The Summer Hideaway (25 page)

“Just listen,” hissed his sister, Hazel.

“He’s back in Avalon for the first time since—wow—since 1955. Please welcome Mr. George Bellamy!” The announcer elongated the name, and applause erupted from the stands.

Arm raised in greeting, wearing an honorary Hornets jersey, Granddad walked out to the mound under his own steam. The sight of him in the glare of the stadium lights, with the organ playing the “Charge” theme, brought a lump to Ross’s throat. He looked so frail, yet his smile was broad as he wound up and threw a pitch to the catcher.

“Okay, not totally humiliating,” said Micah.

“Granddad’s awesome,” said Hazel, and started to cry.

Applause accompanied George’s walk off the field.

Ross climbed down from the bleachers to find Claire. She had his cane at the ready, and the wheelchair parked nearby. “Thanks for that,” he said, knowing she had organized it.

“It was my pleasure,” she said, flushing a little.

They hadn’t spent much time alone together since the dancing. Ivy had been teasing him endlessly about having
a crush on Granddad’s nurse, but Ross didn’t mind. He
did
have a crush on her. In the midst of this family tragedy, he had an ill-timed but undeniable crush. Granddad had noticed, of course. He’d always been able to read Ross like a book. Ross tried to brush the issue aside, claiming he wanted all his focus to stay on Granddad.

“Nonsense, my boy,” the old man had said. “There’s never a bad time to fall in love. Look at me and Millie.”

“You’re in love?”

“You find that so unlikely?”

“I find it…quick.”

“It’s the only way to be when you don’t have all the time in the world.”

“You’re going to break her heart.”

“I explained my situation to her. It was pleasant, at first, to have someone who didn’t know I was sick, but as we…as things progressed, I realized she deserved fair warning.” He was quiet for a few moments as he took off his glasses, wiped his eyes, then cleaned the lenses with a corner of his baseball jersey. “She told me to go ahead and break her heart. Said she’d rather be with me for a summer than not at all. She’s a remarkable woman, that Millie.”

Ross saw Charles and Jane Bellamy in the bleachers, waving vigorously. George excused himself to go say hi. Jane held a drooling great-grandbaby in her lap. Ross had met a number of their family members—their younger son Greg and his wife, Nina, Charles’s granddaughters, Jenny and Olivia, and their husbands and babies. Charles’s grandson, Max, worked part-time at the resort. There was a granddaughter, Daisy, who had gone to live overseas for a time, and their eldest son named Philip, who was out of town on an extended trip with his wife.

At this point, they all seemed like relative strangers to Ross. They were nice enough, but strangers.

“What are you thinking?” asked Claire, watching him.

“All these new Bellamys—Granddad is just so eager for me to bond with them.”

“Of course he is.”

“A bond like that can’t be forced or hurried,” he said. “It’s the kind of thing that grows over time together, shared experiences.”

“He knows that,” Claire assured him. “But it has to start somewhere.”

True, thought Ross. But the feeling was bittersweet, because behind the sentiment was the knowledge of the void his grandfather would leave behind.

Granddad rejoined them a moment later, looking tired but happy. “It was a good pitch, wasn’t it?”

“Outstanding,” said Ross. “You always had a good arm.”

“You’re being too generous.” He took his cane from Claire. “Another item accomplished.”

“Way to go, George.”

“Oh, I’m just warming up. There’s lots more to do. You don’t think I’ve forgotten about the skydiving, do you?”

A 150-mile-per-hour free fall with his grandfather strapped to him was well outside of Ross’s comfort zone.

Granddad joked that if the fall killed him, he wouldn’t have to worry about the rest of his list. Ross had found a company in nearby New Paltz with a flawless safety record and an array of the best equipment. Duke Elder, the owner-operator, was ex-army like Ross. He’d been a paratrooper during his term of service and later got his
pilot’s license, certified for a number of aircraft. In addition to the parachute jumping, he also ran an air transport service to Newark, Logan and LaGuardia.

They went to the airfield on a cloudless day. The family gathered around and watched a short instructional video. George looked as excited as a kid in his jumpsuit, goggles and helmet.

“A helmet, eh?” he’d observed wryly. “I’m not sure I get the point. If something goes wrong at ten thousand feet, I’m going to break more than my head.”

Claire caught Ross’s eye. “Then make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“I see she doesn’t hesitate to nag you,” George observed. “I like that in a woman.”

“You’re joking, right?” Ross asked.

“It’s a sign that she cares,” George replied.

“It’s a sign that she’s a nag,” Ross said.

“Or how about this?” Claire said in exasperation. “It’s a sign she gets annoyed when you talk about her as though she isn’t there.” She stepped forward and clasped George in a hug. “Have fun,” she said. “It’s going to be amazing.”

“I want to go.” Ross’s cousin Micah looked yearningly at the aircraft. Granddad took him over to check it out.

Winifred challenged Claire. “Did you put him up to this?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, I should think that’s obvious,” Winifred said.

“Mom.” Ross sent her a low-voiced warning.

She ignored it. “The sooner George is gone, the sooner she gets her hands on his fortune.”

“Excuse me,” Claire said, and she walked away.

“There’s something off about that girl,” his mother said. “I can’t put my finger on it. She’s hiding something.”

“Yeah, like the fact that you’re out of your gourd.” Ross lowered his goggles and went to board the plane with his grandfather. Everyone else stayed behind, in a small cluster of worry near the landing site.

The ascent was swift and loud. Granddad held himself very still, gazing out the hatch window. He caught Ross’s eye, leaned over and handed him a tiny, folded bit of paper. On it, he’d written down a line from Plato’s
Republic.
Ross stuck it deep in his pocket.

They reached thirteen thousand feet, and it was time to go. Just before stepping through the hatch, Ross checked in with his grandfather one final time. “You sure?” he mouthed.

Granddad nodded and gave a thumbs-up. He mouthed the words, “Your move.” Behind the goggles, his eyes shone, and he was laughing, though the wind drowned out the sound. Ross was so damn grateful he was giving this to his grandfather. As he secured the tethers for the tandem jump, he just hoped like hell he wouldn’t screw up the ending.

Ross had made hundreds of jumps; he’d felt the rush of exhilaration and the roar of air past his ears during training and drills. But sharing the 150-mile-per-hour fall with someone he loved—was a high he’d never felt before. The risk and trust involved in this filled him with tenderness and awe.

When his altimeter beeped, he gave a hand signal for “Go time.” He extracted the pilot chute from its pouch and threw it into the surrounding airstream. The bridle of the pilot chute then pulled the deployment bag out, the
lines releasing one stow at a time until fully stretched. With a dramatic gust of air and swift upsweep, the main parachute inflated.

Everything decelerated to a slow drift under the canopy. Ross steered with the control lines, giving his grandfather as smooth a ride as he could manage. He could feel Granddad’s excitement like an electrical current. When he depressed both toggles, the wing slowed and the two of them swung forward, momentarily pitching the flight angle of the wing upward, like a brief ascent to heaven.

T
he glow of success that emanated from George after the parachute jump was infectious. “I have a new rule for everyone,” he declared at dinner that night. “Do not—I repeat, do
not
save your peak experiences for later. Have them now.”

Claire found herself looking over at Ross, and quickly glanced away. George’s words stuck with her, though, pointing out a painful truth. She wasn’ t just saving her peak experiences for later. She was saving
everything
for later.

She was sitting on the dock, in the moonlight, when Ross came to her. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I have a slight…housing dilemma.”

“What’s that?”

“Miss Darrow.”

“Millie?”

“Does that freak you out?”

“Are you kidding? It inspires me. In fact, this could work out well for us.”

“I don’t understand.” Ah, but she did. She did.

“You’re homeless,” he said simply.

“I could try to sneak in…”

“And risk interrupting something? Forget it.”

“I can bunk with your cousins. Ivy said there’s plenty of room—”

“No way. I’m not going to pass up a chance to get you alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

“I’m done,” he said simply.

“Done what?”

“Done pretending I don’t think about you all the time. Done trying to keep my hands off you.”

“Ross—”

“That’s as honest as I know how to be, so it’s up to you. Say the word, and I’ll walk away and you won’t hear me say this again. You have to tell me, Claire. The decision has to come from you.” He paused, regarding her with an intensity that felt…physical. “I think you want to,” he said. “I really think you want to.”

She’d spent years trying to avoid exactly this situation. She’d succeeded, too, but not because she was so strong or smart or resourceful. It was because she hadn’t met Ross Bellamy. Now that she had, she’d never be the same. Now that she’d felt his arms around her and his lips on hers, a door had been opened. She’d known she could never go back to her old in-between life, never forming more than a temporary or superficial connection with another soul.

“Well?” he prompted.

She shut off the part of her mind that was rational, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. There was a lifetime of yearning and need in the way she clung to him, which should probably warn him off. Instead he held her close,
and she was filled with a feeling that was new and fresh and exhilarating.

If he walked away right now, she would never forgive herself.

His hands skimmed down her back and then pulled her closer, and the warm pressure of his touch stole her breath. She felt everything with a heightened awareness, not just his embrace but each tiny detail—the slight breeze on her skin. The fresh smell of the lake. The soft
churr
of a creature in the underbrush. The moon itself shone with a peculiar sharpness, as though she’d taken some drug. She hadn’t, though; that was the extraordinary thing. Here was the world stripped bare for her, perhaps for the first time.

They walked hand in hand to his cabin, lost in a haze of desire. Even so, she took in the silver flow of moonlight on the lake, the flicker of a distant campfire, and the faint pulse of music from the main lodge across the water. She hadn’t seen the inside of his place yet, and was not surprised to find it uncluttered and relaxing. He poured two glasses of ice wine, as if he’d somehow known it was her favorite. Out of long habit, she took her customary sip and prepared to set it aside. But the sweet, frost-cured wine was so delicious. One sip was not enough.

“Cheers,” she said softly, and drank the entire glass.

“Now you’re talking.” He brought the bottle into the bedroom.

Into Ross Bellamy’s bedroom. Oh, this was a huge step for her. He had no idea how huge. And he had no idea how much she wanted it. The lake breeze blew softly through the screened window, ruffling the pale curtains. In the dim light, she was drawn to the personal things in
the room, like three different ties draped over a shirt on a hanger, as if he’d been trying to figure out which one matched. A stack of books on the bedside table—
The Complete Book of Fly Fishing
, a fat, dog-eared bestseller, and a slim volume with the unexpected title,
Meeting God in Quiet Places
. There was a shelf with things from his pockets—cell phone, scribbled notes, a knife.

And then there was the bed. The frame was made of vintage birch with a hand-painted rustic scene on the headboard. The linens were a pile of luxury, including a thick duvet and a folded Pendleton blanket. Her dress slipped away when he untied the sash. She heard him catch his breath, and it was a complete turn-on. She was so used to hiding herself, she hadn’t been prepared for this sense of liberation. As for Ross, he was fresh out of the military and looked it.

They lay down together, and they shared everything—nervous laughter, sighs of delight, endless kisses, more wine, some good-humored but urgent fumbling with the condom. Claire was filled with an overwhelming urge to tell him everything, to shed her secrets like articles of clothing, stripped from her body, piece by piece. He was shaking as he sank down slowly, too slowly, and she lifted herself to meet him halfway and clasp him close, as close as she’d dreamed of. There was a moment of hesitation, a slight wince of pain, but she drew him closer still. He froze, holding himself with sinewed arms, his face in shadow but his voice a rasp of disbelief as he said, “No way.”

“Way,” she whispered. “I’m so glad I waited for you.”

He kissed her and moved with exquisite slowness,
creating a deep rhythm of intimacy that made her feel as though she’d suddenly taken flight, and then burst into a thousand pieces. She cried out—his name, perhaps, or maybe it wasn’t a word at all, and floated back to earth like a leaf on a breeze, settling safe in his arms. Neither of them spoke for the longest time. It wasn’t necessary. He had discovered one of her deepest desires, and she surrendered it gladly. Gratefully, even.

Finally, here was someone with the uncanny ability to see who Claire really was, because he saw her heart. The secrets she gave up were the secrets of her heart—the loneliness and longing for someone who would love her. The sweetness of his embrace. Claire couldn’t be honest with her words, but she could with her touch.

It was addictively pleasurable; it was a kind of searing pain, released from a hidden place deep inside her. This relinquishing of control was what she’d been protecting herself from. And no wonder. It was dangerous. It made her completely vulnerable. It made her feel as if she might die at any moment. It made her feel as if she might live forever.