Better Not Love Me (4 page)

Chapter 6

Panic set in quickly for Marcus.

"Mom, you've got to fix it," Marcus said, the stress causing a strain in his voice. He had already strapped the life jacket to himself. "I can't be out here like this."

Amelia took a deep breath and tried not to panic herself. She struggled to remember what the instructor from the marina said to do if the boat died. Unless she missed something, he never did say what to do. And why would he? She was on her own.

"Mom, I'm scared," Susanna said, clutching her Aunt Amy for support.

"I know honey," Amelia said trying to reassure Susanna. "It'll be all right. I'm going to call the marina and get some help. Don't worry."

The call connected immediately, which was a good sign, but just as it had previously, the call was diverted to an answering machine.

Please leave a message after the tone, the machine offered.

"Well, that's completely useless," she said. "Like I'm ever going to rent from those people again."

She then had a moment of clarity.

"Guys, turn your phone flashlights on, so we're not sitting in the complete darkness."

All five of them had phones and pointed them toward the center of the boat. Marcus seemed relieved when he could better see his surroundings, even if they were still stuck on the water.

A ski boat approached quickly from the west and the kids waved their arms to flag it down, but the driver didn't let off the gas and it zipped right by them causing their boat to rock from the waves.

"Maybe there are some oars in the side compartments," Amelia said. "Or some flares. We could signal someone."

It was Amy who shot down that idea.

"Sis, nobody's going to come if we shoot off a flare."

"And why not?

"Well, it's the Fourth of July and it'll just look like a firework," she said smugly. "And if you think we can row this thing to shore, you're nuts."

"Good points," she said, sitting down next to Marcus. She put her arm around his shoulder to comfort him, but he just scooted over and ignored her.

Marcus was shaking and bobbing his head back and forth in silence. It was at that moment that Amelia remembered Marcus and Max used flares at Rocktop Lake too.  The boys had set one off in an attempt to get rescued. It was yet one more thing to traumatize poor Marcus tonight. She hated to see him like this. His tough exterior seemed to shrink away with every passing minute.

There was an obvious way to get them rescued, but it was the last thing she wanted to do. But with the phone lights on, she could see how terrified the kids looked. She knew what she had to do.

She still had Nate's contact information stored in her phone. Reluctantly, she dialed Nate's cell from memory.

* * *

Thanks to the cell phone flashlights and Amelia's description of the buildings on the nearest shore, Nate and Chloe didn't have any trouble finding the stranded boat. Within minutes, Nate carefully navigated his boat parallel to the distressed boat.

He tossed over a white marine rope and instructed Marcus to tie off the end.

"But let's leave plenty of slack, so the boats don't knock together," Nate said. "So your mom can get her damage deposit back."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I'll be getting a full refund for this heap of trash," Amelia said.

Nate didn't reply, he just pulled the ropes so the boats were close and stepped from one bow to the other like a seasoned sailor.

"How did you find us so quickly?" Amy asked.

"Amelia described that three story, three-deck cabin right there," he said, turning to point at it. "That place has been here for as long as I've been coming here. How long has it been now? Forty-plus years? That place is ugly as sin too, even in the dark. Can't miss it."

"Well, that's a great story, Nate," Amelia said.

"Now, don't be rude," Amy snapped back at her sister, then turned to Nate. "So that must mean you were born on the lake then?"

Amelia rolled her eyes at her sister's overt flirting. Making some comment like that to say he's young. Oh, please. 

"Born on the lake? Hardly," he chuckled. "My grandparents built our cabin. My parents would bring us here for the summers since I was around 5 or 6 years old. Been coming here ever since. Not as much as I'd like to of course, but—"

"Yeah, again, great story, Nate," Amelia said, "but maybe we should save the chitchat for daytime, on land? Any chance you can get this boat started?"

Nate gave a slight nod to Amelia, with a look that wasn't quite a grimace, but one that was resigned to him not countering her distain for him. He stepped over to the pilot's chair and began to manipulate the controls.

Even in the darkness, Amelia could see Amy's wide eyes and disapproving look at her attitude toward Nate, but she didn't care. Besides, if she wasn't worried about Marcus going into hysterics on the boat then she would have waited for another solution and never called Nate in the first place. She glanced at the front of the boat, where Marcus had been sitting, but he wasn't there!

"Marcus?!" she said, loudly.

"Mom, chill, I'm over here," he said.

In her laser-like focus on hating Nate, she'd missed that Marcus had crawled over the side of the boat and into Nate's boat. Or more accurately, Chloe's boat, as it was next to her he was now sitting. His life jacket was now off, resting close beside him on the seat. His arm was on the seat behind the girl. Well, that was fast, she thought.

"This boat's not going anywhere," Nate said. "The battery's dead."

He then went on to explain that boats need different kinds of batteries for starting and for running electronics and a bunch of nautical mumbo jumbo she didn't care to hear.

"Either there's a connection loose somewhere, or the battery drained while you were out here tonight. Doesn't really matter, I can't fix it."

"Great, so we're stuck here?" Amelia said, crossing her arms.

Nate didn't reply, letting her words die a ridiculous death. To his credit, he didn’t sound the least bit condescending when he said, "We'll just tow you in. No big deal."

Amelia could feel her face flush red with embarrassment. Of course, they could just tow them to the dock. She felt foolish.

Nate pulled his boat in close again and twisted himself over the side. He dug through the side compartments and emerged with a long braided rope. He attached a stocky silver mast to the rear deck of his boat, then tied the rope to the ring at the top.

"This is the set-up we use to pull tubes and water skiers, but it should work just fine if we're careful," Nate said.

He then tied the rope to a hook on the bow of the rental boat.

"It's probably best to lessen the weight of the rental so it'll slow down easier when we dock it," he said loud enough that everyone could hear. "Let's have everyone transfer over to my boat."

He helped the younger girls over, then Amy, before turning to reach for Amelia's hand.

"I've got it, thanks," she said curtly, then swung her legs over, just as the other boat drifted away slightly. Per her instructions, Nate hadn't helped her or pulled the rope to keep the boats close. She let out a scream as she slipped over the side of the boat toward the black water.

Nate's strong arms quickly wrapped around her stomach as he caught her a split-second before she slipped in. His grasp and the momentum from hoisting her back into the boat meant she went toppling over on him to the back seat of the boat. They were once again pressed up next to each other like they were when Nate stepped onto the rental earlier that day. She could smell his musky scent and feel his chin stubble on her cheek.

"Get a room you two!" Amy called out.

Nate quickly sat up, his head knocking into Amelia's. She tumbled onto the floor, and despite herself, she laughed.

"I said I had it," she quipped.

"Of course, sorry about that," he said, trying to hide his own smile.

* * *

Towing the rental boat after everyone was safely aboard Nate's boat was relatively simple, but excruciatingly slow, especially when they reached the cove. Nate throttled down the engine to a troll and then coasted it toward the dock. The rope between the boats was long, so the tailing boat slowly drifted in, even after the pilot boat stopped. When Nate's boat was finally at the dock, Chloe tied it off, as everyone exited the boat and stood on the dock.

Nate untied the rope from the tow mast and pulled the rental boat onto the opposite side of the dock.

"Well that was a bit anticlimactic," Amy said. "Where's the drama in that?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said.

"Well, thank you anyway, despite the lack of drama," she said, looking over at Amelia, as if to say,
this is when you should say thank you as well,
but Amelia just walked off the dock.

The strange grimace returned to Nate's face and he nodded solemnly to Amy.

"That's what neighbors are for," he said, just as he had earlier.

Chapter 7

The next morning Amelia awoke at sunrise. She put on her running pants and a light jacket, intent on taking a therapeutic jog on the winding gravel road that served as the only egress from the cove. The road twisted and turned behind the three cabins in the cove before skirting the lake for about a mile and reaching a paved road to the highway. She placed the earbuds in her ears and turned on a playlist called Running Mix, which included some of her favorite upbeat country singers mixed in with some high-octane rap music that she'd be embarrassed to listen to in public. As she climbed up the driveway to the road, she was treated to Charlie Daniels Band's version of the
Devil Went Down to Georgia
. It was probably the wrong song to play as a warm up, as she took off at a near sprint. She wanted to get away and the faster the music, the faster the run.

The early morning sun cast long shadows over the road and the sweet smells of the early summer morning filled her nostrils as she sucked in big gulps of air to fill her lungs. She had never been much of a runner. But after marrying Josh and taking on the store full time, she needed an outlet for her pent up frustration, so she began with walks, which turned into light jogging and eventually long runs. Today she felt like she was a real runner. She participated in local races, such as Spokane's Bloomsday road race, one of the country's largest timed races. At 12 kilometers, it wasn't a standard race, but for some reason 40,000 people regularly turned out to take on the hilly course through downtown and west Spokane. Some people wore costumes and walked it, but she took it seriously and held her own with women many years younger.

Last year she completed three half-marathons too. She didn't brag about her times because she wasn't a speedster, but she was proud that her times had slowly decreased each race. It seemed that age didn't slow her down. She would turn 40 this year and she was convinced that her best years were still to come. 

When she reached the stretch of road that ran parallel to the water, her playlist called up Alan Jackson's song
Chattahoochee
, which was ironically about the man in the song learning "a lot about livin' and a little about love" on a river. She glanced at the water as she ran, wondering if she'd learn anything about living on the lake this summer. And love? Not a chance.

She was embarrassed about last night. It's one thing to stumble through operating the boat, but she’d made a complete jerk of herself in front of everyone. And Amy didn't let her forget it. Once they were back inside the cabin the previous night, Amy pulled her aside and demanded an explanation.

"I'm not your mother," Amy said, her voice raised in anger, "but you know better than anyone that I raised you, not Mom. And I did not raise you to act like that. Is that how you'd like to see your daughter or son act? Don't answer that, because you'd better say no. No, I would never let them act that way! I don't know what history you have with that man, you were downright rude and I'm embarrassed for you. And after everything he did to help us? Why? Why did you treat him like that?"

"You don't know what it was like before I left the company," Amelia said. "It was the worst experience of my life and he was the center of it."

"That's no excuse."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry. You're right."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," Amy said.

"I'm not going to apologize to him. No way."

"If you are actually sorry, you are going to apologize. He's going to be our neighbor all summer. If you don't, I'm going to go over and do it for you."

Nate was going to be here all summer? Not great.

"Fine," Amelia said, worried that her sister would make things even worse, "I'll do it tomorrow."

"Good."

Amelia wondered how that conversation would go, but she put that out of her head for the moment. As she reached the highway and positioned herself on the shoulder of the road, Ice Cube's retro gangster rap song,
It Was A Good Day
, flooded her ears. The slower pace of the song relaxed her. It was quite a bit more vulgar than she liked, but she associated the song with the early 1990s when it was first released and she was still in high school. Things were easier then. Ice Cube raps about the terrible violence in South Central Los Angeles and just surviving it was the low threshold for being a good day. In many ways Amelia agreed with that; of course, she was never threatened by gang members or street thugs like Ice Cube.

It was a good day for Amelia when she survived the demands on her time and got to spend hours with the kids, something she'd still not been able to do consistently this summer. She needed to figure out how to do that, one way or another, so this summer didn't end up being a complete waste for all of them. She only had so much time with the kids. 

She looked down at the mileage tracker on her phone and saw that she'd already gone nearly three miles in the same basic direction and decided it was time to turn around and head back. She didn't like running on the highway anyway. The shoulder was narrow and the cars were too close. She found herself slowing down and jogging on the dirt and grass trail off the paved road. On her return trip the soft ground felt better on her knees, but the uneven trail darted back and forth, causing Amelia to slowdown and watch her footing much more carefully.

Just before she turned off the highway and back down to the cabin road, the trail snaked up to the shoulder and stopped at a wooden cross, staked into the ground several feet from the asphalt highway. Amelia stopped running and pulled her headphones out of her ears, cutting off the hypnotic sounds of House of Pain's
Jump Around
. For some reason this cross seemed out of place. Sure, she had seen similar ones dotting highways and intersections before and thought nothing of them, but this one seemed different.

The faded cross was splintered and worn. Gray lag bolts held it together; obviously a repair after the fact. A small hook protruded from the stem of the cross, from which a green spruce wreath and red ribbon hung, secured by a yellowing twist tie that had been knotted together many times.

Amelia squatted down to inspect the wreath further. Stenciled into the ribbon were the words, “Damon Stewart, Beloved Brother and Son.” She’d never stopped to look at one of these memorials before; in fact, she’d ignored this one altogether on her first run past it. She glanced around, wondering what took place here that caused his person to be memorialized. Drunk driver? Heart attack? How old was he? The sign didn’t say father or husband, so she assumed he was a boy, maybe a teenager. Any number of things could have happened here. It was at an intersection, so maybe it had something to do with the secondary road toward the lake.

She’d probably never know what happened to Damon Stewart, but that wasn’t what was tugging at her heart. While the cross was faded and had obviously been in the ground for years, the wreath was new. Brand new. The hot summer sun hadn’t faded it one bit. So someone somewhere took the time to come to this spot and place a new wreath in memory of their brother or son.

It struck Amelia for the first time, that Edwin had never gotten a memorial like this at Rocktop Lake. How was he being remembered? And she was the person who should have done it. It was her son who Edwin saved that day. And he was the man she had been falling in love with, despite their brief and complicated romance. Didn’t she owe him something?

Amelia had never even been up the trail to Rocktop Lake to see where he died. From Amy's house in Bonners Ferry it was just a quick hike in the summer. After what happened there she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She had also forbid Marcus from ever going up there again—she just didn’t want him to get hurt again—but he hadn’t asked to go back either.

Somebody loved Damon Stewart enough to bring his memorial a new wreath. But nobody bothered to do the same for Edwin Klein. Not once. A feeling of sadness and remorse wafted over her. Her legs, which had been pumping hard on her run, were now stiff and weak.

She didn’t realize that she still felt so strongly for Edwin. She’d done such a good job of pushing his memory from her mind all these years by pushing down and ignoring the pain. Maybe that was her problem. She had never really come to grips with these emotions. She’d moved on to Josh and that relationship had failed—again. Then she threw herself into her work at Mr. Z's, but that ended in disaster too.

What was next? She didn’t know how to answer that.

She stood up and stretched, then began a slow jog back down to the cabin. This time she didn’t turn on her music.

She was left alone with her thoughts and regrets. And she didn’t like what she heard.

* * *

As Amelia descended the gravel road she first made out the top of her own cabin, then Nate's. As she took the last turn she could see the other cabin too. The weeds in the driveway were still long and there had clearly been no visitors to the place, which was odd considering the prime location and popularity of the lake itself.

Just as Amelia got to the driveway, something caught her eye. She stopped and turned toward the moving object, just in time to be hit in the leg with a car tire. She winced in pain. The tire had been moving fast and rolled up her running shoe before colliding with her shin. She was startled, but not really hurt. She followed the trajectory of the tire and could see it had come from the driveway of Nate's cabin.

Did that little jerk try to hit me with a tire?

She picked up the empty tire and began to march up the "little jerk's" driveway. When she got to the top of the hill she was surprised to find a large pile of lumber and dozens of bags of concrete mix. Nate was nowhere to be found. He was probably hiding and watching her right now, she thought.

She walked around the long straight lengths of lumber. Whatever project the material was for must be significant.

The screen on the side garage door slammed shut as Nate exited carrying a cup of coffee.

"You trying to steal my tire?" he asked, taking a sip from his mug.

"What? No. It attacked me!" she shouted.

"Yeah, you know those tires. I've heard about them. Got a mind of their own," he said, without a hint of sarcasm.

"No, it rolled down the hill and hit me," she said.

"Of all the things that tire could have hit, it decided to go after you. Hmm. Do you believe in karma?" Nate asked.

"I believe that you rolled this thing down that hill at me," Amelia said, her voice trembling as she continued to clutch the tire.

"OK, let’s work your theory for a minute. I woke up this morning. Got dressed. Made my coffee and watched a little SportsCenter. All perfectly timed so I could walk out here and roll a tire 75 yards down my own driveway. Now, mind you from here, I can't see the bottom of the hill anyway. So I must have practiced it over and over. Then, just when I knew you'd be loitering there, I just let it go and hoped for the best. Then I went back inside and poured myself this coffee, only to return to the scene of the crime moments later. Is that about what happened?"

Amelia turned and looked down the hill. She couldn’t see the bottom of it. But she wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"Well, it still hit me," she said.

"And for that I'm sorry. I will ground that tire immediately, but not before I give it a stern talking to. But I'll be honest, tires don't always listen. You're going to need to keep an eye out for this one. He might attack again."

"Don't be a jerk," Amelia said.

"Hey, I'm just trying to figure this thing out. But I'm not a detective."

Amelia realized she still holding the tire. Her arms were beginning to shake.

"Well, here's your tire back," Amelia said, slamming the tire down. It rolled and spun on gravel driveway before coming to a rest.

"Thank you," he said. "Can I ask you something?"

"I guess," she replied, cautiously.

"Do you really think I tried to attack you with a tire?"

She thought about it for a moment.

"I guess not," she said, but with the same terse tone she used to accuse him moments earlier.

"Good, because I have a confession to make," he said. "I rolled that tire down the hill."