Butternut Summer

by Mary McNear

  Reid, surprised, sat back in his wheelchair, but Mila was still staring at him, a challenge in her brown eyes. And then she seemed to remember herself, and she glanced around, nervously, as though she’d said too much.

  “Okay, fine,” Reid said, still not quite willing to concede the point. “I won’t worry about my valuables. Especially since I don’t have very many of them to worry about. But I still think it’s strange that you’d want to spend your summer so far from home, with someone you’ve never even met before. I mean, seriously, if that doesn’t smack of desperation, what does?”

  “Reid, stop,” Allie said, but Mila interrupted.

  “Actually, the reason I chose to come here was because I was ready for a change of pace,” she said. “I’ve lived in the city all my life, and I thought this might be a nice change, living here for the summer.”

  “Change of pace?” he repeated, not bothering to hide his skepticism. “I think we both know that’s not why you’re here. I think it’s much more likely you’re running away from something. Or someone. A bad breakup, maybe? Or some guy in Minneapolis who—”

  But he stopped when Mila stood up from the table so suddenly that she knocked over her iced tea, and then he watched, silently, as she rushed out of the coffee shop, bumping into a few more tables and chairs on her way out.

  “Uh, Caroline,” Reid called out to the coffee shop’s owner, who was still hovering nearby, holding the baby. “I think we’re going to need your help over here again.”

  He glanced over at his brother and sister-in-law, who both looked appalled.

  “What?” he said, with mock innocence. “I thought that went very well.”

  Mila was standing down the block from the coffee shop, under the dripping awning of the hardware store, when Allie caught up to her. She’d brought her baby with her— a girl, judging from the pale yellow sweater she was wearing— and the baby, as if sensing somehow how miserable Mila was, smiled at her.

  And Mila, trying not to cry, smiled back at her. Even in her present misery, it was impossible not to. Most babies were cute, she supposed, but this one seemed especially so, with her downy brown hair and wide blue eyes.

  “She likes you,” Allie said encouragingly.

  “She’s adorable,” Mila said, watching as the baby now sucked contentedly on her chubby little hand.

  “She missed her nap today, in all the excitement,” Allie said, resettling the baby on her hip. “So far, so good, though. But I’m . . . I’m sorry about that.” She gestured in the direction of the coffee shop. “I’m not going to ask you to excuse Reid’s behavior, since, obviously, there is no excuse for it.”

  Mila shrugged, but she didn’t say anything. She was afraid if she did, the tears would start. She could feel them gathering behind her eyes and burning in her throat. They were tears of anger, and humiliation.

  “Look,” Allie said now. “He’s not like that all the time. Most of the time, yes. But sometimes, every once in a great while, he can be almost pleasant to be around.” She smiled at Mila, and Mila saw that she was joking. A little. Mila tried to smile back. She didn’t blame Allie for her brother-in-law’s behavior. She and her husband both seemed like nice people. A little overwhelmed, maybe. But nice.

  “No, seriously,” Allie said. “He was different before the accident. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Even then, he didn’t expend a lot of energy on, um . . . personal relationships. But that was mainly because he was a complete workaholic. It was all about the business with him.”

  “The business?”

  “He and my husband own a couple of dozen boatyards, all over the Midwest,” Allie explained. “Walker did some of the work, of course, building their company. But Reid was the driving force behind it. He worked all the time. We’re talking sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. And he’d be on the road two hundred and fifty days a year. It was crazy.” She shook her head. “Walker and I visited him once at his apartment in Minneapolis, and I swear, he had nothing in the refrigerator. Nothing. Not even, like, a jar of mustard or something. The only sign that someone even lived in that apartment, as I recall, was some dry cleaning hanging in the hall closet.” She shuddered at the memory.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “that was the way he lived then. If he had any friends who weren’t his brother and I, or his business associates, I wasn’t aware of them. There were some women, of course. Quite a few of them, actually. But I never met any of them. I don’t think he was interested in a real relationship. I think he was the kind of guy who didn’t like to stick around in the morning, if you know what I mean.”

  Mila knew what she meant, but she was having trouble believing it. Reid, the man in the wheelchair, didn’t look like he could have been a womanizer for the simple reason that no woman in her right mind would have been interested in him. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. He wasn’t. Even his long hair— long enough to be falling in his eyes— and his scruffy beard couldn’t hide the fact that he was a good-looking man. But his personality was so unattractive. Yuck, she thought. Who would have wanted to spend time with someone as boorish and as rude as he was?

  But Allie, seeing the skepticism on Mila’s face, only laughed. “No, it’s true,” she said. “Woman liked him. He was good-looking. He still is good-looking, somewhere under all that facial hair. And as for the rest of him, well, he could be very charming when he wanted to be.”

  Mila considered this. It seemed unlikely. In fact, the man in the coffee shop was so uncharming that she was having difficulty imagining how she was going to spend the next three months with him. And Allie, watching her, sighed and shifted the baby to her other hip.

  “Mila, I understand how you must be feeling about Reid right now. I really do. But you have to trust me when I say that there’s a nice guy in there somewhere. In fact, I’ll tell you something about Reid that’ll prove it to you.”

  Mila raised her eyebrows, curious in spite of herself.

  “When my husband was growing up, Reid was the closest thing to a parent— a good parent— that he had. His actual parents had a terrible marriage— you know, one of those relationships that makes kids feel like they were living in a war zone— and then, when they finally got divorced, things got worse. They still fought all the time, only now they used the kids as weapons against each other. Finally, though, their dad just kind of washed his hands of all three of them, and their mom just kind of checked out. I mean, she was there, but she wasn’t really there.”

  Mila nodded. Her own mother had belonged to the same school of parenting, the there-but-not-there school. Except, of course, that in her case she really hadn’t been there a lot of the time. When she had been there, though, it hadn’t been much different.

  “Anyway,” Allie continued, “that left Reid to be both parents to Walker, even though he was only a few years older than him. And you know what? He did it. He really did. He went to all his Little League games, and he helped him with his homework, and once, when Walker was having trouble with a class, he even went to a parent-teacher conference for him. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Reid, I don’t know where Walker would have been. On his own, I guess.”

  Mila knew something about that, too.

  “So there you have it,” Allie said, shifting the baby back to the other hip. “That’s how I know Reid can be a good guy. When he chooses to be one, of course. Which, admittedly, doesn’t happen very often anymore. But, Mila?”

  “Yes,” Mila said, relieved that the urge to cry had finally passed.

  “Walker and I really need this to work out,” Allie said. “And I’m guessing you need it to work out, too.”

  Mila looked at her sharply, wondering what Allie knew about her. But then she realized that Allie knew only what the agency had told her about her, which wasn’t much. Only her professional qualifications. What she’d meant, probably, was that if Mila had had any other offers, she probably would have taken one closer to home.

  Mila studied Allie then and decided that
she liked her. She was pretty, with long, shiny, golden brown hair and bright hazel eyes. But more than that, she seemed nice. Genuine, open, and warm. Mila couldn’t let her guard down around her, of course. She couldn’t let her guard down around anyone. But when it came to working with Reid, she figured she could use an ally, and the sooner, the better.

  “So what do you think?” Allie asked hopefully. “Are you willing to give it a try? Walker and I are only three miles and one phone call away. And I promise, both of us stop by at least once a day. Sometimes more. And anytime you need us to be there, we can be. Even if it’s on short notice. I’ll make sure Walker gives you both of our cell-phone numbers, okay?”

  “Okay,” Mila said, trying, and failing, to smile. The thought of going home with Reid now, and of being left alone with him eventually, was filling her with an almost palpable dread. Still, it could be worse. It could be a lot worse. And, as she remembered how much worse it could be, her eyes traveled up and down the length of Butternut’s Main Street, checking to see if she’d been followed. But . . . no. It was quiet. Just a rainy June afternoon in a small town. A very pretty small town, she thought. And it was true. Even on a gray day like today, Butternut’s prettiness shone through. All the businesses on Main Street, for instance, had cheerful striped awnings, flower boxes, and brightly painted wooden benches for people to sit on. Taking this all in, Mila was reminded of the illustrations of small towns in children’s books she used to stare at longingly as a child. She’d lived in a the city then, of course, but not the nice part of the city. She’d lived in a drab, hardscrabble part of it, where no one thought to plant flower boxes or worried that tired people might not have a bench to sit on.

  Mila turned her eyes back to Allie and Brooke just in time to see Brooke yawn a miniature yawn and bury her face against Allie’s shoulder.

  “Listen, I need to get going,” Allie said apologetically. “I’ve got to pick up my son, Wyatt, at day camp, and I’m hoping it’s not too late for Brooke to take a nap in her car seat. But Walker and I are going to switch cars, and he’s going to drive you and Reid out to the cabin in the wheelchair-accessible van, all right? And, Mila?” she added, with a gentle smile. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. And thank you for staying.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mila said, with her best imitation of a smile, but standing there, under the dripping canopy, and feeling as gray as the rain itself, she thought, Lucky for you I have nowhere else to go.

  Click here to buy Moonlight on Butternut Lake.

  Excerpt from The Space Between Sisters

  Don’t miss the latest Butternut Lake novel by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  Mary McNear

  THE SPACE BETWEEN SISTERS

  Coming June 2016

  Read on for a sneak peek . . .

  Chapter 1

  When they turned onto Butternut Lake Drive that night, Poppy rolled down her window. She watched as the car’s headlights glided over birch, pine, and spruce trees, and, after a bend in the road, she saw a deer standing, motionless and alert, in a clearing. Soon after that, a little cloud of white moths fluttered across the windshield. She could smell, too, something she could never quite define—some mixture of the air, the trees, and the lake. Butternut Lake. This place is beautiful, even in the dark, she thought. She hadn’t been up here for almost thirteen years, but she still felt as though she knew it by heart.

  “What did you say your sister’s name is?” Everett asked, fiddling with the radio.

  “Win. Her name is Win,” she said. She twisted around in the front passenger seat and reached into the backseat where her cat, Sasquatch, was riding in his pet carrier. She unlatched the door of the carrier and slipped a hand inside. “Poor thing,” she said, softly, stroking his fur. “You’ve been cooped up for too long.”

  “Win?” Everett repeated, glancing over at her. “That’s an unusual name.”

  “Short for Winona,” Poppy explained, feeling the gentle vibration of Sasquatch’s purr for a moment before easing her hand out of the carrier and latching the door shut again.

  “Isn’t there supposed to be a lake somewhere?” Everett asked, taking the car into a steep turn. “Or is ‘Butternut Lake Drive’ a misnomer?”

  “No, there is a lake, through those trees,” Poppy said, pointing to their left. “But you can’t see it. There’s no moon tonight.”

  “No kidding,” Everett said. “The only thing that’s missing is the fog.”

  “The fog?”

  Everett nodded, steering into another turn. “If there were fog, it’d be exactly like a scene out of a horror movie. You know the one. A college coed and her boyfriend are driving down a desolate country road at night, and the fog is closing in around them, and then, suddenly, somebody appears on the road, right in front of their car, and—”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Poppy said. “We are not in that movie. I’m not a college coed—and that phrase, by the way, is totally outdated—” And you’re not my boyfriend, she almost said. “Besides, this is not a desolate country road,” she continued. “Trust me. Butternut Lake is a very well populated summer community. There are tons of cabins in these woods.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Four and a half hours ago, I didn’t even know Butternut Lake existed.”

  “Well, now you know,” Poppy said flippantly. And then she felt guilty. She hadn’t been very good company on this drive. Everett, after all, was doing her a favor. “I haven’t been much of a tour guide, have I?” she asked him now.

  “It’s fine.” He shrugged.

  “The town of Butternut, Minnesota, which we drove through ten minutes ago,” she began, in her best imitation of a tour guide’s voice, “has a population of twelve hundred. It has numerous local businesses, including Pearl’s, a world-class coffee shop, Johnson’s Hardware, where my grandfather indulged his inner carpenter, and the Butternut Variety Store, where my sister and I once accumulated the largest collection of glass animals east of the Mississippi. Butternut Lake, approximately twelve miles in length, is one of the deepest, cleanest lakes in Minnesota and is a popular vacation destination for people from the Twin Cities, who come here to fish, canoe, kayak, water ski, and, sometimes, just to wiggle their toes in the water. Any questions?” she asked brightly.

  “Yeah,” Everett asked, gesturing at a seemingly deserted stretch of road. “Where are all those tourists now?”

  “They’re here. Look, there’s a driveway,” Poppy said. “And there’s a cabin at the end of it, too. You can see its lights through the trees.”

  “All right,” Everett said. “But if my car breaks down, I’m not knocking on that door. I’ve seen that movie, too. We spend the night there, and when we wake up in the morning, we discover that our kidneys have been harvested.”

  “Ugh,” Poppy said, wincing. “I had no idea you were so dark, Everett.”

  “No?” he said, with a trace of a smile. “It’s amazing how much you can learn about someone on a two-hundred-and-forty-mile drive.”

  “That’s true,” Poppy mused. “So, what have you learned about me?” she asked. She wasn’t being flirtatious. She was just curious.

  “I’ve learned . . .” He looked over at her, speculatively. “I’ve learned that you think corn nuts are revolting.”

  “That’s because they are revolting.”

  “Corn nuts,” Everett said, concentrating on another turn, “are the ultimate road trip food.”

  “Not even close,” Poppy said. “Because that would obviously be Red Vines.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Everett said. “I mean, they have, like, zero nutritional value, unless you count whatever’s in the red dye, and—”

  “Oh, my God, look,” Poppy said, excitedly, of the driveway they were passing. Beside it a large sign with a wintery pinecone painted on it spelled out WHITE PINES.

  “What’s that?” Everett asked.

  “It’s a resort, and it means that we are now exactly three mile
s away from my grandparents’ cabin. I mean, my sister’s cabin,” she amended, feeling that familiar jab of resentment she felt whenever she was reminded of the fact that this beloved piece of family real estate had been passed down to Win, and only Win, three years ago. This resentment was part of the reason that Poppy had avoided coming to Butternut Lake since Win had moved here year-round a couple of years ago. But if there was any comfort to be found in Win being the one to own the cabin, it was in knowing that she would never sell it; it meant as much to her as it did to Poppy.

  Poppy and Win had spent all of their childhood summers here until Poppy was sixteen and Win was fifteen (they were thirteen months apart), and Poppy, who was just shy of thirty, could still remember every detail of the cabin. It stood on a small bluff, just above Butternut Lake, and its dark brown clapboard exterior was brightened by cheerful window boxes that overflowed with geraniums. And the homey touches continued inside: colorful rag rugs, knotted pine furniture, red-checked slipcovers on sofas and chairs. The living room, everyone’s favorite room, was as comfortable as an old shoe, with its fieldstone fireplace, and its old record player and collection of albums (some of which dated back to the 1950s). In one corner, there was a slightly wobbly card table for playing gin rummy, and on the shelf next to the table, a collection of hand-painted duck decoys. Mounted on the wall above the mantelpiece was the prized three-foot walleyed pike that had not gotten away from their grandfather. The living room windows looked out on a flagstone patio, their grandmother’s begonia garden, and a slope of mossy lawn leading down to the lake. And the kitchen . . . Poppy remembered it as though it existed in a perpetual summer morning: the lemon yellow cupboards, the row of shiny copper pans hanging on the wall, and the turquoise gas stove, a monument to 1950s chic.