Half Moon Hill (33 page)

“Well, Mike is elated,” Rachel said.

And Anna replied, “I know—he couldn’t resist telling me.” And as they all laughed, she thought how
un
elated Mike would be if he knew what she’d been doing with Duke—until recently, anyway. The very thought made her shiver. And just then she realized—oh God, somewhere along the way she’d actually started caring a little bit about pleasing Mike, too. And . . . she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

“So work on the house is going well?” Amy asked.

And Anna wasn’t altogether sure that was a safer topic, but she said, “Um, yes, actually, it’s going great.”

“And are you and Erik getting adjusted to each other?”

And it hit Anna . . . “I keep meaning to ask you something about him—I can’t believe I haven’t in all this time.”

“What do you need to know?” Amy asked cheerfully.

“Well, he just seems to spend an awful lot of time meowing and following me around. And for the life of me, I don’t know why. What does he want? And he’s not hungry, I promise—I feed him all the time trying to shut him up.”

Amy gave her head a thoughtful tilt and said, “Well, does he do it when you’re petting him or snuggling with him?”

Anna thought about it. “No, now that you mention it. But . . . well, I’m on the run a lot, so I guess there hasn’t been a whole lot of that.”

“Well then . . . he probably just wants a little more attention from you. He probably wants you to make him feel special, like you care about him—that’s all.”

And Anna felt positively thickheaded. It had been so simple. And it made such easy sense. And it occurred to her now that the nicer she was to him, the less complaining meows she heard. “I, uh, guess I never thought of that.”

Though the emotion caught her off guard, it actually touched her to think the cat needed her. Up to now, she’d thought of them as . . . sort of just existing together, like a couple of outcasts who happened to share the same space and tolerate each other. But this . . . well, it changed things. And it made her wish Erik were here to scoop up into her arms right now.

Maybe Amy was right and an inn did need a cat. Maybe Anna needed a cat, too.

It was turning out that Anna needed a lot of things she’d never realized before coming to Destiny.

I
n the week that followed, life took on a strange sort of normalcy for Anna—or maybe it was more just like a predictable routine that she grew comfortable with. She worked two midday shifts at the bookstore, but mostly she stayed at home. She paid more attention to her cat on a regular basis, and she also spent a lot of time working with Duke on the house. Mostly they didn’t talk as they worked, or they spoke only about practical things—like the work itself and how it should be done—but that was okay.

On the second day of this, when she joined him outside, she picked up a paintbrush and asked, “Should I keep putting primer on the rest of the trim pieces or start painting some of what I primed yesterday?”

And Duke looked over from where he stood measuring the door frame that led into the screened porch to say, almost kindly, “You don’t have to help, Daisy. You’re probably tired from working at the bookshop so much lately.”

But she replied, “No, I want to. I want to be able to look at the house and know I did at least a little of it.”

“You did the whole inside, though, right?”

“Mostly, yeah—with some help from Sue Ann and Tessa. But this is different. I just . . .” She leaned back to take in a fuller view of the house. “When I pull into the driveway I want to be able to see it and feel . . . connected to it or something.” Then she stopped, shook her head. She was saying too much, speaking too openly—an old habit with Duke. Yet it was a habit she needed to officially break. “But forget I said that—probably sounded silly.”

Though Duke shook his head then, too, and said, “Nah—I get it.” And then he told her to finish priming the trim pieces and spindles before she started painting any. “I’ve got other stuff to do before I need any, and that way everything has time to dry between coats.”

The truth was, though, that in addition to wanting to have a hand in finishing the exterior, she also just liked working alongside him and missed it when she didn’t do it. She’d come to find it . . . comforting—on a level she didn’t really understand.

Even though they didn’t talk much, it was a . . . companionable silence. Not tense like at first after he’d returned to the woods. Or more recently after what she thought of as their “breakup.” Though she knew the term wasn’t really accurate. You couldn’t break up with someone you were never really officially together with. And that was where she’d made her big mistake—thinking they were together, in a way that counted for something.

And a lot of hurt remained inside her. And there were times when she cried over it—though she tried to make sure it was at night, long after he’d left. And preferably in her bed, with the lights out—because if she didn’t shine a light on it, that made it seem like less of a big deal. It was easier not to dwell on the emotions if the only part of the day that remained was falling asleep.

But she was steadily letting go of any anger she’d felt toward him. Because she had to remember that he was in a dark place in his life right now and she’d known that going in. Maybe, deep down, she’d thought she could change that. Maybe she’d romanticized it, thinking they were two wounded souls who could heal each other. But what she’d come to understand was . . . she was a lot farther along the road to healing than him. It was that simple.

And while she’d known a lot of loss, while she’d felt her life had been stolen from her, while there’d been a lot to make peace with . . . she’d never felt unloved. She’d never felt responsible for someone’s death. And Duke was struggling with both of those things, and now that she’d gained a little perspective, she thought it had been downright arrogant to think she could save him. Maybe no one could. And maybe he even knew that. Maybe that was what had brought him to the woods in the first place.

Duke’s suffering made her sad. The fact that Duke had been careless with her emotions hurt. But all she could do was keep pushing forward and try to get over him. And having Jeremy Sheridan come along when he had . . . well, even if she didn’t swoon over him, it was a good start. Maybe she’d start swooning
soon
. Even if a mere glance up from her work to where Duke stood hammering a piece of white door frame into place made her heart beat faster.

On Friday afternoon, they both continued painting the recently primed wraparound porch that had begun to seem much larger than ever before. And for some reason, she’d actually found herself making more conversation with him today—being the cool, confident, unaffected chick she’d always been until recently. And though she wasn’t sure if it was some act of self-preservation or if it only meant she was getting back into a more upbeat mood, she chose to just appreciate it for what it was and not question it too much.

It was late in the day, and the El Dorados sang “Forever Loving You,” the music pouring out the window over them, when she said, “Think I’m gonna go put together a casserole for dinner.”

“Sounds good,” he said with only a light glance her way.

“I’ll let you know a few minutes before it’s ready so you can clean up.”

He gave a short nod in reply.

That was part of the routine they’d fallen into—they’d continued to eat lunch and dinner together when she was home; since he was there working at mealtimes, it only made sense. The chicken casserole she was about to make was a simple one, the recipe coming from Tessa, who was too busy to cook much more than Anna did. And just like when working together, she and Duke didn’t talk much during the meals, but he always thanked her, and even though she knew he was a big boy and could take care of himself, it still made her feel good to know he was eating something he hadn’t had to catch in a lake and cook over a campfire.

After a quick shower, Anna threw together the casserole, put it in the oven, and then decided to give herself a treat while it baked. She’d been so busy the last couple of weeks that she’d barely had a chance to read Cathy’s diary. And in fact, the last time she’d stopped, she’d finished the first volume, and so now she picked up the second and carried it out onto the screened porch, settling on the wicker sofa to read.

Tonight when Mother and Daddy attended evening church services, I stayed home, pretending to be sick. I hate to lie, especially on the Lord’s day, but all I know is that it didn’t feel wrong. And that I have to follow my heart because it’s the heart God gave me, after all.

When they were gone, I met Robert in the woods and we walked to the lake and took a ride in the little red rowboat Daddy keeps for fishing but only takes out on the rare occasions when Uncle George comes to visit.

I’ve never cared much for boats, but one ride with Robert changed that. I can honestly say I never realized the lake was so pretty. I never noticed how the willows droop down over the south bank, almost dipping into the water. I never knew the sun setting behind the woods on the far side could make the trees glow orange and pink.

When Robert had rowed to the center, he gave me one of his more devilish smiles and asked me what he got for all his hard work. I asked him what he wanted. And he told me a kiss would be nice. I was nervous, just like always so far, but at the same time it felt like the colors from that bright, glowy sunset were somehow running through my veins. And so I leaned over to kiss him, feeling ever so brave, ever so ready. But then I lost my balance and slipped off the wooden seat and ended up on my knees on the floor of the boat—and in Robert’s arms, because he caught me when I fell forward.

My face was so close to his. And the closeness was maybe the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. Embarrassed, I whispered that I hadn’t done that on purpose. And he grinned and teased me, saying, “Sure you didn’t.” And then we kissed for a very long while, so long that I got lost in it—and never wanted to be found.

Last year in school we had to write an essay about the most wonderful place we’d ever been. I chose the city of Cincinnati because we go there every December to see the skyscrapers all lit up, and the toy train display, and the department store windows all decorated with sparkly immitation snow and reindeer whose heads move mechanically.

But if I had to write that essay now . . . and, well, if I could be honest about it . . . I would write about floating in a rowboat across the lake hidden in our woods with Robert. I would write about kissing him there, surrounded by the tall summer trees and the calls of tree frogs and hoot owls. I would write that being on that lake in Robert’s arms is definitely the most wonderful, beautiful, heart-thrilling place I could ever be.

Turning the diary facedown on her lap, Anna sighed. And felt at once how wondrous life and love were, and also how fleeting.
If only we could freeze such perfect moments in time and just stay there, just keep them. What would my perfect moments be?

She sucked in her breath as the answer came. Because they were all about Duke. Making love to him on the staircase, and in her bed. Dancing with him at the Dew Drop Inn. Driving along, the wind in her hair, stars twinkling above, with the gentle caress of his hand on her thigh.

And the truth was, even earlier moments—being carried by him through the woods, feeling captured in his arms when she’d backed down the ladder—held a certain magic. Because she hadn’t known exactly what was happening—only that
something
was. She wished now that she’d realized those moments were important so she could have appreciated them more, savored them somehow.

But then she bit her lip.
Aren’t you supposed to be concentrating on Jeremy Sheridan now? Didn’t you decide that was the smart thing to do?

She just let out a sigh, though, and faced the truth.
I love Duke.

And he might not love me back, and he might not be in my life for longer than it will take him to finish the house, but I love him anyway. And I’ll move on—maybe with Jeremy—but for this moment, right now, I’m just going to own my feelings and not deny them. I’m in love with Duke Dawson whether I like it or not.
Or . . . maybe she was in love with David. Maybe David was the guy who’d danced with her even though he didn’t know how, the guy who’d opened up to her about his family, and his past. And maybe Duke was the one who’d run away from all that when it had . . . gotten too heavy for him or something.

Picking Cathy’s diary back up, Anna continued reading. As usual, some of it was about everyday life in Destiny, but more and more of what she wrote focused on Robert. There were more clandestine dates—more boat rides on the lake, walks in the woods, picnics in the meadow filled with wildflowers.

He tucked a daisy behind my ear. And then he made a chain of small purple flowers—statice, I think—and put them around my shoulders like a necklace.

On another Sunday evening when Cathy feigned a headache, Robert pushed her in the swing hanging from the big maple tree, and Anna couldn’t help thinking how far Cathy had come from the days when she’d been so lonely that she’d counted butterflies as her friends.

And on another voyage across the lake, Cathy brought her father’s camera.

I took a picture of Robert across from me, and he took one of me, as well. Then we put our faces close together and Robert held the camera as far away as he could and took one of us together. His birthday is soon and so I’m going to secretly get the photos developed at the drugstore in town and frame them for him.