by Gun Brooke
“Care to comment, Savannah?” The young woman Deanna turned to was pale. “No? I can’t correct the facts that Lara bases her assumptions on, can I?”
“What’s she talking about, Savvie?” Lara looked bewildered.
“Let’s get out of here. I can get this stuff later.” Savannah tugged at Lara’s sleeve. “Bye, Ms. Moore.”
Lara seemed rooted in place. “Wait a minute.” She seemed to sense something, her intelligent eyes narrowing. “Savvie?”
“Let’s just go, Lara. Please?”
“Okay.” Lara placed a protective arm around Savannah’s shoulders, and Deanna stood motionless as the three young women abandoned their baskets and hurried through an unmanned cash register. Lara glanced back once, the hostile expression changed to one of confusion.
As Deanna paid for her groceries she couldn’t shake the sensation that something important had happened. She wished she could talk to Faythe about it. That was impossible, though, because it meant pulling every sordid detail out into the open, and Deanna didn’t want to tarnish their relationship. Friendship, she corrected herself. Faythe was not interested in relationships. And I’m not exactly the catch of the year.
Deanna was hoisting the heavy bags into the trunk when a voice startled her. “Ms. Moore. Deanna?” When Deanna turned, Savannah Mueller stood four feet away, tugging at the sleeves of her cashmere sweater. Deanna remembered the familiar sign that she was nervous.
“What do you want, Savannah?” Deanna stowed the last bag. “You know, if anyone, especially your friends, see you talking to me—”
“They drove back to Lara’s place in her car. I came in my own.” Savannah cleared her throat and continued breathlessly. “I’ll be quick.” Savannah took a tentative step closer. “I know this isn’t the place, but I really need to talk to you.”
“You and your mother have caused me a lot of trouble. You’re actually the last person I want to talk to. Ever.” Deanna wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart with Gloria Mueller’s daughter.
“I know.” Savannah’s eyes filled with tears, and Deanna thought she saw true remorse, mixed with something resembling panic. “It’s just…I don’t have anybody else to turn to.”
“You belonged to the most popular clique in high school.” Deanna snorted. “Surely those gorgeous young ladies that you used to hang with would be there for you in a heartbeat?”
“I don’t want to talk to Lara or Brandy. They wouldn’t understand.”
“Or you would look less like Ms. Popular in their eyes? They’re still devoted to you, their born leader, aren’t they?”
“Ms. Moore. Please. Won’t you just hear me out? I’m begging you,” Savannah whispered, even paler now.
“I don’t know.” Frustrated, and wanting to retain her anger toward this spoiled brat, Deanna shoved a hand through her hair. She couldn’t ignore Savannah’s obvious distress. “I don’t want you coming to my cabin,” Deanna said sternly.
“I won’t.” Savannah reached into her purse and handed over a pink business card. “Here. It’s my cell-phone number. If you figure out a way to see me, just text me. I should go. Don’t wait too long. It’s really important.” Savannah hurried toward a Miata as pink as the business card and drove off.
Deanna tucked the card in her back pocket and got into her car.
The engine had cooled some and started willingly. Knowing how fast the radiator started to boil, she put the heater on max again. With the windows down, it was bearable inside the car, though still a bit hot.
When the mechanical issues couldn’t keep Savannah and her pleading out of Deana’s mind, she tried to imagine why Savannah was so adamant about seeing her. Two years ago, she had begged to see Deanna too, but under very different, upsetting circumstances.
As she drove home, her mood sank below freezing as she relived some of the humiliation. Seeing Savannah, no matter how pitiful she looked when she nearly cried in the parking lot, would obviously be a mistake.
* * *
Faythe looked up from her laptop, amazed. She hadn’t taken a break for coffee, let alone lunch. She stood from the couch where she’d been sitting with the laptop resting on her knees. Her shoulders were stiff and her joints sore. Hard work certainly had its disadvantages.
She hadn’t slept well the last few days, but her writing was going better than she expected. Faythe entered the kitchen and opened the fridge, then stared at the empty shelves. “But I went shopping.” Ah, Faythe thought. That was several days ago. She’d had a great appetite after she came to stay by the lake, but the last days had been about writing, not eating. That had to change. She glanced at her watch. Six thirty. It would be dark before she finished grocery shopping, if she went out.
She looked longingly at Deanna’s lights. It might be coincidental that she had been so productive since her movie date with Deanna, but she didn’t think so. She had woken up the next day rested and full of ideas that begged to be written down. She’d written six ideas for proposals and one novel synopsis. Even my fingertips ache. She’d never quite pictured herself as a nonfiction writer, but the storyline about an old man’s journey through to his hometown, and the lives he touched and forever changed, had come to her when she sat down to write something completely different.
Reluctantly, Faythe had started to type the words as they entered her mind, and once she was done, two hours later, she read through a synopsis neither she nor anyone else would ever have pegged her writing. The old man in the story felt so real to her; Faythe was dying to see if she could expand the eight pages of the synopsis into a novel-length story. She had connected so deeply with the character that it was with grief she’d finally closed the laptop and rubbed her aching hands.
How she’d love to find the ability within herself to bring that story to some readers. She had a fan base who loved her morning show, and some of them might be faithful enough to buy a book by her. Nobody at the network or any of her family members or friends would expect something like this. Not even I think I can really write like that. And still, she had de facto written the synopsis, the first step to completing the story.
Faythe shook her head and opened the door to the patio. Soft jazz was barely audible from behind the trees. Faythe squinted and thought she could see a faint outline of someone moving about in Deanna’s cabin. Impulsively, she yanked her windbreaker off the hanger and stepped outside.
The autumn wind was warmer than usual, even at this hour, and Faythe didn’t bother to zip her jacket. She hurried between the trees, stopping only when she was ten feet from Deanna’s deck. Suddenly self-conscious and hesitant, she shifted where she stood, not sure what she would say if she knocked on the door.
“Faythe?” Deanna’s voice, coming from behind her, startled Faythe and she spun around too quickly.
“Deanna!” Pressing her hand against her chest, Faythe was sure she looked silly.
“Are you okay?” Deanna stepped closer, looking concerned.
“I’m fine. Actually, I just thought I’d pop over and say hello. Um, I mean, I heard the music, and we haven’t really spoken since…well, since movie night.” An annoying blush warmed Faythe’s cheeks.
“Come inside.” Deanna gestured toward her cabin. “I’m microwaving some interesting stuff from Lean Cuisine, and I have enough for two, if you’re hungry.”
“Starving, actually.” Faythe was relieved she wasn’t making a big deal out of her unannounced arrival. Inside, the music wrapped around everything, creating a cozy atmosphere.
“I was planning to have my dinner on the couch. That all right with you?”
“Sure thing.” Faythe stopped in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Anything I can do?”
“If you’d grab two glasses over there, and some mineral water from the fridge, that’d be great.” Deanna nodded at one of the top cabinets.
“On it.” Faythe carried the items to the coffee table and sat down.
Deanna joined her with two plates of s
teaming pasta, and Faythe’s stomach growled in delight.
“Hungry, eh? Me too.” Deanna handed Faythe one of the plates and eyed her as she wolfed down the food. “What’ve you been up to?” The question was casual, but her eyes were not. Nearly black, they bore into Faythe’s, as if she was looking for the ultimate truth.
“Writing, mainly.” Faythe tried to sound equally laid back, but couldn’t because her heart pounded harder and faster at the sight of Deanna sprawled next to her on the couch.
“Anything you can share yet?”
“Just tidbits. Anything and everything that comes into my head, but not worth sharing, really. I mean, it’s so fragmented that only I can make any sense of it. Whatever happened between us during movie night seemed to unblock me.” Aghast at how openly she spoke about that evening, Faythe tried for a quick save. “I mean, we cleared the air a bit, didn’t we?”
“A bit.” Deanna nodded. “We also complicated things.”
“You regret that we snuggled.” Faythe groaned at her vocabulary.
Jeez, that sounded really mature. Not.
“No, no.” Deanna looked surprised. “That was the best part. As I told you, it’s been a while.” She grabbed the bottle and poured them some mineral water. “The closeness…felt great.” Stunned by Deanna’s unexpected openness, Faythe relaxed. She finished eating and placed her plate on the coffee table before scooting closer to Deanna. “You look like you have something on your mind,” she said when she noticed Deanna’s distracted expression.
“Just a lot going on.”
“And I’m obscuring your path, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” Deanna spoke softly, clearly wanting to take the sting out of her one-syllable answer.
“I should feel sorry, I suppose.”
“No need.” Deanna put her plate away also and took another sip of water.
Faythe brushed an errant drop of water off Deanna’s chin, her thumb caressing her lower lip in the process. “You’re gorgeous.” She spoke before her mind could edit her tongue and saw from Deanna’s two rapid blinks how her words surprised her. “Well, you are,” she murmured.
“Thank you.” Deanna looked a bit shell-shocked and drank more water. “I’m not sure how you could possibly find anyone as grumpy and aloof as me attractive.”
“Eclectic taste in women?” Faythe suggested whimsically and laughed as Deanna choked on her next sip. “Sorry.”
“You’re not in the least sorry.” Deanna put her glass back on the coffee table and reached for Faythe with lightning-fast hands. Suddenly Faythe was on Deanna’s lap, with her strong arms around her waist.
“You little minx.”
Faythe lost what little was left of her breath. Deanna’s hands burned through her white cotton shirt, and surely she wasn’t imagining that they moved in small circles against her? Faythe’s eyes began to close, and she barely pulled herself together enough to keep from moaning in bliss.
“Faythe.” Somehow, Deanna’s teasing voice had grown deeper and now sounded just how melted dark chocolate tasted.
“Yes.”
“Look at me.”
Faythe struggled to open her eyes and gazed at Deanna, whose eyes were dark blue pools of turbulent emotion. “Looking. As I said, gorgeous.”
“Oh.” Deanna groaned and cupped Faythe’s shoulders. “This is crazy.”
“I just want to kiss you,” Faythe said, squinting as she focused on Deanna’s caressing hands that massaged her in the same slow circles.
“And don’t stop. I really like your hands.”
“You do?”
“Yup.” Faythe moved near to kiss Deanna and frowned when she withdrew from reach.
“That can be very dangerous,” Deanna said.
“I’m not afraid.” Faythe smiled before she saw the stark seriousness in Deanna’s eyes. “Really, Deanna. I’m not. I just want… need to kiss you.”
“What if it turns into something more? Something you’re bound to regret.” Deanna trembled against Faythe.
“I’m a big girl. You don’t have to look out for me.” She was becoming uncertain even though she desired Deanna. “But maybe you’re trying to let me down easy, and I’m too dense to realize it.” The thought hadn’t occurred to Faythe until now, but that would explain some of Deanna’s reluctance.
Smiling broadly to mask her hurt and embarrassment, Faythe began to slide back to her corner of the couch. “Well, no harm done, then.” Her constricting rib cage hurt, as did the big lump in her throat as she tried to swallow. Faythe kept her professional demeanor firmly in place. “Silly me.”
“Stop it,” Deanna whispered huskily, and held her tight on her lap. “You must know that I’m beyond attracted to you. Your laughter, your amazing eyes, your body, and your sweetness.” Deanna buried her face against Faythe’s neck. “You don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? From what? From yourself?” Faythe smoothed Deanna’s hair because no matter what, she needed to keep touching her.
“Yes.” Deanna breathed deeply a few times. “My reputation isn’t the best in this town. You may already have heard some of the gossip. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t.”
“Some.”
“Ah.” Deanna nodded slowly and only the faintest slump in her shoulders betrayed that Faythe’s admission affected her. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but it started two years ago and the gossip is still alive and kicking, so this could backfire.”
“Because I’m a familiar face?”
“Trust me. This is a career stopper.” Deanna stroked Faythe’s cheek. “It was for me.”
“Did something happen today that brought this to the surface?” Deanna gave her a startled look.
“How could you possibly know?”
“It’s out of character for you to open up like this, so I figured something happened.”
Deanna studied Faythe’s face in such detail she felt a slow blush permeate her cheeks. “Yes. A former student asked to talk to me, in private, even though she knew it would get both of us into trouble if anyone found out.”
“So, I take it this student was part of the original ‘sin’ that started the gossip in the first place.”
“You assume correctly.”
“And why does she want to talk to you? And when?”
“Don’t know. ASAP.”
The short sentences didn’t help clarify anything. Faythe backtracked to what Kitty-with-a-heart had said. “Someone mentioned immoral behavior. Did they accuse you of having an affair with a student?”
“Yes. And no.”
“Could you elaborate? I don’t understand.”
“Savannah told her friends that she and I were lovers, that we used the office in the high school art studio for our romantic trysts.” Deanna pulled back and pushed Faythe off her lap. Tucking her legs up underneath her, she continued. “She also told them that I seduced her and that we planned to elope to Canada. Needless to say, her parents—the mayor and his wife—were less than pleased. They started a vendetta against me, the local press even ran the story, and I resigned.”
Chapter Twelve
Deanna rinsed their plates, not sure how she’d ended up in the kitchen so fast. One minute, she was sitting with Faythe on the couch, spilling everything she’d promised herself not to stain their friendship with, and now she was standing by the sink with her back to Faythe. Thoughts careened back and forth in her aching head, and she wanted to grab her jacket and get out of the cabin. Just to breathe.
“Need help?” Faythe’s soft voice merely sounded friendly in a non-committal way.
“No. Thanks. I’ve got it.” Unable to speak other than in staccato, Deanna wiped her hands and turned around, determined not to act like a coward. She met Faythe’s eyes without blinking. “So. There you have it.”
“I want to hear your side of it.” Faythe was propped against the door frame, looking calm, though a bit guarded.
“Why? Nobody’s ever asked for my
version of the truth.” Two years’ worth of anger simmered just beneath the surface, and Deanna could taste it as she spoke. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Faythe, but she was the only one here.
“Often things aren’t quite as they seem. I’ve learned that by conducting hundreds of interviews. If I look at this situation logically, I see clear discrepancies between what I know about you and what you just told me about this Savannah girl.” Faythe didn’t sound casual and sweet-natured. Her vocabulary and her voice quality had changed.
Deanna guessed this was how the professional Faythe sounded when she entered people’s breakfast nook from their TV screens. Professional, articulate, shrewd, and stunningly beautiful.
“Guess this wasn’t what you had in mind when you showed up on my doorstep, huh?” Deanna motioned toward the coffee machine on the countertop. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. We could probably both use a mug.” Faythe sat down at the small table by the window overlooking the lake. The moon was filtering rays of pale blue light between the maples and creating shimmering sparkles on the water. Deanna was in no mood to appreciate the breathtaking beauty, but sat down across from Faythe.
“Just tell me, Deanna,” Faythe said quietly. “It’s about time you told someone.”
“It’s not that easy.” Deanna followed a scratch in the old oak table with her index finger. “It’s not just about me.”
“This isn’t an interview.” Faythe squeezed Deanna’s hand. “It’s not even an off-the-record thing. I’m not sitting here in my professional capacity. I’m just me now.”
“All right.” Deanna could actually feel energy stream from Faythe’s hand. She wasn’t comfortable with showing any sign of neediness, but clung to Faythe with cold fingers. “I moved here nine years ago, for family reasons. The first two years I barely supported myself as an illustrator, then got a job as an arts teacher at Grantville High School. I loved working with the kids, especially the ones in junior high. I managed to keep my career as an illustrator going at the same time, and everything seemed to fall into place.”