Always on My Mind (18 page)

“Listen to this.” She opened the diary.

“May 1930. The most wonderful day and the most terrible night. Duncan finally declared his love for me and proposed as we walked along the boardwalk of the lake, the oak trees stirring in the fragrant breeze. Of course I said yes, and then to my delight, he took me to the apartment with the bright news that Father had arrived in town.”

Casper had slid onto his stool. “What are you reading?”

“The journal of Aggie Wilder.” She glanced up, saw him watching her, and could see in his expression the old, easy friendship, the camaraderie. Yes, see, now that she had Monte, she could allow herself to put Casper in the right, permanent place in her heart. Friend.

“We arrived to the terrible discovery that Father had been murdered. Duncan found his body at his desk, shot, and although he bade me wait, I too impulsively ran in behind him to witness the horror. In my grief, Irina put me to bed.

“I awoke to the apartment in flames. Had it not been for Duncan, I would have perished. He tore me from the house in my nightclothes and we escaped death in Father’s roadster.”

Raina looked up and smiled at Casper’s openmouthed expression. Without thinking, she reached over and touched his arm. “I know. But there’s more.”

She kept reading.

“He is taking me north, to a retreat where he says I can recuperate
 
—his friend Jack’s place, an Indian lodge of some sort. We will marry there, and someday I will forget all I have lost.”

She closed the book.

“Where did you get that?”

“Aggie’s estate. It was in her bedside table. It goes all the way to 1982, when Thor died. I’ve only read the first few entries, but . . .” She took the picture. “What if this is her? Aggie
 
—that could be Augusta, right?”

“You are brilliant, Raina Beaumont.”

“But if she married Duncan, how did she end up with Thor?”

And right then, it happened again, just like last summer. He lifted his blue eyes to her, gave her a look that could grab her up, make her feel shiny and bright. She couldn’t help but grin back.

“I want to go to Naniboujou and see if they have any old pictures or records, just so we can get a confirmation, and then figure out what happened from there.”

“I want to go with you.” She said it quickly, before the urge, the courage, died.

“You do?” Casper frowned, ran his hand over his forehead as if working out a knot. “I don’t understand. You said you were trying to move on
 
—”

“I know. But . . . well, I realized that maybe . . . You were a good friend to me last summer, and I probably shouldn’t have been so
 
—anyway, I was a little afraid you were going to say something about . . .” She nearly said her name aloud. Layla. But she bit it back.

“It’s not my secret to share.”

She looked around at that, but no one picked up on his words.

“To that point, though, if you do ever need anyone to talk to, I . . . I can be that friend.”

Yes. She believed he could. She held out her hand, and after a quick blink, he took it. Shook it. She tried to ignore his touch, the feel of his skin on hers, how it sank into her pores and warmed her. Memories, nothing more. “Deal.”

“I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said. It slipped out. But she didn’t take it back, just grinned as she slid off the stool, carrying her tray to the counter. Then she returned and picked up her book, heading for the door. “See you Saturday.”

Casper wasn’t sure what really transpired at lunch, but by the time he returned home
 
—bypassing the historical society for a take-out burger and fries from the VFW
 
—he’d decided that maybe he should stop dissecting his conversation with Raina and just . . . be her friend.

The impulse, the thought, solidified inside him. And it seemed she longed for it also because she’d shaken his hand and even acted like she meant it.

Aye, aye, Captain.
Her friendly moniker dredged up tangible, heartbreaking memories of last summer’s nickname.
Captain, my Captain.

If he didn’t watch his heart, this could really hurt. Unless . . . he kept praying for her.

Lord, help her to see that You love her.

Casper pulled up to the lodge and got out, cheered by the sight of his father’s truck in the lot. Indeed, when he opened the door, the smell of his mother’s homemade spaghetti met his nose.

So much for the burger and soggy fries. “Mom?”

Ingrid Christiansen came around the corner, so much joy on her face it turned him into a child. Thirteen or maybe five and wanting to leap into her embrace.

“Casper!” She threw her arms around him, pulled his head down to her shoulder. “You’re home.”

He held on. It seemed she’d lost weight, but she still had that softness to her, the sense of belonging that made him feel that no matter what sins he committed, he could find forgiveness in her smile. “Mom.”

She squeezed him a bit longer, then stepped back and held him at arm’s length. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved blue thermal shirt, a fleece headband in her bobbed blonde hair, as if she hadn’t just gone tromping off like a hippie, backpacking through Europe.

“When Darek wrote that you’d come home, I told your dad we had to cut our trip short
 
—”

“And I told her that you needed time to get on your feet again.” John Christiansen came from the next room, wearing jeans, a
green woolen shirt, a baseball cap on his bald head. “Son, it’s so good to see you.”

He reached out to shake Casper’s hand, then pulled him tight. Clapped him on the back. “You look good.”

Casper nodded, a little unsettled at the emotion in his chest. “Thanks, Dad. I got a job at the Wild Harbor.”

“That’s what Darek said.”

Ingrid took the take-out bag, looked inside, and made a face. “I’ll put this in the fridge for later.”

He followed her to the kitchen, sliding onto a stool. “So how was Europe?”

Ingrid looked at John, and something in their exchange had Casper frowning. Then she said, “Good. Interesting.”

“Casper! You’re home.”

He stilled, then turned to see
 
—Amelia?
 
—trotting down the stairs.

No, gliding. The girl who’d left Deep Haven in a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt arrived home in a deep-blue dress, a gold belt, her red hair long around her shoulders. She looked . . .

Grown-up.

“It’s so lovely to see you!”

Lovely . . . 
?

She reached the bottom, walked over to him, slipped into his embrace. “I missed you!”

“Sis
 
—hi. Wow. You look great.”

She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. In fact, she’d lost weight, her face finely etched, and a slight edging of shadow darkened her green eyes.

“What are you doing home? Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Of course. It was just . . .” She exhaled a shaky
breath and glanced at their mother. “Time. Just time. I missed everyone.”

A lie hung in the air, but he didn’t chase it. Yet.

“Are you home on break?”

“Nope. Just . . . home. For a while.” She lifted a shoulder and slid onto a stool, crossing her legs. “Tell me everything about the dig. Did you find a lost treasure?”

Since when did Amelia wear dresses? And there, on the inside of her wrist
 
—he actually reached for it.

A dove tattooed in red and yellow.

She frowned and pulled her arm away.

“Would you set the table, Casper?” Ingrid said quietly.

Oh, he was missing something, and by the way Amelia tightened her jaw, swallowed, it couldn’t be good.

Casper got up, and like he’d traveled back in time to a year ago, he reached into the cupboard and took out the dishes. A fire crackled in the hearth while the snow piled against the sliding-glass door on the deck, the night already dense and murky.

Yeah, it could be last summer, with Darek and him working side by side on the cabins, back when he, like Amelia, had secrets to hide. Like the fact that he’d quit school. And didn’t know where he belonged.

Back before he’d met Raina and thought he’d found the answer.

He finished setting the table as his mother laid out the spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad.

“Wow. I’ve been living on takeout, Darek’s leftovers, and ramen noodles for a month.”

Amelia cracked a soft smile, this one real. “The first month I was there, I think I ate ramen noodles every night.”

She pulled out her chair and sat. Their father took her hand,
squeezed it, something protective in his eyes. “Not anymore. Now you’re home.”

Safe.
Casper could nearly hear the word on his father’s lips.

“Let’s pray,” John said.

Casper listened to his father’s voice, thought of his own prayers.

“So tell us everything about Roatán,” his mother said. “I have to admit, when you didn’t make it home for Christmas, my only consolation was that you were on a beach instead of enduring this deep freeze.”

He watched Amelia out of the corner of his eye. How she played with her food, stirring it around her plate.

How his mother leaned over and said, “Eat, Amelia.”

Amelia offered another brittle smile and nodded. But continued to worry her food.

“When did you make it home?” his father asked.

“Middle of January. I was here when the pipes burst in cabin three. Helped Darek repair it.”

His father went silent. When he glanced at Ingrid, Casper wanted to grab those words back, maybe run them by Darek before outing him.

Clearly Darek had kept a few secrets from his parents.

Amelia sighed and pushed her food away. “I . . . I’m not hungry.”

“Amelia
 
—”

But she got up, shook her head, dropped her napkin on the table. “If you’ll please excuse me . . .”

Casper had never heard her use so many manners in one sentence.

His gaze fell on his mother, who was watching her go. He was a little surprised that Ingrid didn’t trail after her. Especially when his sister stifled a sob as she climbed the stairs.

Casper raised an eyebrow.

“She . . . needs some room,” John finally said.

Casper glanced at his mother again, pushing her noodles and sauce around the plate. Right. Okay. “Hey, Dad, what do you know about Thor Wilder?”

John glanced upstairs, toward Amelia’s room. Sighed. “Um, I don’t know. I mean, he owned the trading post for a long while. His family tree goes back to the early traders in this area. One of his ancestors
 
—I think it might have been an uncle
 
—owned the fish house in town. Why?”

“Well, you remember the old Duncan Rothe mystery?”

John chuckled low. “I know it put a lot of dreams in your head
 
—probably what started your love of history.”

“I’m working for the historical society now and
 
—”

“That’s so wonderful, honey.” Ingrid’s hand went to his arm. Squeezed. Her eyes were wet, and even as she did it, she glanced upstairs. Then back to him for a smile. Forced.

Oh, boy. Something with Amelia had managed to tie his parents into a knot.

“Yeah. Edith Draper is beside herself with joy.”

His dad laughed at that.

“So
 
—I found this wedding dress from a collection of artifacts from Mineral Springs, and it had the initials C. A. F. on it. I did some sleuthing and found a connection to Duncan Rothe and Aggie Wilder.”

“Really. How do you do that?” His mother looked impressed, and it sent a spark of warmth into Casper. Maybe, for the first time, his parents didn’t think him a complete dreamer.

“Raina has this journal she got from Aggie’s estate, and it mentions Duncan in it . . .”

The silence around the table could slice his words, leave them lying in pieces on the table.

His father put down his fork. Exhaled.

“Did you say Raina?” This from Ingrid. She flicked a glance at John. “She’s back in town?”

Oops. Casper nodded. Suddenly the magnitude of Raina’s secrets
 
—and her absence over the past six months
 
—rolled into a smoldering, inescapable ember in his chest. What a fool to think he could somehow keep her pregnancy, their grandchild, the adoption, hidden from his parents. From Owen.

Casper just might be walking around with the truth tattooed on his face for the way he felt himself going white.

His father even noticed. “Casper, are you okay? You look
 
—listen, I know you had a summer fling
 
—”

“It was more than a fling, Dad.”

He didn’t know where that came from, but hearing
fling
on his father’s lips made what they’d had sound tawdry and trite.

That was Owen. Not him.

“I really cared
 
—
care
about her.”

“Oh, Casper, please tell me you’re not mixed up with her again,” his mother said.

For a moment Casper, too, had lost his appetite. But yeah, maybe they had a right to be worried. “It’s all good. I’m over her. We’re friends
 
—”