The Things We Knew (10 page)

“Sort of complicated?” A bit of spark returned to her eyes. “How?”

“It's hard to explain. We go out sometimes. She and I are friends, and . . . Well, just don't believe everything you hear, okay?” Suddenly he wanted to tell her everything, but the words wouldn't come.

Maybe they should start talking about church again.

“Well, as long as you're happy, Nick. That's as much as any of us deserve, don't you think?”

Nick caught the flash of sorrow on her face. He could lay it all out on the table right then and there. Tell her the truth, and let the chips fall where they may.

Suddenly the dogs scrambled from the kitchen, barking like mad as the sound of tires on the driveway filtered through one of the open windows. Lynette swiveled on her stool, their conversation shut down.

The dogs went ballistic at the front door. Nick got to his feet. “That better not be the same guy—”

“Don't punch him.” Lynette followed close behind.

Nick placed a hand on her arm. “You stay here.”

He shut the door before the dogs could follow and stepped into
the cool night air. A van, a cab actually, sat in the driveway, headlights still on. He could just make out the shadows of two people in the backseat. The driver slid open the door, helped a petite woman out, then went around to the back of the van.

“Hey.” She nodded his way. Nick watched as bags were tossed onto the grass, followed by three guitar cases carefully placed beside the growing pile of luggage.

“What's going on?” Lynette appeared beside him. The dogs raced past her, barking, then whining and jumping around the van. “Is it Gray?”

Cecily joined them outside and gave a low whistle. “Well, I'll be.”

Realization prickled the back of his neck as the passenger door opened and a man appeared. He paid the driver and the cab drove off, then he bent over the dogs. Nick heard a familiar chuckle.

The guy's hair was long and stringy, his jaw covered in a straggly beard. Dressed in a baggy white cotton shirt and jeans that looked a couple sizes too big, his body was emaciated. He glanced their way and coughed, a deep, hacking sound that shook his thin frame and made Nick's heart lurch.

Lynette gasped, and Cecily let out a little cry. “Oh, my poor sweet boy.” Tears shone on her dark cheeks.

Nick shook his head, feeling a little sick. “Poor sweet boy, my—”

“Grace, Nicholas.” Cecily slipped an arm through his and pulled tight. “We don't know where he's been, and surely only the good Lord knows where he's going. But as long as he's here, for as long as he stays, it's our job to show him grace.”

Nick bit back his next remark and stared at the man who was once his best friend, and the ground shifted under him.

Gray Carlisle was home.

G
ray!” Lynette flew down the porch steps toward her brother. She stopped a foot away. His gaunt cheeks and bleary eyes chased away her excitement. “Gray.”

“Hey, Lynnie.” He sniffed and thrust his hands into his leather jacket. “Bad time to drop in?” The barest of grins came and went, but it was enough.

She closed the gap between them and took him in her arms. Her heart pounded as she hugged his thin, trembling frame. He smelled of tobacco and spicy cologne. “Welcome home, Gray.” After a moment, his stiff body relaxed and he hugged back.

“I've missed you, Shortstop,” he whispered, his voice hard and gruff, not like she remembered.

“I'm so glad you're home.” Lynette stepped back, trying not to stare. Or cry. Or smack him. But Gray wasn't paying attention to her anymore.

“What is he doing here?” He ground out the words like he had dirt in his mouth. Nick came down the steps and Lynette bit her tongue, tempted to tell him to get back inside. Where it was safe.

Although they'd always stood shoulder to shoulder, Nick seemed bigger than Gray, dwarfing him in bulk. Any muscle Gray once had was long gone. His hair needed a good wash and cut. Dark circles framed his eyes, his lips cracked and blistering.

Nick crossed his arms. “You look like crap.”

Gray let out a ragged sigh and pushed his hair back with one
hand. “Great to see you too.” He gave a wheezing cough, his body shaking with the effort it took to stop it.

“Um, hi.” The woman hovering around Gray spoke up, darting glances between them. “I'm sure you're happy to see each other and all, but let's take the party inside. Don't want any pictures hitting tomorrow's rag-mags, right, Gray?”

“Whatever. Nobody cares that much, Tor.” The slow grin Lynette remembered slid out of hiding. “I'm not Justin Bieber, for cryin' out loud.”

“And why in the world would you want to be?” The small woman stalked past him with a dramatic eye roll.

Lynette watched their sparring with veiled curiosity.

Gray cleared his throat, spat over his shoulder, then looked her way. “This is Tori. She's with me.”

The younger woman sighed and shook her head. “I'm Gray's manager. And he doesn't pay me nearly enough.” She walked back to Lynette and extended a hand. “Victoria Montgomery. You must be Lynette.”

Lynette hoped she didn't look as overwhelmed as she felt. “Yes. Thank you for bringing him home.”

“Well, he gives the orders.” Victoria nodded toward the bunch of suitcases and guitars. “And we don't travel light. Sorry.”

“Let's get you all inside.” Cecily took over, shooing Nick toward the pile of luggage.

“Gotta barf.” Gray clutched his stomach and took off toward the boxwood hedge.

“He caught a bug a few days ago. Like he needed another reason to puke.” Victoria rolled her eyes again and muttered something under her breath. “So, where should we put everything?”

Nick placed a hand on Lynnette's shoulder. “You want them on the second floor?”

“Sure. The second floor.” She forced her eyes away from where Gray huddled. Nick's touch and concerned expression tempted her
to crumble to the ground and sob. And she didn't dare look at Cecily. She tried to switch off the sound of Gray's retching, still absorbing his appearance.

He resembled one of those zombies in the horror flicks her brothers used to watch. She hadn't known what to expect, but this . . . this was too much.

She couldn't fall apart. Not yet. There were sheets to find, beds to make. “Gray can have his room, and you . . . uh . . .”

“Oh, please. No, hon.” Victoria widened her dark eyes, waved a hand. “I work for Gray, but I'm not sleeping with him. He'd have to be the last man on earth for that to happen. And probably not even then.”

“Don't believe a word she says. She's madly in love with me.” Gray shuffled past them, still coughing. He hoisted a duffel bag onto his shoulder and picked up a guitar. “I'm going inside. Where's Pops, Lynnie?”

Lynette wondered how to stall him as she cast about for an answer. “He's uh . . . he's in the—”

“I think he went to bed,” Nick interjected. “Had a headache or something.”

Gray accepted Nick's answer and made his way to the front steps, whistling for the dogs. “Looks like we're all set here. Take a hike, Cooper.”

“Oh, go on now, get yourselves inside,” Cecily chided, clearly not about to put up with any nonsense tonight. She clapped her hands behind them, and Gray and Victoria marched toward the house like obedient children.

Lynette almost grinned, made a half turn, and found Nick still with her. “Well, I guess he's home.” She rubbed her arms as a cool breeze wove around them. “I'd better go check on my dad. I know he took that sleeping pill, but still, I hope all the commotion didn't wake him.” She reached for what she hoped was a light carry-on and yanked. Not light.

“Leave that. I'll bring in the rest.” Nick took the bag and gave her a sidelong glance. “You okay?”

Lynette bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “I'm not sure I know what okay means anymore, Nick.”

He paused, moved toward her, then backed up. His eyes flashed, his face shadowed in the glow of the large carriage lamps that lit the front porch. “If you want me to go, just say. I don't want to cause trouble.”

“You won't.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail, secured it with an elastic band. “Did you see him? He couldn't argue with a slug.”

Nick shifted the last guitar case to his other hand. “He doesn't look good.”

“I didn't expect it.”

“He probably looked worse a few weeks ago.”

“I guess they'll need food.” Lynette glanced upward, but the stars were few and far between. “Do you know what time it is?”

“About eight thirty. They must have caught the last ferry. Let me take this in.”

Lynette hesitated, lost in the way Nick's eyes seemed to dance in the darkness. “Unless you have somewhere to be.”

“Nowhere to be. And I'd rather be here.”

And the way he looked at her, it was like . . . like he meant it. She couldn't deny there was comfort in that thought.

Yet years of silence still stood sentry between them.

He had lines beneath his eyes that hadn't been there all those years ago, a sense of melancholy that seemed to follow him around like a silent shadow.

“Are
you
okay, Nick?”

He smiled and lifted his shoulders. “I'm not sure I know what okay means anymore, Lynnie.”

Victoria entered the kitchen where Lynette and Nick were preparing a quick dinner, scanned the room, and scowled. “Welcome to the seventies.”

“Sorry?”

“This kitchen.” Victoria swept the air with one arm. “No Viking? Sub-Zero? This looks like the set of
The Brady Bunch
. I can't cook in here.”

Lynette raised an eyebrow, thankful Cecily was upstairs getting the rooms ready. She didn't need any more drama tonight. “Nobody's asking you to.”

“But I do all of Gray's cooking. He's on a strict diet.”

Nick glanced over his shoulder from his position at the counter. “Of what? Jack Daniels and a little blow?”

Victoria's five-foot-nothing frame got a bit taller, her face taking on a pit-bull scowl. “I resent that, mister. Gray hasn't touched anything in weeks. As you can probably tell, he's in bad shape. I'm trying to get him back on track. So back off.”

“Maybe he should have stayed in rehab.” Nick brought down the knife and split a red pepper in half.

“Yeah, well, he didn't. But maybe you should mind—Who are you anyway?”

“This is Nick. He's a family friend.” Lynette sighed and indicated the fridge. “I think there might be fixings for a salad. I . . . wasn't expecting company. We can go to the store tomorrow.” As long as Gray was paying.

She and Nick worked mostly in silence and managed to scrape together what would pass for dinner. The pasta boiled while Nick sliced the last of the peppers for the marinara sauce. Tantalizing aromas soon wafted around the room. Lynette found a fairly fresh loaf of bread and searched the cluttered drawers for another chopping board.

“Is there garlic in there?” Victoria peered into the pot of bubbling sauce. “He's allergic.”

“Since when?” One side of Lynette's mouth lifted. “He may not like it, but he's not allergic.”

“Oh, fine.” Victoria turned to face her, a frown creasing her pale forehead. Her dark hair was cut short and kind of spiky, probably some celebrity style. Her small ears were covered with silver in places Lynette didn't know could be pierced. And she wore a lot of makeup.

“Did he tell you he's allergic to carrots too?” Nick asked. “He actually is. They make him swell up like the Hindenburg. It's kind of funny, really. We used to make him do it when his parents had company—Ow!” He dropped the knife and popped his finger in his mouth.

Lynette grabbed a paper towel and crossed the room. “Let me see.” It was just a graze, barely bleeding. “Don't be a baby, you're fine. Keep chopping.”

“I hate blood,” he grumbled, sticking out his lower lip. “Got a Band-Aid?”

“Nick.” She sighed and pointed to the cupboard above the sink. “They're where they've always been.” She pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and stepped back. Victoria was scrubbing down the counter. “It's not dirty. You don't need to do that.”

Gray's girlfriend, assistant, or whatever she was, stopped, cloth poised in midair, her face barely masking disgust. “But . . . there are . . . marks, see?”

“Those marks have been there since I was five. But hey, scrub away.” Lynette sucked in her breath and prayed for patience. The woman had been in the house for less than two hours, had bleached the toilets upstairs, swept out Gray's room, and put the sheets back in the dryer because they felt damp. Cecily was not impressed.

“Whoa!”

She turned in time to see Nick scramble to catch the cupboard door as it fell out of place. A giggle stuck in her throat. “The hinges rusted out. I forgot to tell you.”

“Thanks. Just about knocked myself out.”

“Omigosh!” Victoria screamed and jumped back three feet. “Okay, there are bugs!” Her scream brought the dogs running and she jumped back another foot. Clearly animals were not on her list of favorite things either.

Lynette squinted, stared in the direction she pointed. “It's an ant. Just one.”

Nick came up behind her and gave a low chuckle, his breath tickling her neck. “Well, you can't be too careful, Lynnie. You know those killer ants we have here in Nantucket.”

“Dude. Seriously?” Victoria's eyes widened as she played with a thick silver chain around her neck, a chunky ornate-looking cross hanging from it. Lynette wondered if it meant anything or whether the pixie used it as a weapon in dark alleys.

“Do you want some bug spray?”

“Uh, no. You know what kind of toxins they put in that stuff?”

“Okay then.” Lynette sent Nick a despairing look and went to check the pasta. Victoria was definitely going to be a challenge. And Liz was coming next week.

“Spaghetti? Haven't had that in years.” Gray's rumbling tenor took charge of the kitchen before he did. Lynette reached for a dishcloth. She might need to stuff it in Nick's mouth.

The dogs brushed against Gray's legs and he bent over them. He looked a little better. His damp hair was combed back off his face, and a shave revealed the gaunt cheeks that had been hiding beneath the scruff.

Dressed in faded jeans and an old Harvard rugby jersey, he hardly resembled the popular singer she'd kept track of over the years. If she turned back the clock, this could have been any old weekend with the boys home from college.

But it wasn't. Gray's soulless eyes reminded her of that.

Her brother glanced her way and she managed a smile. “You look good, Gray.”

Gray snorted. “You always were the worst liar. I showered. I think you might need to get the pipes looked at. Sounds like a choir of dying cats. And the water was a bit cold.”

“I'm sorry.” She offered him a raw carrot. “You hungry?”

“Funny.” A grin came and went as he wagged a finger at her. “I puke everything right back up again anyway. 'Course, if you insist on letting Cooper hang out here, I might just puke for the fun of it. Still got that wicked gag reflex, Coop?”

Nick swiveled, knife in hand, his eyes glinting in a way that made Lynette step between them.

“Done with the peppers, Nick?” She pried the potential weapon from his hand, put it down, and lifted the chopping board. Tried to hum a tune and act calm as she scraped the green and red wedges into the sauce.

“Why are you here anyway, Cooper?”

“Um . . . want to come upstairs and help me sort out your stuff, Gray?” Victoria pushed aside the large bowl of salad she was working on.