more free, but instead she found herself trapped in memories she had no desire

to relive. “There’s no need for you to move out of your cabin. We’re not likely

to see each other. I’ll be working most of the time, and I imagine you’ll be off

doing whatever you do.”

Dr. Weber , her mother had said. Leslie could barely believe that this woman

was the angry, often sullen, teenager she remembered. Dev had never studied in

school, and her grades had shown it. Even though Dev had almost failed her

junior year, Leslie always knew she was smart. She could tell from the things

they talked about. Dev seemed to know something about almost everything, but

she never cared about doing well in school or whether other people approved of

her. That was one of the things Leslie always loved…

“I’ll stay in the lodge,” Leslie said.

“You ought to be able to stay wherever you want while you’re here,” Dev

pointed out reasonably. “It’s your home, after all.”

“No it isn’t.” Leslie shouldered her briefcase and started to add that she didn’t

care where she slept when she felt the ß uttering sensation well up in her chest.

The surge of panic that followed only made her heart pound faster. With a gasp,

she dropped her luggage and sat down quickly in the nearest porch chair.

“Les, are you okay?” Dev took the Þ nal two stairs to the porch in one long

stride. Leslie was very pale, but even more disconcerting, she looked frightened.

Dev knelt by her side. “Les?”

“Fine,” Leslie said with a wave of her hand. She felt just a little bit breathless,

but the ß uttering sensation was already starting to subside. “Hot. I should have

had something to drink on the train besides coffee.”

• 47 •

RADCLY fFE

“I’ll get you something to drink from inside.” Dev started to rise when Leslie

caught her arm.

“No, don’t. My mother…”

“I won’t tell her.” Dev, stiff with shock, stared at Leslie’s Þ ngers wrapped

around her wrist. It was odd, they were exactly as she remembered them,

incredibly soft and strong at the same time. Satin over steel. Her body

remembered every place that Leslie had ever touched, even casually, and she

shuddered at the explosion of sensation.

Gently, she drew her arm away. “I’ll tell your mother it’s for me. Pepsi, not

Coke, right?”

Leslie bit the inside of her lip. Two years together, and Rachel could never

remember that, but somehow, Dev had, even after all this time. She felt

dangerously close to tears, and barely recognized herself. Of course, she’d

hardly slept in two nights and what little rest she’d managed had been uneasy.

Part of her kept expecting to wake up breathless with that terrible pressure in

her chest. She nodded, because she needed a minute to settle herself and she

didn’t want to have Dev see her so shaken. Dev always could see too much.

“Thanks. Yes, Pepsi would be great.”

“No problem.” Dev put her hands in her pockets because she had the

overwhelming desire to touch Leslie on her shoulder, or her hair.

Somewhere, just to reassure her, or maybe herself, that everything was all right.

For a second, she’d thought that Leslie was going to faint, and she still didn’t

look quite right. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Relieved to be alone, Leslie rested her head against the back of the white

wicker rocker and closed her eyes. She pressed her index Þ nger over the pulse

in her wrist. It seemed fast, but steady. She could breathe again. It was hot for

June. And, she had to admit, seeing Dev had thrown her. She’d known that

coming home was going to be difÞ cult to begin with, and now she couldn’t

remember why she’d ever thought it was a good idea at all.

Since she’d changed her mind about doing something environmentally related as

a career and gone into law instead, her relationship with her parents, especially

her mother, had been awkward.

Her parents were one step up from hippies—well, old hippies now—but she

could remember riding on her father’s shoulders during equal rights marches and

carrying signs at supermarkets to protest the treatment of migrant farm workers.

As a child she used to play on the rug in front

• 48 •

WHEN DREAMS TREMBLE

of the huge stone Þ replace, listening to her parents and their friends debate

everything from abortion rights to global warming. Her parents still grew their

own organic vegetables, and the only boats that put out from the boathouse at

Lakeview other than the outboard her father used to ferry campers to the islands

were sailboats or other non-motorized craft.

She was a disappointment to them, and she knew it.

“Here you go,” Dev said, squatting down again beside Leslie and handing her a

sweating glass of soda. “No ice and a straw.”

Dev didn’t say just the way you like it, but Leslie heard the words all the

same. She took the glass and managed to smile, although she wasn’t certain she

could take any more kindness. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?”

Leslie sipped the Pepsi, giving herself a few extra seconds to chase away the

disturbing disorientation that came over her every time she looked at Dev.

Forty-eight hours ago she had been immersed in another world, a world she had

chosen and in which she knew exactly who she was. She’d been in charge, in

control, sure of herself. She’d been…satisÞ ed. She’d also been certain that

was as close to happy as she could be.

“Les?” Dev stared at Leslie’s left hand, then gently cradled it in her palm. There

was no engagement ring, no wedding band, but that wasn’t what held her

attention now. She looked from the bruise surrounding the healing puncture site

to Leslie’s face. “What’s wrong, Les?”

“Nothing.” Leslie drew her hand back, closing her Þ ngers into a Þ st and

turning her hand away so that the IV site was no longer visible.

She’d forgotten that was there. There was another one on her right forearm, but

her jacket covered it.

Dev didn’t repeat the question, but Leslie could see it still swirling in her eyes.

When she’d Þ rst seen Dev at the train station, she hadn’t thought she would

recognize her if they’d passed on the street, but she realized now that she’d

been wrong. It was true that Dev had grown into a woman even more attractive

than she’d been as a teenager, but if Leslie had ever seen her eyes, she would

have known her anywhere.

Her eyes were the same, and Leslie hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said they

always gave Dev away. When she was angry those tiny gold ß ecks that Leslie

had always coveted disappeared and her irises darkened from hazel to gray.

When she was happy, they sparkled with

• 49 •

RADCLY fFE

a hint of green as pure as new spring grass. When she was worried, like now,

the colors swirled like shadowy eddies in the lake during a hard rain.

“Really. I’m just getting over a bug of some kind.” Without thinking, Leslie

rested a hand on Dev’s shoulder, surprised at the hard muscles beneath the

cotton shirt. They felt so different from Rachel’s Þ rmness or her own gymtoned

body. She considered herself strong, but what she sensed in Dev’s body

was power.

“There’s probably time for a nap before dinner,” Dev said, not completely sure

she believed Leslie’s story. But she had no right to question her either. She

eased back on her heels and breathed a little easier when Leslie removed her

hand. The physical contact made her uncomfortable. “Your mother said to tell

you she freed up cabin nine indeÞ nitely. I’ll take your luggage down.”

Leslie set her glass aside and stood. “I’ll get it. You’ve done enough this

afternoon. You don’t have to play bellboy as well.”

Dev grinned. “I did that for a while in college. It paid pretty well.”

“Where did you go?”

“Syracuse.”

Leslie smiled wanly. She had always planned to go to the College of Forestry at

Syracuse. She and Dev often talked about it when they sat together by the lake

after school. But when she’d been accepted at Yale, where she’d only applied

because her guidance counselors had insisted, she hadn’t been able to resist the

lure of attending an Ivy League school. And she admitted now, she’d been

eager to experience something bigger than her small-town life. There’d been

fewer than a hundred seniors in her graduating high school class. She’d known

them all since kindergarten. Everyone she knew in school looked the same,

thought the same, shared the same plans for the future. Except for Dev. Dev

was the only one who was exciting and different, and their friendship…well, that

was something that had always seemed apart from the rest of her life.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do now than carry luggage.”

Dev shrugged and picked up the suitcase. There was no way she was going to

let Leslie carry it a quarter of a mile to the cabin. “You’re wearing heels, Les.”

• 50 •

WHEN DREAMS TREMBLE