The Lucky Ones

by Tiffany Reisz

  very hard.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  The worry in his voice caught her by surprise.

  “What? Where am I?” she asked as she walked down to the second floor. “Where are you?”

  “I’m home where I belong. You aren’t. I sent a painter over to your place and your neighbor told the guy you’d packed up and left on a long trip.”

  “Well, there’s your answer,” Allison said. “I packed up and left on a long trip.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were leaving.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything anymore.”

  “I’m trying to do you a favor here,” he said.

  “I told you I would take care of getting the place painted,” she said. “Not my fault if you refused to hear a word I said.”

  She went down the second set of steps and walked into the sunroom. If she had to have this conversation, she would do it in a room with an ocean view to distract her.

  “I heard. And I told you I’d take care of it,” he said.

  “I haven’t changed the locks,” Allison said with a sigh. “Give the painter your key.”

  “I gave you my key,” he said. “It’s in the box.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m in Oregon. I’m not going to fly back for a housepainter.”

  “Oregon? What are you doing there?”

  “Visiting the Capellos.”

  McQueen fell silent for a few seconds. Allison braced herself.

  “Allison...”

  “I opened Pandora’s padded envelope.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said. “It’s not funny at all. The reason Roland contacted me is because Dr. Capello is dying. He thought I might want to see him before it was too late. I did, so here I am. The end.”

  “Not the end. Not even close. Someone in that house tried to kill you. You shouldn’t be there.”

  “It was thirteen years ago.”

  “So was my divorce. You don’t catch me at my ex-wife’s house, do you?”

  “First of all, your ex-wife wouldn’t let you in her house. Second, none of this is any of your business, McQueen.”

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “No.”

  “Cricket—”

  “I told you not to call me that anymore. And shouldn’t you be out buying nursery furniture or something instead of interrogating me?”

  “I have plenty of time to interrogate you and buy nursery furniture.”

  “I’m a little busy, however, so I’m going to go.”

  “Busy? Doing what?”

  “Sitting on a couch staring at the ocean. I’m swamped.”

  “Are you going to stay mad at me forever?” he asked.

  “Forever? It’s been three days. And as a matter of fact, I’m not mad. However...I don’t think we need to be talking to each other. Do you?”

  “I think if you’re in a house with someone who wants to kill you, we probably should stay on the line.”

  “I’m alone in the house,” she said. “And I feel very safe here. Roland gave me quite the welcome home last night.”

  “Big party?”

  “We slept together,” she said.

  That admission had the desired effect of silencing McQueen for a good long time. She spent those beautiful seconds grinning and watching the waves dance up the beach. They seemed happy today, happy for her.

  “You had sex with Roland?”

  “Twice.”

  “You had sex with your brother?”

  “It gets better. Or worse, depending on how Catholic you are. He’s a monk.”

  “Monk? Black robes and bad haircuts? That kind of monk?”

  “He wears jeans and flannels and he has very nice hair. But yes, he is a monk. He left his abbey a few months ago to take care of his dad.”

  “You had sex with your ex-brother who is now a monk.”

  “It was surprisingly good,” Allison said. “You would never have known he was a monk.”

  “Did you do that just to hurt me?” he asked.

  McQueen was silent again for long enough Allison stopped enjoying it.

  “No,” she said. “Not just to hurt you.”

  “Dammit, Allison.”

  “McQueen, you really give yourself too much credit. You called me. I didn’t call you. You ended things. I didn’t.”

  “Six years. You can’t ask me to stop worrying about you overnight after six years.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” she said with an exaggerated groan.

  “I don’t? You’re in a house where you almost died and you don’t know who did it or why, and I’m not supposed to worry?”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m not sure that you do.”

  “McQueen, need I remind you I was nineteen when we had sex the first time. You treated me like an adult when I was still a kid. Now I am actually an adult, and you’re treating me like a child. If your next sentence isn’t an apology, I’m hanging up and this is the last call of yours I’m ever taking.”

  Knowing McQueen and his congenital inability to apologize, she fully expected this to be the last time they’d speak. Seemed McQueen was still capable of surprising her.

  “You’re right,” he said at last. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for taking you to bed too young. I’m sorry for making you put your life on hold for me. And I’m sorry for treating you like a child when I know you’re as smart and capable as they come.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Apology accepted.”

  “But one more thing, please?”

  “Are you going to say something sexist and patronizing again?”

  “Probably. But give me this one.”

  “Fine. Go on.”

  “Please, Allison, please be careful.”

  The pleading tone in his voice wriggled through the chinks in her armor. Since her aunt died, he’d been the closest thing to family she’d had. He’d helped her buy a car. During a hard winter, he’d rented her a hotel room when the pipes in her old building froze. When Allison contracted pneumonia her senior year in college, he’d made sure she had the best medical care money could buy. If they’d still been together when this had happened, he would have paid her way out to see Dr. Capello, paid for her hotel room and paid for her way back. While he was never there for her when she wanted him, he was always there for her when she really needed him.

  “It’s just...” she said, no longer angry. “I think I’m starting to remember things.”

  “What?” he asked. “Remember what?”

  “Remember things I need to remember. Something important. I’m almost there, I think, like when you’re trying to remember a word and it’s on the tip of your tongue? It’s like that.”

  “Do you want to remember?”

  “One of my old drawings is still on the fridge. Maybe if I knew what happened, why I had to leave... I don’t know—”

  “If you knew why you had to leave, you could stay?”

  “I’m not thinking that far ahead.”

  “You’re a terrible faker,” he said.

  “Okay, maybe I am thinking that far ahead. Might be nice to spend Christmas with someone.”

  “We always celebrated Christmas together.”

  “On the twenty-seventh,” she said. “Never on Christmas Day. You were always with your kids on Christmas Day.”

  “Cricket, I—”

  “I know. You’re sorry. But you shouldn’t be. Not about that. Christmas is for family, and I was never part of your family.”

  “And Roland is?”

  “He used to be.”

  “So you’re planning on staying there awhile, then?”

  “Long enough to see Dr. Capello.”

  “All right,” he said. “Have it your way. But if you decide to stay longer, check in with me every now and then so I know you’re alive.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I insist,” he sai
d. “And let me know if anything weird happens, okay?”

  Allison heard something outside. She looked up and saw someone standing on the deck. A man in black. All black. Black jeans, black boots, black sleeveless T-shirt, black hair and black tattoos all the way up and down his arms.

  “McQueen, I’ve gotta go.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Something weird happened.”

  Chapter 13

  By the time Allison had slipped on her shoes and made her way out to the deck, her mysterious man in black had seated himself on one of the lounge chairs with sunblock on his nose, one leg crossed over his knee and a book in his hands. All in all, he was doing a fine impression of a California beach babe baking in the sun. He ignored her as she came to stand in front of his chair. He merely turned a page in his paperback without giving her a second glance.

  “Hello, Deacon,” Allison said.

  He pushed his sunglasses down his nose to look at her before pushing them up again to resume his reading.

  “Hi, sis,” he said.

  “What are you reading?” she asked.

  “Book I picked up at the library this morning,” he said. “Little ditty called Flowers in the Attic. Ever read it?” He looked up at her and grinned as manically as the Joker. Allison glared at him.

  “Ohh...” he said, shuddering. “You give a good death stare. Almost better than Thora’s.”

  “Roland is not my brother. I am not his sister. We are not flowers nor are we in the attic,” Allison said.

  “True, but No Flowers in the Beach House doesn’t have quite the same ring to it,” he said, and tossed the book back over his shoulder, where it landed on the deck in a flurry of bent pages. The book lover in her died a little inside. “Walking funny today?”

  “That’s a very crude question.”

  “He hasn’t gotten laid in years. Plus he’s six feet tall and weighs two hundred twenty pounds. I’d hate the big behemoth if he weren’t my brother. I can’t break one-eighty wet with boots on. Maybe I need bigger boots.” He held out his leg to show off his motorcycle boots.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Did you have fun last night?” he asked as he pulled his legs in to make room for her to sit down on the lounge chair. “He definitely did. Grinning like an idiot all morning. Which is kind of weird in a hospital, but hey, Nero diddled while Rome burned, right?”

  “Deacon?”

  “Yes?”

  “I hate you.”

  “Aww... I love you, too.” Deacon reached out, grabbed her and pulled her down into his lap. To make it even worse, he started to rock her back and forth. “Our little girl’s all grown up.”

  “So much hatred. Burning, burning hatred.”

  “Be happy, poopsie,” Deacon said. “You got the good monk to stay up after his bedtime for something much more fun than praying. You must be a miracle worker.”

  “Roland warned me about this,” Allison said with sigh. “You, I mean. He warned me about you. He should have warned me way more.”

  “You have to let me enjoy this. If men had hymens his would have grown back by now.”

  “Can you take the sunblock off your nose?” she asked. “It’s getting on my shirt.”

  “You’re no fun.” He pushed her off his lap, and wiped the sunblock off with the corner of his beach towel. All at once it struck her how handsome a man Deacon had grown into. Not handsome, she reconsidered, but beautiful. Like many people on the West Coast, he had some Asian ancestry, which had blessed him with high cheekbones, elegant dark eyes and thick eyelashes sooty as cinders. A striking man. If someone put him in a Tom Ford suit and sent him down a runaway, he’d be America’s next top male model.

  “You’re pretty, too,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “How did you know I was thinking you were pretty?”

  “I assume that’s what everyone’s thinking.” He winked at her.

  “You’re a menace,” she said, rubbing her forehead. Deacon was so easy to love and yet she also wanted to strangle him. But with love. But also strangling. In a loving way.

  “Allison, baby,” he said, suddenly serious. “It’s okay. This isn’t a big deal. People have sex. It’s normal.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean, it’s not normal to have sex with your big brother who also happens to be a monk, but who wants to be normal? I don’t.”

  “You were almost helpful. Almost. So close and yet so far...”

  Deacon laughed and it was a lovely laugh.

  “I know he’s not your big brother,” Deacon said. “I tease because I love. Glad you’re back. Are you?”

  “I was until the wildly inappropriate questions about last night.”

  “You can ask me some wildly inappropriate questions if it’ll make you feel better,” he said. “Hit me. I have no secrets.”

  “Why is the attic locked?”

  “Except that.”

  She glared at him again.

  “What do you want in the attic?” he asked.

  “Roland said he found one of my old books in the attic. I thought more of my stuff might be up there,” she said, and hoped he bought it.

  “Dad keeps some medical equipment and files up there now. If you want to see it, I’ll show you. You’ll regret it, though.”

  “I’ll regret it?”

  “Damn skippy, you’ll regret it. Not even joking, sis. You still want to go?”

  “More now than ever.”

  “You’re my kind of girl,” Deacon said. He stood up and she found he’d grown nearly as tall as Roland. She experienced a moment’s vertigo when she realized the last time she’d seen him they’d been the same height.

  She followed him into the house and up the first and second flights of stairs.

  “So,” he said, “I have to tell you the truth.”

  “About what?” Allison asked. They went into Dr. Capello’s office where Deacon dug around the desk drawers until he found a