Carla Neggers - The River House

She brushed the fireplace’s worn brick, remembering another hot summer day. She and Gabe had met at their favorite swimming hole on the river after their jobs, hers at her father’s air-conditioned bank, his ripping apart a hot attic for an addition on a house near the village. They’d leaped into the river, laughing, enjoying the cool, clear water—by mutual agreement not talking about their impending departure for college. Afterward, they’d spread out a blanket from his car in front of the old fireplace. As daylight slipped away and the night turned cool, they’d built a fire.

Felicity could smell the wood smoke as if she were eighteen again, stretched out next to Gabe. Her heart raced, as it had that night—this time, though, because she knew what had come next, not because of her reaction to Gabe touching her bare thigh. He’d never done that before, and it’d been their undoing. The campsite was isolated, the night brightened only by the flames of the fire and the spray of stars above them.

Heat rose in her cheeks as that crazy night came back to her in all its clothes-tearing, laughing, exploring, reckless glory. What had she and Gabe been thinking?

Of course, they hadn’t been thinking.

She’d worried they’d end up rolling down the riverbank given their exuberance. He’d been completely absorbed in the act at hand, and she’d followed him over the brink. There’d been a lot of fumbling, awkward touching and panting, a few nervous laughs, and then it was over, the virginity threshold never to be crossed again.

By dawn, they were back to being friends. Or at least Gabe was. She’d gone along with him and had pretended their night together hadn’t been that big a deal.

“That wasn’t...you know. Anything. Right, Felicity?”

“Right, Gabe.”

She remembered his sexy half smile as he’d narrowed his eyes on her. “I didn’t know I’d be your first.”

She’d pretended not to hear him, and a few weeks later, they left their small, out-of-the-way hometown for college. She was positive no one else knew about their night together. When she’d returned home that morning, her parents assumed she’d camped out with girlfriends and lectured her about being sure she’d put out any campfires, stressing the importance of being responsible. Gabe had reported his parents hadn’t even realized he hadn’t come home. He’d shrugged off their obliviousness. “It’s okay, Felicity. It’s not like it’s news they’re flakes.”

Live-for-the-moment, beloved and talented flakes. Mickey Flanagan could fix the fussiest imported car but on his own schedule. Lee had never been without a smile at the local assisted-living facility, where she’d worked as a licensed practical nurse. Dreamers, Felicity’s father had called them, not without affection. Mickey had dropped out of college as a mechanical engineering major to travel. He’d never gone back. Born and raised in quiet Knights Bridge, he’d returned home after he’d satisfied his wanderlust, got a job as a mechanic and married a local girl. They’d had two sons together, both of whom had vowed to put action behind their dreams—which to them meant getting out of Knights Bridge.

Gabe had dropped out of college himself after his mother’s death from an aggressive form of breast cancer. Mark had already been working as an architect in Boston. Their father had quit his job and gone on the road again, eventually returning to Knights Bridge and opening up his own shop specializing in vintage motorcycles and sports cars.

She and Gabe had never been destined to be anything but friends, and now not even that. He was a client. Nothing more, nothing less. That summer night with him was in the past. If they hadn’t talked it over then, they sure weren’t going to now. She wished they’d run into each other at the country store or at the mill on one of his visits and had gotten their reunion—however it would go—past them. Now they’d see each other at a high-profile event.

They’d be fine, Felicity thought, annoyed with herself for her angst. They’d be cordial with each other. Neutral.

Hey, Felicity, good to see you.

Yeah, you, too, Gabe.

She headed back up to the deck. The afternoon had turned hot and muggy. She usually didn’t mind the heat since it rarely lasted long and she knew she’d be wishing for a hot day come January. Right now, though, the weather only seemed to emphasize her discomfort about seeing Gabe again. She doubted she’d be able to avoid him on Saturday.

“Neutral. He’s not a positive or a negative in your life. He’s a client. That’s it.” She groaned to herself. “Keep talking. Maybe you’ll start believing it.”

She’d see him—that was unavoidable—but maybe she wouldn’t have to talk to him. He’d be schmoozing at the boot camp and then at the party, and the rest of his visit he’d be hanging out with family and buddies still in town. He wouldn’t be staying long. He never did. He hadn’t even before they’d parted badly.

Felicity wasn’t afraid to see him. She just dreaded it.

Maybe it was best to get it over with and prove to herself he was a zero in her life. Be done with dreading to see him. She’d moved on a long time ago. She harbored no ill will or secret anything for him. No secret desire for revenge, no secret longing, no secret hope they’d renew their friendship—none of that.

She grabbed her handbag and went out to her car, a much-used Land Rover that she’d gotten off her brother in a great deal. “It’s not sexy but it’s a sweet machine,” he’d told her.

She drove out the river road past the mill toward the village, turning onto another country road and following it until it ended at quiet, pretty Carriage Hill Road. She turned left, rolling down her window and taking in the slightly cooler air. The road eventually dead-ended at a Quabbin gate, one of more than forty gates that marked entrances to the reservoir and its surrounding protected watershed. She wouldn’t go that far, but she knew the spot well. She and Gabe had obtained fishing licenses and gone out on the reservoir in his dad’s rickety boat a couple of times, but neither of them had developed the fishing bug. She’d enjoyed being on the pristine water, envisioning life in the valley before the reservoir. She’d noticed signs of the lost valley towns. Old roads that now led into the reservoir, the occasional remnant of buildings long demolished. Gabe hadn’t paid much attention. He’d focused on catching fish.

Felicity blinked back unexpected tears and cleared her throat. She had work to do before Saturday. “Best get to it,” she said, and continued down the quiet road.

* * *

Felicity parked at the contemporary “barn” Olivia and Dylan McCaffrey had built on property he’d inherited from his father. It served as the base for Dylan’s fledgling adventure travel business and entrepreneurial boot camps and was just up the road from the pristine antique house Olivia had turned into a destination inn—a coincidence that had led to their meeting on an icy March day over a year ago. They’d also built a house up a stone walk from the barn, finally moving in earlier in the summer. Mark Flanagan had designed both the house and barn to meld into the rolling rural New England landscape. Felicity didn’t know if Gabe had ever seen them. Probably not.

Olivia greeted her at the front entrance. She was dressed in yoga pants and a long tank top, her dark hair pulled back. She was visibly pregnant, due in late autumn. “I had an urge for hot chocolate,” she said, smiling as she held up a steaming mug. “I know. You’d think I’d have an urge for lemonade on a hot summer day. Come in, won’t you?”

Felicity followed her into the barn. She’d checked out the space several times in the lead-up to Saturday’s boot camp. The interior included a large, flexible open area with a sectional sofa and comfy chairs in front of a huge fieldstone fireplace, a kitchen, a study and, up spiral stairs, a loft with offices and storage space.