My Way Home (St.Gabriel Series Book 1) (St. Gabriel Series) (13 page)

The other addiction I indulged in? Every afternoon I walked the outer loop of the island to wander around The Lake Lodge, and then I sat on the beach until the sun set. It’s past nine o’clock at night when the sun disappears behind the watery horizon of St. Gabriel in the summer.

Being so far north, the island days are long, and the sunsets are big like nothing I’ve seen anywhere else. The edges of the orangey-yellow glow are blurry, fuzzy. You feel like if you backed up a few miles, you might be able to get it into focus. As it sets, the warm hues melt into the cool blue of the water, creating a pool of wet color ready to be picked up, brushed, and blended.

After I left the park, I set out on my daily trek. I was about a mile from my destination, The Lake Lodge, and I hadn’t seen a biker, buggy, or another pedestrian for a good two miles. A light mist of St. Gabriel fog had crept in from the water and was hovering over the road. The only sound, other than my own footsteps, was a buoy bell off shore. The day had come in with a cool snap, warmed to a summer balm, rained a little, and then had become a scene from a Hitchcock film that was oddly comforting. I loved it all.

The humidity moistened my skin and sweat was accumulating under my bra, a feeling that can drive me completely mad in a few short minutes. I wanted to rip off my clothes, streak down to the lake and dive in. But I did the next best thing, the Houdini Strip Tease: taking a bra off without removing any other clothing. It takes skill, but I’ve had some practice.

Just as I had my right bra strap down, almost to my right wrist, and was caught in a kind of sling, someone came running around the corner. I was hoping the fog would create enough of a cloak that the person would run by me without noticing my current state of dress, or undress as it was, which thankfully they did.

But then, from behind me I heard, “Cammy?”

I spun around and peered at the figure that was moving out of the fog toward me. It was James Alexander from the restaurant.

“I thought you’d left.”

“No, I decided to stay a few more days.”

“What are you doing?”

“Walking.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine.”

“You’re standing… lopsided.”

“I was just… I was getting warm and…. well… sweaty… and I was. I was taking my bra off. I can’t stand the way it feels when I’m sweating underneath it. It makes me feel claustrophobic.”

His face broke into a huge grin. “I’ll turn around and you can finish.”

When he turned, I had the idea to run down the road in the other direction or up the side of the hill, which was the start of a mini debate with me, myself and I. You know the ones, when with super-human speed, scenarios, choices, and consequences run through your brain lightning fast.

Should I run, or should I try to get my bra back on, or should I finish the deed? Running was ruled out first. The fog was too thick. I envisioned myself sprinting straight off a cliff or beaning my head against a tree limb. I was not going to get the bra back on without a great deal of squirming and tugging, so the decision was made.

I pulled the loosened strap over my hand, slid the other strap off my left shoulder, arm, and hand and then yanked the whole thing through one shirt sleeve. With the momentum, I whipped the bra out in front of me and snapped James in the behind. He jumped.

I winced. “Sorry.”

“Does that mean you’re done?” he asked with a chuckle.

“No, not quite.” Quickly, I rolled my bra into a ball and tried to shove it into the pocket of my jacket that was still tied around my waist. I couldn’t find the opening in the bunched-up folds of fabric.

A scene from my past flashed before me—my ninth grade self, frantically picking up tampons that had fallen out of my locker and were rolling around the floor of the hall being kicked, initially without notice, by students bound for their next class.

I finally found the pocket and shoved my bra inside. “Okay, done,” I said.

James turned around, still grinning. Just as he did, I looked down at the front of my t-shirt and saw my nipples standing at attention through the thin, white jersey that was stretched across my chest. I hadn’t realized how thin and sheer that fabric was.

I yanked my jacket from my waist and turned around while I slid into it, and then I zipped it up to my forehead. This, of course, could not be done without my bra falling out of my pocket and onto the road that was wet with the afternoon rain and bits of all that the horses had left.

Defeat washed over me as I stared at the pretty white lace underwire that lay there helplessly exposed, spatters of poop soup spotted over the cups.

I looked up at James, a grown man who had certainly seen a bra before. Clearly his incessant grin had nothing to do with the lingerie lying on the road but rather with the clown that had been wearing it.

I bent down, picked up my bra, and gave it a shake, which sent a few small stones flying at James who dodged them. Then I folded it neatly and tucked it back in my pocket.

He tried to bury a smirk but it was there. I could see it.

James asked, “Are you going back to town? I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You were going the other way and running. I’m walking.”

“Yes, you told me. I’ve already had a good run in. A cool down will be good.”

I wanted to be alone. I wanted to visit the lodge and watch my sunset. I was still married, technically, and I didn’t want to be one of those women who went from one man to another. Not that this man was asking. I began walking and James walked with me, right into a cloud of bugs, and I felt one hit my eyeball.

“Ow.”

“What?” James asked.

“Something just dive-bombed into my eye.”

“Are you okay?”

I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyelid. “It’s gone. I’m fine.”

James looked down at me. “No, it’s not. It’s splatted across the white of your eyeball, flat out like it’s making a snow angel.”

“It can’t be. I don’t even feel it.”

“Here, let me get it.”

James reached forward and I stepped back.

“No, that’s okay, I’ve got it.” I spread my eyelid and realized I didn’t even know where to probe. “Where is it?”

Again James leaned in and again I stepped back. I was wishing he’d just disappear.

He stood up straight, tucked his hands in his shorts pockets, and with a smile he said, “It’s on the outside corner… of your right eye.”

I touched my eyeball with my finger and looked back at him with wide eyes.

“From over here, it looks like it’s definitely still there.”

I tried again.

“Still there.”

“It’ll be fine until I get back to my room.” I continued down the road at a quick pace and rambled on about what I had done that day.

After a few minutes James interrupted me and asked, “How can you not feel that? It’s really kind of gross.”

“I can’t feel it. Are you sure it’s there? I don’t feel anything.”

“Actually, I’m lying because I’m an eyeball man, you see. I have a thing for eyeballs, especially touching them.” He stopped walking. “Let me just get it out. I’m not going to try to kiss you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He was a few feet behind me when I stopped and turned to face him. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“No, I wasn’t thinking that. Why would I think that? Okay, get it out.” I walked back to where he was standing and looked up at him.

James lifted my chin, gently held my eye open, and extracted the bug. Then he held up the tip of his finger and said, “See, it was all on the up and up.”

I looked up into his big brown eyes and said, “Thanks, maybe you can be trusted.” I smiled and felt myself blushing.

I am an eye gal and a smile gal. And James Alexander has great eyes and a weak-in-your-knees smile. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I wanted him to kiss me, but he didn’t. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets and continued down the road. I followed. We walked and talked, although I can’t remember about what.

Between the trees I could see the sun was glowing orange and fuzzy over the water. It hadn’t quite touched the horizon line yet, my favorite part. Just as my thoughts were lamenting that I was going to miss it, James asked, “Would you like to walk down to the beach and watch the sunset?”

“Yes, I want to watch the sunset.”

We wound our way around the trees and sat silently on the shore. When only a sliver of the sun was still visible, James asked, “How long were you married?”

“I’m still married, but when my husband left we’d been married for twenty-five years and six months.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It didn’t feel like it.”

“You don’t want a divorce?”

“No, but I’m adjusting to the reality of it. I was happy. I thought my husband was too. But now, looking back I can see how he tried to tell me he wasn’t. I wasn’t listening. I think he could have tried harder though. And besides, what does being happy have to do with marriage anyway?” I forced a laugh. “So how about you?”

“Like Gary said, I’m in the middle of a pretty messy divorce. Since my business is their business, my family has a vested interest in who gets what. It’s really my wife versus Alexander Incorporated. If it was up to me, I would have walked away a long time ago, let her have it all. I don’t even show up to the ongoing negotiations.”

“How long has it been?”

“Over two years.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I know, ludicrous.”

“Why did it end, your marriage?”

“I don’t know that it ever started.”

“You were never happy?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember being happy in my marriage, ever.”

“So, why did you stay?”

“When we got married, Laura, my wife, was pregnant with our oldest son. I was committed to staying in it. I told myself the grass wasn’t greener. Marriage is tough. If I couldn’t make it work, I couldn’t make any marriage work. So, I stayed. Didn’t really try, but I stayed, pretty honorable, huh?”

“So, what finally brought about your divorce?”

“Our kids asked us to call it quits.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, sixteen, eighteen and twenty at the time, and they sat their mom and me down one night and told us, enough already. Put everyone out of their misery and get a divorce. You know what my biggest regret is? That I didn’t work on my marriage for my kids. What a life they’ve had. Every material possession they could ever ask for but not a home filled with love and peace. I’m so ashamed that I thought just staying together was enough. What thinking human being could believe that? For twenty years I was in a daze. I didn’t think.”

Tears filled James’ eyes.

“Is it too late, to work on it?” I asked.

“Over two decades of beating each other up doesn’t leave a lot to work with, and Laura’s moved on.”

“Someone else?”

James nodded.

What a club, the walking wounded. My neighbor Lillian had told me about a divorce support group that met at the Community Church. She thought I should try it and maybe I should have. After talking to James that night, I didn’t feel so alone.

“Are you really thinking about buying The Lake Lodge?” James asked me.

“Yes, maybe, I don’t know. I love it. I love the island. I have for over twenty years.”

“You’ve been coming here for twenty years?”

“No, this is the first time I’ve actually been to the island. A picture was all it took though, and now I know why. I probably sound like a nut, but there’s something about this place that makes me feel safe, calm, and just really right. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do. I’ve always loved the island. I spent most of my summers here growing up. I wanted to raise my kids here but Laura thought Chicago would give them the schools and opportunities they should have.”

“Do you feel it, then, a kind of connection?”

“Yes.”

I wanted to reach over and take his hand, not in a romantic way. I just wanted to comfort him, to be comforted. But I kept both hands tightly clasped around my knees.

When the last of the golden sliver slipped away behind the water, we both got up and walked back into town. Without a word, we walked until we were standing in the front of the bakery, and James asked, “When do you leave?”

“Sunday.”

“I’m having my weekly poker game with my mom and some friends tomorrow night. It’s a friendly game, quarter ante. You want to join us?”

“Your mom, really?”

“She’s quite a card player.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“We start at seven.”

“I’m not much of a card player. Not poker anyway. I’m going to pass, but thanks.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe. Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Cammy.”

Take the Risk

Gabriel Park is ten acres of grass, sugar maples, and flowering shrubs—mock orange, lilacs, and dogwoods, to name a few. A century-old gazebo is posted at the corner where the park meets Main Street and Fort Hill. There is no playground equipment, but a three-tiered fountain bubbles in the middle of it all.