Deeply, Desperately

by Heather Webber

  He’d have himself another heart attack if he knew what I had planned with Sean later.

  I grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge. Grendel came running when he heard the crinkle. I needed to start weaning him to every other day … starting tomorrow. “He told you I knew.”

  “He told me.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “I didn’t know how. I’m—I’m still trying to deal with it myself.”

  I sank onto the couch, pulled my legs up. Grendel circled the leg of the coffee table. I tossed a section of cheese and Grendel pounced on it, dragging it around.

  “Is this why you’ve been acting so strangely? And have you rekindled your relationship with Cutter’s mother?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Threw me for quite a loop. And as for the second half of your question, that’s none of your concern.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Our relationship is none of your concern. Perhaps Oliver is. I’m sorry you had to find out about him the way you did. Does your mother know?”

  Oliver “Cutter” McCutchan. My brother. Love filled my heart. But how would Mum feel?

  “No. Are you going to tell Cutter?”

  “When the time is right.”

  Grendel was back, licking his lips. I tossed another piece of cheese in the opposite direction. “And when might that time be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I didn’t like that answer. “It doesn’t seem fair that he’s been left in the dark. You too. Did Sabrina have any explanation?”

  “Oliver has had a good life, Lucy. Not lacking for anything,” he said, not really answering me.

  “Except for me. And you. And Dovie.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “How did Preston know about him?”

  “While researching our family for her articles, she kept coming across photos of Sabrina and me together at various events taken years and years ago. She put two and two together that we had had a relationship. Then she came across a photo of Sabrina with Oliver when he was younger. The resemblance was striking even then.”

  “And you never guessed?”

  “I never met the boy. Oliver was raised primarily in Vermont with his father. He’s only returned to Boston in the last year.”

  “You’re his father.”

  “Semantics, Lucy.”

  “Not really.”

  He had nothing to say, not anything about sass or impertinence. I dropped the last piece of cheese square on the coffee table, and Grendel vaulted up, speared it with his fangs, and dove for the floor, sending mail and folders flying in the opposite direction.

  Kneeling, I swept the papers into one big pile. Most had spilled out of Sarah Loehman’s and Leo Epperson’s files.

  Sifting through the stack, I fished out the mail and set it aside. Picking up a sheet of paper, I scanned it. Leo’s. I dropped it back into his folder.

  “The sooner you tell Cutter the better.”

  “Stop calling him by that ridiculous nickname.”

  “I like it.”

  “I forbid it. Are you laughing at me?” my father asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I forbid that too.”

  “When are you going to talk to Mum?”

  “Is this interrogation over?”

  “Dad.”

  “Lucy.”

  “You need to talk to her. You don’t want her finding out on her own.”

  “Lucy?” my father said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  “You’re forgiven. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

  “I suppose it’s better than the cactus you got me last year.”

  “Hey, I thought you liked the cactus.”

  He laughed. “It’s the thought.”

  Smiling, I hung up. Glancing out the window, I noticed Dovie’s house, all aglow. It was late, but I knew she wouldn’t mind. I threw on a coat and headed out the door.

  I trudged through the snow up to Aerie. It was closing in on midnight, and I thought Sean would have showed by now. He wasn’t answering his phone either, which caused a pit in my stomach I could fall into.

  The lights blazed in Dovie’s sitting room as I climbed the steps to the deck, opened the back door. I peeked in. Dovie was asleep, curled in one corner of a cozy couch, a cashmere throw tucked all around her. Papers were strewn across her chest, lap, and couch. The TV was turned down low. On the screen Iron Chefs sliced and diced.

  The floor creaked as I took a step back. My hopes of not waking her vanished as she lifted her head. “Lucy?”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you. I thought you were up. The lights were on.”

  She quickly gathered a handful of papers, shoved them into a box. One fell to the floor and I crouched down, picked it up. It was an old letter, the writing long, sloping, masculine. The paper was yellowed with age, creased from wear. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing at all. Just a foolish old woman spending too much time in the past.”

  I noted the signature on the letter. Yours with much love, Henry.

  In all the busyness of late, I’d forgotten about Dovie’s penchant for melancholy this time of year. I sat down next to her, handed her the letter. She shoved it in the box.

  “It’s silly,” she said.

  “It’s not.”

  “I hated him.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I wanted to hate him.”

  “That I believe.”

  She cracked a smile, set the box of old love letters on the floor. “He was an amazing man. A stubborn, headstrong, foolish, amazing man. But enough. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve had my night of woe. Now, what brings you up here?”

  I sat down next to her. I couldn’t tell her about Cutter. I just couldn’t.

  “I don’t know. Lonely, I guess.”

  “Where’s Sean?”

  I picked at the edge of her cashmere throw. My bottom lip quivered. “I don’t know.”

  Between Cutter and Em and the letters and Sean … my chest hurt with all I was holding in.

  “LucyD? Are you crying?”

  I backhanded the tears from my eyes. “No.”

  “Lucy, darling, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m going to lose him.”

  “Don’t you worry about that curse. I’m convinced he’s the one to break it for good. You need a drink.” She patted my leg and rose. “Martini?”

  I nodded. “It’s not the curse.”

  “Then what is it?” she asked, pouring gin into a tumbler.

  “His ex.”

  “She’s got nothing on you. I’m sure she’s an ugly, warty, big-nosed rhinoceros of a girl with a mean streak as wide as her ass.”

  “Dovie!”

  “What?” she asked innocently as she shook the tumbler. “I’m just supposing.”

  “She’s not any of those things.” I tried hard to keep the tears at bay. “But she might be sick.” I explained the whole situation. “She’s having all these tests done, and begging Sean to be by her side the whole time. He can’t say no.”

  “I suppose not. He’s a good man, that one.” She opened the tumbler, poured in more gin, started shaking again. So vigorously I was afraid if the tumbler slipped and hit the wall, it would leave a hole.

  She poured the martinis. “What are you going to do?”

  Softly, I said, “I don’t know. What can I do?”

  “But he and you, you and him … belong together.”

  “Dovie, if she’s sick, really sick …”

  “It’s the curse for sure.” She handed me a drink.

  I pulled a face. “I thought he was the one to break the curse?”

  “You shouldn’t listen to me.”

  I nodded, watching the olive bob in my cone-shaped glass.

  Dovie said, “I see the way that boy looks at you, LucyD. He’s head over heels.”

  I nudged the box of letters. �
�We both know sometimes love isn’t enough.”

  “But sometimes it is.”

  “How are we supposed to figure out which is which?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  I drained my glass, smiled at her wry tone.

  My phone vibrated. Dovie raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s Sean,” I said, checking the screen.

  “Answer,” she urged.

  “Hi,” I said, my cell phone warm against my cheek.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m waiting up.”

  There was a stretch of silence before he said, “Lucy …”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “Lucy, I don’t like this any better than you. Just remember that Cara’s mother is flying in tomorrow night.”

  Then what? I wondered. Would he still feel the need to stick around? Or would he be able to walk away—for good?

  “Are you going to be at work tomorrow?” I asked.

  “I’m going to try, but the MRI is scheduled for noon.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s all you have to say, okay?”

  “It’s all I have right now.”

  He swore under his breath and hung up.

  Dovie was perched on the edge of the sofa, the box of letters in her lap. “The ex?”

  I nodded.

  “The battle begins.”

  Why did I suddenly feel like surrendering?

  23

  The next morning, the ringing phone jarred me awake. I reached over Grendel and grabbed the handset. I mumbled a groggy hello.

  “LucyD, your father is on his way over here. He wants to talk. Do you know what this is regarding? He said he’s already spoken to you.”

  “Hello, Mum.”

  “Don’t hello me. He sounded serious. You know stress isn’t good for his heart. What’s this all about?”

  “What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes.

  “Eight.”

  Eight! I’d overslept. I wanted to get an early start to the day. I needed to follow up with my vision in Portsmouth, find a way to see Leo, and after seeing Dovie last night, I had a plan to help take her mind off Grandpa Henry.

  “Is he sick? Dying? Was his heart attack a symptom of something bigger?”

  I pressed my fingertips into my temples. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  “It might be from drinking with Dovie last night.”

  “You’ve already talked to her?”

  “Of course! Dovie mentioned you called her your favorite felon. Where’s the love, LucyD? Where’s the love?”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “Why? Are you worried about your father too? Because I’m worried.”

  “Nothing to worry about.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I am.”

  “You’re not going to tell me.”

  “Not my place to tell.”

  “You used to be my favorite child.”

  “I’m your only child.” Not something I could say any longer with my father.

  “Easily remedied. I can adopt one of those big-eyed adorable orphans from India that the guy from Trapper John, M.D. is always talking about on TV.”

  “Isn’t that Africa?”

  “Lucy!”

  “What time is your court appearance?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Eleven.”

  I winced as I said, “Do you want me to come with you?” I didn’t really have the time and was hoping she’d say no.

  “Not necessary, LucyD. It’s not like it’s the first time.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Sass!”

  “Genetic.”

  “Are you sure he’s not sick?” she asked.

  “Mum.”

  “Lucy! Tell me!”

  “I’ve got to go, Mum. If you want to talk later, call me.”

  “Argh!”

  I made kissy noises into the phone, hung up, and wandered into the kitchen. As I ground coffee beans my phone rang again. It was Em.

  “Why is Marisol inviting Aiden to Dovie’s party? Are they dating?”

  I nearly dropped the phone. “She’s what?”

  “She told me she’s bringing Aiden to Dovie’s party, as her guest. Do you know why? Did she tell you?”

  “No, I don’t know.” Though I had a good idea. Jealousy was a powerful motivator. “How’re things with you? You okay?”

  Grendel skulked to his food bowl, stared at me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you talk to Joseph?”

  I’d almost said “him.” Too much time with Marisol.

  “He wasn’t home when I came back, then I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up I lost my nerve because he was acting so weird.”

  “How so?” Probably he was wondering the best way to broach a prenup conversation.

  “Paranoid. Thinks people might be following him.”

  I choked on my coffee. “Why would he think that?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “Grumpy.”

  She exhaled. “I really am. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I fed Grendel and was pouring a second cup of coffee when someone knocked on my door.

  I peeked out the window and half expected it to be Sean. It wasn’t.

  Aiden smiled. “I brought doughnuts.”

  “You’ve come bearing gifts. Should I be scared?”

  “Only if you’re terrified of crullers.”

  I poured him a mug of coffee and sat in my favorite chair. “You’re out early.”

  “Thought I’d bring bad news to you in person.”

  “Bad news?”

  “The lead on the Handmaiden letters didn’t pan out. We had a partial fingerprint.”

  “Whose?”

  “A man who works at Milton Hospital in registration. His prints happened to be in the network for a long-ago shoplifting conviction. He took a lie detector test of his own volition—he’s never even heard of you, Lucy. We’ll find out who’s behind those letters. I promise.” He reached for a cruller, glanced at the Christmas tree. Automatically tipped his head to the side.

  I was beginning to believe we’d never find out who was behind the letters, that I was always going to live in fear, one eye in the rearview mirror, my house alarm always set.

  “I met with Scott Loehman yesterday.”

  Aiden coughed. A piece of cruller went flying across the room. Grendel made a dash for it and dragged it away. “You what?”

  “I met with Scott Loehman.”

  “Alone?”

  “In a public park. Very busy. Lots of kids to defend me if necessary.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “I was fine. I did a reading on Sarah’s wedding ring.”

  “And?”

  “I saw it in Portsmouth. I’m going up there today to check it out.”

  “Damn it. I have a meeting today. Can you hold off until this afternoon?”

  I shook my head. “I just heard on the news another storm is blowing in. I’m afraid if I don’t go today, then it’ll be days.”

  “That might not be a bad thing.”

  “I’ll be fine, Aiden.”

  “You’re bringing Sean, right?”

  I shook my head. “He has other plans.”

  “Jesus.” He swiped a hand over his face. “Don’t go alone.”

  “Okay.”

  “Lucy …” he warned.

  “You’re cranky when you don’t get enough sleep.” He growled. It reminded me of the first time I’d met him, when he thought I was a crackpot and he’d been nothing but rough and tough, a mean old cop.

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  I went through the reading I’d had with Scott Loehman. “The bracelet I could see being a fluke. Maybe Jerry White picked it up at a pawnshop, a different yard sale, something. But to have her bracelet and her wedding band?”

  “And what are you planning to do, Lucy? Barge in and
get a confession?”

  “Hardly. Sean was running into trouble getting anything on Jerry White. I thought I’d get his license plate number, maybe try to talk to him. The neighbors mentioned he comes home for lunch everyday. I’m going to stop at an office store and get a clipboard and pretend I’m getting a petition together. I’ll make up something on the fly. That way when I hand him the clipboard, I’ll get his fingerprints. I figured you would know what to do with them.”

  He let out a long string of curse words. “Tell me Sean didn’t teach you these tactics.”

  I tried not to take offense. I thought it was a good plan.

  “As soon as my meeting is over, I’ll head up there. I’ll try to cut things short. I can probably be up there by noon. Do not approach the house on your own, Lucy.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “Good to know. And as a friend, I’m asking you not to go alone.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. He’d played the friend card. No way could I betray that. “All right.”

  “Who’re you taking?”

  Sean was out. Mum and Dovie too, since they were due in court. Aiden couldn’t make it. My father was busy, Raphael too. Marisol was working. Em was having a crisis. It really only left one person. Someone I wanted to have a word with anyway.

  “Lucy?”

  “I’m taking Preston Bailey.”

  24

  Preston’s voice was clear over the phone line despite background noise; she was at work. “You’re going where?”

  “To Portsmouth. I thought you might want to come since it involves Sarah Loehman.”

  She said, “I’ll go.”

  “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  “Twenty?”

  “Eight minutes.”

  “Fine.” She hung up.

  I took side roads into Scituate. In front of the paper, I set the parking brake so I didn’t slide down the hill into the harbor. A bright swath of teal Atlantic stretched, broken only by moored sailboats, rocky jetties, and the lovely white column of the Scituate lighthouse.

  Preston dashed out of the building, slid into the passenger seat, took one look at me, and her face fell.

  I released the parking brake, swung the car around. “I know about Cutter.”

  I glanced her way. Her forehead was crumpled, her lips twisted, her eyes in a tight wince.

  “And,” I said, “I know you were blackmailing my father.”

  “Blackmail,” she squeaked, “is such a harsh word.”