The Summer Hideaway Read online

  Now that Ross knew about the polio, he saw his grandfather in a different light. Granddad had endured a devastating disease. One that had changed him forever. Yet he had gone on to a good life. Ross hoped to persuade him to put up a new fight now. Maybe seeing his brother would motivate him.

  “I can’t thank you enough for arranging this, son. It means the world to me,” said Granddad.

  “More than happy to do it. You know that.”

  “Did you like him? And Jane?”

  “They were surprised when they met me. But…cordial. I liked them well enough. For strangers, that is.”

  “Did they tell you anything about…the past?” Granddad sounded tense.

  “No. It’s between the two of you,” Ross said. “You can tell me or not. It’s up to you.”

  “Maybe my foolishness will be a reminder to others not to let something like this happen.”

  “Since I’m an only child, it’s not likely,” Ross said jokingly.

  “You have your stepbrother and stepsister,” Granddad pointed out.

  “Good old Donnie and Denise. How could I forget?”

  “Ross—”

  “Don’t worry, Granddad. I get along fine with them.”

  “I wish I’d been so sensible, back when all this happened.”

  “All what?” Ross held out a dress shirt.

  George threaded his arms into the shirt. “It was a volatile time for both of us, our college days. We were rivals, competing over everything from grades to club memberships.”

  “That’s what brothers do. But they don’t usually quit communicating for fifty years because of it.”

  “I confess, the rivalry went deeper than that.”

  “Obviously. What was it? I don’t get it,” said Ross.

  Granddad hesitated, then picked up a silver cuff link. “I didn’t approve of the girl he married.”

  “Jane.”

  “That’s correct. I made no secret of my disapproval. I know it sounds impossibly snobbish in this day and age, but…things were different back then. A person’s background used to matter more. I like to think I didn’t consider our family superior to Jane’s, just different. The Gordons were farmers and the owners of Camp Kioga. They didn’t get rich doing it, and Jane did domestic work. All those years ago, she worked as a housekeeper in New Haven. Charles and I were students at Yale. The contrast was quite pronounced. And then when Charles announced his intent to marry her, well, our parents were beside themselves. She was definitely not their idea of a proper daughter-in-law. It made for an extremely tense time. Extremely tense.”

  A tremor started in his hand, and Ross had to help him with the other cuff link. “You were a product of your time,” he said, determined not to judge his grandfather.

  “I’m not proud of the way I was back in those days. I held on to my righteous indignation, and Charles married Jane. After that, we just…stayed apart. Each of us went on with our lives. I moved to Paris, married your grandmother. We both had families, careers, busy lives. One year, when the children were little, our parents invited Jackie, me and the boys on a ski holiday in Gstaad, Switzerland. In a magnanimous moment, they invited Charles and Jane and their kids, as well. But by then, Charles was serving in Vietnam. And of course, Jane declined. Your grandmother and I didn’t go, either. I couldn’t get away from the paper and Jackie was drowning in little boys, as she liked to put it. My parents ended up going on their own. Then we received word at the Trib about a devastating accident on the aerial ropeway to Les Diablerets Glacier. A cable had snapped. The tram car, crammed with eighty passengers, plunged a hundred meters.” He paused, shuddering a little.

  Ross had heard the story, growing up, but the incident had always seemed distant and unreal. He wasn’t sure why that was. Losing his own father in a single moment of violence had turned the world upside down. Granddad’s loss had been just as hard. Perhaps harder, losing both mother and father in the same instant.

  “It must’ve been a nightmare for you,” he said.

  Granddad nodded. “I should have reached out to Charles then. Under normal circumstances, we would have seen each other, but he wasn’t able to attend the funeral.”

  “Because he was serving in Vietnam.” Ross sensed there was more to the story, much more.

  “Time passed,” his grandfather went on. “It just slipped away. I let it, and I suppose Charles did, as well.”

  Ross studied his grandfather’s face, weathered by the years, his eyes a pale and distant blue. He seemed drained and diminished by the memories as he took out two ties. “Which one, do you think?”

  Ross grinned. His grandfather was like a kid getting ready for a dance. “The stripes, for sure.”

  “Excellent choice.” Granddad turned to the mirror and looped the tie around his neck. “I taught Charles to tie a tie. Our father wasn’t so good at it, with his one arm.”

  “You taught me, too,” Ross reminded him.

  Granddad crossed one end of the tie over the other. “The Windsor knot. The most basic of gentlemanly arts.” He looped the other end through, and then stopped. A frown creased his brow.

  “Granddad?”

  “I just…I don’t know…” He looked flustered, and his left hand trembled. “I’ve done this ten thousand times.”

  Ross tried not to let his worry show. “Let me,” he said, taking his grandfather’s hands. “Please.” Ever so gently, his heart breaking, he tied the tie into a perfect Windsor knot. Then he took his grandfather by the shoulders and turned him toward the mirror. “I love you, Granddad,” he said. “You look like a million bucks.”

  The cottage had been readied by the resort staff, with fresh flowers, dinner and wine. The table was set with three places; Ross and Claire thought it best to have dinner elsewhere. Jane and Charles Bellamy arrived at the appointed time. They looked nervous as they walked through the door. For a moment, all three of them froze. The two brothers stood facing each other, their hesitation painful to watch.

  For no reason he could fathom, Ross took Claire’s hand and held on hard. Jane put a hand on her heart. It rested there lightly, like a bird about to take flight. Charles and George simply stared for several moments.

  Finally Granddad said Charles’s name and they shook hands. The handshake quickly escalated into a hug. The moment they touched, the tension seemed to melt into some other emotion. Ross couldn’t see their faces, but their body language said it all—relief and comfort, cautious joy. After a long moment, they stepped back.

  “I’m glad you came,” said George.

  “Of course I came,” said Charles. He stepped aside and gestured Jane forward.

  Granddad gave her a hug, this one briefer, more stiff. She was clutching a wad of Kleenex. “I came prepared,” she said.

  “You’ve met my grandson,” said George. “And this is Claire.”

  As she greeted them, Claire’s face glowed. She seemed to take true pleasure in the reunion. Ross let go of her hand, having forgotten he was holding on. For the umpteenth time, he wondered if she was for real. Because right now, she seemed too good to be true. She had arranged the dinner perfectly, working with the catering staff to make sure everything was just right. Even the soft music playing in the background was right—a swing era hit from the forties or fifties. She was completely centered on his grandfather’s needs, and had been as nervous as any of them about this reunion. “I’m so glad you could come on short notice,” she said.

  “As am I,” said Granddad. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Jane was already perusing the family pictures he’d placed around the room. “Ah, George. I can’t wait to hear. It’s wonderful, the three of us, together again. The Three Musketeers. That’s what we called ourselves as children,” she explained.

  “Un pour tous, tous pour un,” said Granddad.

  “I think a toast is in order,” Charles added.

  Claire took Ross’s hand again. “We’re out of here, then,” she said.

&nbs
p; Jane beamed at them. “You make a lovely couple, you two.”

  Claire snatched her hand away. “Oh! We’re not…I’m here for George. In fact, he knows how to get in touch with me if he needs anything. I’ve posted my number by the phone, too.”

  “Thank you,” said Charles. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  It was nearly sunset when Claire and Ross left the lake house. She sensed his tension as he walked beside her, then paused to look back at the glowing windows of the cottage.

  “Looks like they’re getting along fine,” she said, knowing he’d been worried.

  As they watched, George poured a glass of wine and turned to offer it to Jane. But Jane didn’t seem to notice; she was turned toward her husband. George stood holding the glass, and even from a distance he looked diminished, somehow.

  Then Charles took the glass from him and handed it to Jane, and they poured two others, raising them in a toast.

  “He forgot how to tie a tie,” Ross said.

  Claire’s heart softened at the sad resignation in his voice. This was one of the hardest things about an illness like George’s. You watched a person fade away, bit by bit. At the end of it all, everything fell away. The only thing left was the love you had in your life.

  She shuddered, realizing when her time came, there would be nothing. Not unless she found a way out of hiding.

  “He’s lucky you were there to help him,” she said gently.

  Ross was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “There’s something my grandfather’s not telling me about the situation between him and his brother.”

  Claire had sensed the same thing, but she’d trained herself to let her patients’ stories unfold in their own time—if at all. “This was a big step.”

  “Let’s go grab something to eat,” he suggested.

  “We could go to the lodge.”

  “I have a better idea,” Ross said, and took out his car keys. “Don’t worry, we won’t go far.”

  His uncanny ability to read her made Claire a little nervous. She wasn’t used to people being able to see inside her. For the most part, people she met didn’t even try; she’d been that successful at making herself anonymous. Ross was different. He was not the sort of person you could hide things from, not for long. This made him uniquely risky to know, yet she was intrigued. Even more so when she saw his car. “A convertible! Can we have the top down?”

  He grinned and tossed her a baseball cap. “That’s the point. Hop in.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “I’m always nice,” he assured her.

  She thought about how they kept butting heads about George’s treatment. And then she remembered the kiss. Yes, he knew how to be nice.

  He pushed a button and the top retracted. He put the car in gear and rolled out of the parking area.

  She didn’t know much about cars, but she could feel the power of the roadster as they rolled out onto the main road.

  Claire wasn’t much of a driver. At sixteen, she’d been taught to drive by her foster father, Vance Jordan. The very man from whom she was hiding now. It was chilling to think about how completely she’d placed her trust in him. Two nights before watching him murder two innocent boys, she had gone for a practice drive with him, shining with pride as he quizzed her about road rules in preparation for her driver’s test.

  She never did take that test, but in time, she’d obtained a license—under her new name, long after the girl she’d been then had ceased to exist. It had taken her a long time to be able to sit in a car next to a man without breaking into a cold sweat.

  Ross Bellamy inspired much different emotions in her—longing and frustration. Affection and yes, lust. None of which were a good idea for someone in her situation. She tucked her hair into the baseball cap and fiddled with the radio, finding a station she liked. It was a perfect night at the leading edge of summer, the air sweet with the cool scent of new growth. They explored the area at twilight, and found an old-fashioned drive-in restaurant, where they ordered root beer floats, burgers and fries to go. Then they headed up to a scenic overlook by the lake, above a wide stretch of water rimmed by sheer rock. Float planes landed here, and there was a long dock where they could tie up. At present there was a toy-size single engine plane moored to the dock.

  Claire shuddered, reminded of Vance Jordan. When she’d gone to live with them, Vance and Teresa had flown her to Pier 8 on the Hudson to celebrate. Back then, he had seemed like the perfect father figure, dashing and confident as he worked the controls.

  She shook off the memory and dipped a long-handled plastic spoon into her cup, scooping up soft ice cream. She hadn’t had a root beer float or a French fry in years, and it felt completely decadent to indulge.

  The moon came up, bathing everything in a bluish glow. “Look at that,” said Ross, leaning back in his seat. “Beautiful. Clair de lune—is that what you’re named after?”

  “No,” she said. She was named after someone who had been deceased for twenty-five years, having appropriated the identity when she went underground. But of course, she couldn’t tell him that.

  “What’s your family like?” he asked. “You never say much about yourself. Where do your parents live? What does your father do?”

  “Abandons his family,” she said. “No, wait. That would mean he stuck around long enough to abandon me and my mom.” She looked away, lowered her head, instantly regretting what she’d just blurted out. The question had caught her off guard. “I don’t really have much in the way of family.”

  She didn’t get asked about the topic. Didn’t let anyone get close enough to ask. “My mother died when I was young. I had a series of foster parents, and have been on my own since…high school.”

  “Damn,” he said softly. “That’s rough, Claire. I had no idea.”

  “I’m all right,” she said, wishing she could say more. She hoped he wouldn’t dig deeper, yet at the same time, a part of her wanted him to. She wanted to tell him everything about herself. The trouble with being in her situation was the constant battle to stay silent about things that truly mattered. “Sorry, but I don’t really like talking about it,” she said. “I didn’t grow up with many opportunities to do things like this. Summers on the lake, sailing and fishing…it’s like a dream.”

  “So how did you spend your summers?” he asked.

  “I watched a lot of TV. My entire understanding of summer camp came from teen slasher movies.”

  “No wonder you like this better.”

  He had no idea. Her mother had been an only child, and had virtually nothing to say about her parents. Claire remembered asking her mother about this once. She’d been in third grade, and had brought home a flyer from school about Grandparents’ Day.

  “Not going to happen, baby girl,” her mother had said, tossing the flyer in the kitchen garbage. “Like I always tell you, your grandparents aren’t around. It’s just you and me against the world.” It was the only explanation Claire would ever get.

  “You don’t talk about yourself much, either,” she said to Ross, determined to deflect further questions.

  “Sure I do.”

  “Liar.”

  “Ask me anything. I’m an open book.”

  “Okay, when you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  He thought for a minute, going back to the kid he’d been. “Everything,” he admitted. “A ski racer, a rock star, a fireman, a Formula One driver, a spy and a rocket scientist.” He paused and added, “An uncle. I really liked my uncles and wanted a bunch of nieces and nephews. It’s tricky, though, when you’re an only child. I tended to be drawn to things that were hard or impossible. Wonder what that says about me.”

  “That you’re a big dreamer,” she said. “It’s no crime.”

  “When I was sixteen years old, my mother sent me to H.E.L.—the Human Engineering Laboratory. I’m sure the irony of the initials completely escaped the folks who ran the facility.”

  Sh
e frowned. “Sounds scary.”

  “It was a program meant to help kids figure out their affinities and aptitudes. They subjected us to a battery of tests, the idea being that if we knew what we were good at, we’d be better prepared to face the Real World.”

  “Did it indicate you’d be a good helicopter pilot?”

  “I honestly don’t remember.” He scooped a bit of ice cream out of his float.

  They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to the chorus of chirping frogs and watching the stars come out. It was incredibly relaxing, sitting with Ross Bellamy, eating a decadent meal and escaping the world, just for a while. “This is a great spot,” she said.

  “Reminds me of the kind of place where people go to park and make out.”

  She nearly choked on a French fry. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Too late. I’ve been having ideas about you all evening.”

  “Bad idea.” She set aside her dinner, her appetite gone. Just once, she would love to explore the suggestion she read in his eyes, indulge the desire that seemed to warm every inch of her.

  “On the contrary, it felt like the best idea I’ve had in a long time. Kissing you—”

  “Shouldn’t have happened. It was unprofessional of me. I’m here for your grandfather and nothing more.”

  “But if something more happens…?”

  “Trust me, it won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we won’t let it. People shouldn’t get emotionally involved in a situation like this. It’s…It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “When does love ever make sense?”

  “Who said anything about love?”

  “I just did.” Ross laughed. “You’re looking at me like I’ve got frogs coming out of my mouth.”

  Claire was inept at flirting, and it never led anywhere good. “Frogs, I can deal with. Flirting, not so much.”

  “Did you know my grandfather picked you because he thought I’d like you?”

  “Nonsense.” Yet she couldn’t help remembering how adamant George had been about Natalie Sweet not being Ross’s girlfriend.