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Chapter Ten

Lake

Verity would have had several choice names to call me for offering my sofa up to a stranger and having to sleep on the floor. And, much as it pained me to admit it, she would have been right. The sofa wasn’t exactly luxurious, Verity also having been correct about the protruding springs, but it was a step up from what I’d experienced last night.

My four decades old body, while in pretty good nick, had some things to say every time I rolled over. Mainly that there were parts of me—hips and back were at the front of the queue—who had strong feelings about whether quality sleep was possible on such an unforgiving surface.

The hour was late enough by the time I showered and made it downstairs that I found my house guest dressed and sitting primly on the edge of the sofa, the borrowed bedding and clothes in a neat pile next to him. I’d thought that in the harsh light of day, and without alcohol in my system, he’d be less pretty. He wasn’t. He was still all sorts of pretty. Even with a complexion that spoke of feeling delicate and no access to a hairbrush.

“I thought it was rude,” he said without meeting my gaze, “to leave without saying goodbye.”

He stood, and I found myself reluctant to let him simply leave. Curiosity to find out whether there was an ounce of truth in the things he’d told me the previous night? Or something more primal? I hadn’t done enough soul-searching to know the answer for sure. “There’s a cafe around the corner,” I said quickly. “It does a great full English breakfast. Are you hungry? My treat.”

Baxter’s expression said he was going to refuse, that he wanted to make a quick getaway. Unfortunately for him, his stomach chose that moment to emit one of the loudest rumbles I’d ever heard in my life. It cut through the tension, leaving us both laughing at the timing.

“Come on,” I said, jerking my head toward the door. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

We walked to the cafe in silence. The morning was much warmer, so I got to keep my coat. Baxter paused in the doorway of the small, family-run cafe, sniffing the air like he was a bloodhound. Whatever he’d been checking for seemed to pass muster, his hesitation only momentary.

Baxter chose a table in the back corner, both of us taking up diagonal seats so our backs were to the wall. I came here so often that Suzy addressed me by name when she came over to take our orders. The last time I’d come here had been with Carl. Thankfully, Baxter’s presence stopped her from asking after him. She probably assumed I had a new man. If only things were that straightforward.

Baxter virtually inhaled his breakfast when it arrived, my plate still half full when his was empty. “When was the last time you ate?”

He pulled a face. “Yesterday morning, if a banana counts. I kind of skipped lunch. And dinner. Nothing but alcohol since then. I guess it has calories in at least.”

Sensing any comment I made about looking after himself wouldn’t be gratefully received, I called Suzy over instead and asked her to give him the same again. Baxter didn’t argue. We’d both gone for tea rather than coffee, and I scrutinized him while he sipped it, his gaze fixed on something only he could see across the cafe. I had a hundred questions I wanted to ask, but after last night’s emotional outburst, I knew I needed to tread carefully.

“Last night…” I said hesitantly. Baxter’s gaze swung back my way, his eyes even bluer in daylight. “The things you told me… How much of it was true?”

He put his mug down. “What part did you think was a lie?”

I gave cutting a sausage a lot more focus than it needed. “I didn’t say it was a lie. It’s just… the story you told was a lot. I thought maybe you’d embellished parts of it. You were drunk. You wouldn’t be the first person to exaggerate things when you’ve had a skinful.” Baxter’s expression clouded. So much for being careful. “I’m not saying you did. I’m just asking if that was the case.”

“I’m surprised you could make head nor tail of what I was saying.”

“Some parts were confusing,” I admitted. “Well, most parts, really. The…” I cast a quick look around to make sure no one was listening in on our conversation, concluding that we’d done a good enough job of ostracizing ourselves as long as neither one of us started shouting. “The dying part. The coming back part.”

To my surprise, Baxter laughed. “You think it’s confusing. Try living it.” The conversation paused while Suzy arrived with Baxter’s second breakfast. He accepted it with such wholehearted gratitude that she blushed. She was old enough to be his mother, except if he was telling the truth, she wasn’t. Kind of. The more I thought about it, the more confusing it became.

He set about adding brown sauce to his breakfast with such abandon that I feared wearing it before he was through. Somehow, and it was a close-run thing, he kept it on the plate. He hesitated before lifting his first forkful to his mouth. “I didn’t have a nightmare last night.”

“No?”

He shook his head with something close to wonder. “I don’t know why.”

“I think I do,” I offered.

“Why?”

“From what you said last night, you’ve been bottling things up, telling people you’re fine when you’re a long way from it. Am I right?” Baxter didn’t confirm it, but I could see the truth in his eyes. “Last night, though, you talked about it. You were honest about all the problems you’ve been having. You got it off your chest. Maybe… that’s what you need to do, to talk about it more. You could talk to me. I’m a good listener.” Baxter’s mouthful of eggs and bacon seemed to take a long time to chew. “Or not,” I said. “I’m just trying to help.” I focused on my breakfast, giving Baxter time to mull over my words.

“Just ask,” Baxter eventually said.

“Were you really dead?”

“Yes.”

“For nineteen years.”