Page 41 of Confessions

“Hold on. You first,” he said to Bobby. Slowing the craft, he balanced behind Bobby, ready to take over the wheel at a second’s notice. The boy laughed as they cut across the choppy water, gaining speed near the center of the lake.

Impatiently, John demanded his turn at the wheel. By the time they’d circled the lake five or six times, the sky had turned a dark pewter hue. Lights glowed from Nadine’s cabin, and smoke, barely visible in the fading light, curled from the chimney.

“Better drop anchor,” Hayden said over loud protests from both boys.

“Just one more turn,” John pleaded.

“And have your mother on my neck? No way.” Hayden guided the speedboat inland and shut off the engine after mooring the rocking craft. He walked behind the boys as they scurried up the path to the front door and met their mother on the front porch.

“Look at you,” Nadine said, eyeing their wet clothes and ruddy faces and clucking her tongue. “You’re chilled to the bone.”

Standing in the doorway, the light from the fire casting her hair in its fiery glow, she touched each boy fondly on the head. Hayden felt his diaphragm slam hard against his lungs. Her skin was creamy white, dusted with a few freckles across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks were two spots of apricot that contrasted with the deep, searing green of her eyes.

“Go on. Into the shower. Both of you,” she ordered.

“But we’re not dirty,” John argued.

“You’re wet and cold.”

John looked about to argue further, but thought better of it as he tried to brush past her.

“And leave your shoes out here—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dutifully both boys kicked off their sneakers and yanked off soggy socks before tromping inside. John turned just inside the doorway. “Oh, Mr. Monroe. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You can stay for dinner!” Bobby said, and Nadine’s complexion paled.

Hayden, glancing at Nadine, shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Please,” Bobby insisted.

“Another time.” Hayden’s gut twisted, and for the life of him he wondered why it was that dinner in this cramped, cozy cabin seemed so appealing. Maybe it was the house. Maybe it was the kids. Or maybe it was the woman. Another man’s wife. His mouth filled with a bitter taste that wouldn’t go away.

“Mom, make him stay,” John pleaded.

“I don’t think anyone can make Mr. Monroe do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“But he wants to. He’s just bein’ polite!” Bobby said, exasperated at his mother for being so blind.

“You could stay,” she said, though there was more than a trace of reluctance in her voice.

“Wouldn’t your husband object?”

She hesitated for a second, as if wrestling with her conscience, then shook her head. She looked about to say something, then held her tongue.

Hayden’s jaw tightened. Was she the kind of woman who kept secrets behind her husband’s back? Hayden had never liked Sam Warne, thought the guy was a whining, self-indulgent slob, but if Nadine had married him, she should honor her vows. Irritated, he stared at her. God, she was sensual—not in a model or Hollywood manifestation of beauty, but in a purely earthy, feminine way that bored right to his soul. Gritting his teeth, he swore to himself that he’d have nothing more to do with her. She was married and that was that. If she wanted to cheat on Sam or entertain men behind his back, so be it. But not with Hayden.

“I’ve got to get back anyway,” he lied, trying to tell himself that the pine-paneled cabin with its river-rock fireplace and glowing coals held no appeal for him. No more appeal than the woman standing in the doorway. Before he changed his mind and decided that adultery wasn’t such a sin, before he did something they’d both regret for the rest of their lives, he turned on his heel and walked rapidly back to the dock. Plunging fists deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, he bent his head against the wind. He’d go back to that morgue of a summer home, pour himself a stiff drink and try to make some sense of the corporate records of Monroe Sawmill Company. Somehow, some way, he’d shove all thoughts of Nadine from his mind.

* * *

THE LAST PERSON he expected to find waiting for him was his uncle. But there he was, big as life—Thomas Fitzpatrick himself, unfolding his tall body from the interior of a roomy new Cadillac that was parked near the garage. The Caddy’s white finish gleamed in the light from a security lamp over the garage. Leo, barking furiously, neck hairs standing upright, ran toward Thomas.

“Stop!” Hayden commanded, and the dog, snarling lowly, did as he was bid.