He lives on his boat, spends his life aimlessly drifting from one place to another.
Are you so different? Rory suddenly realizes. Since when do you want to drop anchor and settle down?
And where would she even do it? Not here. Not in Lake Charlotte. This isn’t home.
An image of her father pops into her head.
Poor Daddy, with his atlases and globes and dreams of getting out of this tiny town. He never had.
Except that once. In California for that year on sabbatical. What a nightmare that had been.
Don’t think about that , Rory commands herself. It was long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore .
Think about something else .
She does. She thinks about Lake Charlotte, wondering if she could ever really stay put in a place like this.
True, it isn’t exactly the dinky little burg it once was. There’s all that new shopping out on High Ridge Road, and the upscale houses going up over in Green Haven Glen. Even the downtown area has been revitalized, with those boutiques and cafes.
There’s this little cafe on Front Street where that Chinese restaurant used to be .
“That’s it!” Rory says aloud, stopping in midscrubbing motion.
That’s what’s bothering her about Barrett Maitland.
How would he know that the cafe used to be the Rainbow Palace? Molly doesn’t even remember that. The restaurant has been closed down for years.
So? Maybe he’s been in Lake Charlotte before. He didn’t come right out and say he’s new here, did he?
No, but he definitely gave that impression . . . didn’t he?
Confused, Rory analyzes her conversation with Barrett Maitland. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned coming to Lake Charlotte in the past?
Oh, come on. Why would he?
Part of her wants to think that she’s being way too suspicious of the guy. But it’s not the common-sense-driven part of her.
No, it’s the lust-driven, bored, lonely part, the part that wants him to be just a nice, regular guy who is who he says he is.
Not that that’s so great, either .
I mean, a true-crime writer doing a book about the four girls who vanished from Lake Charlotte?
Hardly Mr. Perfect for you, Rory .
But at least it’s a better alternative to . . .
Something else. Something too scary to even consider .
Still, the common-sense-driven part of Rory is leaning toward thinking Barrett Maitland isn’t who he claims to be.
Because he was obviously in Lake Charlotte years ago. How else would he know that the little cafe used to be the Rainbow Palace?
Well, maybe someone told him. Maybe Mrs. Shilling mentioned it. After all, she’s the type of person who goes on and on about everything .
That must be it , Rory concludes.
Then she argues with herself, But that’s a stretch. It was just the way he said it—as if he knew. As if he remembered the Chinese restaurant .
Okay, this has got to stop .
She’s making herself crazy, overanalyzing some inane comment, being ridiculously suspicious of the man.
Besides, what’s to stop her from coming right out and asking him when she sees him Saturday night? She can say, “Barrett, have you ever been in Lake Charlotte before?”
That’s what I’ll do. I’ll ask him. And I’ll take it from there .
T he mosquitoes are biting like crazy tonight, buzzing around the warm, humid air trapped in the overgrown mock-orange hedges beneath the kitchen window at 52 Hayes Street.
A few more minutes, and then I’ll have to get out of here before I’m eaten alive .
But it’s so tempting to just stay, despite the mosquitoes, and watch Rory. To smile as she grunts in frustration, trying to scrub the white splotch on the side of the refrigerator.
She’s not doing a very good job. She keeps stopping, staring off into space, as though something’s bothering her, distracting her.
Once, she said something aloud, but it was hard to hear what it was, even with the screen conveniently open.
You’d think she’d lower the blinds.
You’d think she’d be worried that someone might be hiding,
Are you so different? Rory suddenly realizes. Since when do you want to drop anchor and settle down?
And where would she even do it? Not here. Not in Lake Charlotte. This isn’t home.
An image of her father pops into her head.
Poor Daddy, with his atlases and globes and dreams of getting out of this tiny town. He never had.
Except that once. In California for that year on sabbatical. What a nightmare that had been.
Don’t think about that , Rory commands herself. It was long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore .
Think about something else .
She does. She thinks about Lake Charlotte, wondering if she could ever really stay put in a place like this.
True, it isn’t exactly the dinky little burg it once was. There’s all that new shopping out on High Ridge Road, and the upscale houses going up over in Green Haven Glen. Even the downtown area has been revitalized, with those boutiques and cafes.
There’s this little cafe on Front Street where that Chinese restaurant used to be .
“That’s it!” Rory says aloud, stopping in midscrubbing motion.
That’s what’s bothering her about Barrett Maitland.
How would he know that the cafe used to be the Rainbow Palace? Molly doesn’t even remember that. The restaurant has been closed down for years.
So? Maybe he’s been in Lake Charlotte before. He didn’t come right out and say he’s new here, did he?
No, but he definitely gave that impression . . . didn’t he?
Confused, Rory analyzes her conversation with Barrett Maitland. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned coming to Lake Charlotte in the past?
Oh, come on. Why would he?
Part of her wants to think that she’s being way too suspicious of the guy. But it’s not the common-sense-driven part of her.
No, it’s the lust-driven, bored, lonely part, the part that wants him to be just a nice, regular guy who is who he says he is.
Not that that’s so great, either .
I mean, a true-crime writer doing a book about the four girls who vanished from Lake Charlotte?
Hardly Mr. Perfect for you, Rory .
But at least it’s a better alternative to . . .
Something else. Something too scary to even consider .
Still, the common-sense-driven part of Rory is leaning toward thinking Barrett Maitland isn’t who he claims to be.
Because he was obviously in Lake Charlotte years ago. How else would he know that the little cafe used to be the Rainbow Palace?
Well, maybe someone told him. Maybe Mrs. Shilling mentioned it. After all, she’s the type of person who goes on and on about everything .
That must be it , Rory concludes.
Then she argues with herself, But that’s a stretch. It was just the way he said it—as if he knew. As if he remembered the Chinese restaurant .
Okay, this has got to stop .
She’s making herself crazy, overanalyzing some inane comment, being ridiculously suspicious of the man.
Besides, what’s to stop her from coming right out and asking him when she sees him Saturday night? She can say, “Barrett, have you ever been in Lake Charlotte before?”
That’s what I’ll do. I’ll ask him. And I’ll take it from there .
T he mosquitoes are biting like crazy tonight, buzzing around the warm, humid air trapped in the overgrown mock-orange hedges beneath the kitchen window at 52 Hayes Street.
A few more minutes, and then I’ll have to get out of here before I’m eaten alive .
But it’s so tempting to just stay, despite the mosquitoes, and watch Rory. To smile as she grunts in frustration, trying to scrub the white splotch on the side of the refrigerator.
She’s not doing a very good job. She keeps stopping, staring off into space, as though something’s bothering her, distracting her.
Once, she said something aloud, but it was hard to hear what it was, even with the screen conveniently open.
You’d think she’d lower the blinds.
You’d think she’d be worried that someone might be hiding,
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