Chapter 44

It seemed no matter what she did, she couldn't figure out how to make it right. The killer was coming back one day early from a conference and finding him in bed with a woman she'd never seen before. She threw him out that night.
"But where will I go?" he whined, even as he was packing his suitcases. "Peyton, you can't just throw me out like this. Not after everything we've been to each other. Everything we are," he corrected himself.
"We can't be very much if you fell into our bed with someone the minute I was out of town."
"I told you that was a mistake," he insisted.
"No." She was proud that her voice was even and uninflected when her insides were roaring like a volcano. "The mistake was mine, thinking we had something together. Anyway, I'm sure you'll find a willing woman to take you in," she told him, "You still have that charm you can pull out."
"I don't know why you're making such a big deal of this," he grumbled, yanking things from the dresser drawers.
"A big deal?" She stared at him. "Because I don't think fidelity is old-fashioned? Because this is supposed to be an exclusive relationship? Not an almost-exclusive one? Because I don't like finding you in our bed with another woman?"
"I told you." He slammed some toiletries on top of his shirts. "She meant nothing to me." Then he slanted a look at her. "Let's get real here. I'm tired of you never having time for me, Peyton. Never understanding my situation."
"Situation? You mean losing your job and turning into a bitter, whining person? And what do you mean, never having time?"
He stacked the clothing he was holding in one of the suitcases then turned to look at her. "I think you give more time to that computer than you do to me," he complained. "You spend hours wrapped up in your latest project."
"You knew about my writing schedule when we first met. You said you loved a woman who had an active mind and used it so creatively." Then anger rippled through her. "You certainly didn't turn your nose up at the things the money I earned could buy for us. It's kept us in the style you refused to give up when you couldn't get hired anywhere."
"That's right, go ahead, point the finger at me. Put it on my shoulders because I'm at liberty at the moment."
"At liberty?" She wanted to smack him. "Don't you mean unemployed? Or maybe unemployable is a better word."
"You haven't been as supportive as you could. Why do you think I had to look for it somewhere else? From someone who appreciated me."
She swallowed the bitter taste in her throat. "What about love?"
His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Love? That's what you write about in your books. That's the only place you'll find it. Don't look for it in real life."
At least he hadn't called her chubby.
Peyton refused to break down when he left. She poured herself a glass of wine and stood staring out the big living room window while he made four trips down to his car. Then he dropped his keys on the little table by the front door and was gone. Not even good-bye or it was fun. Just gone.
She had to get away, from everyone and everything. Someplace where she could clear her head and figure out how to handle the rest of her life. So, okay, a trip to clear her brain and get back to square one. And figure out what she actually wanted in a man and in life.
Grace had suggested a number of places when she'd said she was going to hide away and try to put herself back together. But while reshelving some of her old books, a photo had fallen out of one of them that swept her down memory lane. The picture had been taken in front of a cottage in Newport, one in a row of four. Everyone then called them "camps." She was fifteen years old and sitting in a group with seven other teenagers, some neighbors, a couple from town.
Her family had rented that cottage for twenty years, even after she went off to college. She'd loved those years. They were some of the best she'd ever spent. Happy years, filled with equal parts childish joy and teenage angst. She saw the photo as a sign and immediately did a search for Newport to see what it was like now, seventeen years after she'd last set foot in it.
The Cottages for Rent page sealed the deal. Right there, in full color, was the exact cottage her family had rented every year from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Oh, it had been jazzed up, and she could see from the pictures a lot of work had been done on the interior. But it was the same one. She knew it. A call to the real estate agent confirmed it.
So here she was, heading to the scene of her summer childhoods, hoping that whatever she was seeking, she'd find it there.
Having finished her short tour, and making a mental note to spend more time exploring after she was settled, she headed down Main Street back to what they used to call the Triangle. Now the interstate highway brought people right to town, but, in those earlier years, they took a two-lane highway from Bangor, made a couple of right turns after the Triangle, and presto! They were at the cottage on the lake.
As she turned onto the dirt road - apparently paving had never been on the menu - a tiny thrill of excitement wriggled through her. At the fork in the short road, she turned left then circled to the right, and there it was. Camp Greystone as her mother used to laughingly call it because there were so many grey stones piled near the water. The cottage stood right at the water's edge, separated from the others in the row by thick stands of trees. Peyton loved it because it gave a real sense of privacy.
She pulled into the parking area to the right of the cottage and got out of the car. A barbecue grill stood next to the place, just to the side on a concrete slab. She hoped it wasn't the same one, that it had since been replaced. A new addition sat on the roof of the cottage, a satellite dish. As promised. She'd been very specific about needing Internet connection. Eileen had assured her there was a good system in place.
Where the grass sloped to the water there was a little dock about six feet long with an old Sponson canoe tied up next to it. The boat itself brought back memories. Almost everyone on the lake had one, made by the hundred-year-old Old Town Canoe Company. She was sure this was one of their newer ones, but the classic lines were still the same. She couldn't wait to take it out on the water. Eileen had mentioned a small trolling motor in the storage shed. If Peyton needed someone to help her....
Peyton had spent years with her father and her uncles, running that little motor while they chugged around for places to fish. She was good. But, for right now, she just stood there for a moment, inhaling the richly scented air and looking at the slight ripple in the waters of Lake Sebasticook. Yes, a month here was going to be exactly what she needed.
She walked slowly down to the water's edge, taking in the remembered way the lake spread out and widened. It amazed her how little had actually changed in all these years. Oh, there were some new homes dotting the shores of the lake, some renovations, some old ones gone. She was sure, if she took the little boat with its trolling motor out and scoped the situation, she'd find more change than she saw at first.
But it still had that feeling of home. Of place. Of someplace she could take out her battered heart and bruised ego and try to let them heal. She stood on the wild grass, looking out over the tranquil water and listening to the songs of the many birds flitting from tree to tree. Who couldn't be soothed by all of this?
She'd made up her mind. In this place that had given her so many wonderful memories, she'd heal her heart and find the belief in love that had driven her to write romance novels to begin with. If that was even possible. Otherwise -
Otherwise what? What would she do with the rest of her life?
Depressed much, Peyton?
No. Not depressed. She was here to clean out her brain and make a fresh start with everything. If she ever met the right man, that would be great, but she was going to stop worrying and obsessing about it. Meanwhile, she'd forget about anything but relaxing and hoping her muse hadn't deserted her.
She wondered idly who had rented the other cottages and if she'd see much of them. Truly, she hoped not. She wasn't in much of a mood to socialize. Well, she'd probably find out soon enough. Now it was time to haul her stuff out of her car and into the house, get herself set up. She'd meant to stop in town for groceries, but she'd been too anxious to get here. After she got things put away, she'd strip out of her city clothes, change into shorts and a T-shirt, and make a run to the grocery.
As she carried her suitcases into the house, she found herself with a real smile for the first time in weeks.