Lake Effect (4 page)

“This,” she held up the bag, “is prosciutto. This,” she pointed to the cheese, “is gruyere.”

His mouth was watering as she piled a few pieces of the cured ham on top of the chicken breast, and then placed the cheese on top of that. Satisfied, she popped the whole thing in the broiler. He watched with fascination as the cheese oozed over the top and began to brown and bubble.

Shelby carefully removed the pan and shut the broiler off. She placed the open faced sandwich in front of him.

Wyeth waited as long as he could for it to cool, then took a bite and closed his eyes as the sweet and savory exploded across his taste buds. “This is the best sandwich I think I've ever eaten.”

His heart skipped a beat when he saw her eyes twinkling back at him. “It is pretty damn good if I do say so myself,” she said around a bite of hers, laughter bubbling up after she'd finally been able to swallow it down.

Her laugh was infectious and soon they were laughing about Norman and yesterday's events. Two friends, relaxed and enjoying each other's company.

Had he ever done this? Just sat and chatted over a meal with a woman, not anticipating anything more? What was it about her that put him totally at ease? For one thing, there was nothing fake about her. Her fingernails were short and certainly not coated in the high polish that the women in his circle were so fond of. Her clothes were obviously purchased at some high school or college bookstore. Granted, she hadn't known he was coming by, didn't have time to prepare, but that didn't seem to faze her. No makeup, that beautiful red blonde hair escaping the clip that held it up at every opportunity. And she didn't expect anything from him — it was refreshing.

After eating, they moved to Shelby's small, cozy living room. Overstuffed flowered chairs sat in front of a small wood-burning fireplace. Although wood was neatly stacked inside, large white candles were arranged just inside and on the hearth. Shelby struck a match and lit them, letting their light give a warm glow to the room. An old fashioned floor lamp with a fringe shade offered a golden glow across the space. In the small angled space under the steps leading to the second floor, there was a small desk, the kind with a flip down lid and lots of cubbyholes, as well as a banker's lamp and a laptop computer.

Books were lined up on every shelf in the room, interspersed with small knickknacks and candles. There was no television. A sound bar sat on the top of the fireplace mantle along with Shelby's iPod dock. A small coffee table held a modern day record player made to look like an old fashioned radio. Wyeth was thrilled to find out that Shelby owned a large collection of vintage albums with music from the forties right on up to some of the most cutting edge indie bands who'd gone back to putting their music on vinyl.

Norman jumped up on the sofa and stretched out, his head in Wyeth's lap.

“Tell me about this guy.” He ruffled the big dog's fur and laughed as the cur sighed deeply and stretched out even further.

“Norman! You just push him right off, big cow.”

“I don't mind. I haven't had a dog around for a long time. What's his story?” Wyeth watched as Shelby took a deep breath almost as if she were steadying herself.

“Norman is very special to me.” Her voice was very quiet. “He was a gift, given to me about six years ago after a rather rough patch. My late husband found him through a friend at work, brought him home with him one night, this tiny ball of fluff, if you can believe that.”

Norman sighed again.

“I was sorry to hear about your husband, Shelby. Cheri told me about him the other day in town.”

“Yes. Thank you. Jack owned his own construction company with two of his college roommates. They were good; are good. Jack was a stickler for details and would never move to the next phase of a job until every safety feature had been checked. He'd gone into a trench to check on something he didn't like when apparently it collapsed, burying him alive.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if this would stop the memory.

He wanted to go to her. He wanted it to be his arms wrapped around her. He wanted to ease the pain he saw on her face. She stood before he could and started straightening up the already straightened room.

“They say he passed quickly. I know his men did everything within their power to save him, it just wasn't meant to be.”

“Don't know where I would've been without Cheri and Len Beauchamp, I'll tell you that. My dearest friend, Lindsey, came up from home for a while. My family and friends all live in Henderson, it's a very small town, south of here in the middle of nowhere. They wanted to help but I just couldn't stay at home and I couldn't go back to Henderson. I spent some time in a very dark place.”

“My God, that must've been terrible.” Wyeth didn't know what else to say. His admiration for her strength and perseverance rose to a new level.

He watched her shake her head and then she looked back at him and smiled.

“It's been five years. It will never be easy. We were high school sweethearts. He was a good man, a very good man. Can I get you something else to eat or drink?” She hastily picked up the glasses on the table.

Wyeth patted the dog on his stomach then carefully slid his head off his lap and onto the sofa. “No, thank you. I should be going. Thank you for sharing your story and the meal. Next one is on me, okay?”

“You've got a deal.” She rewarded him with a dazzling smile.

As he stood in her doorway late that evening, the stars twinkling high above, the lap of the waves on the shore slapping the sand, Wyeth felt a calm and peace. They'd spent the entire evening talking about their likes and dislikes, and arguing over music, baseball, and books. He couldn't remember an evening with a woman, with the exception of his sister or his mother, where he'd ever felt so utterly and totally relaxed.

“You really have a spectacular view of the night sky out here.”

“This place has been my savior.” She made the statement quietly, almost as if she were saying it to herself.

“Thank you, Shelby, for a lovely evening.” Wyeth looked down at her and ever so gently kissed her on the lips. It was chaste and soft, sweet even.

She reached her hand up and lightly touched the side of his face. “You're most welcome and I thank you as well. Travel safe, sleep well.”

He watched her silhouette in the doorway as he backed onto the road and headed to the manor house.

“Wyeth Packard, what are you up to?”

“Mother, why must I be up to something because I want your marinara sauce recipe?” Wyeth kept his voice light. The last thing he needed was to rouse the suspicions of Olivia Packard. She could ferret out a lie quicker than anyone and wouldn't rest until she was satisfied. Where Olivia was concerned, the best defense was a great offense.

“There really isn't much open up here, Mom. I'm fending for myself. I just figured, since I've got nothing but time on my hands in the evening, you could send me your recipe.”

“Of course, I'd be happy too, son.” He heard the sigh attached to that and knew it wouldn't be long before the questions began. For now, however, she was content. “It makes a lot so you'd better get yourself some good freezer containers unless you want to shock me completely and tell me you've taken up canning.”

“Now that would be a shock, Mother.”

“Yes, it certainly would. You do know that sauce is the reason you're even here, don't you?”

“Yes, I owe a lot to that red sauce.”

Wyeth loved his parents' love story. They'd shared it with him or re-told it so many times with friends he knew it by heart. His mother hadn't wanted to go out with his father, but her friend had begged her. She'd been making the red sauce at the time. She thought Wyeth Packard the Second was a snob but his roommate wouldn't take her friend out unless she convinced Olivia to come along on a double date. It was entirely Wyeth's father's doing, of course — a fact he loved to embellish whenever he told the story. Olivia was on to him and thought she'd teach him a lesson. Instead of perfume, she rubbed herself with a garlic clove from head to wrists and all points in between. But rather than be appalled and beat a hasty retreat as she had hoped, he'd gone on and on about his Italian ancestors. It wasn't until long afterwards that she'd found out there wasn't a drop of Italian blood in him. That night, on her doorstep, he'd asked her to marry him and he kept asking for a year until she finally relented. Olivia's easy laughter now assured him that this part of the conversation was closed. Wyeth quietly breathed a sigh of relief. “How's my future niece or nephew doing?”

“Your sister has had a hard time with this pregnancy; it's been nothing like her first one. She's had to deal with morning, noon, and night sickness this time around, but James has been very supportive.”

“He'd better be.” Wyeth laughed. James O'Toole had been his roommate all through college. He had no idea when he'd brought him home the first time that James would end up falling in love with his annoying younger sister. He wasn't sure at the beginning how he felt about that and smiled to himself, remembering the night James had told him he was going to marry Janele whether he liked it or not.

“I'll tell him you said that, Wyeth. I'm sure he'll be quaking. Look in your e-mail, son, I sent the recipe.”

“Thanks, Mom, I love you.”

“I love you too, Wyeth. Try to find some time to get home, we miss you.”

“I will, Mom, promise.”

Wyeth hung up the phone and smiled. Leaning back in his chair he let the smile widen and laughed out loud to himself. That red sauce had worked for his mom in a roundabout way; perhaps it could do the same for him. He looked across the massive desk he'd paid a fortune to have moved to the island — his father's desk. Losing his dad had been such a difficult thing. He was sure it wasn't half as difficult as what Shelby had been through. He thought of Shelby again, their kiss goodnight under the stars. His father always told him he'd know the right woman when he met her. He wished his dad were here to talk to now. On the corner he found the picture of his parents: two people, so young, so in love. Somewhere along the line he'd given up on that sort of thing ever happening to him.

Could he ever love a woman enough to make that kind of commitment? To wait patiently for her to accept his offer of marriage? He wasn't sure. For now it'd be enough to make her dinner.

• • •

Shelby looked at the pile of clothing on her bed. This was ridiculous; it was a casual dinner invitation, not dinner at the White House. Still, she wanted to look good. She'd nixed ten outfits already.

Forty minutes later, she'd settled on a simple cotton dress, a nice cardigan, and a pair of flat, strappy sandals. She'd left her hair down, using a flat iron for good measure, even though her hair was stick straight to begin with. This was the first date she'd had with a man since Jack's death that she was actually excited about. She'd been totally touched by his reaction to Jack's story. She'd not told him the real reason she'd gotten Norman. She wasn't ready to tell him about Kyrie yet. He'd probably run as far and fast from her as he could. Kyrie's death had left a pain and a hurt that would never go away. For those reasons she wasn't going to share her with just anyone.

“What do you think, Norman?” Shelby looked down at the dog, who looked the other way, totally disinterested.

“I am not taking you, no matter how pathetic you look. After the way you behaved the last time we were there you can just forget it. Not to mention the way you threw yourself all over him when he was here the other night. Really, Norman, you need to show some self-control.” If she didn't know better she'd think Norman's feelings were hurt by the look on his face. “I'm sorry, you weren't invited.”

• • •

Wyeth met Shelby at the door of the large manor house. “Where's Norman?”

“I told him he wasn't invited, thought it might be safer that way.” Shelby laughed as Wyeth showed her into the house. She stopped in the foyer.

“What do you think?”

“It's amazing. I was in here when the place first went on the market. I never dreamed anyone else would see the potential.” Turing around, Shelby gave him a big hug. “Thank you for not changing it.”

“You're very welcome; shall I show you the rest?”

“Yes, please!”

“How about we start at the top and work our way down?”

Shelby nodded and Wyeth held out his hand to her. Did she feel the same current he was feeling? Their eyes locked for a brief moment before she looked shyly away.

“I'm really glad you're here, Shelby. I hope you like the house.”

“Wyeth, I've loved this house from the first day I set foot on this island. I just never dreamed it would ever be restored so perfectly.”

Feeling more than pleased, he walked her through the upstairs bedrooms: four suites with their own bathrooms and quaint but sparse furnishings.

“Most of this stuff came with the house. As you can see, there is plenty of room for improvement. I had the two end rooms combined to make the master suite — it's really the only one completely finished.” He walked her down to the end of the hallway and opened up a set of wide double doors. Shelby squeezed his hand, as her eyes grew wider.

“This is breathtaking!”

Two massive bay windows, complete with window seats, gave way to an expansive view of Lake Erie. A cozy fireplace sat at one end of the room, flanked by two winged-back chairs, an oval rug, and a floor lamp. The massive four-poster king bed took up the opposite end of the room. The ceiling sloped with the curve of the roof, somehow making the expansive space cozy.

He led her past the bed and through a door to the master bath. A large claw foot tub sat in an alcove, again with another stunning view of the lake. To the left of it was a very modern and large shower with a rain head and wall jets. Two double sinks stood on another wall, sunk into a very old dresser.