Moonlight on Butternut Lake (33 page)

“I want to talk about this, Reid. All of this. I really do. But I don't want to talk about it right now,” she said, slipping out of the flats she was wearing and reaching her arms gracefully behind her and unzipping her dress.
So it had a zipper,
Reid thought. Still, his brain felt a little slow now. A little foggy. “What . . . what are you doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” she said, and with a little shimmying movement she worked first her shoulders and then her arms free of her dress.

“It looks like you're getting undressed,” he said.

“Very good,” she said, the now familiar light dancing in her eyes. And in that moment, it struck him that if he could keep that light in her eyes all the time, it would be enough for him. He wouldn't need to accomplish anything else. She worked her dress down now, over her waist and hips, and then let go of it and let it skim down her legs. It landed around her ankles, and she stepped out of it and gave it a graceful little kick so it wouldn't be in their way. Her bra and panties, he saw, were a matched set, cream colored, and satiny, with delicate scalloping around the edges. They were just right for her, he decided, unmistakably lovely, but, at the same time, unmistakably modest. And he was glad he'd bought a box of condoms at Butternut Drugs.

It was sitting on his dresser right now.

She stepped closer to him, and he caught the faintest scent of the coconut body lotion he had come to love. The contrast of her skin tone—creamy white where her bathing suit had covered her, and pale gold where it had not—was particularly captivating.
He swayed toward her on his crutches and imagined he could feel the warmth emanating off her body.

But he didn't touch her. Not yet. He couldn't. He could only stare at her, mesmerized. He felt like a starving man who was being served every single course of a twelve-course meal simultaneously.
Where to start. Oh God, where to start.
He swallowed and reached out a hand; then, with his finger, he traced a line across her navel, from one hip to the other. She sucked in a little breath when his finger touched her, and as he drew it across her navel, she reached behind her with both hands, as if to unfasten her bra, but she hesitated and changed her mind. She'd lost her nerve, Reid saw. Her striptease was over. But he didn't mind. He wanted to take off those last two pieces of clothing himself.

M
ila, can I ask you a question?” They were out on the deck, lying on one of the cushioned chaise lounges, their naked bodies wrapped in a sheepskin throw. They'd considered going to one of their bedrooms to make love, but, in the end, the night was so beautiful that they'd decided to come out here instead.

“A question?” Mila murmured now. Her head was resting on his chest, and she was so blissfully relaxed, and so completely satiated, that she didn't know if she'd be able to summon the energy to answer a question or not.

“Yes, a question,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “There's something I've always been curious about.” She lifted her head, fractionally, off his chest and looked at him, then couldn't help smiling at him. His hair looked wonderfully rumpled after all their lovemaking.

“Where did you go that first night you were here?” he asked. She frowned, not understanding.

“When you left the cabin, I mean. It was around midnight, I
think, when you went outside. At first I thought you were leaving, for good, but then, about five minutes later, you came back inside.”

“Oh, that,” Mila said, finding the strength to prop herself up on one elbow. “I threw my wedding ring in the lake.”

“You did?” He was fascinated.

“I did,” she said, and now she reached up and tenderly traced the scar that ran across his forehead. “I thought if I couldn't end my marriage legally, I could at least end it symbolically. So I made a little speech—to myself—and I threw my ring off the end of the dock. And, as far as I know, it's still there, sitting at the bottom of the lake. Do you think anyone will ever find it?”

“Not unless they're looking for it,” he said. “It's probably under a couple of inches of silt by now.” She nodded, relieved, and put her head back down on his chest. It seemed right to her, somehow, that the ring was there. That it would always be there. And that she and Reid would always be the only two people who knew about it being there. She'd often thought about that ring over the course of the summer, but lying here now, in Reid's arms, she knew she wouldn't think about it anymore. And that felt right too.

They were quiet for a little while then. Mila listened to Reid's heartbeat and felt the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek, and Reid ran his fingertips up and down her back, from the nape of her neck to the little indentation at the small of her back. His light, caressing touch was relaxing at first, and then, gradually, it became something else, and she stirred in his arms, wanting, and then needing, him again. But Reid had another question for her.

“How is it possible,” he asked, turning onto his side, so that they were facing each other, “that we waited the whole summer to do this?”

“I have no idea,” she said, savoring the feel of her skin against his skin and pulling the throw more tightly around them against the cool night air. “But it was worth waiting for, wasn't it?” she asked.

“
Of course
it was worth waiting for,” he said, kissing her. “But part of me wishes we'd done this your first night here. And every night after that, too. And not just once a night, either, but several times a night.”

Mila laughed, but then she pointed out playfully, “I don't know about our making love my first night here, Reid. As I remember it, you didn't even want to be in the same
room
with me that night, let alone be in the same bed with me.” She'd meant to tease him but saw now he was troubled by what she'd said.

“Oh, God,” he said. “I hate remembering that. The way I treated you then, and the first couple of weeks after that, too. I don't know how I could have been that cruel, but—”

“You weren't cruel, Reid,” Mila said, interrupting him. “You were just . . . lost.”

He thought about that as he started to run his fingers through her hair. “You're right,” he said finally. “I was lost. But you found me, didn't you, Mila? You saved me.”

“I saved
you
?”

“Yes, you saved me,” he said. “That first day, when you walked into Pearl's, I was in a dark place. A very dark place. I was going through the motions, I guess, but I didn't really see the point in going through them anymore. I was like a dead man walking, except, of course, that I wasn't walking.” He smiled wryly. “But you changed that, didn't you?” he said, kissing her, very gently, on the lips. “You made me rethink everything. Every decision I'd made since I woke up in that hospital bed. And a lot of the decisions I'd made before that, too.”

She saw an image of him then, the way he'd been that day, but it was hard to reconcile it with the way he was now. The man sitting in that wheelchair at Pearl's could never have made love to her with the same passion or tenderness as this man had. But there it was. He was one man, and it had been one summer, though who would have ever known it was possible for a life to change so much in so little time?

Then again, she thought, she had changed as much, if not more than he had this summer. And she saw an image of
herself
as she'd been that same day at Pearl's, choosing a chair that faced the door, jumping every time anyone pushed it open, jangling its little bells, and cringing whenever anyone at the table said her name out loud. And now . . . well, now she wasn't that person anymore. She just wasn't, though she liked to think, of course, she'd kept the best parts of herself, kept them for her and for Reid. As for the doubt and the fear and the loneliness, well, those parts of herself she could live without now.

“Reid, if I saved you,” she said, touching his face again, “then it goes without saying that you saved me, too.”

“Mmmm, why don't we just call it even, then,” he said, a little distractedly. And she was distracted too. He was slowly peeling the sheepskin throw away from her body.

“What are you doing?” she asked, though it was perfectly obvious what he was doing.

“I just want to see how your skin looks in the moonlight,” he said. For a moment, she wanted to be under the throw again, but instead she closed her eyes and let him uncover her.

“I love you, Mila Jones,” she heard him say softly, and he started running his fingertips up and down again, only now, instead of tracing a line down her back, he was tracing a line down her front, from the hollow of her neck, down over her collarbone,
down between her breasts, and down to her navel. Then he stopped and started the line in reverse. She shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Not cold. Just thinking about something.”

“What's that?”

She opened her eyes then and saw that he was as naked as she was, having tossed the throw onto the deck, and that the moonlight was bathing not just her but him, too, in its milky glow.

“I know you said you wanted to leave tomorrow,” she said, watching his fingers skate lightly down over her navel. “But do you think we could stay one more day. Or even two?”

His fingers reversed themselves. “Why?”

“So we could spend more time making up for lost time.”

He smiled. “We'll stay here for as long as you'd like,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. For a long time after that the night was quiet, except for the two of them and the soft lapping of waves against the dock below.

W
alker! Allie!
” Reid called to his brother and sister-in-law, who were working their way down one of the aisles in the crowded auditorium.

They waved and turned into his row. “Great seats,” Walker said as they sat down next to Reid. “Front and center.”

“I got here a couple of hours ago,” Reid admitted, before he leaned over Walker to say hello to Allie.

“You look good, by the way,” Walker said when Reid was done chatting with Allie and had sat back in his seat. “How's your leg doing?”

“Good. Good enough for me to run five miles yesterday.”

“Very impressive,” Walker said.

“Mila didn't think so,” Reid said, with a laugh. “She thought I could have gone a few more. But she's very proprietorial about this leg,” he added, patting it. “Remember how hard she pushed me in my physical therapy sessions that fall after the accident?”

“I remember,” Walker said. “Where is Mila, by the way?”

“With her class, over there.” Reid said, gesturing to their left, where the first several rows on that side of the auditorium were
cordoned off and filled with members of the graduating class, resplendent in their blue caps and gowns.

“Is she excited?” Walker asked. Reid nodded.

“She couldn't sleep last night. Although that was partly my fault,” he added, lowering his voice. “I wouldn't
let
her sleep last night.” He smiled, remembering their hours of lovemaking. By the time they'd finally fallen asleep, entwined in each other's arms, it had been 7:00
A.M.
and the alarm clock was soon going off.

Now Walker shook his head, the expression on his face half admiring and half amused. “Reid, are you two still behaving like a couple of newlyweds? After two years?” Reid glanced at the gold band on his ring finger. Had it been that long? It didn't feel like it. But Walker seemed to be waiting for some kind of response, so he said, “Mila's starting her job next week, and being a critical care nurse is going to be pretty intense, especially at first, so we've been trying to make up for lost time, ahead of time.”

“Huh,” Walker said. And then, “I'm sure there's a logic in there somewhere.”

But Reid didn't answer. Someone was waving to him from the side aisle, and now he smiled and waved back. “You remember Heather, don't you?” he asked Walker and Allie as an attractive, middle-aged blond woman entered their row.

“Of course,” Allie said. “She was at your wedding.”

“You made it,” Reid said, rising to give Heather a hug and a kiss.

“Of course I made it,” she said, sitting down next to him. “I wouldn't have missed it for the world. But I have to confess, I'm not used to driving in all this traffic anymore.”

“Do you even have stoplights in Red Cloud, Nebraska?” Reid teased. But she ignored his remark and turned to Allie and Walker instead.

“You've known Mila for a long time, haven't you?” Allie asked her, after they'd exchanged hellos.

Heather nodded. “I was the school nurse at her elementary school.”

“Heather's the reason Mila became a nurse,” Reid interjected.

“Oh, I don't know about that,” she demurred. “But I can tell you that Mila was a very special child. And when she told me, in the third grade, that she wanted to be a nurse, I never doubted for one moment that she'd become one.”

“The third grade?” Allie said, in surprise. “And you stayed in touch all these years?”

“We lost touch once,” Heather said, glancing at Reid. “For a little while. But after that, we never let it happen again.”

“They still write to each other,” Reid said.

“Real letters?” Walked asked. “I wasn't aware that people wrote those anymore.”

“Some of us do,” Heather said good-naturedly. “You should try it sometime. But honestly, as much as I love getting letters from Mila, being here to see her in person is much more exciting.”

“She must be thrilled you're coming,” Walker commented.

“She doesn't know yet,” Heather said, smiling at Reid. “My son's high school graduation is tomorrow, and I was afraid if I drove—which I usually do—I'd be cutting it too close. But Reid made me airline reservations. I'm literally just flying in and out. And not only that, but he practically had me sign a confidentiality agreement, too,” she added, her exasperation tempered by affection.

“I want Mila to be surprised,” Reid said simply.

“Oh, she'll be surprised,” Walker said, and then, lowering his voice, he added to Reid, “You're full of surprises.”

Reid looked at his watch now and shifted nervously in his seat.
The ceremony was about to start, and he still had one seat left to be filled. He sighed and looked around. Why hadn't she let him drive her here? he wondered. Or send a car service for her? But she was stubborn, he knew. It was one of the things he and Mila both loved about her. In the next moment, though, he saw her, and she saw him. She started down the row, slowly, leaning heavily on her cane, and he wanted to help her, but he knew her pride wouldn't allow him too. Even at eighty-two, Gloria Thompson made very few concessions to old age, though the cane, which she hated, was one of them. When she reached them, the four of them stood up to greet her warmly, and after they'd all said their hellos, she settled herself between Reid and Heather. As the lights in the auditorium dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd, she put her hand on top of Reid's hand and asked quietly, “How's our girl?”

“Our girl is just fine,” he said, squeezing her slightly gnarled hand. And he felt it again. That gratitude he always felt toward Gloria and Heather and his brother and Allie. It was true that Mila had never had a conventional family, and what family she did have had long since dropped away. It had been a couple of years now, for instance, since her mother had returned one of her phone calls. But no matter. Because together, the people in this row (and Wyatt and Brooke, too) had become Mila's family. Someday, soon, Reid hoped they would add to this family, but not yet. Mila had some other things she wanted to accomplish first.

The graduation ceremony began now, and Reid watched, absorbed, until the dean of the nursing school began to give out the diplomas. After what seemed like a lifetime, she got to the
J
's, and, by the time she called Mila's name, he was clapping so hard his hands hurt, and the only thing that kept him from standing up was the knowledge that it would annoy the people seated
behind him. He watched as Mila shook the dean's hand, took her diploma, and looked to the front row where Reid had told her they'd be sitting. Her eyes found his, and then registered the excitement of seeing them all there, and then the surprise of seeing Heather. It was there in her expression. It was all there. The happiness, the surprise, the excitement, the pride, and the love. But most of all, the love.