The Things We Knew (5 page)

“Come, sit.” Dad lowered himself onto the white wicker couch, the once navy-striped cushions now faded and spotted with mildew. “I'll have Cecily bring us some iced tea.”

Lynette pulled her dark blue cardigan tight around her shoulders and slipped into the rocker opposite him. A breeze floated around her and cooled her cheeks. “Cecily doesn't work for us anymore, Dad.”

“She doesn't?”

She hated that confused look. Hated that he was losing so much memory so quickly. And she especially hated that there wasn't a blessed thing she could do about it.

He raised an eyebrow, then chuckled, playing with the gold wedding band he still wore. “Of course she doesn't. Why is that again?”

“Because we couldn't pay her.” Lynette spied the dogs poking around at the far end of the garden and whistled. “Diggory! Jasper!” They soon clattered up the steps toward her, clamoring for attention. She fussed over them a bit before turning back to Dad.

He gazed out at the ocean, his mind no doubt someplace far from here. Lynette spent most of her prayer time asking God to heal him. The last time she'd talked with Cecily over the phone, she'd voiced her frustration over God's silence.

“God speaks when He wants to, honey,”
her old friend had said
. “And could be sometimes you're not listening.”

Whatever that meant. Sometimes Cecily was as mysterious as God Himself.

It was possible Dad was just getting old. He was a few years from seventy, seemed healthy, but there was no telling what years of alcohol abuse had done to his body. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe it was time to talk about putting the house on the market.

“Would you ever think about living someplace else, Dad? Maybe something smaller?”

He looked her way, his face pinched, eyes void of their usual sparkle. “Someplace else? Why?”

“I don't know.” Lynette wiggled her toes, choosing her words carefully. “This is a big place for just the two of us. We could buy a condo somewhere, maybe even around here, still on the ocean. I was talking to Nick Cooper, you remember Nick, from next door? Anyway, I thought—”

“Why were you talking to Nick Cooper, Lynette?” His eyes narrowed as anger flashed across his face.

Lynette blinked. “Well, I was just—”

“There's no reason to talk to him anymore. Is there?”

“I don't know, I . . .” Confusion covered her, thick and dense, taking her breath away and leaving her floundering.

“You will not discuss our business with that family!” Dad pushed out of his chair and stormed across the patio. “I won't have
it. I'm telling you now, Diana, I want this to end!” He picked up an old conch shell and hurled it across the lawn.

Sometimes, in less lucid moments, he confused her for her mother. But she'd never seen him angry when that happened. Lynette ignored her fear, raced to him, and grabbed his arm. “Dad, stop! Dad . . .” Her throat clogged as he turned to look at her. “Dad, it's me. Lynette.”

His gaunt cheeks were blotchy, his eyes wet. That bewildered look settled over him again. “Yes.” He nodded and shuffled back to his chair. “Yes, of course it is.”

Lynette returned to her seat and sat on her hands to stop them from shaking. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

“We can't sell this house. I can't leave your mother.” He pulled a thread on his khaki trousers, resolute as he watched the waves roll in, the last few minutes forgotten.

“Dad . . .” She patted one of the dogs, slowed her breathing. A few white sails dotted the water. Tears stung and she ran the back of her hand across her face. “Moving from here wouldn't mean leaving Mom. She'll still be with you, in your heart. In your memories.”

Her dad looked at her, his face awash with pain. “That's just it, Lynnie,” he whispered. “I'm starting to forget.”

Lynette sent up a silent prayer and listened to the waves crash against the rocks. How could she even think it, forcing Dad from the place he'd shared with the love of his life?

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Tell me what it was like, Lynnie.” He dragged a hand across his trembling mouth. “Help me remember what I can't.”

“Oh, Dad.” Sorrow brought fresh tears.

It was as close as he'd come to admitting the truth.

That he was losing time. Losing the past.

While Dad was losing his memory, she wished she could get hers back.

What a pair they made.

Lynette inhaled, found a smile, and began. “Mother's great-grandfather, Tristan Wylde, always dreamed of a house on the ocean. He and his wife honeymooned here. He fell in love with the place, purchased land, and proceeded to build Wyldewood. The Wyldes lived here for generations, until the house passed to Mother, who was, of course by that time, a Carlisle.” Lynette gave a sigh of satisfaction and retreated to the place in her mind where she went to pretend.

She'd been raised on tales of bygone eras that now mingled with the memories of her own idyllic childhood—weeks of doing nothing but sailing and swimming and tennis. Sweet scented summer nights spent dancing under the stars; bitterly cold winter days passed by the fire, playing Spit, Monopoly, or backgammon. Sometimes Dad would have her brothers haul out the large screen and projector, and they'd watch old family movies or their own reels, laughing at themselves until the tears rolled down their cheeks.

“Your mother loved this house.” Dad's breathing was shallow, his head bobbing every now and then. “What about the parties?”

Lynette nodded. “Mom loved to entertain. She'd plan events for weeks, making sure everything was just so. Used to drive Cecily crazy. But it was always worth it. She'd make us dress up in winter, which I hated. I had this red velvet dress with a white collar that prickled my neck.”

The house was always filled with laughter and heady conversation, people coming and going in a whirl of social activity. In its glory days, Wyldewood had been whatever one wanted it to be—a paradise, a sanctuary, or a playground. “I remember one year”—Lynette laughed a little—“Mom had a bet going with Mrs. Cooper that—”

Dad put up a hand. “I'm tired now, Lynnie. I think I'll go upstairs.” He rose, steadied himself, and sent her a small smile.

She watched him head in, let out her breath, and closed her eyes.

If only she could get those days back.

The life she remembered ended abruptly, twelve years ago, when all their dreams turned into siren-screeching nightmares. Nightmares she could only recall in flashes.

Flashes of the ferocious storm. Flashes of huddling in darkness, hands clapped over her ears. Flashes of long dresses hanging above her, perfume tickling her nose.

Then finally, David, reaching, pulling her from the depths of the closet where she'd hidden.

Hidden from what, exactly, she still didn't know.

L
ynette had an hour to kill before heading back to work on Tuesday afternoon. After running her errands, she walked toward the waterfront, relishing the fresh air.

More tourists milled about this week. Hydrangeas and wild roses colored the gardens of the houses she passed. With Memorial Day weekend approaching, the summer season would soon be in full swing. Nothing really changed on Nantucket. Shops changed hands, a few families moved away, but Lynette could always count on the familiarity of the island she'd grown up on. If only things at home would stop changing.

Her cell phone rang out while she contemplated lunch. She searched for it inside her purse and took a seat on a nearby bench. “Hello.” Lynette stretched her legs and watched a young couple stroll by, helping a toddler navigate the sidewalk. The little girl looked her way and Lynette smiled.

“Lynette, this is your sister.”

“I know. I felt the icy blast when I held the phone up to my ear.”

“Tell me why you keep calling my cell phone and hanging up.”

Lynette groaned inwardly. “Because I don't want to talk to your voice mail. I want to talk to you.”

“Well, if you actually left a message, I'd know what it was you wanted to talk about.” Liz's sigh of exasperation made Lynette grin.

“Well, if you actually called me back sooner, you'd find out.”

“I happen to have a life, you know. I have a very demanding job, and I can't just drop everything when you decide you want to chat.”

Lynette rolled her eyes. “Liz, I don't even remember the last time we ‘chatted.' And in case you've forgotten, I also have a job. And I'm pretty sure I'm the one living in a house that might fall down any minute
and
running after Dad in the middle of the night.”

An altercation with Liz the Lawyer was not what Lynette had in mind for lunch. She poked around in her purse, found her Pez dispenser, and popped a candy into her mouth.

“Lynette, what's going on over there?” Liz used her answer-me-right-now-or-I'll-slap-it-out-of-you tone.

She'd already explained the situation to her sister. “We need money.”

“Please. What else is new?”

“Liz. Did you even look at the financial statements I e-mailed you the other day?”

“I haven't had a chance,” Liz said. “As I told you, I'm rather busy.”

“Of course you are. Well, here's the CliffsNotes version. We're broke.”

“Oh, come on, Lynnie. I'm sure—”

“Liz. I went to see Nick Cooper at the bank yesterday. I don't think we can get a loan, and as much as I hate to say it, I think we need to talk about selling the house.”

“Nick Cooper? What's he doing back there?”

“Working at the bank. I think I just said that.” Lynette shook her head and prayed for patience.

“I thought you didn't want to sell the house.”

For somebody with a law degree, Liz could be awfully stupid sometimes. “I don't. But the place needs so much work. The bills are ridiculous, even with just me and Dad there. It'd be nice for us
to have something to live on into Dad's old age, but at this rate, unless you want to send me a million dollars, I don't see another option.”

“Well, now you're making sense. Selling is the only way forward, although some repairs should be made before we list it. And why in the world are you just now telling me this? Have you spoken to David? Have you—” The long mournful blast of the ferry horn drowned out Liz's screeching.

“What, Liz? Didn't catch that.” Tantalizing aromas from nearby restaurants reached her nose and her stomach began to growl. Lynette leaned over her knees and watched a trail of ants march by the tip of her Birkenstocks.

“We should have sold that tinderbox years ago, like I suggested,” Liz grumbled. “The market has bottomed out now. We'll never get what it's really worth.”

Lynette twisted her hair over one shoulder, her neck damp. “You'll have to come back if we want to talk about selling.”

“Come back?”

“Mom's will.” Lynette imagined the look of disgust on her sister's face. “She made the stipulation that—”

“I know what Mom's will says,” her sister snapped. “I have some vacation time coming. Spending it on Nantucket wasn't what I had planned, but I'll suck it up.”

“Don't rush over. I don't know what everyone else is up to yet and maybe selling isn't best.”

“Of course it's best. Didn't you just say you were broke? Don't be stupid, Lynette.”

Convincing Liz she was wrong was like chasing the dogs when they went after a strange cat. “Well. There's also this thing with Dad . . .”

“What about Dad?” Liz's voice shot up a notch. “Don't you dare tell me he's gambling again, Lynette, I swear I'll—”

“He's not. He's just . . . not himself lately.”

“Sweetie, I'd count that as a blessing.”

“Shut up, Liz.” Lynette's eyes began to burn.

Her sister sighed deeply. “Sorry. What's going on with him?”

“I mentioned it before, but clearly you've forgotten.” Lynette popped another candy into her mouth and crunched. Loudly.

“Lynette. Tell me, don't tell me, I'll find out anyway.”

Lynette clapped her sandals together and startled a few birds pecking around a nearby garbage can. “He just . . . he wanders off sometimes. He sleeps weird hours; some nights he doesn't sleep at all. And . . .” She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Last night he thought I was Mom.”

“Mom's dead.”

“No, really? When did that happen?”

Liz swore and Lynette grinned. Her sister always brought out the worst in her.

“Lynette! Stop being a child and swear to me that you're telling the truth.”

“I am telling the truth and nothing but, so help me God.”

“Lynnie . . .”

“Why would I make this up, Liz?” Lynette waited through her sister's silence.

“So you're telling me you've got no money, Dad's off in la-la land, and who knows what else. Seriously, Lynnie! Your timing couldn't be worse. Work is crazy right now; I don't have the time for this.”

“Forget it, Liz.” Lynette shook her head. So much for her sister actually being helpful.

“Don't do that! Tell me what I'm supposed to do here.”

“I was kind of hoping you'd tell me. I'm on my own out here, Liz. I need help.”

“All right, settle down.” Liz's tone softened. “I'll figure something out. Meanwhile, I can send a check this afternoon, just let me know how much.”

On the other side of the street, a sleek, silver BMW slid up to the curb. Lynette watched Nick Cooper cross the street and quickstep it in her direction.

“Are you still there?” Liz did not care to be kept waiting.

“I thought that was you.” Nick stood in front of her, hands on his hips, smiling, his eyes hidden under dark shades. “Oh, sorry, you're on the phone.”

Lynette shrugged and made a face. “Just Liz.”

“Who are you talking to?” In the next breath Liz let out a shriek that made Lynette pull the phone from her ear. “Is that the time? Oh, for heaven's sake! Listen, I need to get to a meeting. Call me tonight. And call David. Tell him everything, and be straight with us from now on. Got it?”

“Sure, Liz. Bye.” She dropped her phone back into her purse. No need to call David. Liz was probably already texting their brother with one hand and hailing a cab with the other. She looked up at Nick. “If you want to talk about selling the house again, I'm not in the mood.”

“Actually, I was going to get some lunch.” Nick took off his shades. “I'm in the mood for chowder. Are you meeting someone?”

“Yeah, Chris Hemsworth.” Lynette laughed at the way he scowled. “The movie star? I'm kidding. I'm on my lunch break, but I have to get back to work soon.”

“Do you have time to join me?”

She tried to gauge his sincerity. He seemed serious. And she was starving. “Chowder sounds good.”

They chose the closest restaurant and settled at a table. Crusty sailors sat at the bar telling tall tales, while sunburned tourists took in the nautical atmosphere. She made a mental note to bring Dad down here on the weekend for a lobster roll.

“I'm glad I ran into you,” Nick said after they placed their order. “I hate to eat alone.”

“Me too.”

The food came quickly, and Lynette gave silent thanks before she began to eat.

Nick noticed. “You pray a lot?”

“A lot more than I used to.” She lowered her gaze and studied the steam rising off the top of the thick white soup. It smelled delicious.

“So, you like working at Kiddie Kare?”

She glanced up and found him still watching her. “I do. I love kids. They're so full of life and excitement. You never know what they'll say or do next.”

His eyes shimmered in the sunlight bouncing off the glass. “I remember you babysitting during the summers.”

“You do?” Lynette tried not to stare. Tried not to search his face to find things he remembered that she didn't. Tried not to feel that sudden connection that came when he held her gaze for longer than he should have.

“Sure. I remember lots of things, Lynnie. Don't you?”

“Um.” Lynette flushed under his easy grin. So not going to answer that question.

Nick got busy with his meal, shook salt and pepper into his chowder, and stuck his spoon in. “I'm surprised you stayed on the island. I thought you might have settled over on the mainland. Be married with a couple of kids by now.”

“Nick, please.” She rolled her eyes at the very idea. “I'm not anywhere near ready to get married. And unlike the rest of you, I happen to like Nantucket.” Plus, there weren't exactly any eligible young men banging down her door.

The soup was hot, but she forced it down to keep her mouth busy.

He played with his straw. “I never said I didn't like Nantucket.”

Lynette almost spat out her mouthful. “You so did! You and Gray were always talking about the day you were going to get off this rock, out into the real world.”

“I guess.” He turned his head slightly, surveying the room. “Sometimes the real world doesn't turn out to be all you think it is when you're eighteen.” A sadness settled on him and Lynette swallowed any further comment. She turned her attention to her meal.

“Where'd you go the last five years?” she finally asked. Curiosity stepped over discretion. “You were at Princeton, right?” Last she'd heard he'd been on the swim team for the university.

“Yeah.” Nick made slow work of pouring dressing over his salad. “I transferred. Spent some time in England.”

“Oh.” She hadn't heard that, but something told her not to ask.

“Hey, how's Cecily? Still here?” His swift change of subject said she'd been right.

“Yes. Still lives in the same house on Washington. She . . . doesn't work for us anymore, though. I see her at church mostly, when I'm able to go. You should give her a call. She'd love to see you.”

“I will.” His smile dimmed. “So do you feel any better about the idea of selling?”

“No.” The chowder didn't taste as good as it had a minute ago. Liz and David would come up with a plan the minute they talked. Probably already had. The two of them would rally, pack Dad up and cart him off to some nursing home, and have the house sold before she could blink.

“Lynette? You seem distracted. Did your sister say something to upset you?” Nick took a gulp of his diet soda and pulled a slice of bread apart.

“She usually does.” Lynette swallowed. “I told her I met with you. That we should talk about selling. And I told her things weren't good with my dad. She's ticked that I didn't call sooner.”

Nick screwed up his nose and blew on his soup. “The wrath of Liz. Not a pleasant experience.”

Lynette poked at her salad. “I've been thinking about it, Nick, about selling. I really wish we didn't have to. Not yet.”

“Do you have a better plan?” He stopped eating, looked so
serious, like every word she spoke was important. It made her want to confide in him.

“Sort of.” She sniffed and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I'm going to call Gray first. I'll beg him if I have to, but he's the only one who has enough cash to get us out of this mess. We could at least make repairs, maybe buy some time. The thought of having to move my dad right now . . .” She shook her head, overwhelmed by the idea.

“You think Gray will help?” Nick's skeptical expression mirrored her feelings.

Lynette twirled her spoon around the bowl. “I don't know. He doesn't keep in touch like he used to.”

They ate in silence for a while. Nick finished his meal before she was halfway through her own. Lynette eyed his empty dishes and grinned. “I guess you were hungry.”

He returned the grin and mussed his hair. “I'm always hungry. You still eat like a bird.”

“I suppose.” She smiled and took a sip of her drink. “So you and Gray . . . you haven't talked at all?”

“Nope.” He didn't have any food left or she was sure he would have scrambled to put something in his mouth.

“And I guess you don't want to tell me why?”

“Right.” Nick leaned back in the captain's chair, ran a hand down his face, and gave a muted groan. “It's not worth getting into. Look, Lynnie, why don't you at least get in touch with a real estate agent. Get some hard figures so you've got something to go on.”

Lynette folded her arms and studied what was left of her meal. “I suppose. But what if there was another way?” The idea had come to her awhile back, but she'd set it aside, convinced it wouldn't work. But now . . . “What if we converted part of the house, or most of it, into a bed-and-breakfast? That way Dad and I could stay there, and—”