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I relaxed.
“I’ll take care of that,” I said. “One infant car seat as soon as I can get to a store. Then we’ll take the baby for his first car ride and go see if we can find this place.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” I liked the smile she got on her face. It was the first smile I had seen on her lately that wasn’t from looking at the baby.
I slid the plate with the first piece of French toast onto the table next to the chair where she sat.
“You want me to hold him while you eat?”
“Only if you promise not to cook while you’re holding him.”
“I promise. No multitasking while I’m holding the baby.”
41
LYDIA
The cold went away, and so did the snow, almost as quickly as it arrived. And after a few days, we were left with only a few piles of dirty snow along the edges of the streets. There were no other remnants of the big snowstorm that somehow triggered my early labor with the baby.
He still didn’t have a name. He had spent two days as Chris. Part of the second ‘Chris’ day, we tried using the full name of Christopher and the nickname of Topher. Topher didn’t last for more than ten minutes.
Today, I couldn’t decide if he was going to be Yul or Noel for the rest of the day. Evie had informed me that I had a few more days left before I needed to file the birth certificate.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” I twisted in my seat and looked in the back, where all I could see was the bulk of the car seat that protected him.
“Noel will be fine,” Miles said. “Noel. Noel.” He said the name a couple more times. “It feels awkward in the mouth.”
“Noel,” I repeated. “Noel Carlisle does sound pretty nice together.”
“It does, but on a day to day basis, how often do you walk around being called Lydia Walsh?”
“What about you?” I threw the question back at him.
“I’m either referred to as Carlisle or Miles. In business, nobody really says Miles Carlisle.” He deepened his voice as he said his name.
“You’re right. Nobody walks around calling me Lydia Walsh, at least not since I was in school and the teacher was calling my name.”
We were headed out to the resort he was considering purchasing for development. Miles had gotten the information he needed from county records, including directions and maps. He had spent at least a full day on the phone with somebody in his office in New York, barking orders to them. And now we were going to actually look at the place.
If we could find it.
There was a wide pull off on the road. I glanced down at the printed out directions in my hands. The instructions weren’t very clear. This was the second attempt to find the private road leading to the property.
“I think this might be it,” I said.
Miles pulled over. About ten yards farther into the woods, I could see a chain draped across what at first didn’t even look like a footpath.
“It’s chained up.”
Miles jumped out of the car and examined the posts and the chain. He did something, and then the chain fell to the ground. He brushed his hands together as he walked back to the car. “It was just for show. There are no ‘No Trespassing’ signs posted anywhere, and based on the information we’ve been given, this should be the spot on the map. We’ll be fine. I do this all the time.”
He got in the SUV and began driving slowly as we had to rediscover the roadway covered in years of fallen leaves and branches.
After a quarter of a mile or so, the woods opened up onto a compound of dilapidated buildings and covered walkways. In the not too far distance was a lake with half fallen down boathouses.
“Oh, Miles. This place is…”
“Perfect,” he said.