Beverly Long - Deep Secrets

“Of course,” Trish said.

There was a pause on the other end. Finally, Summer spoke. “It must be horrible for you, Trish. To have Milo die on the same day as Rafe. It’s just too much.”

“Two good men,” Trish said, her own throat closing up.

“I’m glad you got away,” Summer said. “I’m really glad. Just be safe. I love you. We all do.”

The line went dead. And Trish knew her twin was either crying or vomiting. But Bray would be there to handle either.

Maybe if she’d had someone at home, someone to hold her, she wouldn’t have felt the need to run in the middle of the night. She didn’t begrudge her twin’s happiness. Their lives were just different and she’d learned a long time ago to accept that.

She put her cell phone down and started a pot of coffee. Then she raised every shade on the porch, even the one on the door. M.A. had been right. The view was lovely. From the back steps, there was a little patch of grass that M.A. hadn’t mentioned, maybe twenty feet wide, before one hit the edge of the water.

The wooden dock that extended another fifty feet over the water was faded but in good repair. Bernie Wilberts’s boat, tied at the end, was white with brown panels. The aluminum fishing boat wasn’t new but, like the dock, appeared sturdy. It would suit her just fine.

Now that the blinds were up, she realized that wasn’t enough. She opened several of the windows, happy to see that there were screens to keep the bugs out. Duke rested his chin on one of the sills, looking about as happy as a dog could look.

She could practically hear the lake calling her name. Trish. Trish Wright-Roper.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said to Duke.

She walked back into the kitchen, toasted two slices of bread and slathered them with peanut butter. She grabbed a couple of handfuls of dry cereal and chewed. She washed it all down with the coffee that was now ready.

She hadn’t bothered to unpack the night before. But now she opened her suitcase and pulled out light blue capri pants and a blue-and-white tank. She slipped on a pair of sandals that she’d brought. She loved her cowboy boots but they weren’t good for dangling feet in the water.

On her way out the back door, she grabbed a well-read romance novel off the bookshelf in the living room. Duke bounded ahead of her, racing up and down the dock three times before she made it to the end.

The sun was warm on her face and she could smell the heady scent of the water. There was very little algae and, when she sat at the very end of the dock, it was clear enough that she could see the bottom of the lake through the ten or so feet of water.

Two hours later, she was a hundred and thirty-eight pages into her book, pleasantly warm and, truth be told, a little sleepy. But there were things she needed to do. The idea of more dry cereal was not appealing. She needed to find a grocery store. It was a little early for lunch but she wasn’t on anybody’s schedule but her own. She’d grab a bite to eat and still have the whole afternoon to take the boat out for a little fishing. Bernie Wilberts might like to dangle a line in the middle of the night. Not her.

She stood up and Duke, who had been stretched out next to her sleeping in the sun, immediately woke up. He stayed close as she walked back to the cottage. Once inside, she tossed her book on the slate table and then closed and locked all the windows and did the same for the back door.

Then she grabbed her purse and keys and walked out the front door, making sure that it was locked behind her. She opened up the door of her Jeep and Duke jumped in.

It was fifteen minutes before she got to Heelie. She wasn’t sure which had come first. The town or the lake. But now each was an extension of the other. Every other place on the three-block stretch was a T-shirt shop or a souvenir store. There was one coffee shop, three ice cream parlors and two small restaurants. She parked in front of one. She rolled down the window for Duke. She wasn’t worried about anybody stealing him. He’d bite the person’s arm off who tried that.

The place had fewer tables than the Wright Here, Wright Now Café and there was no shiny pie case in the corner. The menu looked similar but the prices were higher.

Maybe it was time for her and Summer to increase theirs. She ordered a BLT with fries and, to test the young waitress, an Arnold Palmer to drink. The girl smiled and said, “My mom drinks those.”

Trish managed to keep a smile on her face as the young girl trotted off to get her lemonade–iced tea combination. The girl’s comment had been a stark reminder that she was an age where she could have a daughter working behind the counter.

But look at Summer, a little voice nagged at her, as she unrolled and rerolled her silverware, tighter than it had been before. Summer was exactly the same age and she’d be having a new baby in seven months.

You’re not over the hill, she told herself.

But had she crested the peak and was the descent staring her in the face? Suddenly motivated, she pulled out her smartphone and scanned her emails, looking for the last one from the guy that she’d met online. The one she’d told Milo about.

Maybe it was time to fish or cut bait.

Barry North wanted to meet her for dinner. She found his message and, before she could change her mind, sent him a quick note confirming that she’d be available to meet him the following Saturday.

When her BLT and fries arrived, she forced herself to eat. She was moving on. This was good. When she got back to Ravesville, she was tossing out those self-help books about dealing with loss. She was dealing just fine.

She’d just pushed her plate away when her phone dinged, indicating a new email. She picked it up, ignoring that her hand was shaking. So great to get your message. Glad we’re finally going to do this. Where and when? I don’t mind a drive.

She’d told him that she lived about ninety minutes southwest of St. Louis but hadn’t been specific about Ravesville. She wasn’t stupid. She might be new at the online dating game, but she knew enough not to give out her personal information. He lived in Kansas City.

Maybe Hamerton. It was a twenty-minute drive from Ravesville. There were a couple of good places there. She wanted someplace nice but not too fancy. She typed back. Mulder’s in Hamerton. At seven.

Almost immediately came the response. Looking forward to it.

She closed her phone feeling suddenly very warm. She had a date. The idea of it made her BLT rumble in her stomach.

She pushed her chair back, walked to her Jeep and got Duke out to take a little stroll. They went up and down the streets, with Duke stopping frequently to drink out of the dog water bowls that many of the merchants left outside their entrances.

Then it was back to the Jeep for Duke while she went to the grocery store and bought milk and eggs and more fresh vegetables than she probably needed. But hopefully she’d catch a fish this afternoon and be able to cook the fish and the vegetables on the gas grill that was chained outside the cottage.

Back at the Jeep, she shoved the groceries inside the back door and slipped into the driver’s seat. It was a very warm day, and through her capri pants, she could feel the heat of the leather. She leaned back in the seat gingerly, knowing that her tank wouldn’t provide much protection. She’d pulled her hair into a low ponytail, like she usually wore it to work, but it felt heavy on her neck. Maybe it would be cooler on the water.

She checked both ways and then pulled out of her parking space. Duke had his head hanging out the window. There was a lot of traffic that didn’t lighten up until she’d turned off onto the side road that would wind around until it led her to the cottage.