Riptide
Page 10
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
She managed to make two cups of tea on the ancient stove while Tyler sat at the kitchen table watching her. “What do you mean you came here because of me?”
She dipped a tea bag in and out of the cups of hot water. “I remembered your talking about your hometown, Riptide. You called it your haven.” She paused a moment and stared down into her teacup. “I’ll never forget your saying that Riptide was in the boondocks, near nothing at all, so private you nearly forgot that you were even here. Just out on the edge of the world, nearly falling into the ocean, and nobody knew where it was, or cared. You also said that Riptide was the place where the sun first rose in the U.S. You said for those moments, the sky was an orange ball and the water was a cauldron of fire.”
“I said that? I didn’t know I was such a poet.”
“That’s nearly word for word, and, as I told you, that’s why I came. Goodness, I can’t get over how you’ve changed, Tyler.”
“Everyone changes, Becca. Even you. You’re prettier now than you were back in college.” He frowned a moment, as if trying to remember. “Your hair’s darker and I don’t remember you having brown eyes or wearing glasses, but otherwise, I’d know you anywhere.” Well damn, she thought, that wasn’t good. She pushed the glasses higher on her nose.
He accepted the cup of tea, not speaking until she sat down at the table across from him. Then he smiled at her and said, “Why do you need a haven?”
What to tell him?
That the governor had been shot in the neck because of her? No, no, she couldn’t feel responsible. That madman shot the governor. She stalled.
He backed off and said, “You went to New York, didn’t you? You were a writer, I remember. What were you doing in New York?”
“I was writing speeches,” she said easily, “for bigwigs in various companies. I can’t believe you remember that I went to New York.”
“I remember nearly everything about people I like. Why do you need a haven? No, wait, if it isn’t any of my business, forget it. It’s just that I’m worried about you.”
She wasn’t a very good liar, but she had to try. “No, it’s okay. I’m getting away from a very bad relationship.”
“Your husband?”
No choice. “Yes, my husband. He’s very possessive. I wanted out and he didn’t want to let me go. I thought of Riptide and what you’d said.” She didn’t want to tell him about her mother dying. To mix that with a lie was just too much. She managed to shrug and raise her teacup to click it against his. “Thanks, Tyler, for being at Dartmouth and talking about your hometown to me.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his eyes serious upon her face. “If your husband is after you, how do you know he didn’t follow you to the airport? I know New York traffic is nuts, but it’s not all that hard to follow someone, if you really want to.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve read a lot of spy novels and seen lots of police shows.” She told him how she’d changed taxis three times on the way to Kennedy. “When I got out at the United terminal, I was sure no one had followed me. My last driver was one of a vanishing breed—a native New Yorker cabbie. He knew Queens as well as he knew his ex-wife’s lover, he told me. No one followed me, he was sure of it. I flew to Boston, then on to Portland, and bought myself a used Toyota from Big Frank’s. I drove up here to your haven, and he’ll never find me.”
She had no idea whether or not he believed her. Well, all that about her escape from New York was the truth. She’d only lied about who she was running from.
“I sure hope you’re right. But I plan to keep an eye on you, Becca Powell.”
She managed to get him to talk about himself. He told her he was a computer consultant, a troubleshooter of sorts, and he designed software programs for major accounting and brokerage firms, “to track clients and money and how the two come together. I’m successful, Becca, and it feels good. You know, you were the only girl in college who didn’t look at me and giggle at what a jerk I was. You called me a nerd and a geek, but that was okay, it was the truth. Do you know we’ve got a gym in Riptide? I’m there three days a week. I find that if I don’t work out regularly, I get all skinny again, lose my energy, and want to wear a pocket protector.”
“You’re sure not skinny now, Tyler.”
“No,” he said, grinning at her, “I’m not.”
When she showed him out some fifteen minutes later, she wondered again if he’d believed her reason for coming to Riptide. He was a nice guy; she’d hated to lie to him. She was glad he was here. She wasn’t completely alone. She watched him get into his Jeep. He looked up and waved at her, then executed a sharp U-turn. He lived just one street over, on Gum Shoe Lane, but it was a good distance away.
She dipped a tea bag in and out of the cups of hot water. “I remembered your talking about your hometown, Riptide. You called it your haven.” She paused a moment and stared down into her teacup. “I’ll never forget your saying that Riptide was in the boondocks, near nothing at all, so private you nearly forgot that you were even here. Just out on the edge of the world, nearly falling into the ocean, and nobody knew where it was, or cared. You also said that Riptide was the place where the sun first rose in the U.S. You said for those moments, the sky was an orange ball and the water was a cauldron of fire.”
“I said that? I didn’t know I was such a poet.”
“That’s nearly word for word, and, as I told you, that’s why I came. Goodness, I can’t get over how you’ve changed, Tyler.”
“Everyone changes, Becca. Even you. You’re prettier now than you were back in college.” He frowned a moment, as if trying to remember. “Your hair’s darker and I don’t remember you having brown eyes or wearing glasses, but otherwise, I’d know you anywhere.” Well damn, she thought, that wasn’t good. She pushed the glasses higher on her nose.
He accepted the cup of tea, not speaking until she sat down at the table across from him. Then he smiled at her and said, “Why do you need a haven?”
What to tell him?
That the governor had been shot in the neck because of her? No, no, she couldn’t feel responsible. That madman shot the governor. She stalled.
He backed off and said, “You went to New York, didn’t you? You were a writer, I remember. What were you doing in New York?”
“I was writing speeches,” she said easily, “for bigwigs in various companies. I can’t believe you remember that I went to New York.”
“I remember nearly everything about people I like. Why do you need a haven? No, wait, if it isn’t any of my business, forget it. It’s just that I’m worried about you.”
She wasn’t a very good liar, but she had to try. “No, it’s okay. I’m getting away from a very bad relationship.”
“Your husband?”
No choice. “Yes, my husband. He’s very possessive. I wanted out and he didn’t want to let me go. I thought of Riptide and what you’d said.” She didn’t want to tell him about her mother dying. To mix that with a lie was just too much. She managed to shrug and raise her teacup to click it against his. “Thanks, Tyler, for being at Dartmouth and talking about your hometown to me.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his eyes serious upon her face. “If your husband is after you, how do you know he didn’t follow you to the airport? I know New York traffic is nuts, but it’s not all that hard to follow someone, if you really want to.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve read a lot of spy novels and seen lots of police shows.” She told him how she’d changed taxis three times on the way to Kennedy. “When I got out at the United terminal, I was sure no one had followed me. My last driver was one of a vanishing breed—a native New Yorker cabbie. He knew Queens as well as he knew his ex-wife’s lover, he told me. No one followed me, he was sure of it. I flew to Boston, then on to Portland, and bought myself a used Toyota from Big Frank’s. I drove up here to your haven, and he’ll never find me.”
She had no idea whether or not he believed her. Well, all that about her escape from New York was the truth. She’d only lied about who she was running from.
“I sure hope you’re right. But I plan to keep an eye on you, Becca Powell.”
She managed to get him to talk about himself. He told her he was a computer consultant, a troubleshooter of sorts, and he designed software programs for major accounting and brokerage firms, “to track clients and money and how the two come together. I’m successful, Becca, and it feels good. You know, you were the only girl in college who didn’t look at me and giggle at what a jerk I was. You called me a nerd and a geek, but that was okay, it was the truth. Do you know we’ve got a gym in Riptide? I’m there three days a week. I find that if I don’t work out regularly, I get all skinny again, lose my energy, and want to wear a pocket protector.”
“You’re sure not skinny now, Tyler.”
“No,” he said, grinning at her, “I’m not.”
When she showed him out some fifteen minutes later, she wondered again if he’d believed her reason for coming to Riptide. He was a nice guy; she’d hated to lie to him. She was glad he was here. She wasn’t completely alone. She watched him get into his Jeep. He looked up and waved at her, then executed a sharp U-turn. He lived just one street over, on Gum Shoe Lane, but it was a good distance away.
