The Things We Knew (32 page)

“That sounds like Lynnie.” Nick smiled before he could stop himself. “Why didn't you say anything? I told you we were friends.”

“Yes. But I made her a promise. I didn't have any reason not to keep her secret up until now. I know the two of you are close, she's confided in me, you see, and—”

“Evy, get on with it.”

She sighed and moved around the long table. “Lynnie came in the other day with those paintings you saw outside. And there
was another one. I'm pretty sure she didn't mean to bring it, but somehow it landed here, and . . . well, see for yourself.” She pulled off a white cloth and revealed an unframed canvas.

Nick moved closer, unsteady on his feet.

The painting came to life, told the truth in living color.

Dared him to deny it.

Dark muted colors screamed at him, forced him to acknowledge thoughts he'd been pushing out of his head for too many years.

The woman at the bottom of the stairs lay curled as if in slumber, her long blond hair covering her face. Only on closer inspection did he see the trail of blood seeping around her head. The house was clearly Wyldewood, the old ships clock on the wall a perfect match to the one that still hung there.

He needed a few minutes to comprehend what he was looking at. “She signed it.” He stared at the small signature at the bottom of the painting.

Verity.

Truth.

Evy slid up beside him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you in this painting, Nicholas?” She pointed to the man standing at the top of the stairs, a look of sheer horror on his face. But it wasn't hard to miss the coldness in his eyes.

Nick swallowed and tried to ignore the hammering of his heart. He placed his hands down on the table in front of him, closed his eyes, and waited for the room to stop spinning. “That's not me. It's my father.”

S
torm clouds rolled across the dawn sky as thunder rumbled over the ocean. Rain began to fall in heavy drops, pelting his back. Nick yanked up the zipper of his slicker and banged on the front door again. He breathed a sigh of relief when it finally opened, but then stared in surprise. “Ryan?” Lynnie had told him her brother was back, but he'd forgotten.

Lynette's brother frowned, scratched his chin, and then a smile lit his face. “Hello, Nick.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Why are you banging the door down at this time of the morning? You're going to wake everyone.”

Nick hadn't checked his watch. All he'd thought about was getting here as soon as possible. It had been far too late last night to come over so he'd waited until daybreak. And with the storm chasing him he hadn't wasted any time. “Sorry. Is Lynnie home?”

Ryan blocked the doorway. “No. She was off yesterday, but spent the night in town. Babysitting. Said the mom had an emergency.”

“Are you sure?” Nick crossed the front porch and peered in the window. “She didn't say anything to me yesterday about babysitting.”

Ryan shrugged. “Must have come up after you spoke. She left around suppertime last night. What's going on?”

“Can I come inside? I need to take a look at the art studio.”

“Are you serious?” He widened his eyes. “Nick, what is this about?”

“I can't explain right now, but it's important.” Nick raised a hand as David came up behind Ryan, bewildered and sleepy-eyed. “David, thank God . . . maybe you'll listen to me.”

“What are you doing here, Cooper? It's barely seven a.m.”

Ryan yawned and crossed his arms. “Says he needs to go up to the studio.”

“Please.” Nick shuddered as thunder inched closer and the sky got darker. “I think Lynnie's in trouble.”

David gave a quick nod and they let him in, following him up the stairs until he reached the third floor. “It's locked.” He jiggled the handle as if to prove the point.

“Move.” Ryan pulled him out of the way and in one swift kick, the old door flew open. Nick stared. Preacher or not, he wouldn't want to take him on.

He scanned the room and finally found what he was looking for hidden in a dark corner, covered with an old horsehair blanket. He pulled back the blanket to uncover what he hoped he wouldn't find, but somehow knew he would.

“Here.” He pointed to several paintings propped up against the far wall, almost identical to the one Evy had shown him.

Ryan crouched in front of them. “Oh, you've got to be kidding me.”

David stood next to his brother and gave a low whistle. “Liz told me Lynnie was painting again. I'm guessing she didn't see these.” He backed up, faced Nick with a stricken look. “How did you know?”

“Evy McIntyre from the gallery in town called me.” Nick told them everything. “Apparently Lynnie's been selling her paintings to her. One of these was left with a few other . . . normal ones.”

“She's been trying to remember.” David rifled through the hidden artwork, pulling out sketches and half-finished paintings—all
the same horrifying scenario in various stages. “All this time . . .” He ran a hand down his face and Nick listened, astounded, as David filled him in on the events of the last few days. “She must have been there. Seen the whole thing. Once the ambulance left, I found her. She was hiding in the closet in Mom's bedroom.” He sniffed, his words thick with sorrow. “I never thought—afterward we never asked her what she saw.” He peered closer and looked back at Nick. “That's—”

“My father.” Nick nodded, replaying the facts over and over in his mind. Rain pulsed against the roof and lightning lit up the room. Thunderstorms were predicted for the whole weekend. His stomach turned inside out. “Are you positive Lynnie's babysitting?”

David and Ryan exchanged a worried glance. “Where else would she be?”

The swish and squeak of the car's windshield wipers were getting on his nerves. Nick spent all day scouring the island but came up empty. As soon as Liz called to tell him she'd spoken to Tyler's mom and Lynette hadn't been babysitting, his heart kicked into high gear. She wasn't with Cecily. Wasn't with Joanne. Wasn't anywhere.

They'd spread out, but so far nobody had spotted her. The sky remained dark and menacing, the winds fierce, the rain unyielding.

Nick drove on past Brant Point and tried to imagine where she might have gone. He'd checked in a couple of times with Evy but she hadn't heard from her either. And Gray was in New Jersey, going crazy and texting all of them every five minutes for news.

Nick doubled back past Jetties Beach again, but it was deserted. As it should be. Nobody in their right mind would be out in this weather. He drove on. Darkness descended as he crossed the moors and crested the hill; his eyes began to droop. No point in getting into an accident. Reluctantly he swung left and veered down the
long drive that would take him to the place he hoped to call home one day.

The thought of getting through the night without knowing Lynnie was all right terrified him. He'd call David again and see what they wanted to do. She had to be somewhere.

Nick pulled up to the front of the beach cottage and smothered a yawn. Something different caught his eye. A car was parked on the other side of the cottage. And then he saw her.

He almost cried with relief at the sight of the drenched figure standing on the path, staring at the house.

A warning as loud as the evening cannon at the yacht club sounded through him the moment he'd spotted her. Instinct told him why she was here. Why he'd been the one to find her.

And why he wanted to put the Jeep in reverse and peel out of there before she even knew he'd arrived.

But she had his heart now. There would be no going back.

Nick reached for his cell and called David. “I've found her.” He gave the address and hung up, debating his next move.

She turned in slow motion, her face pale, ghostlike in the harsh headlights, soaking wet and shivering.

He shut off the engine and got out, hesitating when she backed up as he got closer, eyes wide and full of fear. “Lynnie? It's me. It's okay. Everything's okay.”

Nothing was okay.

He took slow steps toward her and prayed she'd stay where she was. “Hey.” He reached her, put his hands on her cold shoulders. “What are you doing out here?”

Bloodshot eyes stared through him as rain pelted them from all sides. “What is this place, Nick?” She sounded tired, looked scared and confused.

“You're soaked through. Let's get you inside.” He pulled his slicker up and over her head and guided her toward the stairs. For all he knew, she'd been here all night.

She stiffened and started to tremble. “I can't go in there.”

“Lynnie. It's okay.” He really needed to stop saying that. “This is my place.”

“Your place?” She ducked away from him and backed up against the door. “No. It's . . . his.” She twisted her hands and walked across the small porch. Fear held her face captive. “I've been looking all over for it. I couldn't remember where it was . . . but we . . . came here. My mother brought me. And he . . . he was here.” She took huge gulps of air, her face so pale now that Nick put one hand on his cell phone.

“This was my grandparents' cottage, Lynnie.” He worked to keep his voice level. “Before they built the Cooperage. My grandfather willed it to me. I'm going to renovate it. I can show you the plans if you'd like, inside.” He had to get her out of the rain, out of the storm.

“Your father was here that day,” she whispered. “My mother told me to stay in the car while she went to talk to him. They were yelling.” Thunder and lightning cracked through the air and she let out a small cry. Nick got to her before she fled, fumbled with the key, and somehow maneuvered her through the door.

The warmth of the house and the sweet scent of the pine walls didn't provide the usual comfort. Another round of thunder made her jump again. Nick pulled her into his arms and held her trembling frame. “Shh. It's just the storm. You're safe here, I promise.”

She pushed him away, clasped her arms, and took on that vacant expression again, glancing around as though the ghosts from the past would appear any minute. “They had an affair. Your father and my mother. I . . . I'd forgotten.” She ripped her fingers through her wet tangled hair and looked straight at him. “How could I forget that?”

“Because it wasn't worth remembering.” He shrugged off his coat, tugged at his damp shirt, and wished for the right words for
this moment. The moment he'd been dreading for days. “I'm sorry, Lynnie. I wish it'd never happened.” Nick watched her come back to him, watched her eyes widen, register his words and prepared himself.

“You knew?”

He hesitated and fought the urge to go to her. Her stunned expression told him it wasn't a good idea.

“Answer me! Did you know?” She gripped the back of her neck and glared so fiercely that he was left with little choice.

“Yes.” The admission, once said, allowed a certain sense of relief.

Water dripped down the side of his face and fell off his chin. Nick gauged the glint in her eyes and got it over with. “I've known since I was a kid. I didn't tell anyone, not for years. And I never wanted you to know.”

“No.” She let out a strangled cry and sank to her knees. “Of course you didn't. Because none of you ever believed I could handle anything. Right? Poor little scatterbrained Lynnie. Did you think it was better to lie?”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment. How would they survive this?

“I never lied about it, Lynnie. I just didn't tell you what I knew.”

She didn't reply. Just sat there, hunched over her knees.

He went to the closet for towels, returned to find her standing in the living room, staring at the collection of paintings he'd amassed over the last few months.

“Nick?” Lynette spun around, new confusion creased her face. “Why are these here?”

He pulled in a sharp breath and took slow steps toward her, holding out a towel. She didn't take it.

“Why are my paintings in this house?” Lynette marched across the room and began tossing them aside, one by one.

Nick ran to her and took her by the arm. “Stop it, Lynnie! Stop.”

She whirled to face him. “You bailed me out, didn't you? Like always! I thought I was actually selling them to people who liked my art! But it was just you. You were paying Evy for them? All that money! I suppose you never wanted me to know about this either?”

Nick shook his head, hating the desperation in her eyes. “No, Lynnie, you're wrong. I bought the paintings because I liked them. I didn't know you were the artist until last night, I swear.”

She put down the painting she held. Carefully.

She believed him.

“I wanted to tell you.” Lynette shook her head and shuddered. “But I didn't want anyone to know I was painting.” Her voice pitched desperately. “All this time I think I knew. About them. Your father and my mother. I was painting . . . other ones . . . to try to remember.”

“I know.” He wouldn't tell her he'd seen them, didn't want to upset her further, and he didn't like the fear in her eyes. Nerves threatened to turn his insides out any second. “You need to calm down, sweetheart. Just take a breath.” Her breathing was growing tight and he didn't see this ending well.

“I hate them!” Lynette picked up the painting and hurled it toward the fireplace, her cry of anguish splitting through the room. The wood frame splintered and scattered across the old Persian rug. “I hate them for what they did! How could they?” She faced him again with a beseeching look that split his heart into pieces like the splinters on the rug. “And all this time, you knew? How could you even face me, knowing what your father did? Knowing how much my dad loved her? Here I was, thanking God for bringing you back into my life. Thanking Him for bringing us together!”

“Lynnie.” Nick sighed, tears stinging. “I didn't know what to do. Maybe it was wrong not to tell you. But I only wanted to protect you.”

“Yes, you always do!” She kicked at another painting and sent it flying. The wind howled against the windows of the house as the front door flew open. Ryan, David, and Liz raced inside, followed by Cecily. Nick held up a hand for them to stay where they were.

Lynette focused on him, not even acknowledging the others. “You lied to me, Nick. Just like your father lied. Just like my mother lied. They all lied! And he—” She paced the room, her eyes as wild as the weather. Nick watched her face change, the past grabbing hold once more.

Her breathing started to get shallow, raspy, and all Nick could think about was getting her out of here, but he couldn't move. He needed to allow this to play out.