words. It’s an old song tucked away in my memory.”
The waves still rocked them back and forth, but he no longer feared they would flip over, drown under the weight of the raft. The calming of the water tempered the jostling, the agony.
And with the daylight might also come rescue.
Owen reached up to touch Scotty’s hair, letting it fall between his fingers, and he didn’t care that the gesture seemed intimate. He’d been wanting to touch her hair, twirl a long lock around his finger, for three weeks. And shoot, he was dying. What did he have to lose?
He could feel the life ebb from his body. The fatigue pressing him into the numbing water, the way he just wanted to return, sweetly, to the memory of Evergreen Resort.
“My dad likes to listen to country,” he said, his voice thinner than he’d like. “Mom hates country, so she makes him listen to it in the garage. Or used to. Maybe not anymore, I dunno.”
So much he didn’t know anymore. His fault —he knew that.
“Where does your family live?”
“On a resort in northern Minnesota called Evergreen Lodge Outfitter and Cabin Rentals. Beautiful place —twelve cabins, all perched along the lakeside. It’s been in the family for four generations. Except it burned down two years ago.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“My brother Darek is rebuilding. He’s got this cute little boy named Tiger and got remarried last summer. His first wife died when Tiger was a toddler.”
“Sad.”
“He’s happy now, I think. I dunno.”
“That’s a lot of dunnos.”
Hmm. “My mom makes the most incredible chocolate chip cookies. She puts peanut butter chips in them, and I swear, right now I can taste them.”
She smiled. “You’re just hungry.”
Funny, he wasn’t quite as ravenous as he had been earlier. “Have you ever had a s’more made with two chocolate chip cookies? During the summer, we had a cookout every weekend, and Mom would drag out her cookies . . .” He sighed, and now he started to feel pressure in his gut, building. Hot pressure against his ribs, his lungs, his heart.
“It sounds fantastic,” she said.
“My sister Grace is this amazing cook too. She has a recipe for hamburgers —I don’t know what she puts in them, but I’ve never eaten a burger that could make you cry. Except for Grace’s.”
“That’s so sweet. I bet she misses you.”
Do you take anything seriously? Scotty’s words must’ve drilled into him, found a foothold, because he’d spent most of the nightlistening to them. Yeah, actually, he did take some things seriously. Like his regrets.
“I haven’t talked to my family in over a year. I have three sisters and two brothers, and I haven’t talked to any of them since my eldest sister’s wedding.” He made a face. “Meet the family prodigal, the official black sheep of the Christiansen family. The one most likely to screw up something good.”
He met her eyes then, so filled with a concern that looked a lot like friendship. Or more.
He would have liked to live long enough to discover the or more .
“I don’t believe that.”
“Yeah, well, everyone has a story, right? And mine is simple. I was stupid and impulsive and because of it, I lost part of my sight, my career. I drove away and didn’t look back.”
“Why not?”
There it was, the Great Question. The prodigal’s shame —why didn’t he turn around or even call just once?
So many ways to answer that.
Because I was a jerk and slept with the girl my brother ended up falling in love with.
Yeah, uh, no.
Because I got in a fistfight with said brother at my sister’s wedding. Which of course would lead back to reason number one.
Again, no.
And the biggest reason: because he couldn’t bear to see the accusation, the hurt in his family’s eyes, starting with his mother all the way to his kid sister, Amelia, who he knew looked up to him more than he deserved.
There had to be an answer, and he found the one that summed it
The waves still rocked them back and forth, but he no longer feared they would flip over, drown under the weight of the raft. The calming of the water tempered the jostling, the agony.
And with the daylight might also come rescue.
Owen reached up to touch Scotty’s hair, letting it fall between his fingers, and he didn’t care that the gesture seemed intimate. He’d been wanting to touch her hair, twirl a long lock around his finger, for three weeks. And shoot, he was dying. What did he have to lose?
He could feel the life ebb from his body. The fatigue pressing him into the numbing water, the way he just wanted to return, sweetly, to the memory of Evergreen Resort.
“My dad likes to listen to country,” he said, his voice thinner than he’d like. “Mom hates country, so she makes him listen to it in the garage. Or used to. Maybe not anymore, I dunno.”
So much he didn’t know anymore. His fault —he knew that.
“Where does your family live?”
“On a resort in northern Minnesota called Evergreen Lodge Outfitter and Cabin Rentals. Beautiful place —twelve cabins, all perched along the lakeside. It’s been in the family for four generations. Except it burned down two years ago.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“My brother Darek is rebuilding. He’s got this cute little boy named Tiger and got remarried last summer. His first wife died when Tiger was a toddler.”
“Sad.”
“He’s happy now, I think. I dunno.”
“That’s a lot of dunnos.”
Hmm. “My mom makes the most incredible chocolate chip cookies. She puts peanut butter chips in them, and I swear, right now I can taste them.”
She smiled. “You’re just hungry.”
Funny, he wasn’t quite as ravenous as he had been earlier. “Have you ever had a s’more made with two chocolate chip cookies? During the summer, we had a cookout every weekend, and Mom would drag out her cookies . . .” He sighed, and now he started to feel pressure in his gut, building. Hot pressure against his ribs, his lungs, his heart.
“It sounds fantastic,” she said.
“My sister Grace is this amazing cook too. She has a recipe for hamburgers —I don’t know what she puts in them, but I’ve never eaten a burger that could make you cry. Except for Grace’s.”
“That’s so sweet. I bet she misses you.”
Do you take anything seriously? Scotty’s words must’ve drilled into him, found a foothold, because he’d spent most of the nightlistening to them. Yeah, actually, he did take some things seriously. Like his regrets.
“I haven’t talked to my family in over a year. I have three sisters and two brothers, and I haven’t talked to any of them since my eldest sister’s wedding.” He made a face. “Meet the family prodigal, the official black sheep of the Christiansen family. The one most likely to screw up something good.”
He met her eyes then, so filled with a concern that looked a lot like friendship. Or more.
He would have liked to live long enough to discover the or more .
“I don’t believe that.”
“Yeah, well, everyone has a story, right? And mine is simple. I was stupid and impulsive and because of it, I lost part of my sight, my career. I drove away and didn’t look back.”
“Why not?”
There it was, the Great Question. The prodigal’s shame —why didn’t he turn around or even call just once?
So many ways to answer that.
Because I was a jerk and slept with the girl my brother ended up falling in love with.
Yeah, uh, no.
Because I got in a fistfight with said brother at my sister’s wedding. Which of course would lead back to reason number one.
Again, no.
And the biggest reason: because he couldn’t bear to see the accusation, the hurt in his family’s eyes, starting with his mother all the way to his kid sister, Amelia, who he knew looked up to him more than he deserved.
There had to be an answer, and he found the one that summed it
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