Home for the Summer Page 23

  “Not at all.”

  Lucy poured wine into the glasses and took one to Clay at the stove, pausing for just a second to watch him at work. What, she wondered, was so appealing about a man in jeans and a pullover standing over a hot stove, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows?

  She handed him his glass and took a sip from her own. The wine was delicious and she looked at the label. She took another sip and let it roll around on her tongue, and wondered if it was offered at the inn. She’d have to check.

  “You look lost in serious thought,” Clay noted.

  “I was thinking about this wonderful wine, and wondering if it was served at the inn.”

  Clay nodded. “I had it there over the winter. It’s from Hunter’s vineyard in Ballard.”

  “I had one of their wines at Vanessa’s.” She picked up the bottle and studied the label. “I might have to look into this for the wedding. Maybe I’ll drive over this week and pick up a few bottles for the menu tasting.”

  Clay pulled a baking dish out of the oven and set it atop the stove. He dished brown rice from a pot on the stove into a bowl, which Lucy took into the dining room. When she returned, he had the asparagus piled in another bowl and the fish on an oval white plate and was heading into the dining room with it. Lucy grabbed his wineglass and brought it to him.

  “This was such a great idea,” she said as she took her seat. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He handed her the fish platter and she helped herself before passing it back to him.

  “You are so not the boy I used to know,” she told him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He made a face but she could tell he wasn’t offended.

  “The Clay Madison who was my best friend growing up couldn’t even spread jelly on a piece of bread without glopping it onto the floor.”

  “I’ve come a long way, baby.”

  “I’ll say you have.”

  Midway through the meal, he said, “I almost forgot. You wanted music.” He got up and went into the kitchen. A moment later he returned with a CD player in one hand and a stack of discs in their cases in the other. He set the player up on the sideboard and handed the CDs to Lucy. “Your choice.”

  “No one can ever say that you don’t have eclectic taste.” She glanced through the plastic cases. “Bruce Springsteen, Nickelback, Tim McGraw, Maroon 5, Kenny Chesney, Bruno Mars, Rascal Flatts, Cream … Really?” She held up the psychedelic picture on the case. “Is this a test? Find the one that doesn’t go with the others?”

  “My dad was a big Clapton fan.” Clay shrugged. “I’d replaced a lot of his old albums with CDs one year for his birthday. When my mom moved back, she gave them to me.”

  “Hannah’s not a classic rock fan?”

  “Hannah’s deep into country now.”

  “And she let you keep the Rascal Flatts?”

  Clay laughed. “I think she left that one here by accident.”

  Lucy handed him the Tim McGraw. “Let’s live like we’re dying.”

  “Good choice.” He slipped the disc into the player and turned the volume on low.

  “So have you gotten a lot of work done since you’ve been in St. Dennis?” he asked.

  She brought him up-to-date on all she’d accomplished in the past several days.

  “Sounds like you’ve got things under control,” he noted.

  “For the most part, yes. Things may be a little dicey back home, but I think we’re okay. There was an event today that Bonnie was supposed to handle, but her ex-husband broke his leg horseback riding. She flew up to Sacramento to be with him, so she passed the event on to Corrine. I’m waiting for her to check in to let me know how things went today.” She patted the pocket of her jeans to make sure she still had her phone.

  “Nice of your partner to take care of her ex.”

  “I don’t think he’ll be her ex for much longer. I think they’re getting back together.” Lucy considered what that might mean for their partnership. Bonnie had said that Bob would never move back to L.A.

  “How’s your new office working out in the inn?”

  “It’s fine. I could never work there permanently, though. There isn’t enough room.”

  They finished their meal and cleared the table, then rinsed and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher.

  “This was a wonderful dinner,” Lucy told him. “Thank you again. I’d like to say I’ll reciprocate, but I don’t have a kitchen and I’m not much of a cook. However, you could come to the inn one night and see what you think of the new chef.”

  “I’d love to do that, but I have to confess, I’m already a fan of Gavin’s,” he said. “I took my mom to the inn for her birthday dinner a few weeks ago.”

  “Ah, that’s right. You did tell me that.”

  “Want to take a stroll outside? There’s a skyful of stars tonight. I could see them from the dining room window.”

  “Sure.” She picked up her wineglass on her way to the door.

  Once outside, she shivered against the evening air. “I didn’t realize how cool it had gotten.”

  “I’ll get you something to put on. Be right back.” Clay disappeared into the house and returned a few minutes later with a fleece-lined jacket that he put over her shoulders. “Brooke left this in the front hall the other day when she stopped by for her mail. She still doesn’t have a separate mailbox, so the mailman leaves everything in our box,” he explained.

  “Thanks. That’s much better.” She looked up at the sky. “It really is a beautiful night, and a beautiful sky. When you live in a place where there’s so much light for the stars to compete with, you forget how many there are, and how dark the nights can be when you’re in the country.”

  Clay put his arm around her and she leaned against him. “ ’Member when we used to sit out here in the dark and watch for shooting stars?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  “That time seems so long ago, Clay. Sometimes it seems as if I was never really that young.”

  “Well, I can attest to the fact that you were. You were not only that young, but you were a happy, carefree kid with a great imagination for making up games and a great sense of fun.”

  “I was, wasn’t I?” she murmured. Sometimes it was so hard to remember that time. Tonight wasn’t one of them. Tonight she felt like that carefree happy girl again. She wondered how long the feeling would last.

  He snapped his fingers. “Wait here.”

  Clay went inside, then came back out with the CD player under his arm. He plugged it into an outlet on the porch. When the music began to play, he took her in his arms.

  “You wanted music,” he reminded her. “I thought you might want to dance.…”

  She smiled. “This is an oldie. Michael Bolton?” Lucy swayed against him. “This song was out when we were in high school.”

  “Ah, but it’s a classic,” he told her. “ ‘When a Man Loves a Woman.’ Every guy in school knew all the words to this one. Great make-out song. They played it several times at our junior prom.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I didn’t go.”

  “I know.” He rested his face against the side of hers. “I looked for you all night. The dance was almost over by the time I figured out that you really weren’t there.”

  Lucy sighed. There was no explaining some things. Like why she barely spoke to any guys all through high school, or why, on prom night, she sat in her dark bedroom wondering what it would be like to feel like a normal girl.

  Clay tipped her face up to his, and she leaned into a kiss that she’d been expecting. His lips were so soft, so undemanding at first, and he tasted of wine and memories. She held her breath for a moment before reminding herself where she was, and who she was with, and she gave herself over to the moment and the man.

  This is the way it’s supposed to feel, she thought as his kisses—and hers—grew hungrier and the warmth spread through her. When his lips trailed the side of her
face to her throat and he whispered, “Stay, LuLu. Stay with me,” she could only nod.

  Forgotten, the music continued to play softly as they went into the house and he turned the key in the back door to lock it. Hand in hand they walked through the kitchen into the hall, where, at the bottom of the steps, Clay lifted her in his arms and started up the stairs.

  “Hey.” Lucy laughed softly. “Isn’t this just a little … well, dramatic?”

  “Just go with it, okay?” She could hear the amusement in his voice. “Every guy has this secret fantasy of sweeping his girl off her feet and carrying her to his bed. Don’t women dream of being swept away?”

  She didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling him that no, she didn’t have such fantasies, that the thought of anyone—anyone but him, anyway—grabbing her and carrying her off terrified her. But she suspected that maybe other women might feel differently. So instead of answering him, she nuzzled his neck and closed her eyes, and reminded herself that, with Clay, she was safe.

  The rest of the night seemed to pass in a haze of want and need. His hands and his mouth seemed to have been everywhere at once, and she’d given in to every sensation without hesitation. There’d been a moment—a split second—when she’d felt a twinge of panic begin to curl inside her, but it passed quickly. It was true, what she’d read: it really was different when you were with someone you really cared for, someone you trusted with your whole heart—and there’d never been a man she trusted more than she trusted Clay.

  Lucy pushed away the past and allowed herself to feel and touch and experience pleasure, to feel cherished by this wonderful man who only wanted to love her. She hoped that by the end of the night, she’d have found the piece of herself that had been stolen so long ago.

  Most of all, she hoped that this feeling of peace, this joy, would last beyond the night.

  Chapter 18

  CLAY lay in a state of contented semiconsciousness, not quite asleep, not quite awake. He’d wanted Lucy so badly for so long that he could hardly believe she was here, in his bed, and that they’d just shared the most unbelievable night together. He reached out for her, and touched … nothing. He opened his eyes and sat up. In the pale light from the moon, he could see Lucy standing near the foot of the bed silhouetted against the window.

  “Lucy, what are you doing?” he asked.

  “Getting dressed,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Her fingers paused on the button of her jeans and she seemed to freeze.

  “You weren’t going to leave me in the middle of the night, were you?” He pushed the pillows up behind his head. “Don’t you know that when two people share what we shared, one doesn’t leave without a good-bye and a good reason?”

  “I just … I thought …” She sounded confused.

  “Come here, please,” he said softly. Something about her voice made him go cold inside.

  She walked to the side of the bed and stood there. His hands drew her to him and she went without protest, but she felt stiff in his arms, not at all like the willing lover who’d shared the night with him. Whatever it was that was causing this … disconnect in her, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

  “LuLu, tell me what’s wrong. Is it something I did, or said? Did I hurt you somehow?” It occurred to him then that perhaps there was something else going on. “Lu, is there someone else, someone you’re involved with back in California? Is that what’s bothering you?”

  She shook her head. “There’s no one else, Clay. I’m just not used to …” She struggled with her words. “I’m not used to staying.”

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “You mean, after …?”

  She nodded. “I just always … I need to leave.”

  “Stay this time.” He held her closely, certain he hadn’t gotten the whole answer, but not sure she was ready to tell him more.

  She nodded again, and he pulled up the blanket to cover her. There were so many things he wanted to say, so much was in his heart, but she seemed so fragile suddenly that he feared she would bolt. She lay with her back against him for a long time, her breathing at first slightly ragged. She was so still that he thought she’d fallen asleep.

  “Clay, remember when you asked me why I acted like I did back in high school?” The room was so quiet that her whisper filled it.

  “I remember.”

  “That summer … I was raped.” She swallowed so hard that he could hear it. “At the inn.”

  His breath caught in his chest.

  “He was there with his family. My parents were away, on that trip to Maine. My parents wanted all of us to be able to do all of the jobs at the inn. My job that summer was with housekeeping.” She paused briefly to swallow again but continued. “He came into his room when I was starting to change the bed linens. He started saying how he was so glad that I’d been waiting there for him and how he knew I’d been wearing those short shorts just for him and how he knew I’d been wanting him to notice and how he knew what I wanted from him. And then he pushed me down on the bed and started kissing me, and the next thing I knew, he was tearing at my clothes.”

  She spoke in a near monotone, her emotions all beneath the surface. Clay held his breath. Had she really just said she’d been raped? How could something so terrible have happened to her, and he hadn’t known?

  “I was so scared I could barely speak, and when I started to call for my brother, he put one hand over my mouth and just continued raping me as if I wasn’t trying to scream and kick him. When he was done, he told me not to tell anyone what happened because he’d deny it and no one would believe me. He said he’d kill my little brother. Then he went into the shower as if nothing had happened. I lay there for a long time, till I heard the shower turn off. Then I wrapped up the sheet and my clothes and ran back to my room.”

  “No one saw you?”

  She shook her head. “There were sailboat races out on the Bay, and everyone was out on the lawn watching.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I went back to my room and I took a shower and tried to scrub him off me. He wore this aftershave and it seemed like the smell was in my skin and I couldn’t wash it away. It seemed like I smelled that for weeks.”

  “But I mean, what happened when you told Dan? What happened when you called the police?” Clay knew that Hal Garrity was the chief of police back then. He would have skinned her assailant alive.

  “I didn’t tell Danny. I told him I was sick and I stayed in my room until the weekend, when I figured he’d be gone,” she said. “I didn’t call the police.”

  Clay sat up a little straighter but never let go of her. “You didn’t tell anyone?” he asked in disbelief.

  She shook her head.

  “But when your parents came back …”

  She shook her head again. “I never told anyone. Not anyone. Just you. Now.”

  It took him a moment to take it all in.

  “You were raped when you were fourteen and you never told anyone?” Incredulous, he asked, “Why not?”

  “Because I was afraid no one would believe me, like he said, and I was afraid he really would hurt Ford. And, Clay, I was very, very scared that Danny would have killed the guy and then my parents would have had to come back from their vacation early and—”

  “Lu, this guy raped you. He hurt you and forced you to do something you didn’t want to do. Do you really think your parents would have cared about their vacation?”

  “Everyone had made such a big thing about it. They’d never taken a vacation, Clay. They’d spent every summer here at the inn working their tails off. They finally got the chance to get away. They trusted Danny and me and Ford to take care of things.” She sat up and turned around, her hands covering her face. “Do you have any idea how guilty my mother would have felt that she’d left us?”

  “It isn’t as if she’d left you guys unsupervised. There were adults at the inn with you, weren’t there? I seem to recall that the
re was a manager here who looked after you kids a lot.”

  “Mrs. Englewood.”

  “You couldn’t have told her?”

  “I couldn’t tell anyone.” She wiped the tears from her face with the sheet. “I never wanted anyone to know.”

  “You haven’t talked to any of your girlfriends—”

  “I don’t really have any girlfriends,” she told him.

  “How ’bout the guys you’ve dated …?”

  She shook her head. “I never felt like I could share that.”

  “That’s why you don’t feel comfortable staying over?”

  She nodded.

  “LuLu, have you thought about talking to someone professionally about this?”

  “I’ve thought about that. I thought it might help me to deal with … relationships better. I know I’m always so guarded. But then, there was never anyone I cared so much about that I thought it was worth going through the pain of talking about it.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Better. I’m glad I told you. I’ve wanted to forever. Even back then, I wanted to, but I went through this stage where I didn’t want anyone close to me, didn’t want to have to talk.”

  “So you pushed everyone away.” He was starting to understand.

  “It was easier than talking about it. It was always on my mind, and I was always afraid it would slip out.” Her voice softened even more. “Even you. I knew what you would have done if I’d told you.”

  “Damn straight.” Anger, then rage, began to replace the shock he’d initially felt listening to her recounting of the attack. Now it was all he could do to keep his hands from forming into fists, and for those fists to keep from punching something—like the nearest wall—but he figured physical violence was not the best way to comfort and reassure her that she was safe with him. “But you can still press charges. It’s damn near impossible to hide these days, you can find anyone on the Internet. You were a minor, and I doubt there’s a statute of limitations on assaults on minors. Besides, rape is a felony—no statute there. You could—”