The Weight of Madness Page 3

  “Of course, no heavy stuff over sushi,” he said politely.

  The waitress came and took our order. Lance was pretty daring with his food choices, and I was intrigued by that. I, however, ordered chicken. Sushi terrified me. I was adventurous when it came to a lot of things, but not raw food wrapped in ocean waste. I had to draw the line somewhere.

  “I guess before deciding whether or not you’re even worth kidnapping, I have a few questions for you,” he said playfully after the waitress stepped away from our table.

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “Eh, your basic life story for starters,” he began. “Who you are, where you came from. Then maybe we can follow that up with more in-depth detail about whether or not you have a concealed weapon carrying permit, followed by any aggression triggers you may have, whether or not you know karate, things of that nature.”

  I laughed. I liked him already. The handsomeness of his dark hair and light eyes were still leading the charge at the moment, but his sense of humor was quickly growing on me.

  “Well, I’m from Grand Harbor,” I explained. “Then I went away to college in Chicago for a little over four years. I loved so much about living in the city, but I always knew I wanted to come back here.”

  “Is your family all in the area? Or just your grandma?”

  “I’m an only child, so no siblings around or anything. My dad and ‘Kimberly’ moved to Florida over the winter, which was another reason I wanted to move back to Grand Harbor. I didn’t like the idea of Grandma Eve being alone. Not that they spent much time with her anyway, but that’s a story for another day.” I could hear my voice start to choke up, which was a sign we needed to change the conversation. Losing my mom at a young age was not something I could talk about with strangers. Fortunately he seemed to pick up on that.

  “What about the lights,” he interjected. “How’d you get started with all that?”

  “It’s a unique passion, I know,” I snickered. “When I was a little girl I don’t recall ever wanting to grow up and own a lighting store. My eight-year-old self would’ve died at the mere thought of it. I actually wanted to be a lion tamer most of my childhood.”

  “Sounds like you wandered away a bit from that dream,” he teased.

  “I know, one visit to the circus and I had my life planned out,” I laughed. “I was just mesmerized by the idea of controlling some wild creature who was bigger and stronger than me. That fascinated me.”

  “So you like being in control? That kind of sounds like something a kidnapper would say,” he joked.

  “Well that’s kind of true,” I admitted. “I have some OCD issues. In college, the library I studied in, it had these weird sconce lights. They were dim and horrible and didn’t fit the room. The light pointed toward the ceiling, which didn’t make any sense to me for a study area. The light should point down.”

  He stared back at me as I spoke, and I wasn’t sure if he was really interested in what I was saying or if he was just being polite.

  “Anyway, long story short, I started drawing light fixture designs into my notebooks during lectures,” I continued. “I eventually changed my English Lit major to Engineering. My dad of course was thrilled at the prospect of me actually being able to get a job with that. He wanted me to work for the city, designing sidewalks or something grand like that. But I met Austin along the way through some mutual friends, and he kind of just lit my dreams on fire. He encouraged me and listened to me and humored all my extravagant ideas. We started making pieces together, daydreaming about opening a shop.”

  “That’s pretty amazing,” he said sincerely. “It’s weird how we end up finding our calling like that.”

  “What about you? Real estate, or construction or whatever, that’s yours?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out,” he replied with a shrug. “My dad owns a sizeable construction company, so of course there were always some expectations that my brother and I would follow suit. Instead of college, I got my real estate license. My older brother Logan was always the heavy lifter, so he did the manual labor with my dad while I was drowning in contracts. Then my dad had a heart attack.”

  “Oh, whoa. I’m so sorry to hear that,” I replied, caught off guard.

  “He’s better, but taking it easy,” he continued. “He’s backed off from the company quite a bit.”

  “So you and your brother are taking it over?”

  “Not exactly,” he sighed, “Everything is kind of up in the air right now. My brother had a falling out with my dad over some things, and he moved up here before my dad got sick. My dad didn’t want to take on any new projects, so my brother actually brought me onto the crew handling the McCarthy house. Before I left, I kind of just hit a rough patch. Even before my dad’s heart attack, I was going through some stuff. I felt stuck. So in the midst of trying to figure out what to do, this opportunity came up and I thought moving to the beach may clear my head.”

  “The beach is good for that,” I agreed. It was one of the things I missed most while living in a crowded city. There was no solitude there. “How long have you been here?”

  “Just a couple of months. It’s flown by working two jobs. Honestly I feel like work has been the only thing I’ve done here so far. I’m probably just using it as a distraction from sorting out everything else in my life. It keeps me busy though, which is satisfying enough for now.”

  “What would you rather be doing?”

  “Honestly, I love some elements of what I do, working on big projects like the McCarthy house. I just don’t like how we go about it,” he explained. “I’d rather refurbish or rebuild what’s already there, you know? We’re always knocking down old structures and starting over, and that’s fine. I understand it. But sometimes I’m hauling away beautiful, weathered wood and I can’t help but want to turn it back into something meaningful. I like the history of what’s already there, and although I understand everyone wanting to perpetually make everything bigger and better, I just want to create something amazing out of what’s already right in front of me. That’s why I love being part of the Reclaimed project – helping people – improving something that’s already there, serving a purpose. I get so much more satisfaction out of that. These people don’t want to move, they want to stay where they’re at, but they just need some modifications to make their lives easier. I love that feeling when I get to accomplish that, and I swear their joy at the end of a project far exceeds the reaction I get after working on a two million dollar property. It’s insane. Once we built a ramp for an old veteran who lost his leg after a freak accident at a car race. We used old boards someone donated from a torn down farmhouse and it was a quick easy project that only took me a few hours. I came back the next day to stain the wood for him, and he was sitting there on his deck in complete tears. He was so grateful for what we did. Anyone else would’ve seen old used wood and cheap stain, but to this guy it was beautiful and it mattered. I wish every project I touched could feel like that.”

  He stared back at me and his words weren’t lost on me at all. I understood exactly what he was saying. I was enamored by the history and story behind everything I touched. I loved mixing old pieces into my fixtures to give them character, assuming the buyer would notice and appreciate those details. It was also the reason everything we did was handmade and unique – I had no desire to mass produce the same designs. I wanted them to mean something to people, which probably seemed ridiculous to the outside world who just saw a light fixture and felt nothing else, but it mattered to me nonetheless. Listening to Lance talk, I so badly wanted to find a place where I could give away some of my fixtures to a good cause like that. He was inspiring me as he spoke.

  “I would be more than happy to donate some of our fixtures, if you think that’s something your organization could benefit from,” I offered, probably sounding stupid. I imagined most of the people they helped had more direct needs, but still, maybe it would matter to someone.

  “I’ll let
my boss know. We appreciate anything people have to offer, as the grants we get for supplies are pretty low, and all the labor is donated time.” He took a sip of his water. “Do you have to get back to the store after this, or can I take you somewhere?” He had a suggestive tone in his voice, like he had a place in mind. The waitress set down our food and it looked heavenly, even though my order last night was similar.

  “I can make a call,” I replied. “I’m sure I can move some things around.” The truth was we closed at six, and Sam would be there until closing. I was sure I could get away for the rest of the afternoon if things worked out that way with Lance.

  “What’s your favorite thing to do in this town?” he asked with narrow eyes, changing the conversation.

  “There are a lot of great spots,” I began, taking a bite of my food. I thought hard about his question for a minute. “There are a lot of touristy things to do of course with all the beaches and whatnot. Lighthouses are big around here if those impress you.”

  “Do they impress you?”

  “Not really,” I replied with a giggle. “But I’m used to them I guess, so they’re just a normal every day part of my scenery I suppose. Honestly I’m content just sitting somewhere listening to the waves crash against the shore. That sound will never grow old to me. All I heard in Chicago was traffic. Barking dogs. People yelling out windows. But out this way, everything is much more calm. The water relaxes me.”

  “So that’s what you do for fun all the time around here, other than bingo with Grandma? Sit on the beach?”

  “I spend my fair share of time by the water,” I agreed. “The Grand Sun River is one of my favorite spots. Especially this time of year when it’s warm enough to start venturing into the water, but still early enough in the season that it’s not overrun by tourists. You can rent tubes and rafts and float down the river. It’s kind of a party scene after Memorial Day; lots of alcohol and debauchery and drunk eighteen year olds making poor decisions, that kind of thing. But it can also be pretty relaxing if you go at the right time, like on a weekday afternoon when it’s less crowded.”

  “It sounds like you’re pretty laid back. All this talk about relaxing... How do you find time to even do that while owning your own business?”

  “It’s the beach life out here, I swear,” I said with a soft laugh. “Honestly I’m not great at relaxing. It generally has to be forced on me, which is one of the many reasons I appreciate my friends. The last five years have been such a whirlwind for me. First with school on top of waitressing jobs to get by, then these last few months getting the shop in order... It’s all been a bit overwhelming. But then my friends will drag me down to the beach on a Saturday afternoon for some volleyball and it restores me. Or often at night when it’s warm enough I’ll open my windows and I hear the soft waves crashing into the shore and it’s the most calming rhythm. The sound just washes over me and everything feels peaceful. I would give anything to have a lake view where every single morning I could wake up and see the shore. This may sound dumb, but it’s one of those things that gives me purpose, just staring out into the blank canvas of open water. It helps me make sense of things. It helps me shut my brain off. The water relaxes me like nothing else.”

  “I get that,” he replied, nodding. “That’s why I moved out here, honestly; to clear my head.” He had a hint of sadness in his voice, but he didn’t elaborate. It seemed too soon to probe further.

  We finished our lunch, making small talk about other good restaurants in town along with some other local hotspots. His brother had been in Grand Harbor since last fall, so they spent the last couple months exploring the area together. He led me to believe his brother was pretty quiet and not big on crowded social activities. Having Lance in town was at least bringing him out of his shell a bit, and they often spent their weekends going to nearby breweries or checking out local places to eat.

  “Are you still fine with playing hooky from work?” he reiterated, gauging my comfort level.

  “Yeah, let me tell the office.” I reached into my bag to grab my phone. I quickly sent a text to Sam and Austin.

  Something has come up. Are you both cool if I’m out for the afternoon? Need anything?

  I waited a moment for a reply. Austin’s text came through first.

  I’m a dude. I can’t tell if this is a cry for help of if you’re about to get lucky.

  I laughed, and I could tell by Lance’s reaction that he wondered about my text exchange.

  “Just Austin making sure you’re not actually kidnapping me,” I said playfully. Lance smiled back.

  “It may feel like that when you see where I’m taking you, but I swear it’s legit.” He put his hands up innocently.

  Sam’s text came through next. I hear ya loud and clear. Austin told me about the heartthrob. I’d be disappointed if you came back. XOXO

  That was clearly the difference between a man’s point of view versus a woman’s point of view in a situation like this. I found it amusing.

  I’ll be in first thing tomorrow morning. Starbucks on me for a week. You guys are the best. I slid my phone back into my purse.

  “I’m all yours,” I shrugged, staring at Lance from across the table.

  “Perfect. Exactly what a kidnapper wants to hear.”

  Chapter 4

  “So where are we headed?” I asked curiously. We’d walked back to his apartment after lunch to grab his navy blue pickup truck.

  “It’s only about ten minutes from here,” he explained as we drove north up the shoreline. “I found it about a month ago. This is going to make or break our friendship.”

  “The friendship we’ve been fostering for all of about two hours now?” I teased.

  “Exactly,” he joked back. “It’s a good test. You know how psychiatrists show people ink blots and they ask what you see?”

  “Are you trying to subtly tell me that you have a psychiatrist?”

  “Of course not, that’s fourth date information,” he laughed.

  “Fourth?”

  “Yeah. A lot of people have the three-date rule, right? Three dates before they’re willing to, you know, get intimate or whatever,” he said vaguely, cautious of his word choice.

  “Is that so? Is that a rule for you?”

  “Honestly looking at you right now in my passenger seat, you could probably talk me into worse ideas,” he replied with a slight laugh. “Plus I’m a man, so rules aren’t really our thing. But the point is…”

  “Thank heavens there’s a point to all that,” I giggled, cutting him off.

  “I’m just saying that you’re not supposed to spill the heavy conversation until after all that happens. You know, the intimacy and all that. I have to hook you first before we get into my personal psych history. That goes for a lot of things actually, criminal backgrounds, how you’ve stalked past exes, horrifically embarrassing stories – that’s definitely all fourth date conversation. I mean none of that stuff even applies to me, I swear. The criminal background and all that... I’m more so just letting you know that you have some time before I expect to get all of that info from you.”

  He said it all humorously, and I knew he was just making light conversation, but deep down I had to wonder if he did in fact have any skeletons in his closet. After all, I barely knew him.

  “We’re way off topic, back to the ink blot,” he continued with an energetic voice. “You’re only going to see one of two things when we pull up: paradise, or a valid reason to get a tetanus shot. There’s not a lot of middle ground.”

  He pulled his truck up a narrow, overgrown gravel drive. The trees were thick. Given we were on the opposite side of the road from the lake, the land was pretty wooded and hilly. We finally reached our destination and he turned off the engine. He looked over at me, gauging my reaction.

  In front of us stood an old, rundown cabin. There were missing boards, very few intact windows, and the entire thing looked like it was made of driftwood.

  “So?” He still stare
d at me, waiting for my opinion.

  “If you’re really going to murder me here, I’d like to make a few calls first,” I joked. We opened up the truck doors and stepped out of the vehicle. The structure itself was in bad shape, there was no denying that. The view made up for it though. The huge pine trees shielded the spot from any other properties nearby, yet you could see straight out to the lake from the cabin. “Wow. Okay, this has some serious potential.”

  “So you also see paradise when you look at this place, right?” He smirked at me and I couldn’t help but smile back. His joy was contagious.

  “I’m a bit of a slow dreamer, but I’d say it has a chance,” I speculated, looking at my surroundings. Despite all of the overgrown brush and the thick tree lining, given the house’s placement on the hill, it appeared the cabin had a perfectly unobstructed view of Lake Michigan from every front-facing window. That was relatively rare for being on the opposite side of the road. Usually humongous beach houses right on the water took up all the best views.

  “This is what I want to do,” he explained, leading me toward the house. “I see this and I so badly want to revive it, just as it is. I mean obviously it needs a lot of work, but the structure is actually pretty amazing. Upstairs there’s a giant loft, see, there where the second story balcony is,” he pointed. “To me this is everything I want in the universe.”

  “I’d be willing to bet you could negotiate a hell of a price,” I responded only half sarcastically. “Is it even for sale, or are you just stalking someone else’s property?”

  “I’m working with a title company to figure that out,” he chuckled. “It’s been abandoned for so long that they need some time to trace it. You’ve got to see the inside though, it’s amazing.”