by Mary McNear
“Well, not everything,” Walker said quietly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that he wanted a family, Reid. A real family. And he found one. Not with us. But, still. And you, on the other hand, Reid, have been very vocal about not wanting a family of your own. You’ve only wanted one thing, as far as I could tell, and that was to be successful.”
Reid shrugged. “I don’t disagree with that. And I’m going to get to that, too. But first, I need to tell you about the rest of the night. The part leading up to the accident. You already know about the part after the accident.”
“Okay,” Walker said, looking wary.
“So I finally leave the restaurant. Just throw some money on the table and storm out of there. They’ve left the bar area by then, and they’re sitting at a table in the main part of the restaurant, and I just kind of look in on them before I go. It’s more toasts, more happiness. And for a second, just a second, Walk, I think about storming in there and flipping their table over. Champagne and all. But I don’t. I head out to the parking lot, I get in my car, and then . . . and then, I don’t remember. Honestly, I don’t. I was so angry that the next couple of hours are just kind of a blank to me.”
Walker frowned. “What do you mean, ‘a blank’?”
“I mean, I can’t remember where I went. I drove around, I guess. But mainly, I was replaying memories of all the times he wasn’t there when we were growing up. Like the time you couldn’t go to your Boy Scout father-son sleepover, because he never showed up. And you spent the whole day dressed in your Scout uniform, sitting on the front steps, with your sleeping bag and your backpack beside you. Just waiting for him to pick you up. And it was dark outside before Mom persuaded you to come back inside and—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Walker snapped. “No more rehashing memories, okay? Believe me, that one, especially, I’ll take to the grave with me.”
“Exactly,” Reid said, feeling suddenly exhausted. “We both will. Because sometimes, Walk, watching you get hurt was worse than getting hurt myself.”
Walker nodded. “I know that. But, for the record, you made up for a lot of that, Reid. You were a good older brother. You did your part. You did more than your part, actually. You were half brother and half father to me.”
“I don’t know about that. But getting back to that night . . . I think I drove around for a couple of hours. Remembering stuff like that. And having these revenge fantasies. I think I was driving a little maniacally, actually. I remember other drivers kept honking at me. I was speeding, probably. Weaving in and out. I wasn’t drunk. But if I was driving like I was drunk, it’s a moot point, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I wish to hell I’d gotten pulled over. But I didn’t. How like the police to not arrest you when you need to be arrested,” he added, with an attempt at laughter. “Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was going into a turn too fast, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to pull myself out of it. Those five seconds from the time I went over the embankment to the time I landed at the bottom of the ravine, those were the longest seconds of my life.”
“I can’t imagine the three days that followed went very quickly either.”
“No, they didn’t. But you know what? I’m not sorry they happened now.”
Walker looked dismayed. “Reid, how can you say that? You almost died. And you still have months of recovery ahead of you.”
“I know that,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I know it. But honestly, Walker, my only regret now is that the accident took such a toll on you and your family. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. What it’s still like for you.”
But Walker waved his concern away. “That’s what family’s for, Reid.”
Reid nodded slowly. “I know that now. And I know something else, too. I can’t go back to being who I was before the accident, Walker. The workaholic who never even unpacked his suitcase between business trips. Who thought take-out Chinese was its own food group. Who lived in an apartment building for five years without once learning the name of a single neighbor. And whose longest relationship with a woman before now was six weeks long.”
“Well, if you’re going to put it that way, it does sound kind of depressing,” Walker joked, a little lamely.
Reid sighed. “No, not depressing, Walker. Soul crushing.”
“Soul crushing? That’s being a little overly dramatic, isn’t it, Reid? Your life before the accident might not have been perfect, but you seemed to like it well enough. Running a successful company. Dating a lot of attractive women. Plenty of men would have traded places with you.”
“Well, they would have been in for a big disappointment. Because the only people who came to visit me in the hospital were you and Allie. And while I love you both very much, it wasn’t enough. Not for the sum total of one man’s life.”
Walker was quiet for a moment. Then he asked hesitantly, “So things are going to be different now?”
Reid smiled. “That’s the plan.”
“And I take it Mila has something to do with that plan?”
“She has everything to do with it. Because it wasn’t until she came here, at the beginning of the summer, that the fog from the accident started to lift, and I began to realize that, as bad as my life seemed when I came to in that car, it was worse before it.”
“Look, Reid,” Walker said, running his fingers through his hair. “Nobody is more grateful to Mila than I am. I mean, the difference between you now and you at the beginning of the summer is pretty goddamned miraculous. But, Reid, do you really think you should be rushing into anything?”
“I’m not rushing into anything. I’m just serving notice that things are going to be different now,” he said calmly. “I’m not running myself into the ground anymore to prove myself to a man who doesn’t give a damn about me. Or you, for that matter.”
“Thanks,” Walker said, trying, and failing, to smile.
“So, yeah, things are going to be different,” Reid said. “I’m going to work nine to five, like a normal person. Take vacations. Maybe even start fishing. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted me to do? Join the Church of Fishing?”
Walker smiled, his first real smile since they’d started talking. “Honestly, yes. I’d love to get you out there. We could start with some basic lures and work our way up—”
“Hey, slow down,” Reid interrupted him, laughing. “I’m not quite ready to start casting off yet. But I need you to know, Walker, that whatever happens next, Mila’s going to be a part of it.”
“Have you told her that?”
“No. Not in so many words. But she knows how I feel about her.”
“And how does she feel about you?”
“She hasn’t said, exactly. But I think she cares about me. No”—he caught himself—“I know she cares about me.”
Walker didn’t dispute this, but Reid could tell something was bothering him. “What?” Reid asked, a little defensively.
“Nothing, it’s just . . . well, it’s the age difference for one thing. She’s what, in her midtwenties? You’re at least fifteen years older than her, Reid.”
“Oh, that,” Reid said, surprised. He honestly hadn’t given it any thought yet. “I’m not worried about that,” he told Walker now. “Mila’s an old soul.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds like,” Reid said, with a shrug. “She’s wiser than her years.”
“All right, then, so what’s next for the two of you?” Walker asked, a little challengingly. “Where do you go from here?”
Reid hesitated. He and Mila had never discussed a future together. But still, he knew they had one. It was just . . . complicated. He tried to put it into words for Walker. “I get . . . I get the feeling Mila has some loose ends to tie up before we can make plans with each other. You know, just some things from her old life—her life before this summer—that she needs to take care of.”
&n
bsp; Walker looked somber. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Reid. I mean, how much do you know about her? Really know about her?”
“How much do any of us really know about anybody? Isn’t that what you said to me when I brought up Mila’s past at the beginning of the summer?”
Walker smiled now, a little ruefully. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
CHAPTER 23
Lonnie, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take the cordless phone into my room for a few minutes,” Mila said after breakfast the next morning. “I just need to make a quick call.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Lonnie said, looking up from the bread dough she was kneading. But then she paused in her work and studied Mila for a moment. “Are you all right, honey?” she asked. “You look a little peaked.”
“I . . . I didn’t sleep well last night,” Mila confessed.
“You were probably too hot to sleep,” Lonnie said sympathetically, glancing out the kitchen window at the gray, muggy morning. “Honestly, I wish Walker had gotten air-conditioning put in when he built this place. He says he doesn’t like it, and that you only need it up here a couple of weeks a year, anyway, but still, during those weeks . . .” She shook head. “Then again,” she said, wiping her floury hands on her apron, “if it gets any more humid, it’ll be raining, and that, at least, might clear the air.”
Mila knew what she meant. The sky was so low and so heavy with rain clouds it appeared to be almost touching the lake, and the air felt thick and still. Nothing was moving . . . nothing. Not the water on the lake, which formed a perfect sheet of pewter glass, and not the leaves on the trees. It had Mila on edge and praying for a violent thunderstorm. Anything to break the tension. But beyond an occasional flicker of lightning, or a distant rumble of thunder, nothing happened.
But she thanked Lonnie for breakfast and took the cordless phone into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Then she perched on the edge of her bed and dialed Ms. Thompson’s number.
“Caring Home Care. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Ms. Thompson. It’s me.”
“Mila, I’m so glad you called,” she said.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Oh no, not at all. I haven’t even started working yet. I was just finishing my coffee, and taking a look at my book group’s pick for the month.”
“Do you think you’ll read it this time?” Mila asked, knowing that Ms. Thompson had a poor track record when it came to her book group’s selections.
“I tend to doubt it,” Ms. Thompson said, with a little sigh. “But I have a new strategy, Mila.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to time my arrival at the next meeting so that I’ll get there after they’ve discussed the book, but before they’ve finished the Chardonnay.”
Mila laughed. “Well, good luck with that,” she said. There was a pause in the conversation then while Ms. Thompson coughed. She’d had a cough last week, too, Mila remembered, but it had gotten worse. It had a deep, bronchial quality to it now that worried Mila.
“Have you gotten that checked out?” she asked Ms. Thompson when she’d finally stopped coughing and caught her breath.
“Oh, no. I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “That’s nothing.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like nothing. I think you should see someone about it.”
“Mila, I’m a nurse,” Ms. Thompson said, in a clipped tone. “I think I’m a pretty good judge of how sick I am.”
“Of course you are,” Mila said quickly, though privately she had her doubts about this.
“Look, I don’t want to talk about me anyway,” Ms. Thompson said, still slightly breathless from her coughing fit. “I want to talk about you. How is your patient, for starters?”
“He’s . . . he’s fine,” Mila said, feeling her face grow warm. Liar. He’s better than fine, she thought. He’s perfect. And everything else would be perfect, too, if she didn’t have to leave soon.
“Mila, what’s wrong?” Ms. Thompson asked. “I mean, what’s really wrong? Besides the obvious, of course.”
Mila hesitated, thinking the words but afraid to say them out loud.
“Mila,” Ms. Thompson prompted, in her no-nonsense way.
Mila looked nervously at her door, which was silly. No one could hear her through it. “I’m in love with him, Ms. Thompson.”
“Oh,” Ms. Thompson said, surprised. And then she chuckled softly. “Remember when I told you, in my office that day, that this patient was a jerk? I guess I was wrong about that.”
“You were wrong about that,” Mila said, a little regretfully. “He’s not a jerk. He’s . . . the opposite of a jerk. Whatever that is.”
There was a pause in the conversation, then Ms. Thompson asked, “Does he know about Brandon?”
“No,” Mila said, ashamed. “And you don’t have to say it either. I’ll say it for you. It’s cowardly of me not to have told him. What’s happening between us . . . it’s a mistake. At best, we have no future together. At worst, I’m putting him in danger. You’d think my knowing that would have been enough to keep me from falling in love with him, but it wasn’t,” she added, a little bitterly. “I couldn’t help it. I can’t help it. And now, when I . . . when I leave, he’ll be hurt, Ms. Thompson. And I’ll be the one who hurt him. Believe me, I know how selfish I am.”
“No, not selfish, Mila. Just human,” Ms. Thompson said, then stopped to cough again. When she came back to the conversation, she went on, “Besides, I’m relieved to know you can still have those feelings for someone. Sometimes women who’ve been through what you’ve been through find it difficult to put their trust in someone again. So difficult, in fact, they don’t even try to do it.”
Mila didn’t say anything, but she knew somehow that Ms. Thompson was talking about herself. And it made Mila feel even more sad than she already felt.
“I know things are complicated,” Ms. Thompson continued. “But for now, just, just try to be happy, all right? And who knows? Maybe Brandon will give up on you. Maybe he already has.”
“I don’t think so,” Mila said, anxiously biting her lip. “I don’t think he’s even close to giving up on me. I mean, I know this sounds strange, but it’s almost as if I can feel him looking for me. It’s not like I’m psychic or anything. But I know him so well. And he’s not going to stop looking for me until he finds me. He’s just not.”
“Well, you may be right about that. But, as my mother used to say, ‘don’t borrow trouble.’” Here Ms. Thompson started to cough again. But when she stopped, finally, she continued as if there’d been no interruption. “In the meantime, I need to know if you want me to keep looking for another placement for you.”
“I . . . that would be good,” Mila said, though the thought of leaving this place—this lake, this cabin, but most of all, of course, this man—left her feeling very nearly bereft. Still, she was running out of excuses to stay. Reid wasn’t going to need a home health aide for much longer, and, in fact, he didn’t even really need one now. Thanks to his physical therapy, he was getting stronger every day, and soon the plastic brace would be coming off his leg and he’d be walking unaided again. And then there was Mila. She’d saved enough money now to take her anywhere in the country, and to support herself there, for a little while anyway, while she built another life.
“I thought I’d found something for you in Milwaukee, starting after Labor Day,” Ms. Thompson said, “but that fell through. I’m sure I’ll get another lead soon, though.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mila said, feeling miserable. Then, not wanting to sound ungrateful, she said, “Thank you, Ms. Thompson. Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me. And, another thing, too. It’s a little late, I know, but just for the record, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry for falling in love with a patient.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s not very professional, is it?”
But here Ms. Thompson only sighed. “Mila, honey,” she said. “You and I are way beyond that now.”
Later that afternoon, Mila was sitting on one of the living room couches, a test prep book propped open on the coffee table in front of her. Reid had gone into town with Walker to run some errands, and Lonnie was in the kitchen, humming as she made something for their dinner that night. Mila was trying to concentrate on one of the problems in her book, but she found she couldn’t. She was too hot. She’d initially tried to study on the deck, hoping she might be cooler outside, but the mosquitoes had chased her back in again. And now, even with the enormous ceiling fans whirring overhead, the air in the room felt sluggish, and when she shifted her perspiration-damp legs, they stuck uncomfortably to the leather couch. She was just about to give up studying and go pour herself a glass of iced tea when Reid came into the living room on his crutches.
“You’re back,” she said, and she smiled at him in spite of herself. No matter how often she saw him, she never got tired of seeing him again.
“I’m back,” Reid agreed, and she was so distracted by the way he returned her smile that it wasn’t until he’d reached her that she noticed that one of his hands that was holding a crutch handle was also holding a small, brightly colored cardboard box.
“Are those—”
“Popsicles,” he nodded, using his crutches to lower himself down beside her on the couch. “I picked them up in town.”
“You . . . remembered?” she asked.
He nodded. “The night the alarm went off, you said cherry Popsicles always made you feel better,” he said, opening the box. “And you seemed like you could use one now.”
“Reid, I’m sorry if I haven’t been very good company lately,” she said. And she hadn’t been. She’d been anxious, tense, and, now that she thought of it, probably more than a little self-pitying.