You Don't Know Me, page 18
Then again, Seb always dressed as if he might charge into battle any moment. And why not? The guy sported his football build, even ten years after the state play-offs, and still had the aura of champion about him, even if he looked a little older, more responsible. Nathan well remembered watching him from the stands, cheering for the team, if not for Seb. Back then, he remembered an arrogant young man owning his fame as if he might deserve it as he glad-handed fans around Deep Haven. Apparently no one cared that Seb’s father was a drunk and that Nathan had helped scoop him off the street a few times after finding the man curled in the alleyway between his real estate building and the old fire department.
But Nathan wasn’t going to let Seb intimidate him with his hometown charm. Seb hadn’t worked for twenty years in this community trying to earn their trust.
Except perhaps that was the problem. Seb already had it from the beginning.
“I think she’s had the place for about twenty years. Nelda couldn’t bring herself to part with it, although she never could figure out how to create something from it. She was stuck.”
Seb stared out over the lake. “I understand that. Not sure how to get out of a rut.” He adjusted his cap. “That’s why I came back to Deep Haven. To break free of the man I was becoming. To find a fresh start.” He glanced at Nathan. “I have a lot of catching up to do in this election.”
Seb, catch up with Nathan? “Seb, if I remember correctly, you were the grand marshal in this year’s Fisherman’s Picnic parade. The town is ecstatic to have you back.” He resisted the urge to suggest that Seb might beat him handily—no need to be overly magnanimous.
But Nathan wasn’t stupid. Seb even looked the north woods mayoral part, a flannel shirt under that jacket, his hair just a little long and woolly under his cap.
“Aw, they liked me when I could throw a touchdown pass. But that was then.” Seb smiled. “A man has to prove who he is every day, not rely on his past to build it for him.”
Nathan was starting to get the feeling that Seb had dragged him out here for more than a tour of the old, unfinished shell on the hill. Thanks, but he didn’t want to talk about the election. Or make Seb feel better in case he stole it from Nathan.
Which he wouldn’t.
“I hope you can see the potential of this place.” Nathan gestured toward the house, turning Seb from the view. “Put the living room here, with giant windows in an open floor plan. Over here is the kitchen.” He walked across the cement patio. “And what about here for a master bedroom? Wake up every morning to the sunrise over the lake?” He smiled, hoping Seb could see it.
But the man was looking at Nathan, his green eyes considering him. “You really are a visionary, aren’t you?”
He wasn’t sure—
“I admit, Nathan, that I came out here wondering who I was running against. But I suddenly feel like buying a house.” Seb walked past him. “Yeah, we could put our bed here, and on the other side of the house, two more bedrooms.”
“For kids?”
“Maybe one for my dad. The trailer is getting old. And he could use someone to watch over him. He’s in better health since he stopped drinking, but all those years wasted him away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Seb walked to the rough-in for the expansive bathroom, the walk-in closet. “He just kept trying to outrun his demons. Until he finally figured out that he’d already been forgiven and there was nothing to run from anymore.” He turned in the space. “I think I could fit a sauna in here.”
Nothing to run from anymore. Or maybe it was a matter of not running. Standing firm.
“Absolutely. And a hot tub.” Nathan walked into the room, mapping it out for Seb. Joked about wives needing two or three times the closet space.
They worked out a plan for the kitchen, then talked about the easements on the property along the shoreline for water and gas lines and electricity.
“It’s a lot of work, but it could really be a magnificent place when it’s finished,” Nathan said.
Seb nodded. “Anything worth doing well takes work. Coach Presley used to tell us that. If we wanted something of value, like a state championship, we had to be willing to fight for it.”
Of course everything came back to football. Football players thought they owned the corner on toughness, on courage. But just because Nathan had never really played didn’t mean he didn’t know how to fight for what he wanted. He’d been doing that his entire life, hadn’t he?
Besides, try running a marathon and say it’s not about courage.
Nathan resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead managed a smile. “Let me know when you’re ready to make an offer.”
Seb shook his hand, held it a little longer than Nathan expected. “Thanks for showing me the house, Nathan. You have an eye for a treasure. I’ll have to sit down with Lucy and see if she’s willing to go on this ride with me. I’d love to roll up my sleeves and see what we can build together.”
Nathan recognized the spark of a newlywed in his expression. Oh, to be young and starting out with Annalise again. “If you need help crunching the numbers, give me a shout. I’ll be glad to work through an offer with you,” he said as they walked to their cars.
Seb turned to him, holding open his door, and gave a slow smile, the kind that probably won him his team’s trust—and the voters’. “I’d rather not lose to you, but if I do, I know the town will be in good hands.”
Nathan had no words for that as he climbed into his car, followed Seb’s to the highway.
He could be in big trouble against Seb Brewster and the way he disarmed his opponents.
Nathan called his office on the way back to town, pulling over when he hit the zone for a cell signal. Along this stretch of highway, the service spotted in and out. Today, with a clear sky, it worked.
Only then did he notice he was at the corner of Cutaway Creek. He’d been so engrossed in thought, he’d taken the curve without hearing the voices. Without seeing, in his mind, his father swerving too hard, slamming into Moe Jorgenson’s Subaru.
Then vaulting over the guardrail into the river.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stopped, let the curve lure him to the edge to examine, to imagine the tragedy. He debated a moment, then got out.
A crisp wind rushed into his ears, tugged at his tie, wrapped it around his neck.
The Cutaway Creek gorge ran from some northern lake right down into Lake Superior, a tumble of jagged boulders cutting through the landscape to form more of a frothy river than a creek. In the springtime, the runoff could nearly reach the bridge with its force.
Tourists stood with their cameras, tracing every jagged edge, every turn of the water.
Nathan knew it by heart.
He too had spent hours here, angry that his fear held him captive. Because of Cutaway Creek, he’d become too terrified to swim. Because of Cutaway Creek, he woke—sometimes even now—with nightmares of drowning, grit in his throat, the icy grip stealing his breath.
Just the thought of water rushing over his head could paralyze him. Turn him into that twelve-year-old kid who refused to get in the pool during gym class. The one who hid in the locker room like a coward until his mother managed to get him excused from class.
Even now, as he ventured to the edge, the roar of the water in his ears wrapped a fist around his heart. He willed away the slick rush of fear and checked his voice mail.
No messages. Turning his back to the river, he called Annalise at home, but the phone went to the machine, and she didn’t pick up her cell.
He watched the creek, this time from the north, where it dropped from a waterfall and into the gorge.
Maybe he came here just to confirm that he wasn’t his father. That he’d never, ever give up on the people he loved.
He got into his sedan and pulled away. Maybe he’d sneak up to the school and watch Jason’s rehearsal.
Or perhaps he should stop by and have a heart-to-heart with his mother before Frank could wheedle his way further into her life. Nathan swallowed back the acid in his throat. He didn’t know why the thought of Frank courting his mother set his insides to roil, but he had to get a handle on the fact that his mother did seem to enjoy the man’s company.
Didn’t she deserve to fall in love? To be happy? She’d sacrificed so much raising him. What if she did fall in love? Would Nathan pick someone different from Frank?
As he entered town and turned toward the school, he waved to Joann Hauck on the sidewalk, walking her little terrier, the dog dressed for winter in a pink sweater. She waved back, thumbs-upping him.
Looked like he could count on her vote.
There was something about Frank he didn’t trust, especially after the conversation with Annalise he’d overheard. But maybe he read too much into what was said. Annalise hadn’t mentioned it, hadn’t acted remote or in the least like she might be really leaving him. Maybe she’d just been reacting to some request for her to travel with Frank, maybe to some family gathering. If Frank moved to town, perhaps it would fill the loneliness, the grief that always lurked inside his wife.
Instead of fighting the man, perhaps Nathan should make efforts to get to know him. To embrace him. To give him a chance to prove himself like Seb had suggested.
Nathan glanced through the school parking lot as he got out, searching for Annalise’s SUV. Not here, which meant that she was probably picking up Henry, maybe even at home, cooking. Jason often caught a lift home from rehearsal when he was involved in a show—he would probably appreciate the ride.
Nathan opened the door to the theater. He heard voices coming from down the hallway, along the back entrance.
Lines from Romeo and Juliet. Even he recognized them.
“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”
He remembered reading the play in English class so many years ago in this very school. And this voice was sweet and light, as if she meant it. Give up her name, her identity, for the man she loved. It’s what women did all the time.
He heard the shifting of pages, then:
“Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo—”
“No, Jason, you skipped my favorite part—‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet . . .’”
Nathan slowed his step, listening as his son’s voice dropped. He had heard Jason rehearse before but never with such depth. Perhaps he was made for this part.
“‘By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee.’”
“Jason—”
“Say the line.”
“Fine—‘Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?’”
“‘Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.’”
The girl giggled just as Nathan turned down the hall.
“You’re not supposed to kiss me yet!”
“I’m improvising.”
Indeed. Nathan stopped at the sight of his son, one hand braced against the wall, the other holding his open script, leaning down to kiss Harper Jacobsen. He didn’t know what to do. Clear his throat? Turn away? Stand there frozen in the hallway?
But wow, he remembered exactly the moment he’d first kissed Annalise. A quick, stolen moment as he’d dropped her off at her house. She was so jumpy—he walked her to the door and she dropped her keys on the porch. He’d bent to get them and found her crouched beside him.
He wasn’t sure why he’d done it—he’d just looked up at her and it felt right to lean forward, to kiss her, to taste the vanilla ice cream on her still-cold lips. She’d stiffened at first and then smiled into his eyes. And the truth was he couldn’t be sure, but he thought she’d wiped away a tear.
Then she’d stood and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. As if he’d done her a favor.
But really, she’d been the one to bless him. For twenty years they’d lived a calm, safe life. No drama, no Romeo and Juliet tragedy, no theatrics.
Just blessed.
Nathan cleared his throat.
Jason jumped away from Harper as if she were hot to the touch.
Nathan smiled. “Sorry to interrupt. Is rehearsal over yet?”
His son stared at him like he wanted to choke him. Either that or run in horror.
Harper had turned red.
“I’ll wait in the car. Unless you’d like to go ahead and drink poison first and put yourself out of your misery?”
“I’ll be right there, Dad,” Jason said, his jaw tight.
Nathan swung his keys around his finger as he slid into the car, laughing. Yes, he should be grateful he’d escaped the teenage angst of falling in love. When he’d fallen, it had been for real, with the woman of his dreams. His soul mate.
Jason climbed into the car a few minutes later. Didn’t look at his father.
Nathan hid a smirk. “So do you like her?” he asked as he backed out of the parking lot.
His son lifted a shoulder.
“Jason, if you kiss a girl, you should mean it.”
“I mean it.”
Maybe Nathan should have a talk with him later about what it meant to love someone. How it meant respect and belief and loyalty.
Nathan pulled into the garage, hoping to smell pork chops as he walked into the house.
Instead a pall of darkness hung over the lonely kitchen. No frying pan on the stove, no wife chopping salad. No Henry at the kitchen table, wrestling with homework.
“Annalise?”
Nathan set his briefcase on the floor and heard the television downstairs. He went halfway down. Henry sat curled on the sofa, remote in hand.
“Where’s your mother?”
“I don’t know. She told me to watch television.”
Annalise told their son to watch television? Was she running a high fever? He climbed back upstairs, stood in the family room, then wandered down the hall to their room.
The light was off, the shades drawn. He wouldn’t have noticed her but for the sobs erupting from the space between the dresser and the closet.
“Annalise?” When he flicked on the light, it washed over her—disheveled, red-faced, her legs caught to her chest. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head, then covered it with her arms as if she wanted to curl into a ball.
He crouched before her, put his hand on her arm. What in the world? “I don’t understand. Did something happen? Is it . . . Uncle Frank? Mom?” His chest tightened on the question.
“No.” Her voice emerged small and shattered. “It’s . . . Everything’s wrecked, Nathan. Everything.” The look she gave him unraveled him from the inside out.
“I can’t pretend anymore. It’s over.” Annalise swallowed hard and, with it, took out his heart. “It’s all over.”
Like a man with an addiction, Frank found himself on Helen’s doorstep, drawn to the light glowing inside as if it were calling him home.
Home. He had the strangest sense of it as she opened the door and smiled at him, her expression so welcoming he might belong here in her kitchen. He sat propped on a stool, eating the last piece of pie, while she drained the potatoes to mash them. The entire house smelled tangy, of something sweet and yet hearty baking, and fresh bread on the counter could make his eyes roll back into his head.
If his partner saw him now, he’d turn Frank in for counseling. Rehab.
Except, well, he’d already overstayed his welcome in WitSec, and they’d been nudging him toward retirement for years now.
He could retire here. In Deep Haven or—
Frank nearly choked on his milk.
“Are you okay?” Helen wore blue oven mitts and a matching apron over jeans and a pretty lime-green blouse that did dangerous things to her eyes. Especially since they lit up, a sort of twinkle in them, when he smiled at her.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the reason for a woman’s smile.
“Uh-huh,” he managed, sounding brilliant. “This pie is so good I nearly inhaled it.”
She set the pot back on the stove before dumping the potatoes from the colander into it. “So, what did you do today?” she asked as she added milk and butter to the potatoes. It felt like old times in the kitchen with Margaret. Comfortable. Right.
“Not much.” In fact, in addition to following Annalise around all day, he’d spent a good portion of time on the phone working on a new placement for her in eastern Tennessee. He’d found a town there once that felt much like this one, quaint and slower. Kind.
Annalise could become Carrie Ann Fuller, and if the rest of the family decided to follow, then they’d be Justin, Rosie, and Harlan. Nathan could be Nick or perhaps Thad. He liked that name; it meant “praise.” Something Frank would do if he could keep this family safe.
And Helen. Oh, Helen. He couldn’t think of a better name than Helen. “I have a feeling you spent most of the day cooking.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Make a grab for one of those rolls and you’ll pull back a nub.” She winked at him, returned to the potatoes, began to mash.
“Let me do that for you.” He slid off the stool and came around behind her to take the masher from her hand.
“Thank you.” When she stepped back, he wanted to kick himself for letting her get away so quickly.
He wanted to kiss her again. Couldn’t stop thinking about it, in fact—the way she’d felt in his arms, made him feel invincible. Young. Full of hope.
Maybe he could live in Tennessee. Helen Harrison . . . that wasn’t a terrible alibi.
Or maybe Boyd would catch Garcia and no one would have to leave.
“I think we need more milk,” Frank said as he put some muscle into the mashing. “And pepper.”
She stepped close and dropped in another pat of butter, shook in salt and pepper. He could smell her perfume, light and intoxicating, rising up around him.
