Cabin by the Lake (20 page)

Mike and Kendall arrived back at the house to find it deserted. With instructions to Kendall to wait for him in the car, he started along the path to the cabin to grab his things. He had made up his mind about his future, and the deadline had come to turn the company over to someone else.

Halfway there he heard a gunshot and the faint yelp of the dog, and he broke into a run. Lydia! He never slowed his stride as he passed through the open cabin door and snatched the man by the back of his collar, breaking his hold from her throat. The rest was lost in a white-hot rage as Mike hit him until he stayed down. From the looks of his already bloody face, Lydia must have fought like a wildcat.

“Lydia! Lydia, can you hear me?” He held her hand to his lips, afraid to move her, but he wanted to hold her in his arms more than anything. He was reluctant to touch her bruised neck, but he found a weak pulse at her wrist. Her head seemed to be resting at an odd angle.

“Please,” he prayed, kissing her hand.

After calling for help, he quickly checked Dog. The animal didn’t look good, but was still breathing. From what he could read of the scene, Dog had fought to protect her, perhaps sacrificing his life in the process. He prayed the old boy would make it. Right now all he could think about was Lydia, and wishing the paramedics would hurry. He finally heard the wail of sirens and knew the police and paramedics had arrived at the house. He hated to leave her, but he had to make sure the EMTs knew where to come.

He tied the attacker’s hands and feet with zip ties in case he regained consciousness while he was gone, and left the cabin at a run. He met Sheriff Jenkins halfway to the house, leading the paramedics, followed by Kendall, her cell phone out, videotaping the excitement.

“Get out of here,” he thundered. “What is wrong with you? Go! Tell the Board I’ll be there.” The stunned expression on Kendall’s face would have been comical if he hadn’t been so angry. He turned around and sprinted back ahead of the first responders.

The EMTs were efficient and professional. Three of them immediately began to assess Lydia’s condition, and Mike hovered by the wall, watching quietly. Sheriff Jenkins and two other paramedics checked out Rocco, who was now awake and cursing profusely, struggling with his bonds. They tied him to a stretcher and took him away.

The town veterinarian had been called by Sheriff Jenkins, and she came immediately. She examined Dog with dismay written all over her face. She wrapped a tight bandage around his midsection, noted his advanced age, and gave Mike a look that said he should not expect too much. At her direction, an EMT gently picked up the dog and she gave instructions to put him in the back of her SUV.

As she was going out, Dugger and Vivian pushed their way through the cabin door. Vivian was flushed from exertion and her hair flew wildly around her face. Mike met her halfway across the room, and she fell into his arms. “What happened?” she cried, trying to see Lydia around the people caring for her. “Dugger got a call from the sheriff, but he wouldn’t tell us what happened. I shouldn’t have left her.”

“She’s going to be okay, Vivian,” Mike said, holding her close, as much in need of consolation as she was. “She has to be.”

Dugger backed into the corner, out of the way, but ready at a moment’s notice to do whatever had to be done. He was appalled at the destruction he saw, the amount of blood that had been shed. Things like this didn’t happen in their quiet little town, and he vowed to make it his business to protect Vivian and her loved ones from any future trauma.

Soon Lydia was ensconced in a neck brace and oxygen mask, and had an IV drip in her arm. Vivian quickly regained control of her emotions and took charge. She led the group, snapping out orders to watch out for that limb and keep the stretcher level, and hurry, hurry, hurry. It was a tense procession that escorted Lydia to the waiting ambulance parked in Vivian’s back yard. She looked pale and lifeless as they loaded her into the back of the ambulance, her left eye swollen and blood smeared across her face.

When Mike started to get into the ambulance with her, Vivian grabbed him by the shoulders and stopped him. “She’s mine,” she said firmly. Every fiber of Mike’s being told him to get into that ambulance, but the force of Vivian’s will froze him in place, her eyes daring him to dispute her.

And the truth was, he didn’t have the right to claim his place by Lydia’s side. Emotions ran high as the two faced off, a challenge thrown down between them. This was the first time he had seen the force of a mother’s love, as fierce as a tiger protecting her cub. He knew on some level that he could easily move Vivian to the side, but then he wondered if that were true. By the look on her face, he thought she might fight to the death to be with her niece.

Dugger touched his arm. “Come with me. We’ll follow the ambulance.” Mike leaned in and kissed Vivian’s cheek and the moment was over, and he knew that he had just witnessed something that he had never experienced in his life. A short pang of regret briefly touched his heart, so quickly that he barely registered it; he had never really experienced a mother’s love.

Dugger ran every red light, following right behind the speeding ambulance and police car leading the way. Mike clutched the dashboard for support as the truck careened around corners, leaning forward as if that would help them get there sooner.

It was hours later and numerous cups of vending machine coffee before the doctor came out to the waiting room with news. Lydia had a broken rib, a fractured cheek bone, multiple contusions and bruises around her throat, but she should recover with no residual problems. She was conscious, and he gave permission for two people to visit her.

Vivian and Mike followed the doctor to her bedside. Vivian cried when she saw her, bruised and beaten, her eye swollen shut. She looked small and fragile, her dark hair fanned out across the white pillow. Mike held her hand and kissed it, wondering if she would remember that later when she was no longer drugged. She couldn’t talk, but she smiled weakly, wincing in pain with the movement.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “They took him away.”

She blinked slowly in response.

“Sheriff Jenkins said he’s an escaped convict, and that he’s been stalking you. But he won’t be bothering you again.”

She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again.

“Let her rest,” Vivian said.

The two of them stepped out into the hallway. “I’m sorry,” Mike said. “So much has happened today, I’m just trying to understand. Drugs? Prison? I hate to admit it, but I Googled her, and I found nothing about Lydia Steadman.”

“You wouldn’t, because she changed her name. She wanted to start over,” she explained. “When she was two years old her biological father, Kip Steadman, left and she got a new stepfather, Paul Brown. Katie insisted that he adopt the girls and give them his last name. He didn’t stick around, but his name did. She’s been Lydia Brown ever since, until she legally changed back to her birth name, Steadman, just before she came here. She so wanted all of her past to be behind her.”

“This afternoon, the accusations her mother was making,” he said, trying to sort things out, “Lydia said it wasn’t true.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t. When it came time for the trial, everything happened so fast. As usual, Katie tried to hide the facts from us, and then it was too late. Todd and I would have hired a good lawyer for her, but instead she got an inept public defender who advised her to plead no contest to the charge of drug trafficking. She was innocent, but the prosecutor’s case was wrapped around the fact that no one could be that naïve and not know they were being used.”

A tear ran down Vivian’s cheek and she swiped at it absentmindedly. “That’s our Lydia, though. Sweetly naïve, trusting to a fault, and the daughter I should have had.”

Mike grasped her hand and glanced at his watch. “I know this is terrible timing, but I have to go.”

Vivian looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“I don’t want to leave, but I have to. The doctor says she’s going to be okay. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He searched Vivian’s face for understanding, but found none.

Her expression was guarded as she gazed at him. “You do what you have to do,” she said coldly, and turned to go back into Lydia’s room, dismissing him from her world.

He walked down the hospital corridor with leaden feet. He had never felt so torn in his life. The woman he loved was lying on that bed, and the responsibility of the lives of hundreds of people hung over him like a teetering boulder on the edge of a precipice. People’s jobs were at stake. Corporations didn’t run themselves and time had run out for him. Responsibility had never been a choice for him; it was a natural trait. The timing couldn’t be worse, but he knew what he had to do.

Back in the waiting room he was met with a crowd. Deuce and Emily Colbert were there, along with Mr. Lincoln and Betsy. Word had spread quickly. Vivian’s friends from the women’s shelter had rushed to the hospital to lend their support. Violence was a rarity in this small community. Old friends that she thought had fallen by the wayside were gathering in support. Pete and Ally talked quietly with Dugger until he left the waiting area to join Vivian, leaving Mike to fend for himself.

When he asked if anyone had the number of a taxi service, Deuce and Emily offered to drive him. They stopped by Vivian’s so he could gather his belongings from the cabin, and they patiently walked to the lake as they waited to drive him to the airport.

It took him just minutes to get what he needed. As he was leaving, his hand lingered on the doorknob. There was one more thing he wanted to do.

Needed
to do, for luck. He turned back and tore off a sheet of notebook paper and began to write.

On the way to the airport, Deuce apologized for his brother’s behavior at the IHOP. He was embarrassed, and said, “Emily and I hope Ace will agree to a stint in rehab.”

“And maybe your father will support you this time,” Emily put in, “instead of turning a blind eye to Ace’s misbehavior.”

“I hope so,” Mike said, although he found it hard to concentrate on the conversation, his thoughts back at the hospital with Lydia. That unpleasant incident at the restaurant seemed to have happened a long time ago, instead of just this morning.

He boarded the plane for North Carolina, his emotions in turmoil. He was determined to expedite his business and return before she even knew he was gone.

It is said that man proposes, but God disposes. Mike had no way of knowing what actually lay in store for him.

Vivian peered out the window again to check on Lydia, the house quiet without the usual drone of the TV in the background. She hadn’t even watched the news since Lydia’s attack. Her every waking moment was focused on her niece’s recuperation.

Lydia sat motionless in the Adirondack chair at the pier’s end, as she had for the last week and a half. She was looking better now; the swelling had gone down in her face, and the purple bruises were fading to yellows and browns. Her ribs were still wrapped tightly, but she was moving around well. It was her vacant eyes that worried Vivian. Her niece had always been quick to spring back from unpleasantness, to regain her cheerful enthusiasm, and now that didn’t seem to be happening.

Each day she ate only a few bites of the food Vivian brought to her, and she stayed wrapped in a blanket in the sun gazing at the lake, in spite of the fine weather they were having. She had lost weight and her cheeks had taken on a hollow look.

Vivian and Dugger had gone to the cabin and cleaned up the blood stains, and erased all signs of the attack. She tried to talk about the cabin, but she couldn’t pique Lydia’s interest in the renovation, and that worried her, considering how enthusiastic she had been about it.

She herself had not heard from Mike, and she didn’t know if Lydia had. Lydia didn’t have her phone unless Vivian brought it out to her. But she never saw her check it. Mike hadn’t called the hospital that she knew of. She wondered if he had even tried to get in touch with Lydia personally.

This Rocco character, as Lydia called him, was extradited back to Tennessee, much worse for the wear, and Vivian could relax on that point. As much as they could piece together, Lydia had injured him quite badly before Mike got there, fending him off long enough to be rescued, just before he could kill her.

And Dog had done his part, bless him. She dug a tissue out of her apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

She no longer felt they were in danger, but she was glad Dugger was around. He couldn’t seem to stay away, constantly running interference with news crews who were rabid for a statement, screening phone calls and bringing in food sent by friends. Pete and Ally had been by a few times, and Vivian was grateful for their steady friendship. She was thankful, though, that things were beginning to settle down.

She had to admit she was growing accustomed to Dugger’s presence, depending on him, in fact. It bothered her that she was beginning to feel so comfortable with him so quickly. But the stress had been so high in the last week or so, it seemed as if a lot more time had passed.  Things had been chaotic; it felt good to have him there, steady and reliable, hanging out in the background ready to fill in and support whatever was needed.

Dugger came up behind her as she stood at the window and slipped his arms around her waist. Just a few days ago she would have been embarrassed and uncomfortable with this intimate touch. Now she leaned back against his sturdy chest without thinking, exhausted, her mind on Lydia.

“She’ll be all right,” he said.

She absentmindedly crossed her arms over his. “I hope so.”

The next morning Lydia woke up in her bed without any real memory of having crawled under the covers. She was confused at first, but a jumble of scenes spilled into her brain and she sat up, rubbing her temples. She wanted to go back to the fog that had entombed her mind, but couldn’t. She remembered Rocco attacking her. And fighting for her life. She was frankly astonished to find herself alive and well, after the memory returned of giving herself up for dead.

She remembered bits and pieces from the hospital. Vivian, Dugger, the pastor of Franklin Methodist Church, their encouragement. She remembered Vivian telling her that Mike had to leave. The rest was a blur of scenes, sunlight, darkness and soothing words that had little meaning.

It was all too much. She threw the covers back and went to the bathroom where she examined herself in the mirror. She was astonished to see her thin face with the remains of a stitched-up scar on her cheek, faint ochre coloring around it. When she came downstairs thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, Vivian eyed her apprehensively, a surprised look on her face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she said, sliding the skillet off the hot burner. “I see you washed your hair.”

Lydia gave her a wry smile.

“I’m taking that as a good sign. Can I interest you in some sausage and eggs?”

“I think I could definitely eat.” She slipped into a chair.

Vivian cracked two eggs into the skillet and shook her head in wonder. “Feeling better? You certainly look better.”

“My head feels clearer now. Everything sort of came back to me when I woke up this morning. Before, it felt like I was walking around in a dream. I think I owe my life to Dog,” she said, adding casually, “and Mike.” She tore a piece of toast in half and added butter and a smear of strawberry preserves.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him?” Vivian slid the plate of eggs across the table.

She sighed and shook her head. “No, have you?”

“No. And frankly, I can’t understand it. He said he had to leave, but he’d be back as soon as he could. Then, not a word. That just doesn’t sound like him.”

She waved her fork dismissively, but Vivian could see the hurt in her eyes. “I guess he went back to wherever he came from.”

“I know where he came from,” Vivian said.

“What do you mean?”

“I recognized him before he set foot on our porch, that day it was storming and he came in out of the rain.”

“You recognized him? What are you talking about?”

Vivian grinned. “I watch the news, remember? Although heaven only knows what I’ve missed since you got attacked. Anyway, his face had been plastered all over
Nancy Grace
for weeks in a big scandal involving a murder-for-hire plot to kill his father—by his brother and sister, no less—and he got accused of the murder.”

Lydia gasped. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my business to tell.” She shrugged. “It was obvious when he arrived that he wanted to remain anonymous. I figured it would all come out in good time.”

Lydia shook her head, amazed. “You always were tight-lipped. Is his name really Mike Rodgers?”

Vivian smiled. “Rodgers Construction, does that ring any bells?”

“Oh no, you’re kidding.” The connection slowly clicked into place. Rodgers Construction was one of the biggest construction companies in the southeast. She just never put him together with
that
Rodgers. She covered her face with her hands. “I feel like such an idiot! How could I be so dense?”

“In your defense,” Vivian said, “he never put himself forward as anything but a regular guy, just passing through.”

“That’s it then.” Lydia pushed back her plate. “I knew he was rich. I mean, that became obvious. But I didn’t know we were talking about over-the-moon rich. I guess he just needed some R and R. He had a little fun time with the normal folks, and now he’s gone.” She was quiet for a minute. “I just thought, you know, that he’d at least call or something. You know, check on me.”

“I’m disappointed in him, too,” said Vivian quietly.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.” Vivian watched a tear slide down her niece’s cheek. She wanted to tell Mike a thing or two. She had his number; maybe she would.

Lydia stood up. “I think I’m going to take a walk down to the cabin, maybe putter around there for a while.”

Vivian nodded approvingly. She had worried about Lydia’s lethargic state, after she seemed to be recovering so well physically. “A little walk will be good for you, I think. Just don’t over-do it,” she warned protectively.

Lydia strolled slowly along the path. She missed Mike. She missed Dog. She was glad to be alive, but she felt empty, like she had opened a box on Christmas morning and found nothing in it. She knew all along she and Mike could not end up together, but the heart wants what the heart wants, regardless of reality.

She would get over him, she supposed, in time. But she would never be the same, especially since there had been no closure. No get-well flowers. No call, no text. She checked her phone this morning and it became clear that Mike’s interests lay elsewhere. Maybe a clean break was for the best.

She sat on the cabin steps for a while, resting. She was weaker than she thought. Her mind drifted to the times she and Mike spent here, laughing at nonsensical things, sharing memories with him about the cabin. She thought of Malcolm and Liz, and that beautiful love note. Suddenly, she didn’t know why, she wanted to read it again.

She went inside, sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace, and tilted up the loose board. She looked in, confused at what she saw. Now, on top of the pile, there was a different piece of paper, one torn from a spiral-bound notebook, the edge ragged and the page folded in half. She picked it up, her heart beating faster, and opened it. Tears blurred her eyes as she read:

Lydia,

Wait for me, my darling. If the gods allow, we’ll be together again soon.

Love forever, Mike.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. When had he left that? The day she was attacked? The day he left? Tears stung her eyes.

She heard footsteps pounding up the cabin steps and across the porch. Vivian opened the door and paused, a stricken look on her face.

“What is it?” Lydia looked into her eyes, her heart suddenly filled with dread. “Is it Brittany? Dugger?”

“I was watching the morning news, and I saw it,” Vivian said, out of breath. “I told you it was important to keep up with the news. I told you—”

“For heaven’s sake, Aunt Vi, tell me what happened.”

Her aunt looked as if she could hardly find the words. “There was a wreck.”

“A wreck?” She couldn’t comprehend.

“It’s Mike,” Vivian said, her voice choked with emotion. “He was in a wreck, after his plane landed in North Carolina, on his way to his office. I’m sorry, honey. It’s bad.”