The Summer He Came Home Read online

  Chapter 25

  Maggie dried the last of the supper dishes and put them away. She placed the damp dish towel over the drying rack and glanced around her small kitchen. A crystal vase of purple tulips so dark they appeared black stared back at her from the table. They’d been a gift from Cain.

  The table had been set for two tonight—the first time in the last several nights. She hadn’t heard a word from him since he left this morning, but maybe it was for the best.

  She sighed and glanced down the hall toward the bathroom. The shower had stopped. “Michael, make sure you brush your teeth. I left clean pajamas on your bed.”

  His answer was muffled, and from the sound of it, his mouth was full of toothpaste. She wandered into the living room, tossed a magazine into the rack beside the sofa, and stared out the window. The sun was still bright, even though it was nearing nine in the evening.

  She spied Luke out front, bringing his garbage cans back in from the road, and swore under her breath. “Dammit!” She’d been in a daze this morning and had forgotten to put hers out. She wrinkled her nose. With this heat, her little shed out back was going to smell. Huge.

  “All done, Mom.”

  Maggie turned and walked over to her son, doing the inspection dance as she checked behind his ears, sniffed his hair, and eyed his fingernails. He giggled. “Do I pass?”

  She brushed his damp hair back and kissed his forehead. “With flying colors. Good job, sir.” Maggie gave him a hug. “Twenty minutes and then bed, all right?”

  He nodded and plunked himself on the sofa. “Mom?”

  Here it comes. Maggie’s gut tightened. “Hm?”

  “How come Cain didn’t come for supper? He loves your cucumber salad.”

  She pasted a smile to her face and shrugged. “He was busy, honey. He had to go and pick up a musician friend of his.” She watched his face closely. Her son was smart and didn’t miss much.

  “Dax Jones?”

  “Yes, I think that’s his name.”

  “Cain told me he’s from across the pond and that he speaks funny.” His forehead furled. “Like David Beckham.”

  “He’s British, sweetie, so yes, he’ll have an accent.”

  “Oh.” He shifted a bit. “Did I tell you Cain asked me to play with him in the charity football game? It’s supposed to be father and son, but”—Michael shrugged—“he said it didn’t matter. We’re going to be on the same team with Tommy and his dad.”

  “Yes, I think you mentioned that a couple hundred times.”

  As one of the fundraiser events, a charity football game had been organized, with a host of alumni and their children. It was to take place in the afternoon on the Fourth, just after the parade.

  “Tommy’s dad said that Cain was a really good football player, like he could have gone to the NFL and everything!”

  “Really,” she murmured, sliding onto the sofa beside him.

  “Yep.” Michael nodded. “Tommy’s dad said Cain has the Midas touch, whatever that is, and that he’s one lucky son of a—” Her son’s face froze, and then he giggled. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said drily.

  “So”—Michael bit his lip—“is he, like, your boyfriend?”

  Okay, she hadn’t been expecting that. For a second Maggie was speechless, and though her first instinct was absolute denial, she watched her son closely and spoke, deciding honesty would be the best bet.

  “I’m not sure. Would it be weird if he kinda was?”

  Michael’s face screwed up. “Weird? No”—he shook his head—“Richard Masterson’s mom has three of ’em.”

  “Three?” She blinked, thinking she’d heard him wrong. He was quite serious, though, and nodded, his damp curls bobbing against his forehead.

  “Yep, but it’s supposed to be a secret, because one of them is married to another lady.”

  All right then. Maggie tousled his hair. “Well, you’d better keep that to yourself. Time for bed.”

  Michael gave her a hug, and she held his body close. She didn’t want to let him go, and when he began to squirm, her arms fell away reluctantly. “You want a story?”

  His tired eyes brightened. “‘Cozy Land’?”

  Maggie grinned and nodded as he slipped from her arms and dashed toward his room. Cozy Land was a magical place that little boys and girls went to just before Sandman grabbed them and pulled them into slumber.

  A child could be anywhere in the world…or be anything. In a pirate boat out on the Caribbean Sea. A whale rider off the coast of Australia. A tea party on a bank of clouds. Every night in Cozy Land was different. It was a product of her imagination and had grown as her stories evolved. So much so that she’d started to write them down and draw accompanying illustrations.

  Michael loved the stories, and it was her secret ambition to get them published one day. Just one dream in a long line of yearnings.

  That would be her Cozy Land.

  Maggie followed him to bed, and they snuggled together for almost forty-five minutes until his head bobbed forward and didn’t recover. She would tell him the rest of his Cozy Land adventure the next night. She was pretty sure he’d want to know what happened after the tree house in the Amazon rain forest had begun to float into the air.

  She tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead before closing the door to his room.

  The quiet of her home was deafening, something she hadn’t noticed for a while. She wasn’t in the mood for television, and even the thought of writing or drawing didn’t excite her. She was out of sorts. Restless.

  She closed her eyes and reached for the throw blanket. God, she felt like a dark cloud was hanging over her.

  Maybe it was just a cloud of self-pity. Or maybe she just missed Cain.

  Maggie rested her head back and closed her eyes. She’d never been in an adult relationship before. Her marriage didn’t count. That relationship had been unhealthy. The only good thing that had come out of it was Michael. So the notion of give-and-take was a little foreign to her. She understood Cain’s frustration with her, but it wasn’t easy for her to open up.

  No one knew the details of her marriage, of her life…of the many disappointments and losses she’d endured. Some of them had speculated. Lauren and Raine certainly knew her past wasn’t all puppies and rainbows. But they didn’t know.

  Did Cain deserve that sort of trust? She’d let him into her home, into her bed, so why was it so hard for her to open up to him?

  What was the point? That was the real question.

  Maggie sank into the sofa and tried to find some warmth. She’d never be free of her past, and she knew she should break it off with Cain before things became more complicated than they already were.

  She must have dozed off, because when she woke later, her house was in darkness. She stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, groaning softly as her stiff muscles protested. A soft knock sounded at her door, and she froze.

  It was Cain. She knew it.

  Her body shifted inside; it felt like a dose of shock therapy had been discharged. She was all kinds of excited, sick, and scared—at the same time. This was her body’s reaction to Cain. It was like radar, only instead of producing a blip, she got nauseous.

  Her heart pounded so hard, a wash of heat rushed over her skin, but she tossed the blanket aside and crossed to the door. She opened it before she had the chance to chicken out.

  Cain stared down at her in silence. He filled the space around her, and though he hadn’t even touched her yet, she felt him like a physical force.

  “Maggie, I…”

  She didn’t let him finish. Her arms were around him, and her lips reached for his. Searching, seeking his warmth and strength…his soul. She didn’t care about anything other than the man in front of her. She kissed him as if she was starving. As if he was the only thing that could save her.

  His hands slid down her body, and he hugged her to him, murmuring words into her ear, though honestly, sh
e had no clue what he was saying. All she knew for sure was that the anxiety and fear that had settled into her body for the day were gone.

  Seconds later, or maybe it was minutes, he gently pushed her inside and closed the door behind them.

  “I meant to call earlier, but I got hung up with Dax. I’m sorry.” Cain exhaled. “After the way things were left this morning, I didn’t want you to think…” His dark eyes shone. “I didn’t want you to think that I wasn’t coming back.”

  Her heart constricted. This morning he’d promised they’d finish their conversation. “Cain, I don’t want to fight.”

  His hand caressed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch like a flower seeking the sun. “I don’t either. I just need to be with you.” He shrugged. “I can’t explain it any other way.” His hands crept around her waist. “This must be what a junkie feels like when they’re jonesing for a hit. You’re my drug of choice, Maggie.”

  Cain lifted her with ease and sank onto the sofa with Maggie across his lap. She rested her head against his chest, listened to the heavy beat of his heart, and for the first time all day felt peace.

  ***

  Cain drank in her scent, her softness, and her surrender.

  He’d had one hell of a day. Anything that could have gone wrong did. As soon as he returned to the cottage with Dax, he’d been called to the football field because his input was needed on how the stage was to be built. Planning something on this scale should have been easy, but in a small town, nothing ever was. Too many hands in the pot led to wasted time. In the end, he’d called Mac, and the job was finalized.

  Though that had led to discussions about production—sound equipment and lights—and he’d driven nearly fifty miles to the closest city in order to make sure the proper gear was reserved for the Fourth. He’d lucked out and had been able to finagle Pat Rossi—a guy he’d worked with in the past—to do sound and lights, and only had to throw in an extra case of beer to seal the deal.

  He’d hightailed it back to Crystal Lake and had come straight here, anxious because he hadn’t been able to call Maggie. His cell had died, and his charger was nowhere to be found.

  Cain kept her close, his hand caressing her cheek. He loved the small upturn in her nose, the way she leaned into his touch. His arms tightened around her, and his chest constricted something fierce. This little firecracker had come to mean a lot to him in the past few weeks. What was he doing? His arms tightened, his breathing quickened.

  “Her name was Rose.”

  “Sorry?” he murmured.

  “My mother.” Maggie pulled away and glanced up at him, her blue eyes shadowed and sad. “Her name was Rose,” she whispered.

  Chapter 26

  “Maggie, we don’t have to…”

  A long shuddering breath escaped her lips as she nodded. “Yes. We do.” She paused and nodded. “I do.”

  Her eyes misted, and a sad smile tugged at her mouth. Maggie fingered a long strand of her hair, twirling it slowly as she lay in his arm. “She had dark red hair just like mine.” Her brow furled briefly as if she was remembering. “Maybe a bit lighter, but it was beautiful, and her skin was the color of alabaster.” Cain stilled, nestled his head into the crook of her neck as she continued.

  “She had freckles. Lots of freckles. She didn’t care for them, I remember that. She used to put this special lotion on her face and arms every night. Something she bought from the Avon lady. It was in a green container that she kept by her bed, and I remember the writing was pink. I think she thought the cream made her freckles less visible. My dad called them magic bits of fairy dust.” A soft sigh escaped her lips as she settled into his arms. “I used to trace them with my finger. She thought I was crazy because I loved them.”

  “She sounds beautiful.”

  “She was. Everyone loved her.” Maggie closed her eyes and smiled. “She laughed a lot and loved to dance. We’d crank the stereo and twirl around the living room to her favorite bands, like Pink Floyd and Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

  “The classics.”

  “Yes. Being from the South, my dad was kind of horrified she wasn’t all bluegrass and stuff, but Skynyrd was about as country as she got.”

  Maggie shivered in his arms, and he ran his hands along her shoulders, keeping her close to him.

  “‘Free Bird.’”

  He barely heard the words, and when she began to sing, goose bumps erupted along his skin.

  “‘If I leave here tomorrow’”—she inhaled and continued, her voice tremulous—“‘would you still remember me?’”

  Cain’s chest tightened with an unfamiliar feeling, and suddenly he knew where this was going.

  “She died when I was fourteen. Cancer.”

  “Babe, I’m sorry.” Cain heard the pain in her voice.

  “Me too,” she whispered. “It was cervical, and at first we thought she’d be all right, ya know? It was scary, all her treatments. The chemo and radiation, and then she had surgery. But she got better.” Her fingers traced circles along his arm, and for a few seconds there was silence. “She got better,” she whispered fiercely.

  Cain was quiet. Hell, he didn’t know what to say, but he figured she didn’t want that. She needed him to listen.

  “We had one more summer.” Maggie blew out a long breath and rested her head back against his chest. “She gained her weight back, and her hair grew into this really cute pixie cut. Mom tried to cram so much into that summer, I remember being kind of resentful. There were times she wanted to do stuff and I…I ditched her.” A long shuddering breath fell from her lips. “I ditched her,” she whispered painfully. “I wanted to chill, to hang with my friends. I mean, my mom was better, she wasn’t dying anymore…it was all good.”

  She paused, and his heart broke for the little girl that she’d been.

  Maggie shook her head slowly. “Except it wasn’t. The cancer came back in the fall, and it was meaner, stronger, than before. It had spread to her bones, and she went downhill so fast. I tried to help her the best that I could. I’d sit on the sofa and hold her puke bowl when she was sick, arrange her pillows so she was comfortable. I’d dress her, wash her and…when we were alone I’d crank her tunes, and we’d sing them at the top of our lungs like two crazy people.”

  “Oh shit, Maggie.” She was crying now, tears flowing down her face, falling like drops of rain onto his arms.

  A few moments passed, and she cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “She passed a week before Christmas, and when she died she took my dad with her.”

  “What do you mean?” Cain was puzzled.

  “My father disappeared. He stopped living. He started drinking, and after a while he just gave up on everything. His job, his friends. Me.” She paused. “He hated me.”

  What the hell?

  “Why would he hate you? That doesn’t make sense.”

  She bit her lip and fingered the edge of a throw blanket. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. “He told me once when he was drunk that he couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

  “Oh babe, that’s rough, but I’m sure he didn’t mean it. People say a lot of stupid things when they’re in pain. Throw alcohol into the mix, and it’s ten times worse.”

  She nodded. “I know he didn’t mean them, not really. But they hurt. Really hurt. He was broken, you know, and I…I was a constant reminder of why. Every time he looked at me, he saw her, and it must have killed him.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Maggie, we don’t have to…you don’t have to do this.”

  She turned in his arms, and he was struck silent at the fragile beauty that he held, though really, he knew that was a smoke screen. Cain believed that Maggie O’Rourke was the strongest person he’d ever met.

  “At first we just learned to live without communicating all that much. I threw myself into school, and he drank his way to the bottom of every bottle he came across. When we lost the house and moved into an apartment, I thought my life had bottomed out.” She shook her
head. “I was wrong. He lost his job and started drinking his way through whatever money we had. I tried to help out…got a job waitressing, but it wasn’t enough, and besides, the more money I brought into the house, the more he drank. When I was sixteen he told me to go. To leave and not to come back. He said I could apply for social assistance like all the other welfare girls did and get my own place on ‘baby alley,’ which is where a lot of young mothers lived.”

  Something cold thrust its way inside him—anger for this faceless man who’d abandoned his child like garbage.

  “What did you do?”

  Her eyes were puffy, her skin blotchy, from crying. “I left,” she whispered. “And I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Christ, Maggie. I had no idea.”

  “Oh God, I’ve never”—she shuddered—“I’ve never shared this with anyone, not even…”

  “Who?”

  “Michael’s father,” she whispered.

  Cain waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. He was surprised at how disappointed he was that she didn’t trust him enough to share everything. She closed her eyes and he held her.

  Later, much later, he heard her whisper, “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” His fingers pushed a long strand of hair off her wet, heated face.

  “It feels good to be free of that secret.”

  Cain carried Maggie back to her room and slid into bed with her. She turned on her side and settled her body against his. He held her for a very long time, listening to her breathe, and was nearly asleep himself when she murmured, “Green.”

  “What was that, babe?”

  “My favorite color is green.”

  With that heartfelt admission, he was a goner. In that moment he knew there was no one else for him but Maggie. She’d claimed his heart without even trying.

  He inhaled her scent and kept her close.

  There was still a ways for them to go. Her trust was a fragile thing. Maggie was holding back. There was the whole question about Michael’s father. He knew about the violence but nothing else. Where was the guy? Had they been married? Were they divorced?