Finding The Way Back To Love (Lakeside Porches 3) (34 page)

“Yeah. I still think it was the right decision, even though I’ve second-guessed myself a lot. Thanks for helping me think it through last summer.”

Peter shrugged it off. “How’s Haley?

“The pregnancy set her back some, but she’ll be all right.”

“Will she go back to Albany in the spring?”

“She’s been to campus to register for spring, but all her spring courses are online, like the ones she’s taking now. She’ll stay with Gwen at least until summer. It’s good for both of them right now.”

Peter flinched at the mention of Gwen’s name. He put the discussion back on Haley. “So, Haley’s doing okay? She doesn’t feel like she’s destroyed her life or anything, does she?”

“Definitely not. She had a rough time, and she handled it well and grew up a lot. She learned from it.” Rick took a deep breath all the way to his toes. “For one thing, she knows not to drink ever again.”

Peter heard the change in Rick’s tone. There was an agenda. He headed it off. “Let’s shoot some.”

He drove toward the basket, laid up a clean shot, and stepped out of the way. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Rick caught the rebound and pounded down the court. Past the imaginary foul line, he turned, and fired the ball. It whispered through the net.

“Someone’s been practicing,” Peter said.

He grabbed the ball. Rick moved in to block his shot. Peter sidestepped, dribbled, and missed a simple lay-up.

They worked up a sweat, and Peter felt better than he had in weeks. But he was winded and too proud to admit it. The kid, on the other hand, was as fresh as he’d been at the start. “Let’s see you put in six in a row.” He stood off to one side and bent forward with his hands braced on his knees.

To his surprise, Rick did not head for the base of the backboard and pace off the distance to the foul line. Instead, he settled into his stance exactly where Peter would have, bounced the ball three times and put one through the net. “Good start.” Peter put his hands together.

Rick grinned as he retrieved the ball. He returned to the foul line, bounced the ball twice, and sank another. He missed the third but put in the next three.

“You’re killing me, Rick. What are you doing, playing every night?”

Rick gave him a knuckle bump as they changed places. “I’m mentoring a few of the freshmen. We play a quick game at noon. ‘Bonding,’ Professor Singh calls it. And if no one else shows up, I shoot foul shots by myself for the half hour.”

“Keep it up, bro.”

Rick smiled at the praise. “Your turn.”

Peter swallowed his anxiety. After retrieving the ball he did a warm-up lap. When he settled at the foul line and hoisted the ball, it danced around the rim and dropped through the net. The success kept him going. After he made four out of six, they took up the game again.

Winded after ten fast-paced minutes, they cooled down with a few friendly shots from under the rim.

“I notice you don’t pace off the foul line anymore,” Peter said.

“Yeah, that disappeared when I realized I had no control over anything.” Rick chuckled.

“That’s a big change for a guy like you.”

“Had to happen.” Rick shrugged. “Being a control freak is just a waste of energy if you don’t have any control. Know what I mean?”

Peter knew the right answer was to grin and agree, but the kid had just shot an arrow into his Achilles heel. He had no control over Bree, over Gwen, over the past, maybe over anything. He passed the ball to Rick. “School’s going well?”

He listened with half an ear while Rick rattled on about his courses and his research. “I could graduate next December, but I’ll probably roll right into a masters program for another year and a half.”

“You can afford it?” Peter asked.

“I’d get a research assistantship and live cheap, like I do now, probably intern at a couple of companies so I have a good basis for choosing a job.”

“Weren’t you thinking about a Ph.D.?”

“I’m still considering it. Either way I’d need the masters. I have time to decide.”

“How does Haley feel about it?”

“About . . .”

Peter stood up straight and tucked the ball under his arm. “I guess I’m asking about her plans. They got derailed by this pregnancy, and I want to know if she’s getting back on her feet.”

“She’s changed, just like I have. I mean she’s still planning to get her undergraduate degree in botany, but she’s turning more to her art. It makes her happy. She has a studio set up at Gwen’s.

“Haley and I were a lot alike at the beginning of college. We focused on one option that we believed would get us through and land a halfway decent job. I was lucky to have a mentor at RPI who pushed me to try different options. Gwen has encouraged Haley to get out and talk to people about their jobs and what they recommend for someone with her talents and interests. I’m mostly standing on the sidelines encouraging her.”

“She didn’t get much from her folks,” Peter mumbled.

“No, and they stopped paying her tuition. I guess it’s okay to tell you the Hahns awarded her money for tuition. Gwen has picked up everything else. Haley’s still trying to figure out the next right thing for her, but I know she’s going to be okay.”

“She’s got a lot going for her.”

“She does. She’s wicked smart. Not logical like an engineer, but put her around plants and she’s on top of thousands of details. She knows everything about flowers, fruits, and vegetables. And she’s a very talented graphic artist.

“Gwen’s the one that helped her deal with this pregnancy, not Haley’s mother or her father. Haley’s dad is an alcoholic, too, just like Gwen and probably Haley, too.”

Peter didn’t want to hear him talk about Haley as an alcoholic. She was nineteen and had gotten pregnant one night when she’d had too much to drink. Big deal. He slammed the ball into the pavement. Rick jumped. The ball bounced high above their heads. Peter caught it in one hand.

Rick kept talking. “Haley’s dad has cleaned up his act now, but he was a terrible father when Haley was a child. And Haley’s mother is in her own, sick world. Haley is lucky to have Gwen in her life. They’re like mother and daughter.”

Peter held on to the ball.
What’s the agenda: Gwen the saint or Haley the teenage alcoholic?
He turned to confront Rick. “Why the fuck are you calling Haley an alcoholic? I thought you said she doesn’t drink and the one night when she drank all the eggnog and got pregnant was almost a fluke.”

Rick rose to his full height, so his gray eyes were even with Peter’s. With a calm voice, he replied, “Haley says, based on her experience that night and a few other times before that, she can’t drink safely. Why would I question that?”

Peter’s jaw clenched with anger. When Rick didn’t back down, he lowered his gaze to the cracks in the surface of the basketball court. He bounced the ball twice and then captured it under his arm. “So, what, Haley’s going to AA now?”

“Yeah, she really likes the meetings in Tompkins Falls. She’s been working on the twelve steps with another young woman. She feels better about herself. I like seeing the changes in her since summer. She’s confident, and she laughs a lot more.” He laughed softly. “To be honest, I’m falling in love with her all over again.”

Peter hoped that was the end of the AA talk. “You going to get married?”

“We both want to finish school before we make another major commitment. That’s at least a couple of years out. I still help with her business, and we’re planning a kayaking trip in the Adirondacks next summer.”

“Sounds good, man. I wish you well.” Peter figured the next topic would be him getting back together with Gwen.

“Thanks. What about you? What are you planning for the new year?”

Peter snorted. “I don’t know.” He glanced at the cloud cover and felt himself tear up. “Regroup, I guess.”

Rick nodded but didn’t comment.

Peter shivered and gestured toward Lakeside Terrace. “I probably need a hot shower and some supper before my shift tonight. Listen, I’m glad you called. It was good to be back on the court. I gave up the team, and this is the first I’ve shot baskets in a while.”

Rick blinked with concern.

Peter had said more than he intended. “Listen, say hi to Haley for me.”

“Sure.” Rick opened his hands as if he’d given up. “Good to see you, Peter.” He walked off the court and held the gate open for Peter, but closed it when he saw that Peter was not behind him.

Peter listened for the rattle of Rick’s old car. Instead, a black hybrid rolled silently down Lakeside Terrace. When it turned right onto the highway, he walked to the imaginary foul line and fired toward the net. The ball bounced from one side of the rim to the other and flopped to the court.

Gwen had just started down the stairs when she heard the kitchen door shut. She walked quietly down the remaining steps.

“Where did you go?” Haley’s voice carried up to her.

“Just out,” Rick hedged. “I picked up some of that bread you like.” The loaf smacked on the counter.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“I shot a few baskets.”

“Did you see Peter?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact.”

“How’s he doing? Did he ask about Gwen?”

“He asked about you and the baby, and he wanted me to say hi.”

“So . . . what did you guys talk about?”

Gwen hung back in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Besides you?” Rick grinned and kissed Haley. When he tried to hug her, she pushed him away playfully and held her nose.

“I need a shower, I know. We talked about guy stuff. Mainly we shot baskets. Did you know he quit the team?”

“No,” Gwen gasped. “The team meant everything to him.”

“Uh . . .” Rick turned toward her, his eyes narrow with guilt. “Sorry, Gwen, I shouldn’t have called him, I know. But I like Peter, and I wanted to know how he is and to shoot some baskets, if he was around.”

“I don’t mind you calling Peter and shooting baskets with him, but from that guilty look on your face, I’m thinking you were trying to get me and Peter back together.”

Rick hung his head. Haley slid off her stool and stood beside him with her arm around his waist. “We both love you, Gwen.”

“And I love you both, too.” Anger boiled in her chest. “But do not—Do Not—”

“I own this, Gwen.” Rick’s cheeks flamed. “If you want me to leave . . .”

“No,” Haley shouted.

“Haley,” Rick cautioned her. He came over to Gwen and said quietly, “I was wrong, and I apologize. I think you and Peter are right for each other, and I wanted to give it a shot.”

Gwen relented and asked, “How is he, really?”

“He’s a mess. When I asked him his plans for the new year, he had tears in his eyes and said he was probably just going to regroup. I think he’s really hurting. He didn’t say why he quit the team, but it can’t be good.”

“No, I’m sure it’s not.”

“So, I’m praying for him.”

Gwen glanced at him and averted her eyes when she saw the depth of his concern. “I think that’s all we can do,” she agreed.

“So, it’s okay if I stay? I won’t interfere again, I promise.”

Gwen hugged him. “Go get that shower. If you need some exercise later, I want you to help me bring down Dad’s old leather chair from the attic.”

“You got it.” He pounded up the stairs.

Gwen raised her eyebrows at Haley.

“I knew nothing about it until right now.” She picked up a recipe card from the island. “So, is this the old English recipe we’re making for supper?”

Gwen busied herself filling the teakettle. Haley watched in silence, except to flick the edge of the recipe card with one finger.

“The recipe is nothing special,” Gwen answered as she smacked the kettle down on the stove. “Lorraine and I ate in a pub one night, and I loved the stew, so I pumped them about the ingredients. Turns out they use lamb, whole cloves and bay leaf. Plus the usual.”

“What’s the usual? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Gwen chose fresh produce from of the refrigerator and tossed it on the counter next to the stove. “Root vegetables—potatoes, carrots, parsnips. And, he didn’t say, but they added kale or spinach or something, so I got a bag of chopped kale, too.” She surveyed the ingredients and returned for the package of lamb.

“Sounds healthy.”

“And delicious.” Gwen crossed the room and stretched for the Dutch oven on a high shelf in the pantry.

“Can I help?”

“Want to be the chef, and I’ll coach?”

“No, I want you be the chef, and I’ll chop and fetch and stir.”

“Sounds great.” Gwen managed a laugh.

“You’re still mad, aren’t you?” Haley probed.

“I’m upset at what Rick said. That Peter quit the team. It’s a really bad sign. I’m scared for him.”

For three days after his workout with Rick, Peter debated moving back to Syracuse. He had always felt like he belonged in Syracuse. He’d been trying his best for six months to fit in here, but he was stymied.

Somehow, he’d scored the perfect bachelor pad in Tompkins Falls, but now he had no one to share it with. He’d thrown away his relationship with Gwen because he hated drunks. He’d screwed up with the team because he hated drunks. And he’d driven Bree away with his bitterness about how much he hated drunks. Sam was right about it being a poison.

I’ll give Hank a call and sound him out
. Peter glanced at the clock. It was already ten o’clock, too close to his shift.
Tomorrow. He’ll give me the straight story about possibly rejoining the force
.

He stretched his arms overhead and laughed in surprise. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d done that in his own house, regardless of where he lived. In his childhood home, the rooms had been just seven feet high, and the day came—long before he reached his full height—that he could touch the ceiling. He’d never measured, but the ceilings in the Lakeside Terrace apartment looked more like nine or ten feet.
Room to grow
. He frowned at the rogue thought.
Yeah, like anyone can grow after they hit adulthood
.

Another thought intruded.
I still think about drunks the way I did when I lived there, too, back in the old neighborhood
. Not everyone thought the same way. Joel Cushman was a sober drunk, and he was one of the most respected people in Tompkins Falls. With good reason.
Even I respect Joel.
He reflected for a moment. Not all drunks were the same.