Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel

by Canterbary, Kate

  Still silent, still staring down at my hand, I didn't react when Jed pulled one of his shirts over my head. Didn't ask why Jackson was here. Didn't complain when it took him several attempts to help me into leggings. Didn't argue when he lashed his arm around my waist and guided me toward the front of the house as if we were practicing for a three-legged race.

  Jackson removed his Talbott's Cove Sheriff's Office ball cap, stepped toward me. "Brooke. I'm so sorry."

  I didn't do any of those things because I knew my father was dead.

  He was gone and my first reaction was relief and I hated myself for it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  JJ

  Useful Life: the estimate of the period of time an asset will be in use.

  "There's a shipment coming in from Trillium on Friday," I called over my shoulder as I moved through the storeroom.

  "Tomorrow," Nate replied from behind me. "I talked to our rep yesterday morning because I noticed we're going through the summer brew faster than expected. He added a few units and bumped us to tomorrow's delivery."

  "Even better," I said, pushing through the door to the bar. I tested the taps, checked the ice box, glanced at the garnishes. "Everything is in order."

  "What did you expect?" he murmured as he made a note on his clipboard.

  I lifted a whiskey bottle to the light, then another. "Did anyone give you trouble last night? Did Lincoln come in?"

  "No trouble," he replied, still busy with his clipboard. "Lincoln pounded seven ginger ales and complained about the Sox for a couple of innings."

  "Some things never change," I said. "When you get a chance, would you follow up with the beef supplier? We've been running low and—"

  "Already done," he interrupted, looking up from his clipboard. "I know you're being thorough but what the hell did you think would happen when you left me to manage this place for a few days? Did you think I'd let us run out of burgers or beer?"

  I turned in a circle, my hands on my hips and my mind racing. I needed to get back to the Markham house. I hated leaving Brooke this morning, but I had to run payroll and pick up my suit from the dry cleaner. Annette promised she'd stay with Brooke and assist with the funeral arrangements. Not that Brooke had allowed anyone to help her with anything in the four days since her father's death. She insisted on doing everything herself and I stood by, watching while she did it—and went on working her finance job as if nothing had happened.

  "I expected you'd have it under control and you do," I said. "Thank you for handling things."

  "No, man, don't start with that. Save your thanks." He pressed the clipboard to his chest, his arms banded over it. "There's no need." He jerked his chin toward the door. "You should get out of here while you can. I've got this."

  "Call me if anything comes up. I don't care what it is or when it is."

  "Go," he hollered.

  "Going." My phone vibrated in my back pocket as I stepped out from behind the bar. I yanked it out, expecting to find Brooke or Annette calling, but it was Barry O'Connor. Of all the times for him to reappear. I waited until I stepped outside to tap the screen. "Barry. Hi."

  "Hey, JJ. Is this a good time?" he asked. "I want to run a few things by you."

  I paced away from the Galley and toward the harbor. "Ordinarily, this is a good time, but today is difficult. Can I call you next week?"

  "Just five minutes," he said. "I'll make it quick."

  I lifted my hand to my forehead, shielding my eyes from the day's intense sun. "All right. Go ahead. What's up?"

  "Here's the thing, JJ, I'm trying to make a mark. I'm looking for the next great thing."

  A seagull squawked overhead. "I'm aware of your aspirations."

  "You're all systems go with this gin thing and it's so great, JJ. It's such a brilliant move. It's cool and hip, and going to take off like crazy in your neck of the woods." He drew in a breath, made a whiny noise in his throat. "But it's not for me."

  "What?" I barked, confused.

  "It's not for me. Small-batch liquor isn't my passion. It doesn't wake me up in the morning and keep me going at night. I want to steer my investments toward my passions, as I'm sure you can understand."

  "What?" I repeated. Now I was annoyed.

  "My attorney is drawing up dissolution papers today. He'll have them out to you tomorrow. Friday at the latest."

  Again— "What?"

  "As I'm sure you recall from the original agreement, the terms are generous," he continued. "There's a five-year grace period before repayment of the initial investment is required." He paused. Another seagull swooped by. "You have to know I labored over this decision for several months, JJ."

  A dry laugh rumbled up from my chest. "It would've been nice of you to mention it sooner." A rough estimate of the upcoming construction and production expenses flashed through my mind. "You're not leaving me in the best position here."

  "It's just business," he replied. "Look, JJ. I have another call coming in. Look for those papers from my attorney and—"

  I ended the call and turned back toward the village. I swept my gaze over the place I'd hoped to redefine as the impact of losing Barry's investment landed in my gut like a brick. Lacing my hands behind my neck, I glanced up the hill to the ancestral estate where Brooke was undoubtedly approving the funeral reception menu while also moving money around the globe at the same time.

  She could help. She could get me out of this mess.

  But there was no way I could ask her for help. I wasn't going to add that dynamic to our relationship and I wasn't going to be another in a long line of people who expected something from her. If I intended to open this distillery, I was doing it without her saving the day.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  JJ

  Current Liabilities: the sum of salaries, interest, accounts payable, and other debt service requirements due within one year.

  Laying Judge Markham to rest was a major event in Talbott's Cove. The flags were lowered and the local court closed. The entire town attended the funeral mass, many spilling out the congregation doors and onto the steps despite torrential rain. The firefighters and sheriff's deputies led a procession from the church to the family cemetery on the Markham estate, where he was to be buried alongside Brooke's mother and hundreds of years of ancestors.

  Brooke put on an excellent show. She was gracious and genuine as she stood in the foyer of her father's house, accepting condolences from the hundreds, maybe thousands, of townspeople in attendance. She listened to an endless stream of stories, her hands clasped in front of her, and conjured the appropriate expressions and responses. But I knew it was a performance, and I knew she was heading for a crash.

  Despite the best efforts of Annette, Jackson, and I, Brooke continued to refuse all assistance. She'd held us off since her father's death and we were running low on solutions. None of us wanted to force a confrontation or push her into a test of wills, but she couldn't keep going at this pace. She worked around the clock, rarely stopped to eat or sleep, and she hadn't shed a tear. I knew grief took many forms but I also knew this show couldn't go on forever.

  When the line of visitors dwindled, Brooke stepped away from her post in the foyer. She joined us on the far end of the front porch, her sky-high heels clacking against the weathered wood in time with distant rolls of thunder. She looked regal in her sleeveless black dress, her hair twisted into a conservative knot and a string of pearls draped around her neck. She also looked exhausted and frail and painfully lonely.

  Annette pushed a plate toward her, but she waved it off.

  "No, I don't want anything." She ran a finger over her brow and closed her eyes for a moment. I rested my hand on the small of her back. "That's not true. The house smells like ham and wet hair, and I've heard the same six stories about five hundred times apiece. My feet hurt, my hair is frizzing around the back of my neck, and"—she tucked a finger under the belt cinching the dress at her waist—"this thing was a terrible choice."


  "Okay, so," Annette started, "ham, shoes, people, and that belt. Anything else bothering you?"

  "Many, many things are bothering me," she said, glancing out at the rain. "Very few of them can be improved."

  "Let's start small," Annette said. "I can get you a pair of flats and some bobby pins for the frizz."

  "There's nothing you need to do," Brooke replied. "No, that's not true. I want you to send everyone home."

  "We can do that," Jackson replied. "Give me ten minutes, I'll shut this thing down."

  "Ask the caterers to box up the leftover food," Brooke said, rubbing her forehead again. "Get rid of the ham, the roast, the lemon squares. All of it, I want it gone and I want everyone out. Tell the people whatever you want. It doesn't matter anyway." She cast another glance toward the heavy storm clouds overhead. "I'm going upstairs."

  "I'll go with you," Annette offered.

  "No." Brooke held up a hand, warning her off. "Thank you, but I want to be alone right now and I need you to handle the caterers."

  We watched as Brooke marched away. When she stepped into the house, Annette said, "I'm going with her."

  "The hell you are," I replied. "You're on catering duty. I'm going with her."

  "She needs me right now," Annette argued. "You're great and all, but I'm the one who will get her through this."

  "Not by yourself, no, you're not." When her eyes flamed with fury, I continued, "Look, I know it's been the two of you against the world for a time. It's not just the two of you anymore."

  Jackson held up a hand in warning, but Annette brushed him off. "Okay. That's acceptable. But you need to know I will grind your bones to dust if you hurt her in the slightest way."

  "Annie," Jackson grumbled.

  "Understood." I gestured to the house. "Now, you fix the ham situation while I get her out of those shoes."

  "Sex is not the answer," Annette called. "It's one of the answers, but not the answer. Not until after she gets something to eat and a good night's sleep."

  I didn't respond, instead jogging inside and up the stairs. It took longer than it should have since the terrible weather meant the entire town was packed into this house rather than overflowing into the outdoor spaces. When I reached the landing, I yanked my tie loose and shrugged out of my suit coat, dropping both on the banister.

  Brooke's door was shut but unlocked. The bedroom was as we'd left it that morning and it was vacant. I ducked my head into the bathroom and walk-in closet before noticing the deck door standing ajar. As I approached, I spotted Brooke on the far corner of the deck, staring out at the ocean while the rain washed over her.

  "What are you doing out here?" I called, edging onto the deck. "You're soaked, sweetheart. Come inside."

  She didn't respond, didn't react.

  I crossed the deck and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "Come on, Bam. You can't stay out here."

  She didn't budge, didn't tear her gaze away from the water.

  "I know, sweetheart. I know. This is fucking awful. It's one gut punch after another. Please, let me bring you inside. You're wet and shivering, and I can't watch you do this. It hurts too much."

  I pulled her close, my arms around her torso as she swayed toward me. Then, she did it. She destroyed me all over again.

  "I'm pregnant."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Brooke

  Equity: the degree of ownership after all liabilities and debts have been satisfied.

  There was a reaction to telling Jed I was pregnant. I was sure of it, though I couldn't make out the words. I couldn't hear anything beyond the whirling in my head, the incessant buzzing that came from realizing how much I resented my parents for expecting me to fix them, how much I hated every minute of caring for my father and rearranging my life to hold the shreds of his together, and how angry I was that he died alone too. No one ever let me say goodbye.

  They all died, they all left me, but not before I stole the opportunity to leave them. And the staticky hum in my head was the sound of regret.

  Jed gathered me up and brought me in from the rain. He stripped off my wet clothes and swaddled me in towels. I wanted my robe, the one I'd nabbed from that obnoxious roommate years ago, but I couldn't climb past the roar in my head to form words.

  He tucked me into bed and climbed in beside me, his body warm and his grip certain. His hand raised to my face, he brushed tears from my cheeks. I hadn't realized I was crying.

  "Brooke, are you sure about this?" he asked. "You've had a stressful week. That can throw things off, right? It could be that, sweetheart."

  "I took a test this morning." I didn't recognize the watery sobs in my voice. "Then I made an appointment with a doctor."

  "Why did you do that alone?" he whispered, his lips pressed to my temple. "Why-why didn't you tell me, Bam?"

  "The appointment is on Tuesday. In Bangor." My body shook, quaking as the tears fell faster. "There's no such thing as privacy in this town."

  "You're not doing that alone," he said. "You're not doing anything else alone. Do you hear me, Brooke? I'm going with you. I am staying with you."

  I didn't say anything. I didn't think I could—and it didn't matter. Jed would leave me too. He'd leave and I'd have something new to regret.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  JJ

  Leveraged Buyout: the purchase of a controlling share in an organization by its management using capital provided from outside the organization.

  Brooke didn't want to talk to me in the waiting room at the doctor's office. She flipped through a magazine, the pages moving at a pace incompatible with reading. If there was anything to gather from this morning—and every morning since the funeral—it was that I could stay close if I didn't require anything from her.

  It wasn't until that fire of hers cooled to embers that I realized how much I needed it, thrived on it, savored it. Loved it. I missed her yelling and cursing about every little thing. Missed her silver-tongued demands and her piercing glares. Missed her fight most of all. This chilly silence almost drove me to shake her out of it, to bait her the way she'd always baited me. But antagonizing the woman I loved days after her father died and she found herself unexpectedly pregnant struck me as profoundly wrong, even if that was our first and finest mode of expression.

  I followed her into an exam room, staring at a wall of baby photos while the nursing assistant ran through a list of questions. I listened as I studied the round faces, desperate to glean some information, but I didn't know how to use any of it in a meaningful way. The first day of her last period sounded like a riddle no one saw necessary to solve for me.

  So many little faces on this wall. Some bald, some with as much hair as I had today. Some smiling, some mad as fuck. What will our baby look like? I turned, stared at Brooke as that thought simmered in my mind. She sat on the exam table with her ankles crossed and hands balled in her lap. She glanced up at me for a fleeting moment, tipped her head to the side, and held her hand out.

  Moving away from the wall, I stepped around the nursing assistant and stationed myself beside Brooke.

  "It's fine. I'm fine," she said, her gaze glued to the floor as the nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. "You don't need to do this."

  "I'm going to do it anyway," I replied.

  The nursing assistant left parting instructions about changing into a gown and a promise the doctor would visit shortly. When the door closed, Brooke hopped off the table and turned her back to me as she undressed. She pushed her arms into the gown and shuffled back to the table, one hand fisted around the cloth to keep it closed.

  "I've seen you naked. Don't hide your ass for my benefit."

  "I know what comes next with these appointments," she said. "Covering my ass is all I can do to make this bearable."

  "Is there anything I can do to make this better than bearable?"

  "Do you want a baby right now?" she fired back.

  "Do you?"

  She was silent long enough that it
seemed she didn't intend to respond. But then, she said, "I don't know."

  The doctor bustled in, full of smiles and enthusiasm Brooke couldn't match. She dimmed the lights and dropped onto a short stool after instructing Brooke to lie back on the table. The sonogram screen flickered to life. Brooke grabbed my hand.

  "There's your baby," the doctor chirped, circling a black and white area on the screen. "See that little strobe light? That's the heart. And this string of pearls? That's the spine. Based on these measurements and the dates you provided, you're about nine weeks along. Here, let's print out some pictures."

  Brooke's grip on my hand tightened. There was no way to interpret the meaning behind that gesture, but I leaned down, kissed the top of her head. We'd figure this out.

  * * *

  The first half of the drive back to Talbott's Cove was agonizingly quiet until Brooke asked, "What do you want to do, Jed?"

  As it turned out, I couldn't stop myself from antagonizing her. "Are you asking what I want to do right now, this morning? Because I need to get some breakfast and then run to a meeting at the cider house." I glanced over at her. "Or are you asking about something else, Brooke?"

  "It's good of you to loop me in on your plans," she replied.

  "I want to do whatever you want me to do," I said. "But I can't do that if you won't talk to me. I'll tell you this much, Brooke. Whatever you want to do, I'm going to support you. Whatever you want. There's nothing you can say to change my mind on that."

  She reached into her purse and retrieved a water bottle. She took several sips before asking, "Who are you meeting at the cider house?"