“Trixie?” Rory snapped his fingers. “Are you still with me?”
Jolted to attention, Trixie muttered, “Yes.”
“Honey, Mitch isn’t the same man we once knew. If I thought for a minute he could make you happier than you are now or if he could somehow fit into our lives, I would be the first to arrange a meeting with all of us.”
Trixie’s eyes filled with tears as the betrayal shook her to her very core. “Instead you and Brock met Mitch without me. Then, you planned this rendezvous so you could keep me away from Mitch.”
“You’re right,” Rory said, conceding. “And I’ll never apologize for the choice we made.”
Chapter Ten
“Colony’s Cow Camp,” Mitch mumbled, pulling to a stop in front of the large iron gates.
He remembered the day he took control of the day-to-day operations as camp administrator. The first order of business had been to contact Rory and Brock and make sure his childhood friends were still on board for summer positions.
At the time, he remembered thinking he would need to negotiate Brock’s return. The summer prior to his promotion, they’d spent a volatile summer with Jordie Anne. They’d partied more than they’d worked and the end result had been catastrophic.
Jordie Anne had ended up addicted to drugs. She’d left Cow Camp for an emergency committal to a nearby mental health facility.
His vision blurred. His back stiffened. He’d carried tremendous guilt for more than a decade, often beating himself up as he considered the vibrant young woman Jordie had once been and the lunatic she’d later become.
He and Rory had often been at odds that last summer Jordie Anne spent with them. Rory insisted Jordie’s addiction developed because of Mitch’s dominant personality and his overwhelming desire to make her submit to his every need.
In the end, he had to agree with Rory. The submissive living inside her had actually been her downfall. Once Mitch was behind bars, she didn’t know how to live without him and another personality emerged, one he didn’t know how to help, much less control from afar.
Mitch entered the camp at about ten miles per hour even though he realized there wasn’t anyone there to monitor his speed. He didn’t have to watch for careless campers as he rounded the bend and passed the tennis courts.
He didn’t need to stop at the huts on the hill to make sure the counselors were in their cabins before the signal for lights-out. There were no counselors to reprimand, no children to see, no parents to greet. Long gone were the clotheslines draped in beach towels and swimsuits.
The place was abandoned. Even the open-air gymnasium looked like an eyesore. Some of the maroon siding was barely attached. The weather had likely worn the once-polished floors. Cobwebs hung from the main entrance, proving the indoor-outdoor facility hadn’t been an area of concern for the camp’s caretakers.
He parked in front of the sidewalk leading to what was once used as the craft hut. Beyond the small shack, a rifle range had once been used as an afterhours gathering spot for the counselors interested in socializing with their peers.
Everywhere he looked then reminded him of fond memories, summer days spent out on South Holston Lake with Rory and Brock, and later with Jordie Anne and then with Trixie.
Maybe coming there hadn’t been the best idea.
Shoving his hand in his pocket, he retrieved his keys and left the vehicle. He’d stay in the lakefront home his grandparents had once occupied. In the morning, he’d go down to the island and have a look around.
The drive from Asheville took longer than usual and he was beat. He needed some rest. After a good night’s sleep, perhaps he would figure out what to do with the information Ansley had given him.
Trixie still loved him. Maybe after she had some time away with Brock and Rory, they’d return to Asheville and Ansley would tell Trixie about his visit.
Then, if she wanted to find him, she’d look for him. She would know where to find him.
Twirling his keys, he set out on the path leading to the lake house. About halfway down the trail, he heard, “I was hoping you’d come here.”
Startled, Mitch wheeled around. “Who’s there?”
“Who’s there?” A laugh resounded. “Is that any way to greet an old cellmate?”
“Cash?” Mitch narrowed his gaze. “Cash Whitehead, is that you?”
“Who else would know where to find you?”
The full moon above them provided good visibility once Cash stepped beyond the gymnasium overhang. As Cash made his way toward him, Mitch could see the broad smile across his former cellmate’s face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mitch asked, wondering if he should be alarmed or merely thankful for the company.