wind blew across the lake, slapping icy rain into Eli’s face as he made his way to the cabin. He’d come to Lakeview to find Rebecca. That was where his focus needed to be. But even as he told himself that, his mind was at the Harts’ house, his brain replaying the conversation he’d had with Jasmine and Sarah. Something was going on there. Not just something. Trouble. Whether it was part of the plan or not, Eli had a feeling he was going to be seeing a lot more of the Hart women.
FOUR
“Afool couldn’t push a woman down the stairs with dozens of people around and not be seen.”
“A fool couldn’t, but someone very, very smart and very, very determined might be able to.”
The words ran through Jasmine’s mind again and again as she poured Sarah another cup of tea, unloaded the dishwasher and placed her mug and Eli’s into it.
Eli had been right, and she wasn’t happy about it. Imagining someone staring in the window was bad enough. Imagining that that person was an evil mastermind determined to harm Sarah made her want to put bars on the windows and doors.
“He rinsed his cup.” Sarah’s words drew Jasmine from her thoughts, and she turned to face her mother-in-law.
“What?”
“Eli rinsed his cup.”
“Should we give him a medal?”
“How many men do you know who clean up after themselves?”
“About the same number whose cleaning habits I know. None.”
“My husband didn’t clean up after himself. I remember spending the first three months of our marriage trying to get him to pick up his socks. I bet you had the same problem with John. I know he wasn’t neat when he was living at home.”
At the mention of John, Jasmine’s throat tightened. This was why she’d avoided Sarah for so long. Shared memories demanded voice and discussion, but only made the hurt that much harder to bear. “You’re right. He wasn’t neat after we married, either.”
“See? That’s my point. A neat man is something a woman doesn’t find very often.”
“So?”
“So Eli is handsome, strong, charming, neat. That’s a powerful combination.”
“What are you getting at, Sarah?”
“You’re young, Jasmine. Maybe it’s time—”
“It’s not.” She cut Sarah off, not wanting to get into a discussion about John, Eli, time passing. She knew it was passing. She felt it slipping away every moment of every day. That didn’t mean she was ready to jump into another relationship.
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. I just think we have more important things to discuss.”
“Like faces in the window? Security systems? Doctor’s appointments? I’d much rather spend the time before I go back to my room talking about more pleasant things. Things that aren’t going to keep me awake in bed.” Sarah sipped her tea and fingered the paperback book that still sat on the kitchen table, her skin parchment thin and lined with age, worry and sorrow.
Jazz’s heart clenched, her stomach churning with anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to give Sarah more to worry about. “It’s my turn to apologize. I wasn’t thinking about how scared you must be. How about we bunk together? I can sleep on the love seat in your room.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Jazz.”
“Then it’s good you don’t have to.” She wiped down the counter and hung the dishrag to dry. “I’ll go get my pillow and a blanket. Then we’d both better get to sleep. We’ve got to be up and out early.”
Sarah agreed, standing with difficulty and heading toward her room, the click and shuffle of her retreat fading, then stopping altogether. Jazz took her time rinsing Sarah’s cup, loading it into the dishwasher. She didn’t mind sharing a room, but she didn’t want to talk anymore. Not about what had happened tonight and not about the past. Certainly not about men and dating. She was past those things. Way past them. She might only be thirty-three, but she felt older. Ancient even.
She sighed, grabbed her pillow and a blanket from her room and quietly entered Sarah’s. The deep, even sound of her mother-in-law’s breathing was a relief. No need to say good-night, no need to make conversation. Maybe she’d fall asleep just as quickly as Sarah had.
Or maybe she’d lie there until dawn listening to the house settling, staring into the dark room, wishing she could go back in time, relive all the moments that were still such a vivid part of her memories.
She blinked back unwanted tears, and moved to the window, pulling back the curtains. Night was already fading, the sky gray-blue and streaked violet with the first fingers of dawn. The rain had stopped, the silence beyond the window broken only by the soft tap of water dripping from the eaves. If she listened hard enough, Jazz imagined she could hear her daughters’ laughter drifting on the morning air, caught between here and there, the time before and the time after. Not quite audible, but not silent either.
Memories. That was what other people would say. To Jazz, the phantom sounds were imprints of lives lived with joy and vigor. Sometimes she thought if she tried hard enough, she could reach out and touch the images that had been hardwired into her brain from the moment her daughters had been born. She’d had so many hopes and dreams for them, so many memories she’d still wanted to make.
By the time dawn tinged the world with silvery-gray light, Jazz was stiff from lack of sleep, her body squeezed onto the love seat, her legs curved close to her chest. The room was lighter now, the cluttered dresser with its million and one photos of John and the girls seeming to mock Jazz’s efforts to sleep. Finally, she stood, folded the blanket and left the room, determined to put the long sleepless night behind her.
She brewed a pot of coffee, left it warming as she got dressed, pulled on a coat and stepped outside. A short walk. A little time away from the house. A few minutes to regroup. She’d feel better then. Later, she’d take Sarah out to breakfast, try to get both of their minds off what had happened the night before. They’d go to Becky’s Diner, have omelets and hot chocolate before they went to Sarah’s doctor’s appointment. It was a plan anyway, and that was a lot better than sitting around moping about what might have been but wasn’t.
Ice crunched under her feet as she walked down to the lake and stepped onto the rickety dock. Wood boards wiggled as she walked, and she frowned. She’d have to call around, see who she could find to fix it before the next vacation season. Maybe get someone to landscape the overgrown yard. The way she saw it, she was already in trouble for paying off Sarah’s mortgage. She might as well dig herself in a little deeper.
Ignoring the icy wood and the frigid wind, Jazz lowered herself onto the end of the dock, letting her feet hang over the edge. The lake was peaceful this time of the day, silent as the sun rose to bathe it in gold. In a few hours, she’d have to get to work, calling for the security system, calling around for a handyman, bringing Sarah to breakfast and to the doctor. Right now, though, all that she needed to do was sit and listen to the quiet.
Her fingers traced the weathered wood at the
