottages next week. It was the only way to get them ready in time. It had taken him months to find Barb in the first place. He didn’t have time to launch a search for a new interior designer, and he didn’t have the talent to whip something together on his own. Not even with the model—which Barb had already decorated—as a guide.
Ryan ran a hand over his chin, the whiskers scratching his palm. What was he going to do now?
“I took the liberty of putting together a few names for you.” Barb rooted around in that giant bag of hers until she found a small note card. She handed it to him.
“Do you know I’m up against a deadline here?” Ryan stuffed the card in his pocket without looking at it.
“I know, Ryan. That’s why I feel so badly about this.” Barb’s eyes fluttered open even wider as she said the words.
“Do you have anything else you can give me—color choices, fabrics, design ideas?”
Barb frowned. “We’ve just been so busy . . .”
Ryan sighed. She was supposed to have been working on this for a while now. “There’s no way we can do this long-distance?” He was desperate now.
She shook her head. “I thought about that, but I’m not tech-savvy enough, and besides, I’ll be in the middle of a move. You know how jarring that can be.”
He stuck his hands on his hips and stared at the ground as if some magical answer might appear in the dirt underneath his work boots. “I get it. Thanks for letting me know.”
“There are several very promising names on that list, Ryan. You’re going to be fine.”
He nodded, if only to let her know he was aware she’d spoken to him, even though he really just wanted her to go away.
“I’m excited to see what becomes of this place,” Barb said. “I have no doubt you’ll find a way to achieve exactly what you’re hoping with these cottages—a place of rest for anyone who is weary.”
“Thanks, Barb.”
In the distance, he saw two figures moving toward them on bicycles. Was it already seven thirty?
“I’ll leave you to get your day started.” She hitched the bag up higher on her shoulder. “I really am sorry, Ryan.”
“It’ll be fine.” There were those words again, empty as a fast-food container after a hungry man’s meal. “Wish you all the best in California.”
Ryan watched as she got back in her car and drove away; then he walked to the end of the gravel driveway that would eventually be paved with brick. He took a moment to glance along the shoreline at what he’d created, trying not to feel hopeless and like it was all about to implode.
Cedar Grove was his labor of love, and while he’d grown accustomed to telling people he saw a valuable business opportunity in purchasing the few run-down cottages and the land that went with them, he knew the truth—that renovating the old cottages had kept his mind occupied. Like therapy without the stuffy doctor peering at him over horn-rimmed glasses.
Sometimes he worried about finishing the last cottage—Esther, he’d named her. What would he do with the haunting memories when all his work was done? The nagging notion that he should be working through those with God, not with a hammer, entered his mind. As usual, he shoved it aside. Some things were better left buried.
Jack pedaled hard and fast, beating his mom up the hill with a cheer. “I won!” he shouted as he hopped off his bike and ran toward Ryan. “I beat Mom!”
Ryan lifted the seven-year-old into the air with a victory shout. “Saw it. You crushed it, buddy.”
“Because I’m awesome!” Jack shouted as Ryan put him back on the ground.
Hailey slowed to a stop and smirked at the two of them. “I blame you for his inflated ego.”
Ryan laughed. “Can’t help it. Brooks boys are awesome.”
Jack gave him a fist bump followed by a resounding “Yes!”
Hailey got off the bike, standing it up at the end of the driveway.
“I see you haven’t listened to a word your doctor said about taking it easy.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.
“I’m fine, Hailey. Really.”
His sister obviously wasn’t buying it, but he really did feel almost back to normal.
“Esther’s coming right along.” She regarded the bones of the cottage. This one had been in the worst shape. They’d almost completely gutted and rebuilt it, and it was starting to look like a home again. They were a few weeks from finishing, but they’d made noticeable progress.
“I’m thinking she’s going to get a teal mailbox.” He winked at Hailey, who gave a quick gasp.
“In my honor?”
“No, in honor of Janice, the mail lady. She told me she liked teal.”
Hailey punched him in the arm. “Don’t be a smart aleck.”
He laughed. Each of the white cottages was going to have a different-colored mailbox and a number of other design elements to make it special. Hailey was always bugging him about using teal—a girlie color he’d never pick out himself, but since his cottages had to appeal to women, he figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to listen to her just this once.
Besides, he liked to see her smile. He could still remember a time he wondered if he’d ever see her smile again.
The image of her standing on his doorstep two years ago with a then-five-year-old Jack and a black eye entered his mind the way it often did when he thought of Hailey. The image was always met with a protective anger. He’d made a promise never to let something like that happen to her again.
“How’s Nate doing?” Hailey stared at him with those big green eyes that told him the accident had been too close for comfort.
Ryan filled her in on his friend’s condition.
“They said it was a hit-and-run.” Hailey stared off into the distance. “It must’ve been so scary.”
“It was.” Ryan ran a hand over his chin again, reminding himself that he should shave. He probably looked like a mess.
“Did you see the other car?”
Don’t ask me that, Hailey. He couldn’t lie to her. And yet, there was no way he could tell her his suspicions. Last night, replaying the accident in his head, he convinced himself his mind had been playing tricks on him. In the shadows of dusk, everything looked foreign. He couldn’t be sure of anything—not enough to make accusations.
“It all happened so fast.” He recounted the accident again, and when he finished, he heard Hailey exhale a breath he was sure she’d been holding since she’d walked out of the hospital the day before.
“I hate that motorcycle, Ryan.” She steeled her jaw, looking up at him like a stubborn child intent on getting her way.
They wandered into the backyard, where a stunning view of Lake Michigan captured him as if for the first time. He’d never get tired of that view. They watched Jack run around for a few minutes, then sat down on a patio surrounded by overgrown shrubs. He’d get to those eventually.
“You gonna be ready to open?” Hailey asked, still watching Jack.
“I’ve got guests booked, so I’m going to have to be.” Hailey knew how important that first week would be. She knew how much money he’d borrowed from people he actually cared about. She knew everything had to be perfect.
“Do you have enough guests to sustain this place for the summer?”
“We’re about half-full,” he said, though maybe half was generous. He didn’t want to think about it. Somehow he had to believe it would fall into place.
“What about your website? You’re going to need one, you know. That’s how people find places like this.”
Ryan groaned. “I’ve done pretty well with word of mouth.”
Hailey squinted at him in the morning sun. “Half-full is not ‘pretty well.’ Some media attention wouldn’t be a bad thing. What are you so worried about?”
Ryan waved her off. “I’m not worried about anything.”
“You’ve made something really great here, Ryan. You shouldn’t be
afraid of celebrating that.” She leveled her gaze. “He can’t take this away from you. No one can.”
He didn’t want to talk about it. Pretending things were fine was much easier, and he didn’t like to think about the way his desire to be off-the-charts successful conflicted with his need to keep the past in the past.
He didn’t want anyone digging up what he’d worked so hard to bury.
If Cedar Grove took off—would he become part of the narrative?
Would all the people who didn’t seem to care where he’d come from find out the truth about Martin Brooks, about the mother who had run out on them, about the trailer where he’d spent most of his nights dreaming of the day he could throw a punch that rivaled his father’s?
Sometimes, late at night, he’d get the feeling he needed to drive to Newman and check on things. He’d learned not to ignore the prompting of the Holy Spirit, so regardless of how much he did not want to go, he always did, careful not to let anyone—especially his dad—see him. Twice he’d dragged Martin out of Scooter’s, unconscious, and gotten him back to his trailer without so much as a word. And every month, he left an unmarked envelope of cash in his mailbox.
But nobody knew about that.
How was it that after everything that man had done to them, Ryan still felt responsible for him?
“I think Cedar Grove is going to do just fine.” It’ll be fine had become his morning pep talk, and somehow, so far, it had been true. Maybe he really was “lucky.”
Or maybe God really was watching out for him.
“Well, I like the idea of a teal mailbox for Esther. It’ll give her character.” Hailey stood. “Glad you finally listened to me.”
“You want to help me pick out paint colors?”
“Don’t you have someone to do that?”
“As of this morning, no.”
Hailey groaned. “Why not?”
He told Hailey the whole story, which she digested with an expression of disbelief.
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