Discreet by Nicole French
6
It was a good thing I hadn’t tried to call her, because Mama still wasn’t up by the time I came tramping down the stairs instead of from the dock. Lucas was on the other side of the property clearing some debris, so I managed to avoid the third degree about just how I had gotten home. Although part of me was dying to ask if they knew him, another part wanted to keep Will’s and my strange morning to myself. And that, I suspected, was also how he wanted to keep it.
So instead, as I got ready for the day, I let my mind drift instead to Will’s gentle, yet insistent touch when he swung me up from the dock and even when he carried me the week before. Those deep green eyes, with their guarded earnestness, appeared whenever I blinked. So yeah, maybe I spent some extra time shaving my legs and primping my hair, thinking of our meeting the next morning. Maybe I decided not to think too much about why.
I emerged from the shack to find Lucas behind the house, repairing a bunch of loose shingles. He stopped when he saw me, again performing that quick check over my body that had been a lot more overt when I’d only been wearing a swimsuit. Sorry, buddy. There wasn’t much to see when I wore a pair of cut-off men’s jeans I’d picked up at Goodwill and a loose tank top. After years of binding stage wear that Calliope had carefully picked out to make me look “hot, yet accessible,” I was more than happy to tromp around in clothing that was more comfortable than revealing.
“Ah, hey, Mags,” Lucas greeted me.
He set down the tools on the ground and stood up to lift his cap up and mop a bit of sweat off his forehead. The movement made his biceps flex and the hem of his t-shirt rose to reveal a flat-ish stomach. Not bad, but I couldn’t help comparing him to Will. No Adonis belt in sight here.
“Good swim?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. It was nice. I need to watch out for the lilies, though. I got tangled in them.”
Lucas didn’t seem to notice the flush in my face at the mention of lily pads. I wasn’t sure why it was there anyway.
“Who dropped you off?” he wondered. “I noticed you came back from the stairs.”
Huh. Maybe I hadn’t been as stealthy as I’d thought. I scanned Lucas’s face for any indicators of possessiveness or jealousy, but there was nothing there but plain curiosity.
“Just a new…friend,” I replied, taking a seat on one of the tree stumps that served as stools on the grass. “Someone bought a cabin across the way. It’s the property next to the Butterfly House.”
Lucas frowned as he sat down on the other stump. “The old hunting lodge?”
“Is that what it was? I had never seen it before. It’s brown and almost totally blends in with the trees.” It was an unusual sight. Most of the houses that circled Newman Lake were painted with fairly vibrant colors that stood out from the pine trees and rocky cliffs. Whites, blues, yellows, reds. The property right next to Will’s contained one place that was painted bright pink with red shutters and was aptly called the “Butterfly House” because of its winged eaves.
“That whole hill used to belong to a big lodge back in the twenties,” Lucas said. “Most of the lake was split up between something like four hotels. Mom said most of the cabins either burned down or were knocked down when other people bought out the property over the years, but the main lodge is still there. Damn, the place must be decrepit.”
I shrugged. “I only saw the outside. It looked like a cabin—kind of old, wood, weather-beaten. I dried off on the deck while the owner fixed my swimming buoy, and then he gave me a ride home.”
I couldn’t hear it, but there must have been something in my voice that betrayed my earlier thoughts, because at the word owner, Lucas looked up sharply.
“I hope you were careful, Mags,” he said. “There are a lot of loons on that side of the lake.”
I rolled my eyes. “Aren’t we a little old to be getting all Jets and Sharks? It’s one body of water, and everybody on it is just as much a hick as everyone else.”
Lucas snorted. “I just don’t want you to get taken advantage of. I can just imagine what some guy thought of finding you in need of a rescue. I bet he was all too happy to help.”
His eyes drifted over me, like he was imagining me again in my bathing suit, and immediately I looked away. It wasn’t like Lucas had never seen me naked, but it had been a good eight years. It felt weird, somehow, him looking at me like he had a right to what was underneath my shorts and t-shirt.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said emphatically. “That’s not really what I’m interested in these days.” Liar. I shook the thought away.
Lucas nodded. “Ellie mentioned you were coming out of a bad relationship. Hey, I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds like New York is full of jerks, just like everyone says.”
I frowned. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s a great city, and I really loved it there in a lot of ways. It was just…”
I shook my head, willing away Theo’s face. But there he was. Tall. Handsome. Entirely too well dressed for a man under thirty. Lips smirking arrogantly over his immaculately groomed goatee. Fists curled with promise.
This time, Will didn’t chase him away.
I opened my eyes again and studied my nails. “This one guy in particular was not good for me. Or to me. We were together for almost three years, and…” I sighed. I didn’t know what Mama had told people—likely, she didn’t actually know either. But I wasn’t interested in getting into any of the gory details with my ex, no matter how much he was helping out. “Well, I’m here now.”
Lucas was quiet for a moment, and then he reached out to touch a few big fingers to the top of my hand. His thumb stroked over my knuckles with nothing but kindness. It felt nice.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I just…I wonder sometimes. A lot of times, really. What I could have done to prevent it. Sometimes I want to go back two years and tie pre-Theo Maggie to her bedpost.”
Lucas looked uneasy as he pulled his hand back and stuck it in his pocket.
“What?” I asked. When he didn’t speak, I mimed a kick his way, which made him crack a smile. “What?”
“Well, you know…” He drifted off, staring at the grass.
“Lucas, spit it out.”
Lucas chewed on his lower lip. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“Don’t make me kick your ass, Paul Bunyan.”
At the old nickname, Lucas smiled again. “Okay, then, chicken legs. I’d like to see you try.”
I mimed a slug at his side, and he parried it away easily, slinging an arm around my shoulder for a second before letting me go. My belly warmed. Some things never changed. Lucas was still Lucas—warm and easy. Our relationship had never been fireworks, but he had always been a good guy. Dependable. Kind.
“Well?” I prodded.
Again, he rubbed the back of his neck. I frowned. I recognized the motion—he used to do it when he had something to say that I wouldn’t like.
“I saw some pictures of you,” he said. “This was a few years ago, when you were starting to get big, I guess. Ellie brought them to church and was showing them around. She said it was some big show, that you were opening for some big name or another.” His gaze softened. “She was really proud of you, Mags. We all were.”
I nodded, remembering the night, about four years ago, though it seemed like much longer. I was the opener for a Gillian Keller concert at Irving Plaza—easily the biggest gig I had ever played, including my showcase. The seats in the famous yet intimate venue weren’t even a quarter full when I started, but I hadn’t cared—I was high on the fact that it was just me and my guitar, playing my songs on one of the most famous stages in New York.
“That was a good night,” I mused fondly. “At least until there was some kind of fight later on. I don’t know—I left early. But Gillian actually bought one of my songs after she heard it, did you know that? My manager said it was cut from her next album, but still. It was good to know my music was good enough for someone like her.”
“That’s really great, Mags. It is.”
I looked up. He didn’t sound that excited. “But…”
Lucas’s big shoulders lumbered up and down. “I just remember the photo. You were wearing some blue dress. It was, uh, short.”
I knew exactly the one. Sleeveless with an asymmetrical hem, it was one of my favorites because even under the dim stage lights, it made my skin glow. I got a lot of compliments when I wore that dress.
I frowned. “Yeah, it’s kind of short. What does that matter?”
Lucas shrugged again, and the movement caused his skin to bunch around his neck, which he then massaged vigorously. “I just think…maybe…” He sighed. “Maybe you were attracting the wrong kind of guys. You looked real pretty and everything, Mags. But some guys—and I’m not saying I’m one of them, or anything—but they see a girl in something like that, and they think she’s only good for one thing.”
If my mouth were big enough, it would have smacked the ground. Lucas worried his jaw for a second, clearly uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to recover. “What?”
“It was just a surprise,” he said quietly, now looking around—at the house, the lake, the grass, anywhere but at me. “Especially considering…”
“Considering what, Lucas? Spit it out.”
“Considering what kind of stuff your mom gets into down at the bar.”
And there it was, the family legacy that had been thrown in my face since I was little—a remnant of my mother’s promiscuity. Mine to inherit as soon as I grew old enough to earn a little male attention. Because my mother was widely considered the biggest hussy in the Spokane-Coeur d’Alene area, I was forever doomed to be a nun, lest I follow in her footsteps.
For a long time, I bought into it. As a teenager, I wanted to distance myself as far as I could from Eloise Sharp. While my friends wore tight jeans and short shorts, I kept everything loose and modest. While Mama went on pub crawls, I went to youth group and read the Bible. She went home with a different man every weekend, and I avoided boys like the plague.
And when I finally did have a boyfriend, he was the nicest boy within ten miles. Lucas Forster. A gentle giant. The kind of guy who kept his hand firmly at your waist and nowhere else whenever you kissed. The kind of guy who didn’t even try to cop a feel until I grabbed his hand and put it on my breast after we had been “going out” for at least four months. When he finally took my virginity, on top of my plaid bedspread, we both cried at the loss of my innocence. It was sweet. Safe.
But, of course, there also wasn’t any innocence lost. Because I was never the girl they thought I was, the girl I tried my hardest to be. The second I started driving east, I breathed easier, knowing I didn’t have to perform as some weird ethical balancing weight to my mother’s deviance anymore. And when I got to New York, it took some time, but eventually I got rid of the frumpy clothes, learned to experiment, swung one way, then the other before I finally settled into a version of myself I felt comfortable with.
Until that person was crushed.
I wasn’t a Madonna or a whore. Good girl or bad. Like most women, I was probably somewhere in the middle. But Lucas’s words brought back all the fears that had been swishing around inside me since that terrible night where everything went to hell. That maybe it was me. Maybe I had deserved it.
“That is such bullshit,” I said, standing up. My stomach growled. I needed food twenty minutes ago.
Lucas got up and followed me around the front of the house. “Come on, Maggie, that’s unfair. It’s not like I was one of the ones talking trash about you and her back then. How many times did I come with you to pick her up at Curly’s, huh? I wouldn’t say any of this if I didn’t care, and you know that.”
I whirled around. Lucas was right on my tail, and almost crashed into me. An uncomfortable silence fell between us, and he toed his boot into the ground while I stared at him. He sighed, and then I did too.
It was true. It had been eight years since Lucas and I had dated, and six since we’d seen each other at all. But back then, when Mama was going through one of the bad times, he was always there. There to help me lug my nearly passed out mother out of strangers’ houses. There to pull over so I could help her puke on the side of the road.
He was always there.
“Look,” I said kindly, but still guarded.
Lucas looked down at me, brown eyes hopeful.
“I’m not her,” I said. Aren’t you? A little voice echoed inside. I shook my head. No. I couldn’t start down that road again.
“I didn’t say you were—” Lucas started, but I held up a hand.
“And one dress doesn’t make me a wh-whore, Luke.”
He gulped, and his eyes bugged. “Mags, that’s not what I said.”
“No, but you suggested it. It was a dress, not a vacancy sign, and it’s pretty damn tame compared to what I’ve seen some people wear on stage. Anyway, showing my legs doesn’t make me responsible for how men choose to see me or treat me. And that g-goes for you too.”
Lucas opened his mouth—to argue or apologize, I wasn’t sure which. I also didn’t care.
“I need to eat something,” I told him, grateful when my stutter faded away. “And then I’m going to replace some of the broken steps on the stairs.”
I turned around and started walking back to the house, eager to put the conversation behind me.
“Maggie,” called Lucas. “I’m sorry, okay?”
I raised a hand, but didn’t turn around.
“We’re good,” I called out behind me, though I felt anything but. With every passing minute, I was starting to wonder if coming back here had really been the right thing to do.
