Images of napping with Liza, or rather keeping her from napping, filled Kendall’s mind and heated his body. Beating a hasty retreat, he stepped outside and held the door open.
“Come on, Amos. We need to go.”
The dog followed the order, and Kendall let the screen door slam behind him. When he reached the cart to find Larimore grinning from the front seat, he mumbled, “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“This is a good thing. You’ve been out of the game far too long.”
Kendall dropped into his seat and turned the key. “Drop it.”
Larimore whistled. “Come on, buddy. Admitting it is the first step.”
Gripping the wheel, Kendall growled, “Drop it or walk.”
“Consider it dropped,” Larimore said, hands raised in surrender.
“Thank you.”
As the cart rolled into motion, his friend added one last dig. “But for what it’s worth, I think she likes you, too.”
Amos barked his agreement, and Kendall ignored them both.
Chapter 7
As agreed upon the night before, Liza arrived promptly at eight the next morning for her first interview with Ray. Falling asleep had taken longer than she’d liked, as the odd encounter with Kendall had replayed through her mind. A casual observer might have interpreted his reaction to Mr. Baker’s offer as one of jealousy. But Liza was not a casual observer.
Kendall had made his opinion of her quite clear. She was a vulture swooping into an old man’s life to use him for her own gain. Despite the fact that Ray had solicited Liza, not the other way around, she couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a hint of truth in the accusation.
If the book did well, she would benefit.
Until her run-ins with Kendall and his cryptic comments about protecting Ray, she’d seen this project as nothing more than a job that would hold her over until her first royalty payment arrived. Despite her first novel taking off, Liza had barely earned out her modest advance three months before. Due to the antiquated way that publishers paid their authors only twice a year, there would be no more income for several months.
That made the fifty-thousand-dollar advance Ray offered impossible to resist, but she hadn’t expected anything beyond that initial payment. After all, what were the odds that the memoir of an obscure old man would draw readers?
But maybe Ray wasn’t so obscure? A simple online search for his name resulted in a plethora of men named Ray Wallis but nothing on the man who’d hired her. In fact, he didn’t exist online at all. Strange in this day and age, but then he was in his nineties. She doubted he participated in social media.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ray said, shuffling into the kitchen in purple trousers and a bright-blue polo shirt. Another fedora covered his head. The day before, the hat had been a green plaid that clashed with his mustard-yellow sport jacket. Today, he wore one in solid pink.
He looked like a character from a kids’ television program.
“I’ve only been here for a few minutes. No worries.”
Crossing to the counter, he pulled a mug from a hook beneath the bottom shelf. “Did you get some coffee?”
Liza had made her own upstairs. “I’m good, thank you. Are you feeling better this morning?”
Ray had turned in early the night before with a headache.
“Much.” He took the chair across from her. “So should we start at the beginning?”
“Seems like the proper place.” Liza had set up her laptop before Ray arrived, but she reached into her bag for the small recorder she’d brought with her. “Do you mind?” she asked, holding it up. “This way I can have the conversations to listen to later in case I miss something now.”
Ray hesitated, visibly pondering the question. After several uncomfortable seconds, he nodded. “I guess it doesn’t matter at this point.”
Not the answer she expected. “Are you sure?”
“It’ll be for the best.”
“That’s what I thought. Just to be sure I don’t miss anything.” Ray smiled but held silent, so Liza pressed “Record” and began the interview. First were a series of basic questions about his origins. “When and where were you born?”
“March 4, 1925, in Yonkers, New York.”
“And your parents were?”
“Myrtle and Abraham.”
“Were they originally from New York?”
“No, Poland.”
Liza glanced over her monitor. “My family is also from Poland. At least on my dad’s side. Something else we have in common.”
“How much do you know about your ancestors?” he asked before sipping his coffee.
She searched her memory banks for the few facts her grandmother had shared. “My great-grandparents came over from Warsaw after World War I. He was a professor and had married one of his students at the university. I’m not sure if that sort of thing was as scandalous back then as it would be now.”
“It was.”
She met light-blue eyes. “Do you think?”
“I know. What else?”
“They had my grandfather shortly after landing in America, another son a few years later, and eventually two daughters. All but the youngest daughter are gone now, but I wish I could have met them.”
Ray’s voice grew wistful. “I’m sure they all would have loved you.”
Liza wasn’t so sure. “From what I understand, they were a family of mathematicians and accountants. I don’t know how proud they would be to have a writer in the family.”
“Nonsense,” he said with certainty. “You’re family. They would have adored you.”
“I like to think so.” Realizing she was supposed to be asking questions, not answering them, Liza returned her fingers to the keyboard. “Back to you. Did you have siblings?”
“Three.”
“Older or younger?”
“Younger.”
“Are they still living?” Siblings would make wonderful resources to fill in details that Ray might not remember.
“Sadly, no.”
Her shoulders fell. “That’s a shame.”
“Yes, it is. You mentioned your father’s side of the family. What about your mother’s?”
“Mom was a proud O’Dowd,” Liza replied, always happy to talk about her mom. “Her parents lived in Boston, and we used to visit them every summer when I was a little girl. Those carefree weeks make up some of my favorite memories.” Sadness tightened her chest, so she asked the next question. “The night I arrived, you said you’re from the Bronx. Did you grow up there?”
“I did.”
“What was that like?”
“Not so bad in the beginning, but then, as you know, the Depression made life more difficult.”
During her time as a reporter, Liza had done a series of articles on life in New York City during the 1930s. There’d been days that she’d cried while typing. Imagining a young Ray living in those conditions made her heart hurt.
“Were you a good student?”
“I scraped by.”
Liza caught the glint in his eye. “Is that a no?”
“Let’s just say I was smart but unfocused and easily distracted.”
“You sound like my father,” she replied while typing the answer. “Grandma Teller said Dad was too smart for his own good. The lack of challenge meant regular visits to the principal’s office—for both of them.”
“Then yes, I’m very much like your father. Or rather, he’s like me. I did come first, after all.”
“Fair enough.” She scrolled down to the next question. “College?”
Ray sighed. “Not until after the war. I enlisted at eighteen and fought the last two years until the end.”
“Which branch?”
“Navy. I was in the Pacific.”
She’d done less research on the ’40s, so curiosity got the better of her. “What was that like?”
“Hot. Boring most days.” He
lifted the coffee mug. “There are enough movies and books about the not-boring days that I think we can leave the details out of this period.”
Liza wanted to push but respected Ray’s reluctance to talk about the experience. Many soldiers preferred not to discuss their time in battle, and she didn’t blame them.
“Fair enough. Did you go to college right after coming home?”
“I did. Fordham University.”
“Really? That’s where my parents met.”
Flashing a true smile for the first time since they’d sat down, he said, “I’m guessing they went a little later than I did.”
She laughed. “Just a bit.”
“Did you follow in their footsteps?”
“No. My mom taught at Rochester University, so I went there.”
“That’s too bad.” Flattening his hands on the table, Ray said, “You know what we need?”
Surprised by the question, she said, “I don’t know. What?”
“A brisk walk on the beach.”
“But we’re—”
Ray pushed her laptop closed. “We have plenty of time for questions later. Today, we put our toes in the sand.”
A walk along the ocean did sound nice. “Okay, then.” Liza switched off the recorder. “Let’s go to the beach.”
Kendall hated to have his routine thrown off, but a busted water pipe on their tiny island amounted to an emergency not unlike a raging fire. Thankfully, the renters at lot forty-seven were early risers and had discovered the problem right away.
He and his team managed to stop the leak within minutes of the call coming in, but the repairs had taken longer, which was why Kendall was taking his morning run more than two hours later than usual. The moment Amos took off barking down the sand, Kendall spotted Ray and Liza walking toward him and wished he’d skipped the daily exercise altogether.
“Good morning,” Ray said, as Liza bent to accept the dog’s excited greeting.
“What are you two doing out here?” he asked, shifting from side to side to keep moving.
The older man frowned. “Enjoying a morning walk on the beach. Do we need your permission to do that?”
Someone was cranky today. “No, sir.”
“How long are you going to pout like this?”
Ray had a temper but rarely aimed it in Kendall’s direction. “Who’s pouting?”
“You’ve been a bear since I told you about this book, and your attitude has only gotten worse since Liza arrived. Enough is enough.” The writer straightened from petting Amos and found herself being thrust forward by Ray. “Do you see this woman? She’s important to me. And that means she’s important to you. Understand?”
The discomfort in her face triggered Kendall’s protective side. “If she’s so important to you, stop shoving her around.”
“It’s okay—”
“It isn’t okay.” Kendall slammed his hands onto his hips. “Ray, you know my issues with this book, and they have nothing to do with Liza.”
“You’re just like your father. Stubborn to a fault.” The older man turned to the woman beside him. “I’m sorry I pushed you like that. Did I hurt you?”
“No, of course not.”
Ray nodded before continuing the lecture. “I’m doing this book, Kendall. It’s time.” The anger dropped from his voice. “It’s past time. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
Kendall couldn’t let the fear go. “What if you’re wrong?”
Instead of answering, Ray began to crumble to the ground. Liza reached out, catching him under one arm while Kendall caught him under the other.
“Ray,” he snapped. “Talk to me, Ray.”
The frail man raised his head enough to say, “Take me home.”
Without hesitation, Kendall scooped him into his arms. “Where’s the cart?”
“We didn’t bring one,” Liza replied.
“What?” They were a good half mile from Ray’s house. He never should have walked that far.
As if reading Kendall’s mind, she said, “I offered to drive, but he said the walk would do him good.”
“And I’m the stubborn one.” Cursing under his breath, Kendall charged down the beach, with Liza and Amos following.
“Should I go for help?” she asked. “Or call that emergency number in my phone?”
“That number calls me. Grab my phone,” he ordered. “It’s in my hip pocket.”
“But I have mine.”
“The number we need isn’t in yours.”
“Oh. Right.” She reached for the phone. “Who am I calling?”
“Aadi Patel. Tell him to meet us at Ray’s house.”
“I don’t need him,” Ray mumbled.
Kendall ignored his cargo. “After Aadi, call Francine. I want to know what the doctor said yesterday.”
The words were garbled, but Kendall made out enough to know Ray considered that none of his business.
“Too damn bad, old man. I’m making it my business.”
Flashes of Grandma Teller lying pale and lifeless in a hospital bed filled Liza’s mind. Due to not growing up around her grandparents, she had little experience watching loved ones drift into old age. Her mother hadn’t lived to see fifty, and though Liza’s maternal grandparents were still alive, she didn’t see them often enough to know anything about their health.
When this job was finished, she would correct that.
“How is he?” Liza asked as Kendall joined her in the kitchen. The Aadi person had met them in Ray’s driveway and snapped out orders for the frail man to be carried straight to his room.
A strong hand swept through thick dark hair, leaving the damp strands standing on end. “I don’t know. He was mumbling, so he’s conscious.”
Unsure what to do as he paced, she asked, “Do you want coffee?”
Kendall shook his head, eyes down as he prowled the room. The black T-shirt that appeared to have lost its sleeves long ago, clung to his sweaty torso, accentuating the muscles beneath.
“Was he okay last night?” he asked.
Liza hadn’t spent enough time with Ray to recognize unusual behavior. The two nights since she’d arrived, he’d excused himself by eight—once claiming fatigue and the next night a headache.
“He seems to run out of energy early, but I assume that’s normal for a person his age.”
“It isn’t. Not for Ray.”
Her concern deepened. “He said he had a cold before I got here. Could that be it?”
Brown eyes met hers. “That was a lie. And now I wish I’d called him on it.”
“Why would he lie?” If she was going to tell Ray’s story, she needed to be able to trust him. It wasn’t good that they’d started out with a falsehood. Even a minor one.
“Men don’t admit weakness easily.”
A disloyal, if accurate, statement about his gender. “Really? I’d never have guessed.”
Kendall shot her a look that said he didn’t appreciate her sarcasm. “When did Francine say she’d be here?”
“She didn’t. I had to leave a message.”
The pacing intensified. “There’s something he isn’t telling me.”
Wanting to reassure him, she offered a positive thought. “If he saw the doctor yesterday, it can’t be anything too serious, or surely he wouldn’t have been sent home.”
Liza was nothing if not an eternal optimist.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hey.” She hadn’t done anything wrong here. “I’m worried about him, too, but it doesn’t do any good to think the worst.”
“Worrying about losing your paycheck isn’t the same.”
She tensed at the cut of his words. “That’s mean and nasty and the last time you’re going to insult me. I may not know him well, but Ray Wallis is a nice man who opened his home to me, and I care about what happens to him. Not because he can make me money, but because I’m not a horrible person.”
They stared at each other in silence as Liza
waited for an apology. Instead, another voice broke the silence.
“Let me know where Ray is, and you two can go back to ripping each other apart.”
“Aadi is with him in his room,” Kendall said, eyes shifting to peer out the window over the sink. “We’re finished here.”
Chest tight, Liza grabbed her sweater from the chair where she’d tossed it. “Yes, we are. I’ll be in my room,” she said to Francine. “Please let me know when there’s news.”
“I will.”
By the time she made it halfway up the stairs, she realized Amos was trotting up beside her. Happy to have any kind of friend in that moment, she murmured, “Good boy.”
Chapter 8
“What is wrong with you?” Francine asked, leveling him with a stern glare.
“Ray crumbled in front of me,” Kendall said, defending himself, and knowing he’d crossed a line but too stubborn to admit it. “That makes me cranky.”
“What happened on that beach wasn’t Liza’s fault, and according to Ray, you’ve been mean to her since she got here. I’ve never known you to hate anyone on sight, so what’s going on?”
Francine didn’t know the details of Ray’s past, and Kendall wasn’t in a position to enlighten her. But she was right. None of what bothered Kendall was Liza’s fault. Which meant there was no excuse for his behavior the last few days.
“Ever since Ray decided to do this stupid book, things have changed. Doesn’t he seem different to you?”
Francine’s expression softened. “Honey, the man can’t live forever. Let him do this his way.”
Kendall didn’t like that response. “Do what his way? Is he dying?”
“We’re all dying, but Ray is closer to the end than the rest of us.” She shared a sad smile. “He’s ninety-three years old, Kendall, and he isn’t the type to sit back and watch the clock run out. You know that as well as anyone. For his sake, help him see this through.”
Like a wave hitting the sand, reality washed over him, stealing the breath from Kendall’s chest. He dropped into a chair at the table. “I can’t imagine him not being here.”
“Neither can I.” Francine sighed as she settled in the chair opposite. “Sharing his story with Liza is what he wants to do. Be a part of that, Kendall. You’ll regret it if you keep fighting him.”
Ask me to Stay Page 7