The Seacrest (16 page)

“I didn’t want him to hire you. I tried to stop it.”

“I know. He told me.” I traced a finger along her cheek. “He said to be extra special polite and nice to you so I wouldn’t lose my job.”

“I couldn’t tell him what I thought was true. About those poor girls!” Her eyes widened. “Those poor girls…that Jax knocked up.”

“My father lectured us so much about safe sex. I still can’t believe Jax didn’t buy it. He had drawers full of condoms.”

“I remember the ones you stole,” she smiled a little this time, her eyes focusing on a faraway memory. “Rainbow colors.”

“Yeah. We were really lucky, though. It could have happened to us. There were quite a few times we didn’t wait...we couldn’t wait.”

She locked eyes with me. “I have to tell you. Those times…”

“I know. Best times of my life, Libby.”

“It never was the same way with Ian. Or anyone. And I tried. I really tried.”

“Me, too. Nothing ever came close.”

She sat up, wistful now. “Do you think we could be friends now? I mean, real friends?”

I leaned over to hug her. “Libby. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Friends. Or more, if and when you’re ready.”

She looked nervous again, that same frightened way she was earlier. “I don’t know. I think I’ve been irrevocably damaged, like I said. I feel like I’m ruined for anyone now.”

I kissed her cheek. “Time heals all things. You need time to get all this straight in your head. To stop hating me, right? And when you’re ready…you just give me the word. I love you, Lib.”

Her eyes watered up again, but she couldn’t speak. She nodded, and got up. I walked with her up the beach and back toward The Seacrest.

Chapter 36

Thanksgiving, 1997

2:30 P.M.

T
he meal had been delicious. As usual, my mother made a feast fit for kings, in spite of the fact that she was eight months pregnant. Gramps had come up for the occasion, and we’d even invited a few of my parents’ friends from town. The kitchen smelled of turkey and pumpkin pie, cranberries and spices. In spite of my heavy heart because of my continued failed attempts to contact Libby, I made sure to smile and nod and seem happy. I couldn’t ruin the holiday for my family.

After we’d helped clean up, I drifted away from the adults and opened the box of letters I hid under the loose closet floorboard in my bedroom. Ten envelopes, marked airmail, addressed to Elizabeth Vanderhorn. Ten “return to sender” notices marked in her careful penmanship near the crossed-out address in Switzerland.

I spread them out on the floor, touching the marks where she’d written the words. It was all I had of her now. My heart hitched and I drew a long, deep breath, expelling it slowly.

Someone came in the door and I jumped.

Jax! Crap. I had to hide them or he’d have fodder to tease me for years.

“It’s okay, Finn. It’s just me.” Gramps sat on my bed and stretched his arms over his head. “Boy. Am I stuffed. Your mother’s a treasure in that kitchen.”

I stared at him, wanting to tell him my troubles, but not knowing where to start. The envelopes slipped from my fingers, spilling onto the floorboards.

“Wanna talk about it, bud?”

He’d always been able to read my mind. At this point, it didn’t shock me anymore.

“Am I that obvious?” I asked, shuffling the letters into one big pile.

“No. I just know you better than most folks, boy.” He reached out a hand to help me up. “What’s going on? You seem pretty down.”

“How’d you know?”

“You did a good job hiding it. Unless someone was really intuitive, they wouldn’t have guessed. Does it have to do with Sassy?”

“Libby,” I said. “That’s her real name.”

“I see.” He patted the bed. “Sit. Tell me everything.”

I brought the letters to the bed and showed him. “She hates me.”

He chuckled. “What did you do?”

I bristled. “Nothing!”

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Seriously. Somehow she thinks I did something awful, though. And I can’t even get her to let me defend myself. I wrote her all these letters…”

“And she returned them unopened?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s harsh.” He leaned back against the headboard. “But you can’t give in. Keep trying. She really is a keeper.”

“I just don’t know why she thinks…”

“Remember, you can’t trust everyone,” he said mysteriously.

“Okay.” I said, warily. “But right now I have to get her to listen to me. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done, except it’s gotta be horrible the way she’s acting.”

“You’ll straighten it out, boy. Eventually.”

“You think so?”

He smiled and patted my arm. “I’m sure of it. I think you two were meant to be together.”

Miserable, I sighed. “Me, too, Gramps. Me, too.”

After the guests had gone, I grabbed my bike and went for a ride. It was still light out at four o’clock, and the weather wasn’t too bad for November on the Cape, with clear skies in the fifties.

I headed for The Seacrest, whether intentionally or not, I never knew, but my hands and feet knew the way too well and I didn’t fight it. Approaching the main gate, I pulled up and stared at the mansion.

Stately and grand, it stared back, mocking me.

You’ll never be good enough for one of ours
, it said.

I sighed, drawing my coat closer as the air cooled, and was about to leave when a big black Lincoln pulled around from the back of the house and approached the gate.

I should have been embarrassed to be caught there, gawking at the place, but instead I just stared at the car, wondering who was inside.

In a flash, I saw her.

Libby.

Dark hair, now worn with bangs. Pretty eyes, staring at me with fiery hatred. Lips pursed in a bitter line. She waved her hands, as if to shoo me away.

I stared. My eyes widened. My feet began to pedal again and I followed the car, yelling after it. “Libby! Wait!”

Furiously now, I pedaled alongside, watching her watch me back with horror and concern. She mouthed the words,
go away.

The Lincoln began to draw away from me, and to my horror, tears spilled down my cheeks. I rode as fast as I could, but it soon became obvious I’d never keep up. When they turned the corner, I stopped the bike, surprised at the harsh sounds coming from my throat.

“Libby!” I threw the bike down on the side of the road and ran a few more steps in her direction. “Libby, wait!”

The sun slowly disappeared behind the dunes and the horizon smoldered to burnt orange with touches of pink glimmering between ocean and sky, where the big red sun sank into the water. I stood, fists clenched, sobbing like a baby, staring at the bend in the road around which she’d vanished.

“Libby. I need to talk to you,” I whispered fiercely. “Why won’t you listen?”

With a heavy heart, I retraced my steps back to my bike and picked it up. I’d dented one of the spokes, but it seemed okay when I got on and pedaled toward home.

I brushed the tears from my face and tried to erase all signs of my embarrassing behavior. If Jax found out, I’d never hear the end of it.

Chapter 37

July 20th, 2013

3:30 P.M.

S
hrieks rolled over the grassy lawn and down to the sea, coming from Fritzi who waved her arms in our direction at the top of the hill. “Libby! Finn! Help!”

We’d made it about halfway to The Seacrest when she practically fell into Libby’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “It’s the Mister. He fell down. He won’t wake up.”

“Did you call 911?” I asked.

“
Ja, naturlich
!” Reverting to her native language, she wept fiercely now, her face streaming with tears.

“I’m on it,” I shouted, pelting up the hill toward the house. “Meet me up there as soon as you can, Lib.”

With stricken eyes, she nodded, still trying to help Fritzi stay upright. “We’ll follow right behind you, Finn. Help him!”

I burst into the kitchen, through the back hall, across the dining room, and found him at the bottom of the stairs, looking bluish and unconscious.

“Rudy?” I knelt beside him and listened for breathing. I heard it, shallow, but regular. “Rudy? Can you hear me?”

He stirred and moaned, reaching one hand toward his chest. “Hurts. Hurts like hell.”

His heart?
Was this a repeat of the incident he had years ago, when I’d climbed her bedroom window by the trellis the night he was hospitalized?

I grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair and put it under his head. “Help is on the way, just try to relax.”

He groaned and tried to roll sideways. “I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so, but don’t try to get up. Fritzi called an ambulance.”

Just as I was about to search for an aspirin to give him—I wasn’t sure if it would help but had heard about it on the news—the medics pounded through the front door and arrived at his side. There was no question about quick service in the Brewster community where Mr. Rudy Vanderhorn was involved.

Libby followed on their heels, her face a mask of uncertain dread.

I filled them in, then went to her, holding her in my arms. “He’s talking,” I said. “He’s conscious.”

She relaxed a little and tried to get as close to him as possible, but the professionals urged her back. “Ma’am. Please. We need room to work.”

“Sorry,” she said, her voice hitching. “He’s my father.”

“I understand. We’ve stabilized him for the moment. But we’ve gotta get him to the cardiac unit. You can meet us there. Or you can come in the rig with us.”

“I’m coming with him,” she said, her voice whispery and panicked.

“I’ll follow in the Jeep,” I said, squeezing her arm. “I’ll meet you there.”

She tossed me a worried look and hurried after the stretcher. “Thank you.”

* * * *

The next afternoon we sat by Rudy’s side, making small talk and getting him drinks, extra pillows, or reading material from the gift shop. He’d been through the Cath Lab in the early morning, and had two stents inserted through an artery that started in his right wrist and snaked up through his arm to his heart.

I could hardly believe the man had had a heart attack the day before. Apparently there were two arteries nearly one hundred percent plugged. A compression bracelet clamped his wrist to minimize leakage from the incision, and an IV still dripped fluids and meds into his veins. Other than that, he sat back and talked as if we were in his living room. He seemed weak, but he was alert and claimed to be in no pain. All that was missing was a glass of Scotch and his usual strong-timbered voice. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him, but the Scotch might be an indulgence he’d have to either stop or slow down on.

Libby had been attentive and sweet, and it was a real refresher to see her in her natural element, in the I-don’t-hate-you-anymore mode. I was so used to the narrowed eyes and hard set to her mouth that she seemed like a different woman today. Softer. Her eyes looked almost sleepy and loving. From time to time she’d catch herself holding my hand and would pull back suddenly, all apologies with flushed cheeks and avoiding eyes.

She sat on the opposite side of her father’s bed now, smoothing his sheets. “The doctor says you can come home tomorrow if everything continues to look good. You just need that class in the morning that teaches you how to eat better, and exercise, and all that stuff.”

Rudy frowned. “I hate exercise. You know that.”

I chuckled. “Me, too. But you might find something you’d like to do. Cycling? Kayaking?”

He pondered the options. “Nope. I’m too old to fall off bikes. And there’s too damned much traffic on the Cape now. And kayaking is out on the open water. I’m afraid of sharks, ever since
Jaws
.”

I laughed. “Well, maybe you could get back to riding. What about polo?”

He brightened. “Hmm. I used to play the game. Loved my polo pony. Miss that horse. That could be fun. Long as I get a good mount.”

We talked for a while about selecting good horses, what breeds worked for the sport, how tall they should be to optimize hitting the ball, and more. Libby came alive for this, and I sat back and enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled and her hands flew.

When the conversation died down, he opened his magazine.

Before he could get too involved, I leaned forward and touched his arm. “Rudy?”

He shifted his eyes from the glossy pages to me. “Yes?”

“Listen. I’ve been meaning to thank you…”

“For what?”

“For taking care of the funerals. The flowers. The service.”

He dismissed my words as if he’d just picked up a newspaper for me instead of forking over twenty grand for caskets and funeral fees. “Forget about it. It was nothing.”

I waited until he returned my gaze. “No. It was huge.” I squeezed his hand. “I’ll always be grateful for your kindness in a really tough time.”

“It was no big deal, Finn. Anyone would have done that. You were blown away by what happened. Two people. In one day. It was too much for anyone to deal with.”

“Well, I can’t forget about it, and I want to reimburse you. I’ve got…means now. I inherited quite a bit from my brother.”

He looked at me with sympathy. “Must be tough. Under the circumstances.”

Surprised he understood, I nodded. “Yeah. Having someone die isn’t exactly the way I hoped to make my fortune. That’s for sure.”

Libby averted her eyes. She knew there was more, the whole bit about Cora and Jax being together in the car.

Rudy looked tired, but he sat up and gave me his attention. “Finn? Are you going to leave The Seacrest? Libby said you might be thinking about moving back to your parents’ farm.”

Libby shrugged an apology in my direction, looking sheepish for having talked out of school. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lib. No biggie.” I stood and walked to the window, facing the well-tended hospital grounds. “I love my job at The Seacrest, but I guess it would make sense to move over to the farm now. I’d like to try to reclaim the blueberries. They’re still healthy, even if they’re all overgrown.”