Retreat To Me (The Retreat Series Book 1) Read online

  Retreat To Me

  Christina Benjamin

  Crown Atlantic Publishing

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Book 2 Sneak Peek

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Acknowledgments

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Christina Benjamin

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2017 by Christina Benjamin

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Crown Atlantic Publishing

  Version 1.1

  March 2017

  For all those who have loved and lost.

  And were strong enough to love again.

  Chapter 1

  Cassidy

  Monday, 5 June 1944

  My Darling Cassidy,

  This is the last letter I write to you. For after our assured victory at Utah Beach tomorrow, Ivy Company will march home heroes. I will come home to you, steadfast and loyal, as my heart has ever been. I would give anything in the world to see you one more time before our mission, to feel your arms around me. You always were my strength. But I keep you in my heart as I go to battle. Keep my love warm in your own so that I may find my way back to you. It will be heaven to be home and have you in my arms again. Wait for me at my house. And wear the blue dress. I always love the way it makes your eyes sparkle. Just like the lake. Our lake. I cannot wait for the day we are free to be together and have our whole beautiful life ahead of us. You give me something to live for.

  Your Jacob

  Cassidy caressed the soft yellow paper, feeling her heart splinter as her fingers roved over the letters his hands—her Jacob’s hands—had written. They were the last words she’d ever have from him. And they weren’t enough. Not nearly enough. She wasn’t strong enough to let them sustain her any longer.

  With a shaking hand, Cassidy swirled the melting ice around in the heavy crystal glass and took a long, desperate swig. Then another. When it was empty she rested it against her forehead savoring the coolness. It had been six months. Six months since the war had stolen Jacob from her. Six months since her heart had been irrevocably torn. Six months was all she’d lasted without him.

  The absurdity of it made her laugh. Cassidy had actually been without Jacob for nearly four years if you counted the time he spent serving their country in the war. But he hadn’t really seemed gone during those years. Not in the way he was gone now. There’s a difference between absence and loss. A permanence that settles within your soul when you realize someone is gone forever. The heaviness of it can strip away reason. And that is certainly what happened to Cassidy after Jacob died. She had only lasted six months—that was barely longer than the sum total of their romance.

  Jacob had only been in Cassidy’s life for twelve weeks before his draft letter came. Ill-humored irony washed over Cassidy and she smirked. How fitting. Letters are what started and ended their love. They were like perfect bookends holding her upright. But she’d felt them slipping these last few months. Felt the drink and the darkness pushing harder. That’s why she was here. Gazing out at the lake—their lake. She would write one final letter to punctuate the end of her sad existence. One perfect masterpiece to immortalize her and Jacob’s love. Then she would end it all and they could finally be together again.

  She read the last line of Jacob’s letter again and smiled as she refilled her glass from the half empty bottle of gin.

  You give me something to live for.

  “But what do I live for now that you’re gone?” Cassidy whispered to the cold space that surrounded her in the empty attic.

  Her fingers answered as they began to type, leaking the grief from her heart in delicate black ink that stained the pages with their love.

  - To My Beloved -

  Soon I will say my final goodnight. But not before I fill these pages with the millions of kisses that should have made their way to your lips. Not before the world knows your heart and how deeply it loved mine. You, my darling, are my one redeeming grace. The hope shining above my flaws. If I can capture our love on these pages it will live on, as it always should have. If I can find the pulse of our love and thread it clearly into my words, all will be forgiven—all will be right.

  The clang of the typewriter filled the silent room as Cassidy poured her heart out onto the pages. She loved and loathed each word equally. Because each word was an injustice, never quite good enough to sum up the true feelings of her love for Jacob. But at the same time, each word was a loving legacy that brought him back to life, as though she could rebuild his shape letter by letter.

  Cassidy stopped typing and wiped at the brimming tears that blurred her vision. She took a steadying swig of gin with unsteady hands. Rebuild. Yes, that’s what she came here to do. Rebuild the man she loved with her words, so she could finally rest and lay down with him one last time.

  Chapter 2

  Thomas

  Thomas Crain couldn’t hide his grin as his cab rumbled toward the secluded lakeside cottage. After a tedious train ride and a daunting drive through the never-ending wilderness of the Smoky Mountains, he was nearly there—Carter Ridge. This was exactly what Thomas needed—a place of peace and quiet to focus on his music. He’d caught a lucky break when his roommate and fellow musician at the radio studio had to cancel last minute. Thomas could never afford to stay at a place like this on his own. And his music was nowhere near popular enough to warrant this much airtime. But if Thomas could turn this endeavor into a success, maybe he would be renting mountain chalets whenever he wanted.

  The thought made him smile, and for the first time in ages, Thomas thought his luck might be changing.

  It’d been four years of struggling. After a horrific automobile accident, Thomas tho
ught he would never play the piano again. Even if he did heal from his injuries as the doctors promised, he would never be the same. At least the part of him that had lived and breathed music wouldn’t be the same. He was convinced it had died along with his parents.

  Music had always been Thomas’s source of joy, but now it only brought him agony. It had been because of music that he lost everything. His parents were driving him into the city to audition for yet another role on a radio show when they were hit by a drunk driver. Thomas was the only survivor—and barely at that.

  His recovery was slow, hampered by the multiple surgeries to repair his numerous lacerations. During the accident, Thomas had been thrown through the automobile windshield—an act that saved his life, but ultimately left him covered in a map of scars. He spent months in the hospital healing and feeling useless, especially when his injuries kept him from being drafted to fight in the war along with the rest of his friends.

  One by one, Thomas’s friends left. They told him it was a blessing to be spared from the war and that he was lucky. But he didn’t feel lucky. He felt lonely. Everyone he loved—family and friends alike—had been taken from him in one way or another. And music . . . the one constant in his life, now felt like a sullen mistress.

  What once had called to his soul now left Thomas with a feeling of cold, empty despair. He couldn’t even bring himself to listen to music, often asking the nurses to turn the radio off in his room. He’d rather be surrounded by silence than the painful memories music conjured. And the feeling didn’t change when Thomas finally escaped the hospital ward. If anything, it was magnified by the ghosts that haunted his family home.

  Thomas had all but made up his mind to quit music entirely when he found his mother’s journal. It had been a rare day of courage when he finally decided it was time to pack up his parents’ belongings. He’d managed to box up his father’s few trinkets without too many tears, but when he reached his mother’s bedside table, her journal lay open. Thomas knew he wasn’t strong enough to handle reading his mother’s words, but he couldn’t stop himself. He read her last entry silently and felt what was left of his heart crumble.

  November 19, 1940

  I couldn’t be more proud of my boy. Thank you, Lord, for blessing Thomas with such a beautiful gift. His music pours from his soul and more than anything I pray for the world to hear it. Please be with him as he auditions for this role. And please give us the means to support his talents. No sacrifice is too great for his music.

  The words cracked open some unhealed wound deep within Thomas. It burned away the pain and pity, forging a new fiery determination to see his mother’s wishes fulfilled. She had made the ultimate sacrifice and he wouldn’t let it be in vain.

  Ever since that day, Thomas worked on throwing his all into his career. For four years he built back his strength, played his fingers to the bone and finally landed a contract with a reputable radio network in New York City. It was only as a secondary composer, which meant he helped write background music for lesser radio programs, but it was a start.

  Thomas pulled his weight at the network for a few months. He even managed to get some on-airtime, filling in when other musician’s were no-shows. Then, the opportunity of a lifetime fell into Thomas’s lap when his co-worker-turned roommate, Gene, decided to elope with a Cuban actress he’d just met.

  Thomas shook his head in the back seat of the cab remembering the conversation that had led him to the winding road he currently traveled.

  “Trip’s all paid for, Tommy. The network will kill me if I back out now. It’s too late to get their money back from the rental agency. Plus, I promised them one hour of airtime every day. It’ll ruin me if I don’t find a stand in.”

  “Gene, I can’t just pretend to be you.”

  “Why not? That’s the beauty of radio. Besides, you’ll be five states away. It’s not like someone from the studio is going to drive from New York to check on you.”

  “But what will I even play?”

  “Anything you want. They just need a filler between the afternoon soap opera and variety show. Something mellow and instrumental.”

  “I don’t know, Gene.”

  “Please, Tommy. You’re way too talented to be doing backgrounds. Plus, you’ll be doing me and Silvia a solid!”

  “Why don’t you just get married next month? After the radio retreat?”

  Gene pulled Thomas in close and whispered. “Have you seen Silvia? She’s way too good for me. I wanna marry her before she figures that out.”

  Thomas laughed. “Are you sure you want to get married so soon? You just met. I mean how do you know you two are right for each other?”

  Gene winked. “When you know, you know.”

  Thomas sighed.

  “Come on, Tommy! You’re the only one available.”

  It was true, Thomas was available on short notice. By biz standards, he was a nobody and he didn’t have a vital role at the studio. He could easily pay an intern to take his workload for a few weeks while he filled in for Gene. Plus, it was an opportunity of a lifetime. And after a bit more prodding, Gene convinced Thomas to take his spot. Truthfully, he was already sold, but when Gene showed Thomas the brochure for Carter Ridge, the On-Air retreat cottage nestled in the Smoky Mountains, he nearly fell over. The cottage was gorgeous! Thomas never dreamed of spending a weekend at a house like that, let alone a month.

  The jolt of the old cab brought Thomas back from his memories. He sucked in a breath as the house came into view—stone and cedar, it blended into the woodland surroundings like it had been honed from them. A nearby lake sparkled in the distance and Thomas shivered with excitement as the driver pulled into the driveway and parked, giving him a breathtaking view of the slumbering mountains.

  “Welcome to Carter Ridge,” the driver rasped.

  Thomas stepped into the cold damp mountain air. He took a deep breath, eager to soak up his new environment. Thomas couldn’t help himself, he let his excitement take hold. How had he gotten so lucky? A full month to write, record and broadcast his music. An old dormant feeling of hope sparked within him. Thomas could feel it . . . this was his big break.

  Chapter 3

  Cassidy

  Cassidy paused at her desk, listening. She thought she’d heard voices over the pounding of her typewriter. But after a thick moment of stifling silence stretched through the attic she gave up trying to hear imaginary things. “Great, I’m truly losing my mind,” she mumbled to herself as she swiped at the loose curl of thick brown hair. Cassidy reached to refill her glass, only to find the bottle of gin empty.

  “Shit,” she grumbled stuffing her feet into slippers as she prepared to make the long trek from her room in the attic to the kitchen. She gripped the banister as she teetered down the steep stairwell with the empty gin bottle.

  Cassidy knew she should pace herself. She’d gone through a whole bottle in one day. But it was the first day, she told herself—surely the hardest day. Tearing open old wounds and pouring them onto the pages of her memoir wasn’t easy. She never would have gotten through it without something to dull the pain.

  She glanced out the windows as she descended to the main floor. The sun was hidden behind a thick fog. It’d been like that all day, making it hard for Cassidy to keep track of time. She often found herself gazing out the dormer window at the clouds as they settled in like ghosts resting on a thick bed of trees. Ghosts—it seemed they were her only company these days.

  Cassidy rounded the corner into the large wood paneled kitchen and paused. The lights were on. She swore she’d turned them off. . .

  “Who are you?”

  The voice behind Cassidy made her jump. She spun around and screamed at the scar-faced man standing in the kitchen.

  “Get away from me!” she screamed, her eyes wild.

  “Oh—no . . . I’m—”

  But Cassidy didn’t wait for an explanation. She would not be a victim. She lunged toward her assailant swinging the empty gin bottl
e for his face. Her unsteadiness made it easy for him to duck her blow. The next thing Cassidy knew, she was on the floor, staring at a red puddle oozing beneath her.

  “Shit! Are you all right?” the man asked, trying to lift her.

  “Don’t touch me!” Cassidy howled, trying to stagger to her feet. But each time she moved, sharp pain bit into her.

  “Stop moving!” the man yelled. “You’re on broken glass.”

  Glass? Cassidy shook her head trying to clear her vision. There, mixed with her blood were sparkling slivers of the bottle she’d smashed. The man’s hands looped under her arms again and she swung back violently as he tried to lift her.

  Cassidy balked. She wasn’t done yet. She hadn’t finished her story. She owed that to Jacob. She refused to allow some scar-faced villain to end her life. After everything she’d been through, Cassidy was determined not to let anyone else dictate how her life would end. That was a right she was reserving for herself.

  She kicked at the man, but he was strong. He yanked her off the floor, wrenching her arms behind her back. But that didn’t stop Cassidy’s legs. She kicked backwards at him and he grumbled as she connected. She kicked again and the man pushed her up against the kitchen wall, the cheery yellow paint too bright in her swaying vision.

  Cassidy tried to catch her breath as the warmth and hardness of her assailant’s muscles pressed into her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re hurting me right now,” Cassidy hissed.

  “If I let you go, will you calm down?”

  “If you promise to get the hell out of my house.”