Deep Secrets. Beverly Long

      If he got dirty, he could wash off in the lake. She might do the same.

      However, he managed to stay clean, and once he was done, they went back inside. She checked her cell phone to see if there were calls from Summer. Thankfully there were not. She would have been worried if Trish had not answered.

      She dialed her and it rang three times before Summer picked up. “Hey,” her twin said. “I was just about to call you.”

      “How are you feeling?” Trish asked.

      “Better,” Summer said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay last night.”

      “If you hadn’t voluntarily left, I think Bray might have had a stroke.”

      “He worries,” Summer said. “I’ve tried to tell him that I threw up every day for three months when I was pregnant with Keagan and Adie, but he’s not buying it.”

      Her sister was very lucky. She and Bray had loved each other since they were teenagers, but life had intervened and it had taken them fifteen years to find their way to one another.

      “I need a favor,” Trish said.

      “Of course.”

      “Can you take care of the arrangements for Milo’s service? I would help but I drove to the Ozarks last night.”

      “In the middle of the night?” Summer squeaked.

      Trish almost laughed. “Yes, Mother. In the middle of the night. But I arrived safe and sound. No need to worry. And speaking of mothers, will you let Mom know what’s going on?”

      “Of course. But where are you?”

      “Near Heelie Lake. I got a recommendation from M.A. She was here recently with her niece. You knew I’d been planning to take a few days off once you were back. After this thing with Milo, I thought about canceling, but I...I just had to get away.”

      “I totally get it. It’s so awful. I’m going to miss him so much.”

      She could tell Summer was close to tears.

      “I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

      “Promise me that you’ll keep your cell phone on and charged at all times. And no more driving in the middle of the night.”

      “Of course,” Trish said.

      There was a pause on the other end. Finally, Summer spoke. “It must be horrible for you, Trish. To have Milo die on the same day as Rafe. It’s just too much.”

      “Two good men,” Trish said, her own throat closing up.

      “I’m glad you got away,” Summer said. “I’m really glad. Just be safe. I love you. We all do.”

      The line went dead. And Trish knew her twin was either crying or vomiting. But Bray would be there to handle either.

      Maybe if she’d had someone at home, someone to hold her, she wouldn’t have felt the need to run in the middle of the night. She didn’t begrudge her twin’s happiness. Their lives were just different and she’d learned a long time ago to accept that.

      She put her cell phone down and started a pot of coffee. Then she raised every shade on the porch, even the one on the door. M.A. had been right. The view was lovely. From the back steps, there was a little patch of grass that M.A. hadn’t mentioned, maybe twenty feet wide, before one hit the edge of the water.

      The wooden dock that extended another fifty feet over the water was faded but in good repair. Bernie Wilberts’s boat, tied at the end, was white with brown panels. The aluminum fishing boat wasn’t new but, like the dock, appeared sturdy. It would suit her just fine.

      Now that the blinds were up, she realized that wasn’t enough. She opened several of the windows, happy to see that there were screens to keep the bugs out. Duke rested his chin on one of the sills, looking about as happy as a dog could look.

      She could practically hear the lake calling her name. Trish. Trish Wright-Roper.

      “Give me ten minutes,” she said to Duke.

      She walked back into the kitchen, toasted two slices of bread and slathered them with peanut butter. She grabbed a couple of handfuls of dry cereal and chewed. She washed it all down with the coffee that was now ready.

      She hadn’t bothered to unpack the night before. But now she opened her suitcase and pulled out light blue capri pants and a blue-and-white tank. She slipped on a pair of sandals that she’d brought. She loved her cowboy boots but they weren’t good for dangling feet in the water.

      On her way out the back door, she grabbed a well-read romance novel off the bookshelf in the living room. Duke bounded ahead of her, racing up and down the dock three times before she made it to the end.

      The sun was warm on her face and she could smell the heady scent of the water. There was very little algae and, when she sat at the very end of the dock, it was clear enough that she could see the bottom of the lake through the ten or so feet of water.

      Two hours later, she was a hundred and thirty-eight pages into her book, pleasantly warm and, truth be told, a little sleepy. But there were things she needed to do. The idea of more dry cereal was not appealing. She needed to find a grocery store. It was a little early for lunch but she wasn’t on anybody’s schedule but her own. She’d grab a bite to eat and still have the whole afternoon to take the boat out for a little fishing. Bernie Wilberts might like to dangle a line in the middle of the night. Not her.

      She stood up and Duke, who had been stretched out next to her sleeping in the sun, immediately woke up. He stayed close as she walked back to the cottage. Once inside, she tossed her book on the slate table and then closed and locked all the windows and did the same for the back door.

      Then she grabbed her purse and keys and walked out the front door, making sure that it was locked behind her. She opened up the door of her Jeep and Duke jumped in.

      It was fifteen minutes before she got to Heelie. She wasn’t sure which had come first. The town or the lake. But now each was an extension of the other. Every other place on the three-block stretch was a T-shirt shop or a souvenir store. There was one coffee shop, three ice cream parlors and two small restaurants. She parked in front of one. She rolled down the window for Duke. She wasn’t worried about anybody stealing him. He’d bite the person’s arm off who tried that.

      The place had fewer tables than the Wright Here, Wright Now Café and there was no shiny pie case in the corner. The menu looked similar but the prices were higher.

      Maybe it was time for her and Summer to increase theirs. She ordered a BLT with fries and, to test the young waitress, an Arnold Palmer to drink. The girl smiled and said, “My mom drinks those.”

      Trish managed to keep a smile on her face as the young girl trotted off to get her lemonade–iced tea combination. The girl’s comment had been a stark reminder that she was an age where she could have a daughter working behind the counter.

      But look at Summer, a little voice nagged at her, as she unrolled and rerolled her silverware, tighter than it had been before. Summer was exactly the same age and she’d be having a new baby in seven months.

      You’re not over the hill, she told herself.

      But had she crested the peak and was the descent staring her in the face? Suddenly motivated, she pulled out her smartphone and scanned her emails, looking for the last one from the guy that she’d met online. The one she’d told Milo about.

      Maybe it was time to fish or cut bait.

      Barry North wanted to meet her for dinner. She found his message and, before she could change her mind, sent him a quick note confirming that she’d be available to meet him the following Saturday.

      When her BLT and fries arrived, she forced herself to eat. She was moving on. This was good. When she got back to Ravesville, she was tossing out those self-help books about dealing with loss. She was dealing