“They moved to Boston,” the old man had told me.
Right. That’s what I’d expected. They’d moved to Boston.
They.
Hell, I’d expected that too. Kira wasn’t single anymore. Why would she be?
Thousands of miles away, in a Texas hotel room, I’d hung up the phone and poured myself another two fingers of scotch. But I’d never stopped thinking about Kira. And I probably never would.
Only one thing in the store looked truly different now. And although I’d expected this, it still made me sad. Her sign was missing. Above one of the back counters, a carved wooden plaque had once hung. KIRA’S CAFE. Her homemade specialty had been a quirky little meat pie, about five inches across. Under an artfully cut-out crust lay curried chicken, or sausage and peppers. There’d been a ham and egg version I’d particularly liked. My first week in Maine, I’d tried a different one each night. My second week, I’d repeated the cycle.
That’s how we’d become friends. After I’d eaten her savory pastries nine nights in a row, Kira began feeling sorry for me. So she’d surprised me with some new dishes. I walked in one night to find that she’d made me a big square of lasagna. The next night, she’d grilled up a bacon cheeseburger while I waited.
As the summer progressed, she’d gotten even more creative. The pan-fried lake trout had tasted so fresh I’d almost cried.
“You are the most loyal customer I’ve ever had,” she’d said. By then, I’d memorized the shape of her smile and the flush of her cheek when I complimented the food.
But I didn’t hit on her. Not once.
At the beginning, restraint had been easy. I’d come to Nest Lake to be alone and to stop chasing women. I was still bitter about the tabloid article. I didn’t need any distractions. I was going to finish that album or die trying.
But by midsummer, my vow of chastity had gotten a lot harder. Literally. The time I’d spent with Kira had evolved from a simple nightly transaction to a real friendship. And every night I went to bed hearing her laughter echo in my head and wondering how her skin would feel sliding against mine.
But I was young and dumb. At the time, I’d written it off as mere horniness. Five years later, I knew better.
Well before Labor Day, Kira’s bright smile and intelligent eyes had stolen my heart. And her curvy body turned up in all my dreams. But I never slipped up and made a pass. Not just because I’d been feeling stubborn, but there was something vulnerable about Kira. I couldn’t have told you exactly what, but still it held me back. Banging her like one of my fans would have felt wrong.
Besides, if I’d talked Kira into my bed, there’d been a risk that she wouldn’t make me dinner anymore. And then I would have been stuck with the miserable fare that my B&B landlady referred to as “food.”
Somehow it had all been enough to keep even a dedicated horn dog in check.
“Earth to Jonas,” Quinn teased. “Let’s pick up a magazine or two, and then I want some soft serve.”
I’d been staring at Kira’s old counter, memories flooding through me. But where her delicacies once sat, there were now only scary-looking danishes wrapped in cellophane. It was no better than gas-station food.
It was true what people said. You can never go back.
I turned toward the magazine rack, shaking off my disappointment.
Two
Kira
I pulled up in front of the general store, putting the car in park. After the three-hour drive from Boston, both my companions were asleep. In the passenger seat, my older brother’s head rested against his bicep, which he’d curled against the window. And when I swiveled to see my daughter in her car seat, her eyelids fluttered, then settled closed again.
As I rolled down my window, Adam woke up with a shake of his head. “Ugh. We’re here,” my brother grumbled.
“It’s only two days. You always survive somehow.”
“I suppose.” He rolled his neck.
I studied him. “You look beat, Adam. Are you okay?” He’d told me that there was something he needed to discuss with me this weekend, and now I wondered what it was.
“I’m fine. Just tired.” He removed his seatbelt.
“Dad will have the baseball game turned up good and loud. You’ll keep the beer flowing. We’ll be fine.”
“I know.” He sighed. “But how do you stand it? All the jabs at your choices. And mine.”
“I just remind myself that he’s a sourpuss to us, but he’s good to Vivi. Do you want to tell him we’re here, or should I do it?”
Adam turned to look up at the store, considering. “I’ll get it over with.” He opened the passenger door. “Plus, I can buy my first six-pack.”
“Good plan.”
“I want to go in!” Vivi yelled from the backseat.
“Oh, you’re awake!” I swiveled around again. My daughter fiddled with her car seat straps, trying to spring herself free.
Adam opened Vivi’s door. “Come on, princess. Let’s go see grumpy.”
“You mean Grandpa!” my little girl corrected.
“Right. Just like I said.” He swung her out and onto his hip.
“I’ll unload our things and then come back for you?” I suggested. The house was barely a quarter mile away.
“We’ll walk it,” Adam countered. “She’s a big girl now.”
“Okay. See you there.”
I watched Adam carry my daughter up the wooden steps and onto the store’s screened porch, then I turned the car around in the post office driveway. Idling past the Kreemy Kone, I happened to glance at the couple seated at the picnic table. The woman was watching me, but the guy was reading a magazine. Then, maybe because he sensed my gaze, he looked up, smiling. His mouth fell open in surprise.
And my heart absolutely stopped.
Jonas Smith was sitting right there on the bench. After five years, he barely seemed real. In my mind, he’d become a mythical figure. Back when I’d known him, he’d called himself John Smith. He’d given me a fake name. A fake name, and thus a fake friendship for an entire summer.
And on the very last night, he’d given me a baby.
Then John Smith had left town, and I’d never spoken to him again, had never seen his face. Not in person, anyway. It wasn’t until a year and a half later that I’d spotted him on my computer screen, looking out at me from an ad for a new album called Summer Nights.
And now he sat casually on the picnic table bench in shorts and a T-shirt. Like a specter from my past.
Stunned, I pressed the gas pedal. But in my rearview mirror I saw that he’d stood up, his eyes following my car.
The woman he was with called to him. “Jonas?” He didn’t respond. Instead, he took off, trotting after me.
Go home was all I could think to do. But of course, John, or Jonas, knew where my father’s house was. Adam would be on his way there too. With Vivi.
Oh God.
I had driven maybe fifty yards, to the place where the road veered left and curved around the lake. But I didn’t make the turn. Instead, I stopped the car in front of the beach. I got out and closed the door. I could hear the slap of flip-flops coming my way.