The Things We Knew (9 page)

Her bare feet slapped the terra-cotta tiles as she paced. She fiddled with a long strand of beads around her neck. Nick couldn't stop a grin as he followed her with his eyes. Her parents' artistic nature manifested itself through her tenfold. She'd always reminded him of a throwback flower child of the seventies, even when she was younger. Never cared what she wore or what the latest fashion was. Lynette simply created her own.

Nick watched her move lithely across the room. She tossed her head, her long hair swinging just below her shoulders. What might it feel like to run his fingers through that hair? How would she fit into his embrace, if she ever allowed him to do more than simply hug her?

Nick drew in a quick breath and took a sip of tea.

Being back in this house was making him insane.

Making him think about things that were best left alone.

He studied the painting on the wall across the room. The oil on canvas was one of Drake's.
Safe Harbors
. The sleek navy sloop with the red stripe he'd helped paint himself, sailed across choppy waters, white sails billowing. He and Gray had sailed her many times.

The house must have quite a collection of artwork. Years ago, Drake's work had been popular, in high demand. If the family could be persuaded to sell them . . .

“Sorry about that.” Lynette's soft voice startled him. She put the receiver back in the cradle on the yellowed Corian counter top and pulled up a stool next to him.

Nick smiled and gave himself permission to study her.

Honey-blond hair fell in waves around her oval face, and a slight smattering of freckles still played across her nose. He'd never seen her wear makeup. She didn't need it. Tonight her blue eyes mirrored that stormy ocean, wide and full of life and adventure.

“How's the tea?” Her full mouth turned upward in the beginnings of a smile. “Do you want milk? I couldn't remember how you take it.”

Nick shook his head and took another sip. “No. It's good, thanks.”

She nodded, stretched her arms over her head, and gave a frustrated groan. “Gray is on his way. Liz talked to him an hour ago. She doesn't think I'll be able to handle it. And she and David will be here next weekend.”

“Well, that's good, I guess.” He wasn't sure if it was or wasn't, and she didn't seem to know either. “I'm glad they agreed to come.”

Lynette smiled in a way that caused him to suck in another breath of air. She was beautiful. Even in tears and dressed like a hippie. A sudden intense attraction almost made him bolt from the room. He couldn't deny the feelings that seemed determined to have their way.

“Well, it'll certainly be interesting.” She gave a small sigh. “I don't think we've all been under the same roof since my mother died. Of course Ryan's still roaming Africa. Not sure if he'll show up, which will throw a wrench in things.”

Nick noted the hopeful gleam in her eyes. “Your mother's will did say the decision to sell the house had to be unanimous. But—”

“Oh, I know.” She waved a hand and rolled her eyes. “I'm prepared for the reality that we will have to sell, don't worry. But now this thing with Gray . . . Wow.” She pushed her hair back, close to tears again. Her half laugh sounded more like a muted cry. “Do you ever wonder how life got so complicated?”

Nick nodded slowly, a thin smile about all he could muster. “All the time.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit again, warming him in a way he hadn't thought possible. “And here I thought you were the one who had it all together.”

“Nope.” Nick chuckled and rubbed the strap of his watch. “Just trying to muddle through, same as everyone else.”

She leveled her gaze and got serious. “What are you doing back here, Nick? You still haven't told me. I thought you were going to study architecture, like my father said.”

He wasn't prepared for this conversation. “That didn't work out.” Nick put down his mug and looked around the kitchen. It was exactly as it had been when he was a kid. The same butter-colored
walls displaying all the kids' preschool artwork, each painting framed and labeled. Same old photographs, now yellowed with age, stuck to the refrigerator with the tacky tourist magnets Diana used to collect. Even the pencil marks on the doorway where Diana measured their heights at the end of every summer were still visible. He hopped off his stool and found his name.

“Nick, age 7.”

Nick ran his fingers over the scratched letters and allowed the memories to have their way.

“Come on, Nick. Your turn.” Diana waved him over from where she crouched in the doorway, yellow pencil in hand. Nick shook his head, inched farther back against the wall at the far end of the banquet. The others were waiting, anxious to be done and get back outside.

Nick had turned seven that summer. Just moved into the house next door. Almost at once they'd found him, laid claim to him, and made him one of their own.

Diana was the prettiest mom he'd ever met. He'd tried to call her Mrs. Carlisle, but she'd threatened to paddle him with Cecily's biggest wooden spoon if he insisted.

“Let's go, Cooper. We've got to get another sail in today if we want to win that regatta.” David, the oldest, was the boss at almost fourteen. Nobody dared defy him.

Nick glanced at Gray and wondered what to do. His new friend shrugged and rolled his eyes. “It's only a measurement. Won't hurt.”

“But it's just for you,” he half whispered, catching Diana's twinkling eyes. “For the family.”

“Well, of course it is, sweetheart.” Diana smiled and held out her hand. “So what are you waiting for?”

Nick squeezed his eyes, got rid of the moisture in them, and returned to his stool.

“I did want to be an architect, you know.” She'd pulled the confession from him with no effort at all.

“Why didn't you?” The question was full of sympathy and more than a little curiosity.

He shrugged and felt like that seven-year-old all over again. “My father convinced me a business degree was more practical.”

Her expression said she understood, was sorry, and meant it. “You always do everything your dad tells you?”

“Pretty much.” It was an old wound, still gaping. And he didn't care to exacerbate it further. “Do you know what's wrong with your father yet, Lynnie? Is it Alzheimer's?” He couldn't shake the look on Drake's face. He regretted the question at once, because her eyes got too bright again. Nick cursed his insensitivity and reached for her hand. “Sorry. You don't need to answer that. It's none of my business.”

“Of course it's your business. You're still here, aren't you?”

Still a part of us.

She didn't say it, but he hoped that's what she meant.

Lynette slipped her hand from his too soon. “I think it has to be Alzheimer's. Last time I managed to get him to the doctor, that's what they feared was coming. He started acting weird last year. Forgetting things. Not knowing what day it was. He seems to have lost chunks of memory. Some days he's fine, other days . . . well, you've seen.”

“Isn't there medicine, something that can slow down the progression?” Why had none of her siblings come? Leaving her all alone here, to deal with everything, it wasn't right.

“He throws a fit whenever I mention another checkup. I've talked to Dr. Miller and we're going to try to get him in again, once David and Liz are here. In the meantime, he prescribed some sleeping pills. I've just given him one now.” She stopped talking
and looked down at her hands. “I keep thinking one day he'll get up and be back to normal, you know? Liz is right, I guess. I don't handle things very well.”

“They haven't exactly rushed here to help.” The words were out before he could stop them.

“They all gave up on Dad a long time ago.” Lynette set her tea down. “None of them really see how much he's hurting.” She ran a finger over the rim of her mug, tracing the emblem of the Nantucket Yacht Club. “I was the only one left at home after Mom died. David and Liz were already in college, Gray and Ryan at boarding school. I knew it would be hard on Dad when I finally left. I didn't even want to go to college, but Liz and David forced me.”

“I remember.” Nick sat back and folded his arms. That was the last time he'd been over here, that Christmas after her first semester, right around her birthday. The last time he'd seen any of them.

“When I came home for the summer, his drinking was worse than ever.” Lynette swallowed. “I knew he'd been taking trips over to the mainland. Cecily told me about the gambling. David arranged for him to go to a treatment center, and I . . . I stayed here with him when he came home.”

“You quit college?” Nick tried to keep surprise and judgment out of his voice, but the look she tossed him told him he hadn't managed it. “I thought you had a scholarship.”

“What was I supposed to do, Nick? Leave him all alone?” She balled her hands, her eyes flashing. “I think they blame him for what happened to my mom. But there's . . .” She veered her gaze.

Nick rubbed his jaw, tilted his head, and tried to make sense of her. “What is it, Lynnie? You can tell me anything, you know. You can trust me.”

She let out a long groan and covered her face with her hands. “Never mind. It's not important.” Her smile returned, but the shadows under her eyes stayed. “I have to wonder if this is all God's
plan, you know? For everyone to come back. So we can get rid of all the junk between us and somehow find peace in all of this.”

“Maybe.” Nick hadn't given much thought to God over the years.

He'd gone to church with them when Diana had been on her religion kick, but when his father found out, Sundays with the Carlisles stopped. The faith he'd found there stuck, though. Once, when he was about eleven, Nick dared to question his family's attending every Christmas and Easter service and ignoring the place the rest of the year, but his parents refused to engage in the discussion. Through high school and college, he'd let that faith slide. In recent weeks, he'd found himself returning to the things he'd learned as a child. Asking God to help him make sense of things he didn't understand.

Nick scanned the coupons, scrawled out lists and postcards on the old bulletin board by the phone. “Remember that awful Sunday school teacher we had, what was her name?”

“Mrs. Bradbury.” Lynette giggled, the sound a welcome reprieve. “You and Gray spent most of the time sitting in the corner, if I recall.”

Nick turned her way and enjoyed the amusement that danced in her eyes. “You still go? To church, I mean.”

“Yes. Well . . .” She shifted in her seat, certain sadness swallowing her smile. “I try to, when I can get someone to watch my dad. He's not always keen on going, so . . .”

“Right.” He watched the dogs pace the room, then settle close to her chair. “Sometimes I wish I had more faith. I haven't made much time for God.”

“It's never too late, Nick.”

“You think?”

“Sure. Anyone can change, if they want to.” She gave him the once-over, and he caught another glimpse of the woman she'd become. Heat raced up his neck, and he pulled at the collar of his
shirt. Blindsided was an understatement. He'd been looked at by a lot of women over the years, but Lynette Carlisle's gaze turned his insides to jelly.

And suddenly talking about God didn't seem appropriate.

“Do you ever get a break, just go out, have fun with friends or . . .” Oh, what the heck. “Anyone special in the picture?”

Surprise widened her eyes. “Like a boyfriend? When would I have time?”

“Okay.” His smile faded as he saw the next question coming.

“I hear you're seeing Mindy Vanguard.” And there it was.

Thank you, small town gossip. Nick thrummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah, well, that's sort of complicated.”