her cabin.

• 173 •

RADCLY fFE

“What am I doing?” Leslie muttered, throwing back the sheets in disgust. She

ran her hands through her hair. “Losing my mind. That’s what I’m doing.”

The phone vibrated and she snatched it up. “Hello?”

“Hello, darling. I’m in the car.”

Leslie felt a quick rush of relief. This was normal. With Rachel, she knew exactly

who she was. “Hi. I heard you called. Sorry I missed you. How are you?”

“Fine. Busy. Your mother said there was a storm.”

Leslie laughed. “You could say that.”

“Listen, darling, I’m on my way to a client dinner, but I’ve got good news.”

“So do I. I’ll be ho—”

“I freed up my schedule and I’m ß ying up for the Fourth. I’m afraid overnight is

all I can manage.”

Leslie’s stomach clenched. “That’s not necessary, Rach, really. I know how

busy you are, and I’ll—”

“Nonsense, darling. We’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted.”

She laughed throatily. “I’m pulling into the parking garage, so I’m going to sign

off. I’ll see you, darling.”

“Rachel, wait! Rach?” Leslie was left staring at the silent phone in her hand,

wondering why she didn’t want Rachel there. Maybe it was just that this wasn’t

part of their life, and she had no way to explain to Rachel who she had been all

those years ago. Or, she feared, it might be because she wasn’t the woman

Rachel was expecting to Þ nd when she arrived.

• 174 •

WHEN DREAMS TREMBLE

CHAPTER TWENTY

Leslie contemplated her choices in footwear as she pulled on jeans, a warm

navy crew-neck sweater, and the thickest socks she’d packed. But all she had

in the way of shoes were sneakers or dress shoes. Neither would hold up on the

muddy path to the lodge. With a sigh, she pulled on Dev’s boots. She could

borrow a pair from her mother and return these to Dev later. She hoped that

Dev had another pair of boots at her cabin and wouldn’t need these tonight.

Flashlight in hand and a bundle of clothes under her other arm, Leslie set out

toward the lodge. The rain had tapered off to a heavy downfall. Annoying, but

not threatening. Nevertheless, Leslie felt as if she’d been slogging through water

for days. Lights shone in one or two of the cabins she passed, but the cloud

cover was too dense to allow any moonlight to Þ lter through the trees. When a

beam of light ß ashed from out of the woods and into Leslie’s face, it was as

bright as a car headlight, stinging her eyes.

Startled and annoyed, she complained, “Hey!”

“Oh, sorry,” a woman called, and the light immediately cut down to the ground.

Leslie blinked away the water in her irritated eyes and cautiously approached.

Then her uncertainty was replaced by something altogether different, a sinking

sensation she didn’t want to analyze. She raised her own ß ashlight until the edge

of the beam illuminated Natalie’s face.

“Hi.”

“Nice night,” Natalie said lightly.

“Isn’t it.” Leslie took in Natalie’s backpack and the plastic bag of what looked

like groceries under her arm. She was clearly on her way

• 175 •

RADCLY fFE

to Dev’s, probably bringing her dinner. Like Leslie had wanted to do.

Like she had no right to do. And a backpack—overnight clothes? Her mood

darkened. She sidestepped to make room for Natalie on the path.

“Be careful. The trail’s a mess.”

“You too. By the way, I moored the department boat down at your dock. I can

take you out to yours in the morning, if that works for you.”

Leslie’s jaw tightened. Natalie was staying the night. “That would be Þ ne.

Thank you.”

“Right after breakfast?”

“Perfect,” Leslie said ß atly. “Good night.”

“Night,” Natalie called.

Leslie stood in the drizzle, watching Natalie disappear into the dark. To bring

Dev supper. To keep her company on a cold, rainy night.

To take care of her pain. Leslie suddenly had an image of Natalie curled into the

bend of Dev’s body, the way she had been the night before, and the ache was

so huge it hurt to draw breath. She turned away and walked on in the rain,

wishing she had never come home. Wishing she had never seen Dev again.

Wishing she didn’t want her and wondering when it would stop.

She trudged up to the lodge, grateful for a diversion, anything to keep her mind

occupied until she could get back to Manhattan. A few people lingered in the

great room, but the large dining room adjoining it was dark. Subdued light

streaked beneath the kitchen door and Leslie made her way toward it. Her

mother sat at the central counter on the same stool that Dev had occupied

earlier, working a crossword puzzle.

“Hi, honey,” Eileen said, swinging around as if to stand.

Leslie held up a hand. “Don’t get up.” She craned her neck toward the family

room. “Is Daddy here?”

“No. He didn’t sleep well last night and he went to bed early.” She pointed to

the bundle under Leslie’s arm. “What have you got there?”

“Laundry. Do you mind if I do some?”

“Of course not. You haven’t had dinner, have you?”

“No. I just woke up a little while ago.”

Eileen rose. “I’ll put the laundry in while you Þ x yourself something to eat.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t. Give me the laundry.”

• 176 •

WHEN DREAMS TREMBLE

Leslie wasn’t really hungry, but she knew she should eat something.

Maybe then the gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach would go away.

Leslie sighed. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Are these yours?” Eileen called from the small laundry room next to the

kitchen.

“No,” Leslie said as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pizza box and

a bottle of Beck’s. She peeked under the lid and saw with satisfaction that there

were two slices remaining. “They’re Dev’s. Mine will have to go to the dry

cleaners, and even then, I’m not sure they’re salvageable.”

“Put that in the microwave,” Eileen said automatically as she rejoined Leslie and

sat down at the counter again.

“It’s Þ ne.” Leslie leaned an elbow on the counter, poured a glass of beer, and

munched on the cold pizza.

Eileen shook her head, smiling faintly. “How’s Dev doing? She looked pretty

worn out this morning.”

Leslie stiffened and took another swallow of beer. “I don’t know.

I haven’t talked to her since we came back.”

“I’ll call her cell and see if she wants me to Þ x something. Maybe you can take

it down to her.”

“No,” Leslie said abruptly. When her mother started in surprise, Leslie lowered

her voice. “I’m sure she would have called if she needed anything. I saw Natalie

on the way down toward her cabin. She looked like she had food with her.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

Peachy. Leslie pushed the last half-eaten slice away and drained her glass. Then

she went to the refrigerator and got another beer.

“Did you call your friend?” Eileen asked, absently Þ lling in a word in the

crossword puzzle.

“Yes.” Leslie paused a beat. “She’s coming up for the Fourth.

She’ll be staying overnight.”

Eileen looked up. “We don’t have any vacancies, but we can bring a day bed

down to your cabin.”

Leslie blushed, thinking of the not-quite-double bed in the small bedroom. “We

won’t need one.”

“Oh,” Eileen said with studied casualness. She crossed to the counter and

poured coffee, then returned. “Rachel. That’s her name, isn’t it?”

• 177 •

RADCLY fFE

“Yes, Rachel Hawthorne.”

“And she’s your….I’m sorry. Is girlfriend correct?”

“We’re involved,” Leslie said. “She’s an attorney.”

“At your Þ rm?”

Leslie appreciated her mother’s effort, but she didn’t want to talk about Rachel

or their life. Still, she answered impassively, “No. Another Þ rm. She does

malpractice litigation.”

“I’m sure it’s not easy going up against the medical establishment.”

“Most of Rachel’s work is defending hospitals and pharmaceutical companies.”

Seeing her mother’s ß eeting expression of displeasure, quickly hidden, Leslie

said bitterly, “I guess neither one of us is on the side of the angels.”

Eileen sighed. “I know some of the things I said when you decided to practice

corporate law made it sound as if I don’t approve of what you do—”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Leslie snapped, her nerves uncharacteristically raw. God,

why did they have to get into this again tonight, when everything else in her life

was so out of control?

“I suppose I’d be happier if you were working for the ACLU or something—”

Leslie snorted and Eileen laughed quietly. “All right, never mind that. I think it’s

probably better that someone like you is doing what you do, rather than

someone with no social conscience at all. And I’ve always trusted your

judgment.”

“My judgment is the last thing you should trust.” Leslie was too tired and too

heartsick to regret what she said, although she knew she would later.

Startled, Eileen leaned forward on the counter and gently touched Leslie’s hand.