Free Chill Waters by Joan Hall Hovey Page B

recognized me from the photo on Greg’s desk. (Kept there, she suspected, because Halston was big on family.) “He said Lisa felt bad. Why did he need to tell me that, Betty?”
     
    “Because he’s a jerk. What can I say? I always thought you were too damn good for him.” She paused. “I tried to call you. I dialed information for the number.”
     
    “I don’t have a phone.”
     
    Betty raised a finely arched brow. “Gee. No kidding.”
     
    “I’m sorry. On both counts. I didn’t mean to dump on you like that. At least you know why I didn’t get a phone installed. Your shoulder is damp enough. I’ll have to get a phone though. I need to call Jeff and Susan. This will be hard for them. I’m justnot ready.”
     
    “I know. Remember, Rachaelthis isn’t your fault.” She looked around. “Funny, after you told me about this place, I remembered you used to summer with your grandmother ‘at the shore’, you said. I never knew what shore. I used to wish you would ask me to go with you.”
     
    Rachael said nothing. She had no explanation. She’d told no one about Jenny’s Cove, other than her children, and her grandmother was long dead when they were born. And even in the telling, it had seemed a fairytale place, even to her. Like the magical placed in the books she had read them.
     
    I wanted to keep it for myself, she realized. My secret place.
     
    Betty darted a look toward the window, gasped.
     
    “What? What’s wrong?” Rachael peered through the dark glass. “Did you see something?”
     
    She was silent a moment, then she laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, my own reflection. Rach, if you’re determined to live here, you should at least get some curtains on those windows.”
     
    “I plan to,” she said, feeling a twinge of defensiveness. “I’m really sorry you felt a need to drive all the way down here and check on me, Betty.” Seeing the hurt on her friend’s face, she immediately regretted her words. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
     
    “Apology accepted. But sometimes I don’t understand you, girl. We’ve been there for each other since we were kids. When I got hit with the news that I would never have kids, no matter how badly I wanted that, you were there for me. I don’t know what I would have done without you, Rach.” Tears glimmered in her green eyes. “If not for you…”
     
    “You give me too much credit. I…”
     
    “No, it’s true. And I want to be there for you now. Please, don’t shut me out. I had this awful feeling that when you left Greg, you left me too. I know it sounds crazy, but…”
     
    “It is crazy. I just needed to be by myself for awhile, that’s all.”
     
    “You should be back in your own home,” Betty bristled. “It was Greg’s place to leave, not yours. You’re not the one who’s screwing around.”
     
    A familiar refrain. As much as she appreciated Betty being in her corner, she really didn’t want to hear this now. “I don’t give a damn about the house,” she said. “It, and everything in it was always more Greg’s than mine. This place is more my style.”
     
    She shrugged. “Okay kid, if that’s how you feel I’ll shut up about it.”
     
    “Thanks. Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
     
    “Sure.” She stood and draped an arm around Rachael’s shoulder. “Need to stretch the old gams, anyway. You know,” she said, looking around her, “this place is kind of cozy at that. Rustic. Kind of grows on you.”
     
    “I know it needs work, but it’s basically sound. I’ll make up a bed for you, Betty.”
     
    “Oh, no, I’m not staying. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”
     
    “Don’t talk nonsense. Of course you’re staying. It’s the middle of the night for heaven’s sake.”
     
    “Well, if you’re sure.”
     
    “I’m sure.”
     
    “Well, okay, then. If you really want me to. It’ll be like old times.” She grinned. “Like a slumber