Freeing Reese (Tremont Lodge Series Book 3) Page 3

  “Turn that damn television back on right now, you spoiled brat.” Darts of accusations hit their bull’s-eye mark, right in my gut, and I drop the remote to the floor where it crashes against the 100-year-old wood.

  “No,” I say simply. “I want to talk about Grandma.” Finn squeezes my knee for encouragement, or, perhaps, as a warning. “I know you’re upset. I get that. I’ve lost people, too, you know? But I’d like to talk about what happened. I’d like to know about the services. I’d like to do something other than waste away watching stupid rerun game shows!”

  “Mr. Prentice, my name is Finn. I’m really sorry about the loss of your wife.” It’s just like Finn to try to smooth out my ruffles, but, whatever. At least I know someone in the room cares. “I’ve heard a lot of great things about her.”

  Grandpa cocks his head ever so slightly in our direction. Blake gets up and leaves the room. “Oh, really? Really? Reese told you lots of good stories about the woman who put her life on hold to raise her? Now, did she really?”

  “I…um…”

  “Yes, exactly. She poisoned you with her point of view. That’s just like Reese, never thinking that others have feelings, too.”

  “That’s not true! I didn’t come home to be attacked. It’s not my fault my mother got pregnant by a man who didn’t want me, or that your son chose to raise me as his own until he hurt my mother, intentionally or not, and then left me to figure it all out on my own after her death. It’s not my fault! Quit blaming me!” A glass shatters to the floor, echoing louder than the remote control, and I look up in time to see Blake grabbing his jacket and running out the front door, his innocent youth now shattered into a million more pieces than the shards of glass on the living room floor.

  “There you go, Reese. Keep hurting the people who love you,” says Grandpa.

  Finn stands up. “Look, Mr. Prentice, I really am sorry for your loss. But you are being a bit of a jerk. Excuse me, Sir. Reese came here to pay her respects to her grandmother and to offer support to you and Blake. You’re the only one causing more pain and hurt.”

  “Finn, stop. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters, except for Blake. I need to find him.” I grab my jacket from the back of the couch. “Do you mind waiting here…and picking up the glass?” I ask.

  “He’s not welcome here, either. I’ll pick up the damn glass myself. Just go back to your new home, and quit stirring the pot.”

  I take a deep breath. “Fine. If that’s how you really feel—”

  I bat away the tears that threaten to fall as I head down the long drive to the main road that leads into town where I hope to track down Blake. One final glance in the rearview mirror, and I wonder if I’ll ever see my childhood home again.

  Finn doesn’t talk as we drive down Lake Street in Bridgman. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking, and I’m mortified with everything that just happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was waking up to my toxicity, too, and deciding how to get back to the lodge without having to take me with him. I drive to the end of Lake Street, which blends lazily into the spacious parking lot of Weko Beach, the premier beach along west Michigan’s coast if you ask anyone who lives in Bridgman. Nestled between busy New Buffalo and St. Joseph, Bridgman’s beach is a lesser known secret with beaches of fine sand that beckon residents to walk its shoreline in the hunt for colored beach glass or rocks of unusual shapes or to play volleyball with friends, the powdered sand breaking your fall, but Blake isn’t on the beach. It’s December. The beach is covered with snow and fences, and the wind blowing over from Chicago is chilling to the bone. No, Blake is in the beach house thawing his heart with a cup of hot chocolate, extra whipped cream. He’d told me in a recent text, that for the first time in twenty years, city officials had decided to grant the Bridgman Café owners the permission to extend their operating license into the off-season, and from the look of all the cars in the parking lot, there are many people other than my brother who seek solace in the view here. The water that isn’t frozen is being whipped by the wind in the waves in a frothy frenzy of nerves, lapping against the old intake that pretties up the beach with a mural of Weko Beach painted by a local artist. When Blake and I were little, my grandparents had a tradition of taking Blake’s picture next to the intake to show how much he grew from year to year. I never questioned why they didn’t want to take similar pictures of me—perhaps since I’m no blood relation they don’t give a damn. Of course that all makes sense now, but to a little kid, you can’t help but notice when favorites are being played. At least Blake reaped the reward for my shunning. I’d be the sacrificial lamb for him if I had to. He’s an innocent victim.

  Blake is sitting in a corner of the room closest to the fake fireplace that puts off a light glow in the dimly lit room, a cloudy day filtering the sun from shining in the floor to ceiling windows. I stop Finn at the door. “Hey, do you mind grabbing a couple of hot chocolates for us and hanging out at the counter for a few minutes before bringing them over? I want to talk to Blake alone first.”

  “No problem, Reese. Take as much time as you need.”

  If Blake senses me standing behind his chair, he doesn’t acknowledge me. “Hi, Blake,” I say. He doesn’t turn around. “Look, I’m sure you’re confused by all that…stuff at the farm. I never wanted you to find out…”

  Blake’s face is red from crying when he turns around, tears still dried to his cheeks. He looks like a little boy trapped in a grown man’s body, and it breaks my heart. “How long have you known—all that stuff about our mother and father, or your father or whatever it all means?”

  “I learned a lot this summer at the lodge.”

  “What does the lodge have to do with anything?”

  I sigh. “It’s really a very long, complicated story.”

  “I have the time.” He motions for me to sit down next to him, and I wave Finn back to the table.

  I am exhausted after I am done talking. Speaking our story aloud in all its grim truth is almost as painful as learning it all the first time. It’s like putting a nail in a coffin, making it all the more real. Blake nods his head a lot and listens, rarely stopping me to ask questions. “So, tell me something, Blake,” I say when I’ve told him everything I know. “You never wondered why our grandparents were raising us?”

  Blake runs his hand through his hair and tucks a lock behind his ear in a cool surfer dude move. “To tell you the truth, I never knew it was weird to not have parents. When we had to make Mother’s Day cards in school, I always had a teacher whispering in my ear to make a nice card for Grandma, or when the boys on my Little League baseball team had their dads coaching, I’d see Grandpa standing by the fence, willing to shag balls if more help was needed. I never felt like I was missing anything. Grandpa and Grandma were Mom and Dad. It worked because they gave me everything I needed. I had no idea why you didn’t appreciate that—if I’m being completely honest.”

  “I never felt like they filled the roles of a mom and dad. I didn’t understand until recently how much they resented me for taking their son away.”

  “So, this guy that you thought was your father—he’s really my dad?”

  “He is, Blake.”

  “And he’s alive and doesn’t want anything to do with me?” He looks like he might cry again.

  “I don’t think that’s true at all, Blake. I think he felt the same way you did—that you didn’t miss anything with our grandparents filling that parental role—so why rock the boat, you know?”

  “Or risk getting arrested for murder,” he says.

  “I suppose there’s that possibility.”

  “Do you think he killed our…our mom?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think it happened as he described, just a bad accident, but we’ll never know.”

  “Are you going to tell him that his mom died?” Blake plays with the paper wrapper from his stirring straw.

  “I…I never considered that. I do have his email. I probably should contact him.” />
  “So, what’s there to do for fun around here?” Leave it to Finn to offer some desperately needed comic relief.

  “There’re some pretty cool hills back in the dunes. We could go sledding,” says Blake.

  “Too bad I didn’t bring my snow pants,” I say sarcastically, sledding never having been a favorite pastime.

  “No worries. The café has snow rental equipment: sleds, goggles, boots, even snow pants.” He smiles, the Blake I love so much devilishly shining through.

  “Then it’s settled,” says Finn, slamming his hand on the plastic table, making all of our hot chocolates jump in the air. “We’re going sledding.”

  “Let me call Hannah first, if you don’t mind. She can bring you an extra pair of gloves and a hat, too, Reese. You’ll really like her. I just know it.”

  “How can I refuse?” Finn pulls my chair closer to his and plants a kiss on my cheek. “What’s that for?” I ask, when Blake gets up to call Hannah in private, probably to tell her about his crazy sister.

  “You just need to know someone loves you—a lot.”

  “Hmm…not everyone loves me, Finn.”

  “That’s okay. It’s his loss. Let the past be. I’m your future, and I love you.”

  I kiss him back and bury my head on his shoulder, wishing I could close out the world, and realizing how much I truly miss the lodge.

  In a few minutes Hannah will arrive. We’ll spend hours sledding down Mile High Hill and dragging sleds up to the top. I’ll curse the cold the entire time and feel the steep incline in my thighs that haven’t properly worked out in months, but I’ll be with Finn and Blake and Hannah, and for a little while life in Bridgman will be happy.

  Chapter 5:

  Grandpa was in bed when I got back to the farm last night. I know he said that Finn and I weren’t welcome anymore, but he was bluffing. He wouldn’t turn me away from the funeral festivities today even if he wanted to.

  The breakfast table is set for four people. I look at my choices of cereal: Cap’n Crunch, Granola, and Raisin Bran. What the hell? You only live once. I grab the Cap’n Crunch and pour myself a large bowl. Finn is wearing his suit already when he comes to the table. I haven’t seen him since we crossed paths on our way to and from the shower this morning. He slept in the musty basement on the ancient hide-a-bed couch last night, while I stayed in my old bedroom, complete with Hello Kitty sheets, a nod to my early childhood. Seeing the Hello Kitty clock on my nightstand last night reminded me that maybe contacting John/Dad about his mother’s death wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It was after midnight when I sent him the email. I didn’t get a response.

  “You’re looking a little too hot for a funeral,” I say, admiring the same suit that Finn wore to the Christmas ball, minus the red and green striped flashing tie in favor of a more subdued black tie.

  “Do you think it’s too much?” he asks, looking concerned.

  “No, it’s perfect. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “Have you spoken to your grandpa yet today?”

  “He said good morning when I passed through the living room.”

  “Well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

  Finn and I follow Grandpa’s old Buick down the drive and turn in the direction of town where the one and only funeral home is located along Red Arrow Highway. Blake is Grandpa’s escort which is for the best.

  The casket is still open. I can see it immediately when I enter the funeral parlor, the large oak lid with the perfectly crisp white taffeta interior shining brightly as if a precious package is inside. I don’t mean this as disrespect to my grandmother. She was a flawed human being, but she was human nonetheless. It’s just that creating such a beautiful package for the final resting place of any human seems like a sick joke because nothing good is coming out of that perfect box. And you can’t make death pretty—ever. God doesn’t care how you look when you die. That’s the beauty of death. He meets you exactly where you are—no matter who you are. At least that’s what I believe.

  “Are you okay?” asks Finn. He puts his hand on the small of my back, but I barely feel it, I’m so tense.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?” I turn around and look at him. I am keenly aware that the last funeral Finn probably attended was that of his mother who died when he was in high school. He doesn’t talk about her a lot, but I know she was special enough for him to tattoo his body in order to keep his memories of her alive.

  “I’m good. Why don’t you go pay your respects?” He points toward the casket. “It looks like your brother might like some company.

  Blake is bent over the casket while his hands wipe away fresh tears. The poor guy’s been through a lot. A hand slips into mine and pulls me in the direction of the casket. I look up into the face of my grandfather. He is focused on the back of Blake, but his hand is soft in mine—and comforting.

  At the cemetery after the service, I take a rose from a flower spray that lies atop the casket, now securely closed and ready for its permanent home at Greenwood Cemetery. Grandpa is surrounded by his friends from church, and Blake and Hannah are sitting alone under the tent that protected us from the cold wind. I guess he wants to say goodbye in private.

  “All set to leave?” Finn asks, squeezing my hand which he has not let go of since the pastor’s opening prayer. “No pressure—I mean, take as much time as you need.”

  “I’m ready. Let me say goodbye to Blake and…and Grandpa. Then we can—”

  “What’s the matter, Reese?”

  “I…it’s…look.” I point in the direction of the cars that are parked in a line along the gravel drive into the cemetery. Most of the cars have gone back to the church for a luncheon. I guess all of Grandma’s friends feel a little less sad when they’re in a kitchen.

  Finn looks in the direction I point. A man is sitting in his car. He’s wearing one of those warm winter hats with flaps that cover the ears. But I know who it is. John. “He came,” Finn says. I shake my head yes. “What are you going to do?”

  I wave at him, and he waves back but doesn’t get out of the car. “I guess he has some closure to find, too,” I say.

  “Do you need to see him again, too, for closure?”

  “Me? No, I’m good. I’m done closing doors to my past. I want to open doors to my future for a change. Is that okay with you?” I smile up at Finn, who’s smiling down at me, too.

  “As long as I can follow you through those open doors,” he says.

  “Honey, I’m counting on you building some of those doors for me. Would you do that?”

  “I’ll build the whole damn house if that’s what you want, Reese Prentice.” He kisses me on the neck, which tickles.

  Then I walk back into the tent—alone—to say goodbye to Blake. I don’t tell him about his father, only mere steps away. I’ve interfered with the trajectory of his life enough. He’ll figure it out in due time, if and when he’s ready.

  I’ve decided that it is best for Finn and me to return to the lodge after the burial at the cemetery, despite the leave of absence Ted has imposed. It’s so much less complicated there, and I don’t belong in Bridgman anymore. I’ve made my peace as much as is possible with the childhood I lived. It’s time to be a grown-up now.

  Before we get into the car to head back to Tremont Lodge, I give Grandpa a hug. I think I surprise him because it takes him a second to relax his body. “I’ll be in touch,” I say.

  His eyes are glistening when I pull away. “She always loved you, Reese. She may not have been able to show it, but she did. And…so did—do—I.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  And as I’m walking back to the car, I smile. Coming home never goes as expected, too many expectations set up that deflate upon arrival, but sometimes there are surprises, too, that surpass any false expectations. I wave at John one last time, and drive away with Finn, leaving my past behind without a final look in the rearview window.

  Chapter 6:

  When I wake up, I pull open th
e blinds. An attack of rarely seen rays shines into the room. It’s the little things that can mean so much, and that’s how I’m feeling about the sun’s effect on my mood right now—that, and the fact that I haven’t slept in this late in months. There are some perks to being put on administrative leave. I touch the imprint of Finn’s head in the pillow next to mine. He was so sweet last night, holding me while I fell asleep. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a better night’s sleep.

  I turn on my phone. It starts blowing up with messages.

  Tinley: Call me!

  Tinley: Where are u?

  Tinley: I can’t wait anymore to tell you! I’m coming after Christmas to visit!

  Tinley: I know you’re flipping out right now. It’s Murphy’s gift to me because he says I’ve been moody. LOL

  A visit from Tinley is exactly what I need to take my mind off of myself. Plus, it will be fun doing wedding planning in person. Trying to keep up with all of her email and text requests to Check out this dress or that pair of shoes or this venue or that cake design has been exhausting. I read the rest of my texts before responding.

  Blake: Thanks for coming down. Hannah thinks her mom might let us visit sometime.

  John: Nice to see you yesterday. I didn’t talk to Blake or Dad. Just not the right time. Still, it was good to be there. Thanks for thinking of me. Merry Christmas. Love, Dad

  Me to Tinley: Text me the details. I have A LOT of free time.

  Me to Blake: I’d love to c u both. Dates?

  John: Merry Christmas to u, too.

  What’s a girl to do when she can’t go to work and she’s living in a resort? Act like a guest. After my shower, I throw on yoga pants, look up the exercise class schedule on my phone, and decide on the day’s itinerary. Cycling class is in an hour, surprise lunch with Finn after grabbing a couple of sandwiches from the café, a dip in the always 90 degree pool despite the 10 degree temperature outside, and manicure and pedicure at the spa before Finn’s shift ends. Then, we’ll watch old, classic 80s movies, and drink local wine. Sounds like the perfect way to spend my sabbatical. I wonder how long this will last anyway. I suppose I should try to squeeze in a visit with Ted just to feel out his thoughts.