It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (38 page)

Only her sweet surrender in his embrace remained. She tasted like marshmallow and chocolate, sweetly dangerous, and the way the smells of the north shore embedded her hair, her skin, it felt like coming home.
She
felt like coming home.

Honestly, he’d dreamed of kissing her like this, like they belonged together
 
—as though finally, finally, he could free the tight hold he had on his heart
 
—for two years, ever since he’d asked her if they could start over.

Since she’d agreed to let him into her life.

And now she had her arms locked around his neck, the night humming around them, the caress of the waves on the shore, the music drawing them into a quiet dance as he slowed his kiss, lingered at her mouth, then pressed his lips to her cheekbones, the well of her eye, down to her neck.

He could inhale her, she tasted so good, but he didn’t want to scare her. He refused to repeat the fumbling stupidity of his youth. So he closed his eyes and just put his head down and curled her closer.

“I was worried,” he said into her neck. He lifted his head. Found her beautiful eyes. “I was worried that . . . that maybe you’d found someone else. That you . . .” He swallowed. “I know we said just friends, but I was starting to think, over the past few months, that you really meant it.”

She looked away, her lower lip caught in her teeth, and for a second, the fear returned, quick, like a sliver in this perfect night.

He leaned back, trying to search her face, to reassure himself.

“We’re okay, right? I didn’t totally screw this up? Because I was thinking that maybe you were right. Maybe if you wanted to, I could come back to Deep Haven
 
—”

“John
 
—”

He had her attention now, by the shock on her face.

“I know I always said I wanted to play NFL football, but
 
—” he tried a smile
 
—“I keep thinking about what you said about always wanting to live here
 
—”

“But you don’t want to live here. Football is your dream. And you had an amazing year.”

She started to untangle herself from his arms, and her words, her light tone didn’t seem to make sense. Didn’t she want this?

“I know, but . . . the NFL is . . . That’s a pipe dream, right? That’s not really going to happen.”

Now she was really freaking him out because she was backing away, breathing fast, rubbing her hands on her arms as if cold. He took a step toward her, wanting to fix it, but
 
—

“No, John. Listen. You can’t give up your dreams for me. You have to play football. It’s what you’ve wanted your whole life.”

He stared at her, nonplussed. Was it? “I don’t understand.”

“I . . . Oh, John . . .”

She wore a stricken look, not at all the response he’d expected. And the sliver inside swelled, wove its way deeper.

“What’s going on, Ingrid?” he said, his voice low, containing an edge he hadn’t heard for a year, maybe more. Back when he had to prove himself, back when he felt like he wasn’t enough.

“I thought I’d misread you . . .” She was shaking her head, backing into the street, taking his heart with her when suddenly he heard her name, distant, above the crowd.

She winced.

And just like that, he knew. A terrible knot twisted in his chest, and he actually had to put out a hand to brace himself on the wall.

Ingrid came toward him. “John, I . . . You . . . I thought you had chosen my sister! I was hurt and angry, and it just happened.”

He held up his hand, wanting to stop her from talking, the words tearing through him. “Who is he?” he managed.

“Phil. I met him last year in Ecuador.”

He tightened his lips, nodded. “I remember. He taught you how to drive a Jeep.”

She went a little white then. “Yeah.”

He straightened, his balance back, but pressed a hand to his chest, willing himself not to cry in front of her. Shoot, he might be having a heart attack.

Her name again, and she stepped out of the alley, waved.

John had the strangest urge to run. But not alone
 
—to reach out and grab her and just flee. Jump on his bike and head anywhere but here.

Because even as she smiled, even as the owner of the voice appeared, worried, holding a stick of cotton candy, John knew Deep Haven had no place for him without Ingrid.

But he didn’t run. Didn’t reach out for her, didn’t land an uppercut to the man who landed a kiss on the woman he loved. He just stood there, the world opening up beneath him as this tourist came right up to Ingrid as if she belonged to him. “Where’d you go? I was worried.”

Clean-cut blond hair, an oxford shirt, a pair of khakis
 
—a city boy, a wannabe roughneck with Birkenstocks. Of course. She’d only pretended to want a Deep Haven boy. Just like Kari.

“I was catching up with an old friend,” she said to Phil, her voice lacking a bit of her usual shine.

John just shook his head. But he wasn’t the guy who, once upon a time, might have behaved badly, so he stuck out his hand. “John Christiansen. My family runs Evergreen Resort.”

“John. Sure, Ingrid has mentioned you.” Phil’s voice was cool but carried the finest edge of warning that made John glance at Ingrid. She held her cotton candy and stared at it as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“Really.”

“I haven’t seen you around this week,” Phil said. “What brings you to Deep Haven?”

John heard the dare in it, but Ingrid appeared as if she might shatter, on the verge of tears, and he couldn’t bear that, despite the roaring inside.

“I just came up for the night. But I’m headed back to the Cities. I have practice on Monday.”

“You’re not attending services tomorrow? I hear your dad is a great preacher. My future father-in-law says that he preaches the gospel in moccasins.”

Father-in-law? He closed his mouth, his jaw tighter than he intended, but Ingrid only looked at Phil, her eyes big, as if he’d leaked a secret.

Phil wore a smug, confident smile.

“Congratulations, Ingrid,” John said quietly.

“John, we
 
—”

He held out his hand to Phil. Shook it. “Take care of her, then.”

“Good luck next season. Maybe we’ll come to a game.” He slipped his arm around Ingrid. She was staring at John, a look he couldn’t read on her face. He avoided it.

“I’ll make sure you get tickets,” John said, then glanced at Ingrid one last time. She’d wiped all pretense from her face, the emotion on it raw, desperate. Like she hadn’t wanted to hurt him, like maybe, their friendship
 
—or more
 
—had been real.

As if, for the briefest of moments back in the alley, she had belonged to him.

That made it all the worse. Somehow he found his voice. “I always did want you to see a game.”

Then he turned and headed back down the alley, forcing himself not to run, not to howl, and vowing, even as he got his bike, never to return to Deep Haven again.

1982

Rain spit from the sky, tears upon the windowpane, the trickling of a river outside the cabin evidence of the rainiest week they’d had in seven years at the resort. Ingrid’s father lit the furnace at the far end of the two-room cabin, and it glowed hot enough to temper the chill of the misty day. Still, Ingrid sat on the sofa, curled in a homemade knit afghan, trying to focus on her novel.

She read a sentence three times before putting the book down on the arm of the sofa. Kari looked up from where she was playing a game of cards with her husband, Bradley. Their son, Matthew, sat on the floor, gumming the ear of his stuffed bear. “Aren’t you going to town? They’re moving the dance into the community center
 
—I heard about it in town today.” She peered out the window as a roll of thunder fractured the air.

“No. It’s my last night here. I’ll spend it with the family.”

Kari shook her head, picked a card from her hand. “Gin.”

Bradley made a face, and Kari giggled. “You know you can’t beat me.” How her sister had managed to land true love while Ingrid still couldn’t pry herself away from her broken heart seemed colossally unfair. Especially since . . .

Ingrid took a breath. No. They’d already had the fight; Kari had already confessed the truth
 
—that she’d seen John’s expression when she told him Ingrid hadn’t come home and that jealousy had burned inside her. Especially since,
he belonged to me first
.

Ingrid didn’t argue, didn’t want to remind her that John belonged to no one. He made that perfectly clear from the beginning. Not Kari, not Ingrid, not Deep Haven.

And that had never been clearer than when Ingrid chased him down at a football game, some nine months ago.

Like a love-struck fan, she’d waited for him, maneuvering down to the sidelines after the game, praying he’d see her, that her presence might shock him out of the silent treatment long enough for her to explain.

To tell him that she and Phil had called it quits.

After all, she couldn’t give her heart to one man when it belonged to another.

But clearly John didn’t share her problem. That day at the football field could still send a shudder through her, still cause her to unravel with regret.

John had run off the field, helmet in his hand, his dark hair glistening with sweat, looking fierce and amazing in his football pads after a win. The crowd pressed around her, but she’d called out his name.

For a second, his gaze turned, caught hers. And in the sudden darkening of his eyes, so abrupt after the energy of the win, she saw the truth.

He didn’t want her. Maybe even hated her, or something like it, because his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed, and a shiver went through her.

This John, maybe she didn’t know.

But she wouldn’t have let it deter her. Wouldn’t have let his anger push her away. Because she owned the truth, and he needed to know
 
—

Then, from the opposite sideline, a shapely blonde in a Gophers cheerleader outfit launched herself at him, arms around his neck.

And John wrapped one of his strong arms around her, picked her up, and twirled her around, kissing her hard on the mouth.

He didn’t look Ingrid’s direction when he put the girl down, just draped an arm over her and headed into the locker room.

Ingrid signed up for a trip to Uganda not long after that. Nine months later, she had her ESL certificate, and the sooner her flight left next week, the better.

She hadn’t planned on joining her parents at Evergreen this week, but with Kari happily married and little Matty delighting their days, she couldn’t deny them this last family outing.

Thankfully, and like she’d suspected, John hadn’t returned home.

Ingrid got up, draping the afghan over her shoulders, and headed into the back bedroom. Her Bible lay on her bed, open to what she’d read this morning in Ecclesiastes.
“Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.”

Her letter to John, creased and dirty, lay in the folds of the Bible, a placeholder. She took it out and closed the Bible. She should probably throw this away. After all, she’d mailed it three times, and each time he’d sent it back.

Message received.

She pocketed it in her jeans, then lay down in the quiet of her room to read. An hour later, creases in her cheek from the bedspread, she woke up to the quiet hush of an abandoned cabin. Rising, she walked out into the living room and discovered the rain had stopped, a watery twilight flooding the lake in reds and purples. She spied Kari and Bradley outside on the shore, her father reading on a chair outside.

“I’ve made cookies for the campfire tonight,” her mother said from the tiny kitchen. “Would you be willing to take some over to the lodge? Poor Chester is still weak from his treatments, and I don’t want Eva to think she has to cook for anyone.”

Ingrid took the plate covered in tinfoil. “What’s wrong with Chester?”

“Cancer.” Her mother said it softly. “But they think they got it all, and with the chemo . . .” She folded her hands and sighed. “We never know, though, do we?”

Ingrid shook her head and slipped on her flip-flops.

The path to the lodge was edged with mud, the grass glistening, the sky still mottled with anger. She spied a figure sitting on a chair, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and for a moment, her heart leaped into the past. To John, wounded and angry, right before he’d begged her to start over.

How she longed to snatch back that moment, or a thousand others, and rewrite their story. But they would have no more fresh starts. And tomorrow she’d leave Deep Haven and never look back.

She climbed the stairs to the deck, and Chester looked over at her. The cancer sucked the life from his face, leaving it gaunt and tired. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, but he swam in them, the veins on his hand purple and thick as he reached for the cookies. “Your mother is a gem.”

“She is. I agree.” Ingrid stood there a moment, not sure what to say.

“I don’t suppose you’d sit with me for a bit.”

She slid onto the picnic table, right where she’d tried to cheer up John so many years ago.

“Your parents tell me you’re headed to Africa.” His hand snuck in under the tinfoil and emerged with a cookie. He offered it to her, but she shook her head.

“I’m teaching ESL; it’s a five-year contract.”

“Five years. That’s a long time.”

She raised a shoulder.

He took a bite of the cookie. He said nothing then, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I’m really going to miss this place.”

She frowned. “Where are you going?”

He smiled. “Heaven.”

“Oh, Mr. Christiansen
 
—”

“Sweetie. I know it, even if no one else does. And frankly, I’m not sure I’ll tell them.”

“You mean John doesn’t know how sick you are?”

Chester shook his head. “If he finds out, he’ll only come home. And that’s the last thing he wants right now.”

“But he belongs here.”

She wasn’t sure where that came from, but she felt it, her words as natural as the pine scent scoured up by the rain.

“I mean, I know he wants to play football, but he should be here with you.”

“But he has to figure that out for himself. I can’t make him love this resort. I can’t make him love Deep Haven.”

“But he does love Deep Haven; I just know it.”

Chester looked at her, a warmth in his eyes that she recognized. “You’re right, Ingrid. And when he realizes this . . .” He took a breath. “Well, I was hoping you might be here.”

Her mouth opened a little, but she closed it fast. “I don’t know what you mean
 
—”

“I mean I’m asking you for the impossible. I’m asking you not to go to Africa. To stay in America and wait for him.”

“Mr. Christiansen
 
—”

“I’m going to die, Ingrid. And when I do, he’ll need you.”

“He doesn’t need me. He has that cute blonde
 
—” She winced. “Sorry.”

“He doesn’t have anyone. He didn’t make the draft, so he’s playing arena ball in Iowa. Andrea didn’t stick around.”

Oh. “But he could come back, get on a team, right?”

“Maybe. And the fact that you still believe in him tells me that you still care for him.”

She reached for the plate of cookies. “It doesn’t matter. I hurt him, and he doesn’t want me.”

A low chuckle emitted from Chester. “He wants you. And you’re right; he wants Deep Haven. And this resort. It’s in him, and when he needs it, he’ll realize that.” He turned to her. “And he’ll need you.”

She found a cookie, tasted it. The chocolate swam in her taste buds. Savory. Familiar. “I wish that were true, but I don’t think so. And I can’t wait for a man who is never going to show up.”

Chester turned back to the lake. The rain had washed a canoe out into the water. It rode the waves, bobbing closer as they rippled toward shore.

“Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.”

Right. She handed the plate back to Chester. “I’ll be praying for you, Mr. Christiansen.” She caught his hand, felt the bones, frail and brittle, but he squeezed her hand back, strength in his grip.

“And I will be praying for you. We’re really going to miss your smile around here.”

She landed a kiss on his cheek before heading back to her cabin. A loon mourned over the water, and she couldn’t blame the rain for the wetness against her cheeks.

His father decided to die four minutes into the third quarter. Not soon enough for John to ditch the game at halftime and catch a plane for northern Minnesota, but with him still on the field, lining up to blitz the quarterback.

He didn’t get off the line of scrimmage, the running back breezing by him. He should have stayed on the ground, the taste of frustration locked in his teeth.

That felt better than facing the emptiness of Evergreen Resort without Chester Christiansen.

John retrieved the floral arrangement, a big one sent by the Lions Club, and brought it to the house. “I’ll be back to get the box of casserole dishes in a minute,” he said to his mother, struggling to climb out of his truck. He should have taken his father’s old Buick to the cemetery, but he couldn’t find the keys. He longed for his motorcycle, but he’d sold that a year ago, tired of the memories, the what-ifs.

He set the arrangement on the Formica countertop and paused, the view of the lake just beyond his parents’ sliding-glass doors strangely calling to him. Pristine blue water, lapping against the dilapidated dock, shaggy evergreens waving in the wind. Cirrus clouds dragged across the sky, reluctant travelers.

“He never fixed the dock,” John said.

“He left it for the new owner.” Eva dropped her purse on the bench by the door.

John tried to shrug off her words. After three generations, the legacy of the Evergreen family resort would pass to different
 
—and unfamiliar
 
—hands.

Funny, he’d always considered that but had never truly felt those words until now.

What if they took down the rope swing by the big oak? Or decided to do something stupid, like upgrade with television sets in the cabins?

He retrieved the casseroles. “How long before the resort changes hands?”

His mother’s lined face
 
—aged a decade in the last year
 
—put a knife in his chest. Dad owed them all an explanation, including Mom. He’d told her that he was in remission
 
—and hadn’t even mentioned his cancer to John.

But a man didn’t survive in the north woods of Minnesota without a Norwegian stubborn streak. Still, his father could have prepared them all, allowed John to pick up the pieces.

Given him a reason to come home. Maybe . . . even to go after Ingrid, beg her forgiveness. Tell her he’d been a fool instead of letting her fly off to Africa.

A stubborn fool who didn’t deserve her. She was right to leave him, probably.

“Soon,” Eva said in answer to his question. “I made arrangements to go live with my sister in Minneapolis. Maybe I can watch one of your games.”