She didn’t hear Wade leave his chair, but suddenly he was standing beside her, his fingers warm as he reached for her hand on the railing. “You okay?”
Christy-Lynn kept her eyes averted, watching the breeze push a series of ripples across the lake’s silvered surface. “I honestly don’t know. I keep learning things about a man I thought I knew, terrible things. It makes me wonder.”
“Makes you wonder what?”
“How I could live with someone for so long and still not have a clue who he was.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Christy-Lynn had been only too happy to change the subject when Wade suggested they start dinner. He had grilled salmon steaks and skewers of fresh summer vegetables, which she’d helped him prepare. Now, as they sat on the deck, eating strawberry ice cream and watching the sun slip behind the trees, she felt herself finally starting to relax.
“Refill?” Wade asked, holding up his empty bowl.
“God, no. I’m stuffed. But I think I could sit here all night looking out over this lake. It’s so peaceful, like a church without walls.”
“My grandfather built this place with his own hands. He loved it up here.”
Christy-Lynn closed her eyes and pulled in a lungful of air. “I can see why. It’s the perfect place to forget all your cares.”
“That’s why I came.”
Christy-Lynn opened her eyes. “Did it work?”
Wade shrugged. “Jury’s still out. Oh, hey. I almost forgot why I lured you here in the first place. Be right back.”
He appeared a short time later carrying a thick sheaf of papers. “It’s not finished,” he told her sheepishly. “I threw up my hands around page three-twenty, when I realized something wasn’t working. I printed you off a hard copy, but I can send an electronic copy if you prefer. I plan to pay you, by the way. I’m not asking for a freebie.”
Christy-Lynn eyed the stack of pages in his hand with something like dread. She was half hoping he’d forget. “I prefer paper for my first pass. And don’t be silly. I’m not taking your money. What’s the title?”
“The End of Known Things.”
She let the words roll around in her head, dark but intriguing. Perhaps a bit dystopian, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “And your premise?”
Wade dropped back into his chair, the pages in his lap, and propped his feet up on the railing. “The main character is Robert Vance, a big-shot business type who thinks he’s got it all figured out. He’s had a plan since he was fourteen, and nothing’s getting in his way. Until something does, and his life is completely turned inside out. He realizes the only way he’s ever going to be happy is to lay himself open. I just can’t seem to get him there. And before you ask, no, it isn’t autobiographical.”
Christy-Lynn smiled. “Not even a little?”
“I was nineteen when I started it. I thought I knew everything.”
“And now?”
“Now?” He looked away, his gaze lost on the horizon. “Now, I’m not sure I know anything at all. Why things turn out the way they do. How the world works.” He shrugged then turned to face her with a thin smile. “A classic case of the nice guy finishing last, I suppose.”
Christy-Lynn could see that she’d stumbled onto a sore subject. Hoping to steer the conversation to safer waters, she held out a hand. “Give me the pages. I’ll dig in, make some notes, and then we can talk.”
Wade was about to pass her the pages when he paused, frowning. “What’s this?” He had captured her upturned wrist and was pointing to the small cluster of half-moons. “They look like scars.”
Christy-Lynn jerked her hand away, tucking it between her knees. “They are.”
“I’ve never noticed them before. How’d you get them?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”
When Wade’s gaze lingered, she pushed up out of her chair. She needed to put some distance between herself and those shrewd journalistic eyes. But Wade was soon beside her at the rail, his silhouette outlined in the thin twilight.
“Everything all right? You seem jumpy all of a sudden, like I made you uncomfortable. I meant what I said before, Christy-Lynn. If you feel weird about the manuscript, I understand.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” But she couldn’t meet his eyes as she said it. “And I don’t feel weird. It’s just . . . my head’s so full right now.”
“You’ve decided, haven’t you? To go through with the trust?”
“Yes.” She’d been wondering when he’d get around to asking. “I know you think it’s a bad idea. But it feels right.”
“So things are moving along?”
“I’ve asked the attorney to draw up the paperwork. When it’s ready, I’ll set up some time to talk through it all with Rhetta.”
Wade had his enigmatic face on again, but she could see the wheels turning behind those amber eyes, assessing risks, weighing the what-ifs. “Are you sure she’s going to be able to handle that kind of money?”
“She won’t be handling it. At least not all at one time. Peter’s setting it up with me as trustee, which means the principle remains under my control with a kind of monthly allowance being paid to Rhetta.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“No. But I’m doing it anyway. I have to.”
He nodded. “I know.”
Except he’d said it in a way that made Christy-Lynn wonder if he really did. He told her once that he believed in clean breaks—in walking away and burning your bridges. And she had for the most part. She’d left Clear Harbor, sold the house, opened the store, and put down roots in Sweetwater. But this was different. How did you burn a bridge when there was a child standing on it?
She was still trying to come up with a response when Wade surprised her by changing the subject. “Are you up for fireworks? If we hurry, we can get out there in time.”
Christy-Lynn checked her watch, but it was already too dark to read the time. “I thought they started at nine. It’ll take at least twenty minutes to get downtown and find a place to park.”
“Who said anything about downtown?”
“Seriously?” Christy-Lynn tipped back her head. “You can actually see them from here?”
Wade surprised her again by taking her hand and leading her down the deck stairs. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Out there,” he said, pointing toward the lake.
“In the dark?”
Wade stepped into the canoe and held out a hand. “It’s the best way to see them. Come on. You’ll be fine.”
Christy-Lynn smothered a sigh. He was already seated, the paddle resting across his thighs. “All right, but if I end up in the drink, the markup on that manuscript of yours isn’t going to be pretty.”
He chuckled warmly in the dark. “I’ll take my chances. Just stay low like I showed you and hold on to both sides.”
Breath held, she stepped over the side and into the canoe. Climbing into a boat was tricky enough for a novice, but doing it in the dark was downright scary. Finally, she eased down onto the empty seat and was able to breathe again.
“This better be good.”
“Would I lie?”
Christy-Lynn considered the question, knowing full well it had been rhetorical. And yet somehow she knew the answer. “No,” she said quietly, wishing she could make out his face in the dark. “I don’t think you would.”
Wade said nothing as he pushed off and began to paddle, smooth, easy strokes that barely made a sound against the quiet. Eventually Christy-Lynn felt herself relax. She let go of the sides, gazing up into the indigo sky as they glided soundlessly over the water.
“Okay,” she said grudgingly. “This is nice.”
“My grandfather and I used to come out here every year for the fireworks and for the Perseid meteor shower. There’s less ambient light so everything looks brighter.”
“Sounds like you and your grandfather made a lot of great memories.”