“How’s it going with the tapes?”
“I’m down to my last tape, so if Mrs. B has any secrets to share, she’d better do it soon, or I’ll be back to testing the DNA of every man in town.”
Hank rolled up his sleeves, revealing an antique gold wristwatch. “What was your mother like?”
“Beth was a good soul, and she loved me. She could never understand why she should clean a house or cook a meal when neither lasted. In her mind, her songs were her real legacy.”
“How did she do?”
“A few small successes when I was younger, but she never made it to the Country Music Association Awards. I’m not going to pretend it was all wonderful. We went our separate ways for several years. I had been accepted to art school six years ago, but there was no money. I was trying to save, but she told me I was wasting my time on school. We fought, and I took a big break from her. We were still estranged when she became sick, but she called, and I came. By the end, we got past all that and had grown close again. My mom even said she wasn’t mad at the cancer that was killing her because without it, she may never have gotten me back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I really admire what you’ve done here for your family and the people in this town. I’m glad I could help in a small way.”
“It was a big way.”
“I wish I could do more.”
A calm intensity smoldered in his eyes as he took her cup and set it beside his on the counter. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. She leaned into the kiss.
“You’re sure about your father?” she said, pulling back.
“So damn sure,” he said, his lips brushing hers.
A night with Hank could easily rank among her top-ten lifetime mistakes. But that was the thing about wanting and all the lust, desire, and craving that went along with it. It always shouted out warnings.
So when he took her by the hand and quietly headed toward the stairs, she followed. There were plenty of steps and moments for reason and common sense to find their voices. Yet there was nothing but the sound of stairs creaking.
He took her to the pink room. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the rumpled sheets on the bed she’d not made this morning.
He kissed her again, letting his fingertips trail over her collarbone and to the top button just above her breasts. He drew small circles on her skin and then unfastened the button. He hesitated, watching her face closely. “You sure about this?”
A chuckle rumbled in her chest. “If I waited for sure, I’d be waiting a long time.”
He undid the next button, revealing the lace topping her bra. His palm smoothed over her breast, cupping it.
She reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head. “Seriously, yes.”
He helped her tug the top free. Moonlight glistened on her skin, and he kissed the mounds of her breasts. A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled to catch her breath.
She stepped back and removed her bra. He was a step behind her but began removing his own clothes. Naked, she lay back on the bed. He slowly slid his body over hers.
She ran her hands over his thighs. His muscles were taut, and she could feel the urgency in his body that now mirrored her own.
When he kissed her, the world beyond the walls faded away. It was just the two of them.
Her own desires were building, and a part of her wanted to race to the climax.
But he was a slow and patient lover, taking his time and teasing her body, bringing it to almost the brink and then back again. When she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, she turned her sights on his body. She lost track of how long they played this erotic back and forth dance until finally neither of them could take it another step, and together they tumbled into the abyss.
January 19, 2018
When Lucy woke up, the morning sun was streaming through her windows, and she could hear footsteps padding in the hallway. She sat up, glanced toward the other side of the bed, and found only the impression of where Hank’s body had been last night. He’d risen early, so quiet she’d not heard him leave for his meeting.
She glanced under the sheet, realized she was still naked, and quickly tossed the sheets back and scrambled to find her jeans and T-shirt. When Natasha appeared in her door, she was zipping up her jeans.
“Did Hank spend the night?” Natasha asked.
She cleared her throat, dug a band out of her pocket, and combed her hair into a ponytail as she hustled toward the door. “He did.”
“His bed is made.”
“You know Hank.” She secured her hair. “He’s a neat freak.”
“Yeah. That’s very Hank. Hey, can we eat? I’m starving.”
“Sure. How’s the arm?”
She wiggled her fingers. “Good. Did you open the chest?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Where’s Hank?”
“Norfolk. Meeting with investors.”
Natasha rubbed her arm, wincing a little when her fingers touched her wrist. “Any word from my dad?”
Last night was the first night Lucy had slept really well in a long time. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Natasha’s brow wrinkled. “Don’t be fooled. He’s out there, and he’s going to cause trouble.”
She took the girl’s hand in her own. “Hank and I will handle him.”
Her head cocked. “You say that like you’re a team.”
The girl’s leap wasn’t as unsettling as it should have been. “That’s hard to say.”
“When will Hank be back?”
“Tonight.”
“Cool.”
“Need help getting dressed?” Lucy asked.
“No, Lucy, you can’t see me without my shirt on. What if you see my bra?”
“News flash, I’ve seen bras before.” The girl’s frown reminded Lucy she’d gone through her own modest stage at about this age. “What if I promise not to look? I’ll look away during the entire process.”
She looked toward the door to double-check it was closed. “You swear?”
“Swear. You know, I’ve got the same equipment as you.”
“Yours are much bigger than mine. There are other girls in school with big ones. Mine are puny.”
“So were mine at your age.”
“Really?”
“Really. I promise they’ll grow to the perfect size, whatever that is.”
With her gaze toward the ceiling, Lucy held the T-shirt up so that Natasha could slide her injured arm in first. The girl groaned and winced, but she worked the arm into the sleeve and then the other.
Natasha tugged her shirt hem down. “You didn’t look?”
Lucy crossed her heart. “Didn’t see a thing. You ready for breakfast?”
“I’m starving.”
“Good, we’ll eat, and I’ll get you off to school.” She reached for the brush, headband, and conditioner, and without a word, Natasha turned and let Lucy do her hair like this was a routine they’d always shared.
After breakfast, Lucy and Dolly dropped Natasha off at school. She waited outside as Natasha walked up to the front, proudly showing her sling to a couple of the girls. A teacher joined them, waved to Lucy, and they disappeared into the school.
She stopped at the grocer and stocked up on more bread and milk, then made her way back to the cottage. She let herself in the side door by the kitchen and loaded the milk into the refrigerator.
The sky was clear and the sun warm, and she didn’t want to waste the time inside. She’d been to the lighthouse, but she’d yet to explore the boathouse where Jimmy had lived. She took a flashlight and the keys that Hank had given her, guessing one of them must unlock the boathouse.
From what she’d learned on the tapes, the boathouse was a quarter mile down the road, sandwiched between the lighthouse and the cottage. The boathouse wasn’t visible from the road, but from what Claire had said, it was buffered by a stand of trees. She set out toward the trees with Dolly,
enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.
She spotted the two paths that cut through the trees. The one on the left went to the lighthouse, so it made sense the other led to the boathouse. Dolly noted Lucy’s direction and raced ahead, barking as a couple of water birds flew out of the trees.
It appeared the path had been trimmed in the last couple of years, but the overgrowth of vegetation was currently winning. She carefully pushed back a branch with thorns and rounded a corner. A few more steps and there was the boathouse.
The structure was bigger than she’d imagined. It was more the size of a long, tall two-story home. Gray, perhaps painted white in the last year, the salt air was taking its toll. Several windows had been shuttered as well as its central door. Around the side, large sliding double doors closed off the water access.
Back around the front, she tugged on the large rusted padlock before fumbling with her keys and trying each. The first and second didn’t fit, but the third slid into the lock. It took a little wiggling, but the tumblers turned, and the lock clicked open.
She threaded the lock’s U-shaped shackle from the latch on the door. Dolly came running up, and Lucy attached the dog’s leash to her collar and clicked on her flashlight. “Come on, Dolly, let’s see what we can find.”
A hard push opened the door while her flashlight skimmed over the ripples on the water in the center of the boathouse. There was no boat hanging from the pulley thick with cobwebs, but across the room, an old life preserver hung from a hook.
To her left was a steep set of stairs. She tested the first step with a hard thump to see if the wood would hold. It did, and she and Dolly slowly took each step up the darkened stairs until they reached the second floor where sunlight streamed in through salt-streaked windows. Several wooden boxes and crates were stacked next to a wrought-iron patio table and chairs. There was no sign of Jimmy’s bed or the table where he’d done his work.
She moved toward the window that overlooked the lighthouse and beyond the cottage. How many times had Jimmy stood here before sunrise, dressing for the morning hunt? He’d have been thinking about the weather, the duck blinds, and the older wealthy men so ready to follow him.
As she turned from the window, the light cast a shadow over a loose board on the floor by the door. Curious, she crossed to the spot, knelt, and pulled up the plank. She shone her light into the space between the rafters and searched, finding only spiderwebs, dust, and crumpled newspapers.
She pushed up her sleeve and, drawing in a breath, stuck her hand into the space, gingerly skimming her fingertips over the rough wood until they reached the paper. She removed the wad, shaking the webs off it and her fingers.
She unwrapped the paper and found a gold pocket watch engraved with a delicate scroll. She opened it and read the name: Robert Buchanan. “Why is Robert’s watch here?”
She ran her fingers over the delicate timepiece, and an odd sense of worry crept through her. Jimmy had never struck her as the kind of man who would steal, so what was he doing with the watch?
She shifted her attention to the newspaper, Norfolk’s Virginian-Pilot, dated 1917. There was an advertisement on the page for furniture and another for a miracle healing cream. Below the ads were brief articles about stolen chickens, a broken window, a borrowed horse, and a local man who’d gone missing.
As she stared at the watch and the yellowed paper, she thought about the bones that had been found in the well. Her skin prickled, and she had the sense someone was standing behind her.
Dolly began to whimper.
“I hear you.” Lucy rewrapped the watch and tucked it in her pocket. “Let’s get out of here.”
They eased down the stairs, locked up the door, and retraced their steps back to the cottage to find Megan’s red truck parked out front and her standing on the front porch. Tucked under her arm was a large roll of paper, which looked like architectural plans.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi,” Lucy said, smiling.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay long at your mother’s funeral,” she said. “That cemetery is emotional for me.” Dolly ran up to her, and she automatically scratched her head.
“Please don’t apologize.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I want to show you something.”
“Sure.” Lucy unlocked the door and grabbed a towel she now kept nearby to dry Dolly off before she set her loose. “It’s probably been a while since the old floors have had a dog and kid running around. I can almost hear them groaning in protest.”
Megan laughed as she shrugged off her coat and hung it on a peg. “The house has been waiting a long time for someone to breathe life into it.”
“And I’m that person?”
Megan arched a brow. “I think we’re that person.”
“There seems to be a lot of hopes riding on me right now.” She crossed to the coffeemaker and set it up to brew. “I’ve never had to worry about screwing up because there wasn’t anything to lose, really. Now, a mistake could not only cost me but also a lot of other people.”
Megan’s brow knotted. “Then you’re probably not going to like what I have to ask.”
Smiling, Lucy shook her head. “Might as well spit it out. A few more bricks on the load won’t make a big difference. Still have some apple pie.”
“Perfect.”
She grabbed plates and mugs from the cabinet as well as a couple of forks and a roll of paper towels.
Megan served up pie as Lucy poured the coffee. When they were settled at the table, Megan waited until Lucy had taken her first bite before saying, “I’ve toyed with the idea of a bakery, but I’m worried about raising a baby alone while balancing a sixteen-hour workday.”
“Reasonable. It was always difficult for my mom.”
Megan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “A few years ago, I came to Samuel and interviewed him about the house. He was very pleasant and told me all he could. After I gave him my final dissertation, I asked him if he’d be interested in renovating. Samuel declined, but I’m the eternal optimist, so I drew up plans, cost analysis, the whole deal. They’re a few years old, but still very relevant.” She unrolled the plans, smoothed her palms carefully, almost lovingly, over them.
“You showed these to Hank?”
“Our discussion about the house was more theoretical. Lots of ifs.” She laid her palm on the plans and leaned forward. “I want this job so much,” she said. “If I had a project like this house, it could be the cornerstone of my portfolio.”
Her mother’s dog, a 99 percent orphan, construction crews, a town crazy guy, and now a pregnant woman needed her. Lucy and Beth had lived in a place with no heat the winter she turned three. To keep them warm, her mother had piled so many blankets on them that she could barely move or breathe. But when she’d poked her head out, the cold had driven her back. “Can I think about it?”
Megan’s eyes widened with so much hope. “Yes, of course.”
“I’m not saying yes.”
She held up her hands. “But you haven’t said no, and I’ll take it.”
Lucy took a few more bites while searching for any kind of conversation that didn’t have to do with the cottage. “So you moved from Richmond? I hear it’s lovely.”
“It’s a great city. I love visiting. My late fiancé’s family is from there, and when I’m in town, it’s always nice to see them.”
“They must be excited about the baby.”
“We all are.” She shoved out a breath. “They want me to move in with them. They want to take care of me and the baby.”
“That’s a generous offer.”
“It is.” She stabbed an apple with her fork.
“But . . .”
“They’re very strong willed. And if I accept, things will be done their way. This is my baby, and I’m raising him on my terms.”
“That’s fair.”
“My fiancé is buried at the Jessup cemetery. He was a marine pilot and killed overseas.”
She was silent, and then, “Can I ask you what it was like growing up with a single mom?”
“It’s all I know. And it wasn’t that bad. Not always easy. It would have helped to have a dad.”
“You missed having a father?”
“Sure. Not having a dad made me different. Father-daughter dances are not quite the same when your mother comes with you.”
“Have you found out more about your dad here?”
“My mom liked to date around. It could be any number of candidates, though Noah Garrison is certain he’s ‘not the father.’”
Megan held up her hands. “If you stick around, someone is bound to spill the beans.”
“Maybe. Might be a case of ‘be careful what you wish for.’”
Lucy was ten minutes early for the pickup line at school. The Peacemaker and Dolly were at the ready. Natasha was full of energy, and in the fifteen-minute drive back to the cottage, she chattered about the sling, Jimmy’s unopened chest, which had all the kids guessing its contents, and cupcakes one of the kids’ mom had made for her son’s birthday.
Lucy parked near the kitchen entrance, and Natasha and Dolly bounded up the steps. She let the two in and set her purse and keys by the door. She made Natasha a sandwich and fixed herself a fresh pot of coffee.
“The kid’s cupcakes were chocolate,” Natasha said, settling on the island stool. “They were good, but not as good as your chocolate cake.”
“Did your mom ever make cupcakes for you?”
“She wasn’t much of a baker. All her stuff came out of box mixes, but they were pretty good.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“June first.” Absently, she fingered the plans Megan had left behind. “What are these?”
They were another commitment. “Just papers,” she said, putting them away. “Natasha, tell me about your mom. All I’ve done is talk about Beth, but I don’t know much about your mom.”
“No one ever talks about her anymore,” she said softly.
“I am, now.”
The girl’s face softened. “She was nice. She had a gentle voice, and she liked to eat chocolate cake.”
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