Moonlight on Butternut Lake (18 page)

Now she put the photograph of her and Heather back in the box and started to put the box away, too, but she changed her mind and dumped all the letters out onto the floor instead. Then she organized them chronologically, and, starting with the first one Heather had ever written to her, she reread each one of them. She read them slowly and carefully, almost as if she was trying to commit them to memory. Heather had believed in her, she realized, as she refolded an early letter and slid it back into its envelope. She'd seen something in a shy, insecure nine-year-old that no one else had ever seen before or since.

It took Mila the better part of the day to reread the letters—a day spent sitting on the floor of a cramped closet—but by the time she was done, she felt strangely energized. She hurried to shower and dress, and she took care to blow-dry her hair and powder over the remnants of a bruise on her cheek. She could do this, she told herself, as she carried the box of Heather's letters over to the front door, where it was still sitting when Brandon came home from work that night.

“You look nice,” he said approvingly, giving her the once-over.

“Thank you,” she said, making an effort to smile.

“
And
you're in a good mood. That's a nice change. You know how tired I get of you acting depressed all the time.” He noticed the box beside the front door. “What's that?” he asked.

“Heather's letters to me,” she said casually.

“What are you doing with them?”

“Recycling them.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “They were taking up too much space in the closet.”

“But I thought they were so special to you.” There was a slightly sarcastic emphasis on the word
special
that Mila tried to ignore.

“No, not really. Not anymore. I mean, you know how it is. People just . . . drift apart. They lose touch. I don't necessarily think it's a bad thing, do you?”

“Oh, no, definitely not,” he said, and she saw that he was practically elated by this development. As hard as he'd tried, he'd never yet been able to come between her and Heather, and the letters they still wrote to each other were a constant source of irritation to him.

“Could you take these to the recycling room now?” she asked Brandon, indicating the box. She needed to be alone for a minute. All this lying was taking its toll on her.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and he left with the box. And Mila stood there and tried to not think about all the letters she would never see again. It didn't matter, she told herself. They were in her head, and in her heart. What mattered was that Brandon didn't come looking for her at Heather's house. Because she was leaving him again, only this time she was going to do it right.

The next day, Mila wrote Heather a letter. It was short—only five sentences—but it took her the whole day, and several drafts, to write. In it, she told Heather that she was starting a new job—she was a little vague about the details—and that she wouldn't have time to write to her again for a while. She was careful to sound positive and upbeat. She didn't want Heather to worry about her, though she suspected sometimes that she already
did
worry about her, and that while Mila was careful to hide the truth about her marriage, Heather had guessed it anyway.

Finally, though, Mila got the letter right, and in the soft, hazy afternoon light—Brandon would be working late that night—she walked down to the corner and dropped the letter in the mailbox.
She felt a mixture of relief and sadness as she walked home, but outside her apartment building she saw a young woman helping an elderly man who was using a walker, and it reminded her of something. She hurried back up to her apartment and took her wallet out of her handbag, then searched through it until she found what she was looking for. It was a business card for Caring Home Care, an agency that placed health aides with patients who needed in-home care. Mary Meyer, the woman who'd taught Mila's certification class, had given it to her. She'd been impressed with the quality of Mila's work, and she'd told her that if she ever wanted a placement, she should call her friend Gloria Thompson, who owned the agency.

Mila slipped the business card out of her wallet and checked her watch. The chance of anyone being at Caring Home Care at five thirty on a Friday evening was almost nonexistent. But something made her pick up the phone and dial the number anyway.

T
hree weeks after her first swimming lesson, Mila sat down beside Allie on the dock and tentatively dipped her toes into the water. “Brrr,” she said, withdrawing them.

“I know,” Allie said sympathetically. “The lake always gets colder after it rains. But it'll warm up again,” she said, lowering her own feet into the water.

After a week of humid, overcast weather, there had been a torrential downpour the night before, and today the sky was a crystalline blue, and the air was so clear that everything seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. The rain had left a hint of coolness behind it, though, and the thought of getting into the now chilly lake wasn't very appealing to Mila.

“We'll just sit here for a few minutes,” Allie said, as if reading her mind. “Just until we get warm enough to actually
want
to get into the water.” With a contented sigh, Allie leaned back on the dock, resting on her elbows, and turned her face up to the sun. Allie, Mila noted, was in an especially good mood today, and she was tempted, for a moment, to ask her why. But she and Allie had never discussed anything personal before, and Mila was worried
that that question might border on the personal, so instead she tested the icy water with her toes again.

“So, day after tomorrow,” Allie said, her eyes still closed against the sun. “It's a big day, isn't it?”

“A very big day,” Mila agreed, since it was the day that Reid would be trading in his full leg cast for a removable plastic brace, and his wheelchair for a pair of crutches.

“Do you think he's ready?” Allie asked. “For the change, I mean?”

“I think so,” Mila said, knowing that having his cast off was going to mean more freedom for Reid, but also more work for him, too. He was starting physical therapy next week, and Mila had already seen the schedule for it. It was going to be grueling, but at least his pain from the accident had greatly diminished and he rarely needed his pain medication anymore.

“Well, at least the sponge baths will be over now,” Allie said, with a glimmer of amusement. “I don't think either of the brothers will miss those. In fact, Reid told Walker that as soon as he gets back from his doctor's appointment he wants to take a twelve-hour shower.” She added, “It's going to have to wait, though, because first Walker's going to bring him over to our cabin for a little celebration.”

“Oh, that'll be nice,” Mila said.

“I hope so. You'll be there, too, of course.”

“Me?” Mila said, surprised. “But isn't it, you know, a family thing?”

“Not
just
family,” Allie said, opening her eyes and turning to Mila. “We'll be having some friends over, too.”

“But I'm not . . .” She stopped, not knowing how to say this without seeming rude.

“You're not a friend?” Allie chided her. “Of course you are.”
And then she grinned. “And you're not
just
a friend either. You're also my best swim student.”

“Your
only
swim student,” Mila said, laughing.

“Well, that may be, but I'd still like you to come to the party. Walker and I were just saying how much Reid's attitude has improved over the last month, and we both think you deserve the credit for that, Mila.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Mila said, studying with sudden interest a new constellation of freckles that had recently appeared on one of her shoulders. “I think Reid's just . . . more comfortable now,” she said vaguely. “You know, in less pain.”

“Maybe,” Allie said, but she didn't sound convinced. Privately, Mila thought Allie was right about one thing though: Reid's attitude
had
improved, and if she had to point to the day it had begun to improve, she would point to the day of their picnic four weeks ago. Since then Reid's rudeness and sarcasm had given way to something different, to respectfulness, or to gentleness, almost, as if he thought Mila was someone who needed to be treated with . . . well,
with care
. And, as Reid's attitude had changed, so, too, had his and Mila's routine. If Reid had an appointment, Mila was as likely now as Walker to drive him to it, and, more often than not, Reid came to the kitchen at mealtimes instead of staying in his room. And then there were those nights when Reid had a nightmare so terrifying that Mila felt she had no choice but to wake him up from it, and then to stay, until morning, in the armchair in his room. But there was nothing unprofessional about their relationship, she told herself. Nothing inappropriate. They hadn't had any more personal conversations since the one they'd had on their picnic, and they hadn't had any more physical contact, either, since Reid had kissed her wrist on the deck the night of the full moon. So why,
Mila wondered now, couldn't she bring herself to look at Allie as they talked about Reid?

“Well, it doesn't really matter
why
he's doing better,” Allie said, swinging her feet vigorously enough off the dock to kick up little sprays of water. “What matters is that he
is
doing better.”

“Absolutely,” Mila agreed.

“And you seem to be settling it, too, Mila,” Allie said, studying her with her astute hazel eyes.

Settling in? Is that what I'm doing?
Mila wondered. As far as she knew, she'd never “settled in” anywhere before—not in the series of apartments she'd grown up in as a child, and not in the apartment she'd lived in with Brandon—but now, with Allie watching her, it occurred to her she might actually be doing just that at this cabin.

“I'm very comfortable here, thanks to you and Walker and Lonnie,” Mila said to Allie, and that was true, but it was more than that too. Living at the cabin this summer, Mila felt it was almost as if something inside of her had started to unclench, like a tense muscle that was relaxing. And it wasn't only that she felt less on edge, though she did, of course—she'd stopped jumping every time she heard a car pull up outside during the day, or every time she heard one of the cabin's floorboards creak at night—it was also that she'd started to take pleasure in little things, too. Getting a tricky math problem right on a practice test, or listening to Lonnie's chatter over breakfast, or watching the nighttime shadows quivering on Reid's ceiling as she fell asleep in the armchair.

“Good, I'm glad you're comfortable here,” Allie said, bringing Mila back to the conversation. “That tells me you'll be comfortable at our party, too. Because except for a few families, it'll
just be us, me and Walker and Wyatt and Brooke and Reid. The same people you see here every day.”

“I'd like to come to the party,” Mila said, smiling. “But can I at least help you with it?”

“Nope,” Allie said. “My friend Jax's daughter, Joy, is going to watch Brooke for me while I get everything ready, but there isn't actually going to be that much to get ready. I just need to marinate the chicken and the ribs. Caroline's bringing coleslaw and potato salad and biscuits from Pearl's.”

“Lucky you,” Mila said, remembering the mouthwatering Butternut Burger she'd had on her and Reid's picnic.

“Lucky
us,
” Allie corrected her. “Now, for the logistics. Walker and Reid will have the van for the doctor's appointment, and they're coming straight from there to our cabin, so I'll come and pick you up here. Day after tomorrow. Probably around five o'clock, okay?”

“Okay,” Mila said, feeling suddenly shy. But Allie was already shifting gears. “Are you ready to tread some water?” she asked Mila.

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

“Good,” Allie said, and she stood up and did a neat dive off the end of the dock, leaving Mila to ease her way down the ladder, and stand, shivering, in the shoulder-deep water, watching Allie swim a graceful front crawl that she'd promised Mila she would be swimming soon too.

“All right,” Allie said, surfacing beside her. “Let's warm up treading water, and then we'll work on your flutter kick.”

Allie had broken down the front crawl for her, and they'd practiced each element of it separately. This week, Allie explained, they would put them all together. “But can't I just dog-paddle?” Mila had asked her at one point, impatient to start swimming.

“Absolutely not,” Allie had said. “I never let Wyatt dog-paddle, and I'm not going to let you do it either. When you swim—and you will swim, very soon—you're going to swim a real stroke, and you're going to swim it correctly.”

Now, as Mila started treading water beside Allie, she stole a quick look up at the cabin and thought she saw, through the trees, the glint of Reid's wheelchair on the deck. She knew he watched her swimming lessons, though they'd never discussed it with each other. Still, she liked knowing that he watched them. It made her feel . . . but when she couldn't quite decipher how it made her feel, she dunked her head beneath the water instead and came back up into the sunlight, smiling, and pushing water droplets out of her half-closed eyes.

W
ell, I'll be damned,” Walker said, sliding open the screen door and coming out onto the deck. “When Lonnie told me you were out here, I didn't believe her. I said, ‘Lonnie, that's not possible. My brother doesn't go outside anymore. Not willingly, anyway.' But obviously, I stand corrected.”

“Obviously,” Reid said dryly, edging his wheelchair back from the deck's railing.

“No, seriously, what are you doing out here?” Walker asked, coming over to him.

“I'm not doing anything,” Reid said, irked by the defensiveness he heard in his own voice. “Not that I need a reason to be outside on a nice day.” He turned his wheelchair slightly toward his brother.

“No, you're right,” Walker said, suddenly contrite. “You don't need a reason to be outside. In fact, you
should
be outside. I guess I've just gotten used to you being inside. I mean, you're
always
inside.”

“Not always,” Reid said.
Not on Tuesdays and Thursdays between 2:00 o'clock and 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon.
“Aren't you supposed to be at a meeting with one of our suppliers now?” Reid glanced pointedly at his watch. “I thought you told me this morning that—”

“Canceled,” Walker said blithely. “And I don't have to pick Wyatt up from day camp either because he's having a sleepover at a friend's house. So I decided to surprise Allie and Brooke. But Allie's not done yet with her swimming lesson”—he gestured at the lake—“and Brooke's still taking her nap, so it looks like you're stuck with me.”

“It does look that way, doesn't it?” Reid said, with barely concealed irritation, though he knew that irritation was unfounded. Walker had no way of knowing how much Reid looked forward to watching Mila's swimming lessons, and, if he had known, he would have been nothing short of amazed. Reid was a little amazed himself. He'd watched the first lesson out of a mild curiosity, and he'd assumed that that would be the end of it. But he hadn't missed one since. They'd become the high point of his week. Oh hell, they'd become the high point of his
life
.

If Walker noticed his annoyance now, though, he chose to ignore it and instead went in search of a deck chair to drag over to Reid's wheelchair. And as he was doing this, Reid rolled a little closer to the deck's railing and stole a look down at the dock, wishing, for the one-hundredth time, that the view from here was less obstructed. But his brother had done the environmentally correct thing when he'd built this cabin, cutting down as few trees as possible, and sometimes, depending on where Allie and Mila were in the water, all Reid could make out through the trees were the splotches of color that were their bathing suits—Allie's black and Mila's red. Then again, he'd often thought, if he
couldn't see them that well, maybe they couldn't see him that well either. Or at least that was what he told himself.

“How're the swimming lessons going?” Walker asked, rolling a deck chair over and sprawling out on it.

“I don't know,” Reid lied, though of course he knew exactly how the swimming lessons were going. Mila's progress, in his opinion, had been nothing short of amazing. He watched now as she practiced the flutter kick, and Allie, standing beside her at the dock, made minor adjustments in her form and offered murmurs of approval.

“Allie's a good teacher,” he said, without thinking.

“Is she?” Walker said, smiling. “I'm not surprised. I know she taught Wyatt how to swim.” And if he thought it was strange that Reid, who claimed not to know how the swimming lessons were going, had known enough to make this observation, he didn't say so.

Reid glanced over at Walker then and noticed, for the first time, that he'd brought a file folder with him, which he'd set on the deck beside his chair. So he hadn't just come over to see Allie and Brooke, Reid thought, with an inward groan.

“What's in the file?” he asked Walker, not really wanting to know.

“This?” Walker said, feigning casualness as he picked it up. “It's a draft of the business plan for the new boatyard at Big Bear Lake.”

“Oh, that,” Reid said distractedly. There was the sound of laughter from the dock then, and he longed to know what Mila and Allie were laughing about.

“Do you think you might want to take a look at it?” Walker asked tentatively, holding it out to him.

“No thanks,” Reid said curtly, though in fairness to Walker, it
had been Reid's idea to buy that damn boatyard in the first place. Still, that had been a lifetime ago, hadn't it?

Walker blew out a long breath now and dropped the file back onto the deck, but Reid was relieved to see that he didn't seem to be overly disappointed. In fact, as he leaned back in his deck chair, he seemed to positively radiate contentment and well-being.

“What're you so happy about?” Reid asked.