Deliciously Obedient (11 page)

“
MOM!”

Clink
.
They toasted, and as Jeremy drank deeply, gulping down half the ale
in one fell swoop, he felt a warmth no alcohol or wood stove could
generate.

“
We
have a new entrant in the talent show. Mike Davis wants to play
guitar,” Pete said.

“
Mike
Davis?” Lydia asked. “Who’s that?”

“
A
guest. Been here for nearly a month. Nice guy. Sticks to himself,
mostly, though he was more interactive when he first came.”

“
Paid
for his cabin in cash,” Sandy said, as if this were remarkable.
“The entire month.”

Lydia
let out a low whistle, drinking more of her wine cooler. “You sure
he’s not running from something?”

“
If
he were, why would he perform?” said a voice from behind them.
Miles walked in, grabbed a blueberry beer from the cooler and folded
his legs under him, sitting on the floor by Pete.

“
Good
point,” she conceded.

“
Speaking
of the talent show, one of the guests sent me a link to this YouTube
video,” Pete said.

Miles
and Lydia froze. Jeremy felt a creeping dread fill him. Pete
pointedly did not look at Lydia.

“
YouTube?”
Lydia squeaked. Jeremy squeezed her hand, a silent show of support.

“
It
was…interesting,” Sandy said, eyebrows high. “I’ve never seen
anything quite so explicit.”

Jeremy
could feel Lydia’s breathing stop.

“
Explicit?”
he said calmly as Miles shot him an unreadable look.

“
Have
you ever seen a woman do certain…things..with her…” Pete tried
to explain, looking to Sandy for help.

Oh,
holy hell. What was this about?

Lydia
could feel her heart exploding and imploding all at once. Mom and Dad
had seen the video.

Mom
and Dad had seen the video
.

This
was why she’d been asked to come here. And with Jeremy. Why with
Jeremy? Wouldn’t they want to leave him out of it? There was no
reason to think he was the guy in it—the news covered the fact that
it was Michael Bournham all too well.

And
why now? It had been a month. More than a month. Maybe it took that
long to get on their radar screens, because Mom and Dad weren’t
exactly hip to social media. She gave Miles a searching look, and he
mouthed, “
Not me
.”

She
believed him.

Then
who?

Sandy
pulled out her smart phone and handed it to Lydia. “You have to see
for yourself.”

No.
God, no. Of all the scenarios she’d imagined in which her parents
learned about the video, sitting together and watching it at the same
time had never played into her nightmares.

This
was just too much. Lydia sat there, completely frozen, until Sandy
took the phone back and watched Lydia with deep concern.

A
few taps and Sandy hit
play
.

On
a video that was, blessedly, not her and Mike.

It
was a video of a woman playing “God Bless America” on a kazoo.

Except
she didn’t use her mouth to play it.

Jeremy
and Miles watched the video with her, faces impassive, then shocked,
then intrigued, and—finally—the whole group rolled with laughter,
tears streaming down faces, Lydia’s belly shaking with joy a little
too hard, her chest swelling with giggles that poured out for a tiny
bit longer than they should have, sheer relief driving her.

Oh,
thank you, universe.

“
Dad,
are you asking me to—um, to do—”

Jeremy’s
voice rose above the titters. “Can you do that? If so, please marry
me.”

Another
round of laughter.

“
Can
you believe someone sent that to me and asked if she could perform
that skit in the show?” Pete said. “Your mother just about died.”

“
Let
me guess. Was it Grandma? Because I could totally see Grandma wanting
to perform that.”

Pete’s
turn to roll his eyes. He drained his beer and said, “No, thank
God. If I had to watch Madge do that it would be an early grave for
me.”

Sandy
punched him in the arm but said nothing. Miles and Lydia exchanged a
look of relief, while Jeremy seemed to just take them all in. Lydia
wondered what he thought of them.

And
whatever it was, she really hoped it involved staying.

Krysta
walked in and did a double take. “Where has everyone been?”

“
Where
have we been?” Lydia said, gawking. “Where have
you
been?”

“
Cooking!
Caleb came back and asked for help.” Her cheeks pinked, and Sandy
gave her a knowing look. “Do you have any idea the level of
preparation that goes into this talent show?”

“
No.
None at all,” Lydia said dryly.

“
Your
brother had me start chopping vegetables already. Ever work on three
bushels of tomatoes?” She held up hands that were bright red. “Even
with the best knives, finely sharpened, it’s a ton of work.”
Krysta was beaming in spite of the complaining words, and Lydia felt
good. Not just because of the wine cooler, which she drained as
Jeremy reached down to fish another for her.

Because
so many parts of her life were coming together in the right ways.

Mike
.

Damn
it. Again?

Why
did he haunt her so? Just when she thought she could let go…he came
back in.

“
Can
I talk to you for a sec, Lydia?” Krysta asked, nodding her head
toward the main office.

Reluctant
to unwind from the warmth of Jeremy, Lydia obliged. BFFs call—you
answer. The office was blessedly warm, which made it easier. Plus the
wine cooler was loosening her up.

“
What’s
up?”

“
There’s
this guy here at the campground, and he reminds me an awful lot of
Michael Bournham.”

“
What?”

Krysta
held a red hand up, as if to quell the protest. “I know it sounds
weird, but hear me out. Caleb had me unloading tomatoes and this guy
walked by, wearing a backpack and a baseball cap. His hair was super
short, but that silver-gray Bournham’s known for.”

“
Michael
Bournham—at a campground?” Lydia’s peals of disbelief filled
the room. “You have to be kidding me. He isn’t even the glamping
type. The guy’s idea of roughing it means going to a hotel without
his helicopter.”

Krysta
pressed her lips together and just stared at her. Oh, boy. She wasn’t
kidding.

“
You
seriously think he’s here? Why would he be here, Krysta? Lots of
men have short silver hair and go on hikes here. Hell, you can spit
and hit one.”

“
Lots
of men don’t look like
him
.”

“
You’re
telling me you seriously think Mike came here? That he’s ignoring
everyone’s messages and texts and confounding the press by hiding
at my parents’ campground under their noses?” Lydia’s voice
shifted to a low, skeptical hiss. “He’d have to be out of his
fucking mind to pull something like that.”

Krysta’s
eyes narrowed as she blinked rapidly. “I know, I know… It’s
nuts. It is. But my eyes saw what they saw.”

“
What
did the guy do?”

“
He
was just walking by at a fast clip.”

“
Which
area was he in?”

“
Passing
by the rec hall.”

A
lump in her throat formed as her heart began to beat a samba dance of
hope and disbelief. “Do you think…” she started, grasping at
words.

A
burst of laughter from the other room, led by Jeremy and her father,
interrupted her words. That lump grew.

Her
heart continued to hop all over the place.

A
concerned look from Krysta made her try again. “Do you think he
even cares?”

“
Jeremy?”

Lydia
shook her head, eyes starting to fill with tears. “I know Jeremy
cares.” The two shared a sweet, deep look that Lydia could only
have with her best friend.

“
But
you can’t let go of Mike.”

Nod.

Krysta
shrugged. “I don’t know. And I’m not helping matters, am I?”

“
You
saw what you saw.” Lydia used the pads of her fingers to wipe the
pooled tears out of her eyes, then sniffed.

“
I
hate this,” Krysta said, sighing as Caleb walked through the rec
hall to say something to Sandy. Whatever answer he needed, he got,
then he marched back out the front door without a glance at anyone
else.

“
Hate
what?”

Trailing
Caleb’s exit, Krysta turned back to Lydia with shiny eyes of her
own.

“
Unrequited
love.”

“
You
think I love Mike?” Lydia barked, the sound meant to be
dismissive—but her words turned up at the end, more a question than
a dismissal.

“
You
think I love Caleb?” Krysta asked, reproach dripping in her tone.

Silence.

“
We’re
so fucked,” they said in unison.

Krysta
had come damn close to recognizing him earlier, and although he’d
been careful not to look up as he realized who she was, he could tell
from subtle, nonverbal cues that his appearance set her on high
alert. Using any form of a disguise hadn’t occurred to him, because
he’d planned to be long gone at the end of the month.

Never
in a billion years had he imagined Lydia would come back home, bring
Krysta and Jeremy and make this a nightmare.

Of
his own making.

When
you’re caught in a nightmare, hostage to your subconscious, the
only way out is to take over the dream through conscious techniques.
Mike had one option now:

Lead
his own nightmare. Hence his signing up for the talent show. He
hadn’t touched a guitar in, what—seven years? Longer? But a local
consignment shop had one in the window and he’d found himself
recalling chords with relative ease. Riffing dusted off his old
skills and he’d spent the last two days deciding he had to reveal
himself on his terms.