Moonlight on Butternut Lake (30 page)

“Are you sure?” Janet asked.

“I'm sure,” she said, in too much shock to even register the absurdity of this question.

“Oh. Because I could have sworn that that's what he said. That he was your brother,” Janet said, sounding only vaguely disconcerted. “But maybe he said cousin. Or something else. Honestly, I can't remember. Anyway, I had the hardest time finding your file, Mila. It wasn't with the other files. I told your brother—or whoever he was—that I didn't think the agency had placed you with anyone, because I couldn't find any record of you. But he was so insistent. He said he had some family news. He said it was urgent. So I looked again, not in the file cabinet, but in my aunt's desk drawer. The one she keeps locked. And she's never even told me where the key is,” Janet said, a little petulantly. “But I found it. Your brother, or whatever, helped me look, and it was under a potted plant on an end table. So, long story short, your file was in the drawer, along with your contact information, and I gave it to him. You know, 'cause I could have sworn he said he was your brother and he seemed so desperate to find you . . .”

There was a silence on the phone now, and Mila, whose brain was still not working, gave herself a little shake. “What time was it when he came in this morning?” she asked. But her voice sounded strange, even to her.

“Ummm, let me think. He came in . . . right as I was opening. Around nine o'clock, I guess.” A phone rang in the background
then, and Janet asked, “Do you mind if I put you on hold for a second? I need to take this other call.”

But Mila didn't answer. She hung up the phone and reached to set it down on the kitchen counter, but she missed it and dropped the phone instead. It clattered to the floor. And then that same floor seemed to be rising up to meet her. Or was she sinking down to meet the floor? Either way, she felt her body sink onto the tiled floor, and she was grateful to have something solid beneath her. She heard the phone ring then, loud and jangly, just inches from where she lay. But she couldn't answer it. She didn't have the strength. Instead, she lay perfectly still and felt the cool floor against her warm cheek. And then, after that, she felt nothing at all.

W
hen the cordless phone on his desk rang, Reid, glad for the interruption, answered it immediately. It was Walker calling from the boatyard office.

“Did you get the spreadsheet I e-mailed you?” he asked.

“I'm looking at it right now,” Reid said, though even as he was saying this he was swiveling his chair away from the desk and the spreadsheet on his iPad.

“And?” Walker prompted.

“And . . . and I'm sorry. I can't make head or tails of it.”

“Reid, you know how to read a spreadsheet,” Walker said, in disbelief.

“I
knew
how to read a spreadsheet,” Reid amended. “Now, apparently, I've forgotten or . . .”

“Or what?”

“Or I just don't want to read it,” he admitted, glancing back at his iPad. “I mean, seriously, Walk, how is it even possible for anything to be that boring?”

“You didn't use to find them boring. You didn't use to find our
business boring either,” Walker pointed out, sounding mildly offended. “You used to find it pretty goddamned interesting.”

“And I still do,” Reid said, quickly. “But, Walker, answer me this, okay? When was the last time you had a cherry Popsicle?”

“A cherry Popsicle?” Walker repeated. And then he sighed. Loudly. “I'm assuming this has something to do with Mila.”

“It does,” Reid agreed, tilting back in his chair. “And, Walk? If you haven't had any recently, you might want to try them again.”

“Okay, thanks. I'll bear that in mind. But in the meantime, Reid, when are you coming back to work?
Really
coming back to work?”

Now it was Reid's turn to sigh. “Soon, Walk. I promise. It's just . . . it's just that I'm finding it hard to concentrate.”

“No kidding,” Walker grumbled.

“Like now, for instance, when I should be thinking about the spreadsheet, I keep thinking about last night instead. I was giving Mila these practice tests, you know, for the nursing school entrance exam, and I was supposed to be timing her while she took them, but . . .” Reid smiled, remembering this. “But I kept forgetting to look at my watch. Because when she concentrates, she does this thing with her mouth. It's sort of like a half frown, half pout, I guess. She doesn't even know she doing it, but she is, and, Walk, it's adorable.”

There was silence now on the other end of the line, but Reid imagined he could hear Walker rolling his eyes.

“Anyway, that's the problem,” Reid said, leaning farther back in his chair.

“Mila's mouth is the problem?”

“Not her mouth but—”

“But the thing she does with it when she's concentrating?”

Reid laughed. “Well, yeah. But no, not really. The problem is, when I'm not with her, I can't stop thinking about her.”

“Reid, you're
with
her all the time.”

“Not
all
the time,” Reid qualified. “I'm not with her right now. I haven't been her for . . . for thirty-seven minutes now,” he said, studying his watch.

“That long, huh?” Walker said, but he sounded suddenly tolerant. He sounded, Reid thought, like a man who knew what it was like to be in love. “All right, well, go be with her then,” Walker said. “And do . . . well, do whatever it is you two probably spend most of your time doing anyway.”

“Oh,” Reid said, tilting his chair abruptly forward. “Oh, no. We're not doing that,” he said. “I mean, we're not doing that
yet,
anyway.”

“You're not?” Walker said. He sounded genuinely shocked.

“No. Why, do you think that's strange?”

“Not strange, but . . . yeah, actually, I think it's a little strange. After all, it's not as if you two have lacked for opportunities to be alone this summer.”

“You're right, we haven't. But Mila's old-fashioned that way,” Reid said, though the truth, he knew, was more complicated than that.

“Huh,” Walker said, considering this, and then, “Nothing wrong with being old-fashioned.”

“Nope,” Reid said, though as he said it, he flashed on an image of a near naked Mila in his bed that morning, arching her back, and pinning her hips against his, alive to his kiss and every touch, and he had to admit that “old-fashioned” was probably not a phrase he would have used to describe her then.

“Look,” Walker said now, “you're obviously not getting anything done, anyway. So why don't you take the rest of the day off.
But tomorrow, it's back to work, all right? I can't keep carrying you, Reid.”

“I know that. And you won't have to, I promise.”

“All right. I'll talk to you—” But Walker's voice cut out then.

“Hello?” Reid said. “Walker?” He pressed the talk button on the cordless phone and listened but there was no dial tone. The line was dead. That was strange. Sometimes, up here, a storm could bring a phone line down, but it was clear as a bell outside right now. Still, there were other things that could interrupt phone service. It'd probably be back up again soon, he thought, and he lost interest in the problem. He swiveled his chair around again and put the cordless phone back in its charger. He'd take Walker's advice now and go be with Mila. He missed her already. Missed her like crazy. She'd been so different today, he reflected. Ever since they'd woken up together, she'd been so relaxed, so untroubled, as if a burden had suddenly been lifted from her. He reached for his crutches beside his desk chair, but before he could get up, the study door banged open and Mila came rushing in.

“Oh my God, Reid, are you okay?” she asked, coming over to him.

“What? Yeah, of course, I'm fine. But, Mila, what's wrong?” Her face, he saw, was completely drained of any color. “What happened?” he asked, alarmed.

“Thank God you're all right.” Her eyes scanned the room. She sat down on the edge of the desk, and, as if she still didn't believe he was all right, she leaned over and touched his face, running the back of her trembling hand against his cheek.

He reached out instinctively and held her hand, trying to still its shaking. It was surprisingly cold. He rubbed it between both of his hands. “Mila, seriously, you're scaring me. What happened to you?”

“I . . . I fainted, I think. But I don't know how long I was out for. I came to and I—”

“What do you mean you fainted? Are you ill?”

But she shook her head. “No. But, Reid? We don't have a lot of time. We need to leave.
Now
.”

“Where are we going?” he asked, mystified.

“I'm taking you to Allie and Walker's. You'll be safe there, I think.”

“And what about you?” he asked, his heart quickening. He'd never seen her this way before. She'd been frightened the night the cabin's alarm had gone off. But this was worse.

“I don't know about me. The main thing is to get
you
away from here, and then to get
me
away from you. He can't see us together, Reid.”

“Who is
he,
Mila?” he asked. And then, “You've got to back up, okay? You've got to tell me what's going on here.”

She nodded jerkily. “All right, but then we've got to go, okay? And, Reid, no questions. There's no time for questions.”

“No questions,” he agreed.

“I'm married,” she said, looking at him steadily. “I left my husband because he was abusive. And I took this job because it was as far away as I could get from him.”

He nodded, suddenly and strangely calm. He wasn't surprised by any of what she'd just said. All of it, in fact, made perfect sense to him. All summer long, Mila had been like a jigsaw puzzle he'd been trying to put together. Now, at last, she'd given him the final piece. And it was a relief to put it into place, to complete the puzzle and to know that there was nothing about that puzzle that could make him love her any less than he loved her right now.

Mila kept talking. Rapidly. Shakily. “The woman who owned
the agency, Ms. Thompson, promised to keep the fact that I was working here confidential. But when I called today, to check in with her, her niece answered the phone and told me that Ms. Thompson's in the hospital. And she said that Brandon, my husband, was in the office first thing this morning, with some lie about being my brother, and that he found my contact information. Reid, he knows where I am. If he left Minneapolis this morning, he could be here by now.” She stopped speaking, out of breath.

“Mila,” he said, taking both of her hands in his. “Calm down. It's going to be all right. I promise.”

“It's
not
going to be all right,” she said, her voice rising. “He can't find us here together, Reid. You have no idea what he's like. I mean, he went off the deep end once because I rode up in an elevator with another man. If he finds out I've been living here with you, alone, all summer . . .” She shook her head, and blinked a few tears.

He let go of one of her hands now, slid the top desk drawer open, took out the extra set of keys to the van and pressed them into her palm, closing her fingers around them. “Mila,
go
. Now. By yourself. Go to Allie and Walker's. If I come, I'll slow you down.”

But she shook her head. “I won't leave you here alone.”

“I can handle him.”

“Reid,” she said, her voice rising and more tears spilling down her cheeks. “You don't understand him. You're assuming he's a rational person, but he's not. He's totally
irrational
. He's hurt me before and he could do worse to you. You're going to have to take my word for it, okay?”

He nodded. He believed her. Nothing else could account for her fear.

“In fact, Reid, we should just call the police right now,” Mila said, reaching for the cordless phone on his desk. “I mean, he could be here any minute, right?” Her eyes flitted toward the empty doorway to the room.

But as Reid watched her, as she hit the talk button and put the phone up to her ear, he had an awful realization. “It's dead, isn't?” he asked, as she hit the talk button again.

She nodded, and, not taking her eyes off him, she put the phone back slowly, on the desk.

“It went dead right before you came in,” Reid said quietly. He leaned forward in his desk chair and picked up his iPad.

“Reid,” Mila whispered. “I think he's already here. Cutting the phone line . . . That's him. He works construction. He knows how to do that kind of thing.

Reid looked at his iPad. Walker's e-mail was still open in front of him. He clicked on reply and started typing.

She looked positively gray now. “Reid, where's your cell phone?” she whispered.

“I left it on the kitchen table this morning,” he said, and he finished typing and pressed send.

“I'll get it,” Mila said, turning to go. And before he could stop her she left the room, closing the door behind her.

He checked his iPad again. No reply from Walker yet.
Please let Walker still be at his desk and still be checking his e-mail.

B
reathe, Mila. Breathe,
she told herself, and as she walked through the living room she drew in a ragged little breath.
Now keep breathing, because you'll be useless to Reid, and to yourself, if you faint again.
When she walked into the kitchen, she saw Reid's cell phone on the breakfast table, caught in an
intricate pattern of sunlight and shadows. And something about the way the light danced along a jagged edge made her look at the windowpanes on the kitchen door. That's when she saw that one of the panes had been broken, but before she could register what this meant, she was grabbed from behind.

“
Brandon,
” she whispered through his hand, which was now clamped over her mouth.

“That's right, Mila.” His voice was a menacing whisper. “What did I tell you? I told you I'd never let you go. I meant it.” As he said this he turned her around and pushed her back up against the wall, and, pressing his forearm against her chest, he pinned her there. “Don't even think about screaming,” he said.

She tried to focus on him, tried to formulate a plan, but she couldn't think clearly. He started ranting, telling her how she'd wrecked everything, ruined their life together. He had no job, no money, no nothing. Nothing but her, and she'd left him. She was coming back with him now, though, and she would have to fix things. Put them right. He said other things, too, things that were harder to follow. They were disjointed. Chaotic. And so, too, was his appearance. His hair was greasy, and his T-shirt stained, both of which were unlike him. He'd always taken care of the way he looked before.

His tirade ended abruptly. “Who's that man?” he asked, his eyes coming into focus.

Mila felt a new stab of fear. “There's no man,” she said, shaking her head.

“Yes, there is. I saw a man in the other room. I saw him through the window.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, her heart beating faster.

“Yes, you do. He's sitting at a desk. Who is he?” He moved his arm up, so that it was pressing against her neck. “Who is he, Mila?” he repeated, pressing harder. “Answer me.”

“He's a patient,” she rasped finally, her hands trying to push his arm away.

“Hold still,” he said in her ear. “Or I'll hurt you.” And then, “I don't think he's a patient. He looks all right to me.”

She shook her head. She had to get Brandon to leave before Reid knew he was here. If Reid knew he was here, he would try to protect her, with potentially disastrous results. She would go with Brandon now, she decided, but she would only stay with him long enough to get him away from Reid.

“Let's go,” she whispered to him, still fighting for breath.

But he shook his head. “Who is that man?” he asked her again. “Have you been living here with him?” More pressure on her neck.