Ruth Langan - Cover-Up

“Doesn’t matter.” Up close he found himself looking into wide honey eyes. Trusting eyes, he thought. As trusting as the puppy’s. “What’d you do to your knees?”

She glanced down and shrugged. “Fell over a log.”

“Won’t your folks be mad about all that mud?”

“Uh-uh.” Again that toss of the head, sending her ponytail swinging. “Poppie says I’m always coming home looking like I fought with a bear.”

“Who’s Poppie?”

“My grandfather. But Bert says whoever I fight with, I’ll always win.”

“Who’s Bert?”

“My grandma.”

“You call your grandmother Bert?”

“Everybody does. We live with my grandparents.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We just always have.” She offered him more crackers, and when he refused, she placed three in his hand before popping the last three into her mouth.

Maybe it was her sense of fairness. Or maybe it was simply the calm way in which she accepted him. Whatever the reason, Jason felt more anger begin to dissipate in her company. “We moved here a month ago.”

“I’m glad.” She gave him a wide smile that put sunshine to shame. “We can be friends.”

Before he could answer she glanced at the entrance of the cave. “Rain’s stopped.” She got to her feet. “I’d better get Buster home. Want to come?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. But he found he didn’t want to be alone just yet. Odd, since he’d always preferred his own company to that of others. “Sure. How far’s home?”

“Not far.” She led the way outside and held the pup close to her chest as she tramped through the woods.

When they reached the edge of town, Jason expected Emily to lead him toward the converted cottages and trailer parks that dotted the working-class section of town. Instead she turned to the mansions that sat in a row along the water’s edge.

She started up the driveway of a sprawling white house with a sign that read The Willows.

Jason held back. “You live here?”

She nodded. “Come on.”

Though he had his doubts that he’d be welcome, he couldn’t resist the urge to see how such people lived.

“Hi, Em. What have you got there?” A red-haired, freckled imp looked up from a glass-topped patio table where she sat drawing.

“A puppy. This is Jason. That’s my sister, Sidney.”

“Hi, Jason.” The imp grinned and returned her attention to her watercolors.

“Sidney.” He was still staring at her and nearly tripped over another imp, this one carrying a hose and with wet blond bangs dripping into her eyes.

“Out of my way,” she shouted. “Poppie needs my help in the garden.”

As she raced past them Emily called, “Hannah, say hi to Jason.”

“Hi.” A chubby fist was raised before she disappeared around the corner of the house.

“You got any more sisters?”

“Just Courtney. She’s probably down at the water’s edge. That’s all of us. And my mom and dad and Bert and Poppie.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of so many people. But to his amazement, he was accepted without question when he walked inside. After quick introductions to her grandmother and the housekeeper, he and Emily were sent off to locate a box and blanket for the puppy.

Minutes later, while they chose a cozy spot in the kitchen for Buster, Emily’s grandmother asked the housekeeper, Trudy, to make them lemonade.

After polishing off two tall glasses, Bert gestured toward the laundry room. “Time to wash off that mud, you two.”

She stood watching as they scrubbed, then handed them fluffy yellow towels. When she spotted the blood on Jason’s shirt, the old woman held out a hand. “Give me that and I’ll have Trudy wash it before you go home.”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “No need. My ma’ll see to it.”

“You may need a little disinfectant. That’s a lot of blood.”

The lie came easily. “I fell off my bike.”

“All the more reason to take a look at that cut.” Before he could argue the housekeeper was there beside them, tugging off his shirt.

“Mother of God…”

He was too young to know about the scars that crisscrossed his back. But he was aware of the sudden silence and glanced up in time to see the look Trudy exchanged with Emily’s grandmother before applying ointment ever so gently.

Bert insisted on feeding him. An egg salad sandwich. A frosty glass of milk. A banana. And when he was leaving, she asked the housekeeper to send along a handful of chocolate chip cookies for his walk home.

For an eight-year-old boy who had never known tenderness, this day had been like a soothing balm. One he would never forget. And though he was intrigued by the kindness of the old woman in the wonderful white mansion, it was her granddaughter with the bloody knees, the smile of an angel and a fondness for strays who had completely captured his heart.

The fog rolled in, blanketing the entire shore, forcing the boats that were caught in it to use their sonar devices to avoid the treacherous rocks that lay in wait for them. That deadly combination of fog and rocks had been the reason seventeenth-century sailors had given this area the name Devil’s Cove. The skeletons of shipwrecks that lay on the lake’s floor were a reminder of deadlier times, and had become a haven for divers searching for treasures. The town had seen its share of pirates, paupers, playboys and charlatans. And though Devil’s Cove was now a prosperous resort town, with restored mansions and upscale shopping and dining, there remained about it an aura of mystery and intrigue.

As morning sunlight burned off the last wisps of fog, the town seemed to spring to life, ready for another day of surprises for those who called it home.

Jason Cooper turned the rental car off the highway at the top of the hill and switched off the ignition before stepping out. Below him, the houses, streets and parks of Devil’s Cove were clearly visible. There was Devil’s Cove High School sporting a new track and football field. The Methodist church on the corner of Park and Main looked as regal as ever. A memorial for sailors lost in the Great Lakes sat in the park in the center of town. The grass was neatly trimmed and decorated with American flags and red, white and blue flowers in pretty pots.

He breathed in the familiar scents of water and earth and forest and realized his heart was pounding. Home. And yet not home. This hadn’t been home for him in more than ten years. When he’d lived here, all he’d thought about was running away. It didn’t matter where he went, as long as he got as far away from Devil’s Cove as possible. And yet here he was, back where it had all started.

Though much of it looked the same, it was plain that there had been tremendous growth in this area since he’d been gone. The steady hum of construction equipment could be heard in the distance, and he could see that much of the pristine forest had been carved into roads leading to housing developments.

He’d often wondered how long it would take for people to discover the beauty of this northern Michigan playground. The lure of clear lakes and pine forests made the land far too valuable to remain farmland forever.

He climbed back into the car and headed toward town. Up ahead he saw the Harbor House. As he drove along the curving ribbon of driveway and waited for someone to take his bags, he steeled himself against the wave of feelings that nearly overwhelmed him.

He was here, he reminded himself, because he chose to be. If he changed his mind tomorrow and decided to get the hell out, there was nobody who could stop him.

As the valet took his car keys he strode inside the Harbor House and registered for his room. Without bothering to unpack, he made his way to the dining room. What he needed was good food and hot coffee. Then he’d see the town at his leisure.