Ten Million Fireflies (Band of Sisters)

by Marianne Rice

  “I’ve been caught up in the nuts and bolts I hadn’t really thought about the pretty stuff. You and Charlie are the creative ones.”

  “We’ll compile a list and run it by you. Skye doesn’t have much time right now. She’ll be fine with whatever we come up with.”

  Brooke sat on the edge of a table, hoping it would hold her weight, and scrubbed her hands across her face. “I couldn’t do this without the three of you.”

  “The camp wouldn’t exist without you and your millions so...”

  “You mean, my dollar.” It had shocked the girls when Brooke told them about the Shermans’ generosity—as had her attorney, the bank, and everyone who’d been privy to the deal. “We’ll need to come up with a way to commemorate the Shermans as well. They offered their support in however we can use them.”

  “That’s sweet. I can’t wait to meet them.”

  “I don’t want them to see this.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “It would break their hearts to see the damage.”

  “You don’t think they’ve come by in the past to check on the property?”

  “No. Helen said they haven’t stepped foot near here since they closed the camp seventeen years ago.”

  “Wow. That’s so sad. I wonder how all those kids are doing today. The ones who were here when the boys died.”

  “I can’t imagine... That’s a lot for an adult to handle, but a group of ten-year-old boys?” Brooke let out a loud sigh. “Let’s not think about the sadness this camp brought to so many. We’re starting over in our lives. This camp can be a way for the community and maybe even those boys to start over as well.”

  “We could invite them to visit and meet with the kids.”

  “During our Grieving Children week?”

  “Yeah. Only we won’t call it that.”

  “Told you I sucked at coming up with titles and names.”

  “Charlie and I can put our creative flair on that as well.”

  “Thanks, Fish. For everything. It sounds so depressing... bringing children together who are all going through the same challenges. I hope we can make a difference in their lives.”

  Gina sat next to Brooke and swung her arm around her shoulder. “We will.”

  “We’re strong, badass women now who’ve conquered the world. Or at least terrorists, bad guys, and our share of American jerks. We’ve got a lot of experience under our belts.”

  “That we do.”

  Brooke leaned her head on Gina’s shoulder and wished her ten-year-old self would have had a mentor, a camp, a friend to lean on all those years ago. What she didn’t have, she’d give to others. Tenfold.

  Five million times.

  “YOU SOLD IT FOR A DOLLAR?” Drew tugged his hair with both hands and paced Marcus and Helen’s kitchen. Learning they’d sold the property shocked the hell out of him. Finding out they sold it for a freaking buck? His blood pressure just went through the roof.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” Helen asked.

  “No! I don’t want lemonade. I want to know what the hel—” He watched Helen’s innocent, kind eyes widen in shock and he clamped his mouth shut.

  “Drew,” Marcus said, resting his hand on Drew’s shoulder. “We apologize for not contacting you ahead of time. We understand how the news can be unsettling. We should have thought about your feelings before signing the papers.”

  Helen’s face softened in a sad smile as she held out the glass of lemonade for him. They were probably the only people who didn’t think he was a total asshole. Or if they did, they treated him with kindness regardless.

  “I’m sorry for lashing out at you.” He took the glass and drank, knowing it would make Helen happy. “You don’t happen to have any cookies in that jar, do you?”

  His tactic worked. Her entire demeanor changed into excitement as she turned toward the counter and reached for the vintage owl ceramic cookie jar. “I made a batch of snickerdoodles the other day. There aren’t many left... If I’d known you were coming by, I would have baked scotchies for you.”

  “I apologize for coming by without calling.”

  “Nonsense,” Helen said, opening the lid of the jar. “You’re always welcome here. It’s been too long since you’ve visited.”

  Drew raked his memory for a second and thought back to the last time he’d seen the Shermans.

  Christmas. Yeah, he was an asshole.

  He probably wouldn’t have even stopped by if his sister hadn’t been up visiting. Katie had found an antique teapot at a flea market and had wrapped it all fancy and even stuck Drew’s name on the card next to hers and her husband’s. They gave it to Helen on Christmas Eve, along with a box of the cigars Marcus liked to smoke.

  “If you have any free time in your schedule, we’d love to have you over for dinner this week. I bet you could convince my wife to let me buy a steak for the grill. She’s been buying too much chicken lately. A man needs his red meat.” Marcus rubbed his belly and tossed a wink at Helen.

  “Red meat isn’t good for your cholesterol. But if Drew is our guest, I’ll allow it.”

  “Anything. I’ll do anything. Say you’ll come to dinner.”

  Drew chuckled and set his glass in the sink. “I have a feeling the dinner invite is more about the steak and less about me.”

  “You’ve hurt his feelings,” Helen teased and laid a reassuring hand on Drew’s arm. “I’ll cook whatever you want, honey. As long as you say yes to dinner. I’d love to hear about your latest book. Unless it’s top secret.”

  Yeah, so secretive he didn’t even know what it would be about. The Friday the Thirteenth idea came to a crashing halt as soon as he’d left Brooke’s. Worrying about the old camp wasn’t doing anything to help his writing.

  “How about Thursday?” It would give him a couple of days to investigate Brooke and look into her plans for the property. Once he had the dirt on her, he would get his legal team together, hopefully keeping the Shermans out of it. They’d been hurt enough already by his actions.

  “Thursday is perfect.”

  “What can I bring?” he asked, hugging Helen.

  “Just yourself.”

  Drew shook Marcus’s hand. “I’ll bring some wine.”

  “That would be nice. We’ll see you in a few days.” Marcus clamped his hand on Drew’s shoulder and squeezed. “Good seeing you, son. And don’t worry about Miss Ross. She’s a nice young lady. We really like her vision for the new camp.”

  He smiled and nodded through gritted teeth as he walked himself out.

  “Shit.” Drew pounded his steering wheel as soon as he closed the door to his Land Rover. He’d been hoping Brooke’s plan would include anything but opening up a camp. Tear it down and build a sterile-looking McMansion or put in a small development, anything but bringing the camp back.

  Beads of sweat gathered above his lip and down his spine. Drew started his vehicle and cranked up the air conditioning, even though it was only sixty-five degrees out. Somehow, someway, he needed to castrate the ghosts of his past and move forward with his life. It had been seventeen years—too damn long to live with anxiety and night terrors.

  Too long to still hate himself. But unless he could bring the Fitzgerald kid back to life, he’d live with the guilt for the rest of his life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brooke dropped the heavy box of trash into the back of her rented pickup truck and brushed her hands off on her jeans. That had to have been the four thousandth trip she’d made in the past three hours and her back was starting to ache.

  With a storm on the horizon, the mosquitos were out with a vengeance. She slapped a pesky bloodsucker on her arm and flicked its squished remnants into the dirt. Taking two stairs at a time, she went back inside the rec hall and closed the door behind her—not that it mattered with the number of rips in the screens.

  She made her way to the kitchen and surveyed what was left of the cleanup. She’d made four trips to the dump yesterday and still had a way to go. Taking her handkerchief
off her head, she shook it out and wiped her sweat before folding it into a bandana and tying it back on again.

  “You seriously think you can revive this camp?” a deep voice asked from behind, causing her to flinch.

  Brooke wasn’t one to startle easily. She prided herself on her owl eyes and elephant ears. Technically, her ears were cute and small, but she’d been donned elephant ears in the army because she could pick up subtle sounds from far, far away. Most people didn’t know elephants had better hearing than bats and cats.

  “I know I can do anything I set my mind to.” Brooke turned, folding her arms across her chest and her ankles across each other. She leaned against the grubby counter as if he had no effect on her.

  Drew had dropped the charm and charisma he showed a few weeks ago on his paddleboard. The arms she’d ogled in unladylike fashion were covered in a worn, long-sleeved brown shirt that advertised a pale ale of some sort. His cargo shorts hung loose around his hips and thighs, and for some reason, she found his leather flip-flops sexy.

  “You’re setting yourself up for disaster.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “No one in their right mind is going to send their kid to camp here.”

  “Well then, since the world is full of people in the wrong state of mind, I see my chances at being successful quite high.” Damn Drew and his negativity.

  Her camp would be successful because they would build it on love and kindness and generosity. There were hundreds, even thousands of children in Maine and New England who needed a camp like hers would be. She wanted to tell him as much, but he stormed out of the kitchen.

  Brooke followed him into the rec hall and watched him pace the open space. He didn’t seem to care about the gorgeous stone fireplace taking up the center of the room or the view of the water from the row of windows on the back wall.

  “You’re going to stir up too much,” he said, his face drawn as he stared at the screen door.

  “All I’ve stirred up is dust, dirt, and about fifty pounds of mouse poop.”

  “You don’t know what you’re getting into.” It was a veiled threat. Drew’s gaze still didn’t reach hers. His stance relaxed and his shoulders dropped as if too tired to continue the conversation, not that there was much dialogue going on between them.

  For some reason bringing the camp back to life bothered him.

  And then it dawned on her. He was a local. He had to know about the drowning and the boy who died in the cabin. Drew could have been there. Could have been friends with the boy.

  “This is personal, isn’t it?” she asked, stepping in front of him. For a moment, her heart ached for him. And then he opened his mouth again.

  “I’ll buy it from you. Think of the profit you’ll make.” He clenched his jaw and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  Heck, she’d make a profit if she sold it for ten dollars. “I’m not interested in money.” She hated money. Hated how it changed people, how people with it thought they could buy their way through life.

  Her bio-dad bought her mother’s loyalty, but he sure as hell couldn’t buy hers.

  And Drew, no matter what he offered her, wouldn’t buy her out of this.

  “Money is no object. Name your price.” His green eyes pierced her with anger and a trace of pleading.

  Interesting that in all the years it sat vacant, he never offered to buy it. “No, thanks. If you want to make a difference, you can donate to the scholarship fund.”

  “It won’t matter if the camp is free. No one will send their kid here.”

  Seriously. She hadn’t faced this much negativity since surrounded by pompous assholes during her first day of boot camp in humid Virginia.

  “Again. Appreciate the positivity pouring out of you.” She went to the door and held it open for him. “I’d say don’t let it hit you in the ass on the way out, but I think I want it to.”

  She patiently waited for him to move. When his feet finally shuffled past her, she smiled widely and tossed out a southern, “Ya’ll come back again real soon now.”

  The child in her wanted to flip him off behind his back, but she kept to her snarky ways and let the door slam as she stomped back into the kitchen area and picked up the push broom. Dust stirred in the air and after her tenth sneeze, she scooped up the dirt and mouse crap and tossed it into the garbage.

  With most of the dirt and debris gone, she could start working on replacing the screens and looking into new furniture. She propped the broom in the corner and tied up the trash bag, lugging it behind her to the truck. She added it to the heap in the back and closed the tailgate.

  Her phone vibrated in her back pocket. Taking it and her keys out, she opened the door to the truck and hopped in as she answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Brooke. It’s Helen Sherman.”

  “Helen. So nice to hear from you again.” It had only been a week, but she’d hoped to continue building a relationship with the couple.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Not at all. I’m making another dump run. You’re a welcome distraction.”

  “I can only imagine how much work you have cut out for you.”

  “It’s nothing my sisters and I can’t handle.” She didn’t mind doing all the physical labor while Charlie worked on recipes, Fish made shopping lists, and Skye played around with website designs.

  “Your friendship is special, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “I’d love to hear more about you girls. Your Band of Sisters. Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Really?” It had been too long since she’d had a dinner invite anywhere. And home-cooked food? Yeah, it was a no-brainer. Charlie would cook for her this weekend when she came to visit and do a run-through of the kitchen. Who knew how long it would be before she ate a normal meal again? “I’d love to. What can I bring?”

  “You’re our guest. Bring yourself. Marcus and I look forward to it. Come by around five, if that works for you.”

  “It absolutely does.” She’d still have all day to clean out the cabins and time to go home and shower before heading over. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Brooke disconnected and noticed a slew of texts. She’d check them when she got home. Tossing the phone in the cup holder, she turned onto the main road toward the dump and tried not to think about the hurt she saw behind Drew’s green eyes.

  The following day, Brooke ended her chores early to go home and shower. Dressed in khaki shorts, a navy short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of Converse, she checked her reflection in the mirror.

  She was low-maintenance and didn’t care what the label on clothes or shoes read. Other than a tube of mascara that Charlie made her buy at Walmart last year when they were Christmas shopping, she didn’t own any makeup.

  “For special occasions,” Charlie had said.

  Brooke had snorted then and snorted again this evening looking at the barely used tube. It wasn’t like coating her eyelashes would make her any more presentable to the Shermans. This was Brooke. Take her or leave her. She didn’t have a big wardrobe and couldn’t justify spending her minimal earnings on fancy clothes she’d never wear.

  Jeans and cotton shirts were her style. Fancy meant wearing the solid color tees instead of the ones with graphics on them. Brooke finger-combed her short hair. She’d need a trim soon. Spending her days with a baseball cap or handkerchief over her head, she hadn’t noticed how unruly her hair had gotten. Another thing to add to her growing list of things to do.

  The five million sitting in the bank wasn’t for her. She’d never take the bribe from Ike and use it on herself. And signing the money over to her friends as a gift before they donated it back to the camp made sure his hands never soiled something so special.

  After her trip to the bank tomorrow, she could check that off her list as well. The work list was coming along nicely, but she had no desire to check things off her personal list like shop, get a h
aircut, eat a real meal, or go out on a date.

  Whoa. Brooke paused halfway out her front door. Since when had men been on her to-do list? Not since ever. Her brief encounters with Drew may have stirred something dormant in her belly, but that didn’t mean dating was anywhere near a top priority.

  Her priorities were to get her new camp off the ground. She’d treat it like a business, which it was, only not a money-making one. And in the fall, she’d start her other new career as a gym teacher.

  Once school started, she’d connect with the guidance counselors and social workers and ask them for their ideas. By next summer—spring if she could hack it—her camp that still needed a name would be in full swing.

  No time for men or dating or the like. Besides, Drew’s attitude ticked her off, which was a good thing. She didn’t need to be wasting her time pining away for the sexy neighbor.

  Tossing her keys in the air, Brooke jogged out the door and settled behind the wheel of her Subaru. The rental truck served its purpose for a few days, but she couldn’t afford to keep it much longer. She’d either need to find someone local who would lend her a truck or trade in her reliable car for one.

  Neither option appealed to her. Relying on anyone for anything didn’t settle with her, and while her bank account might look like it was fat and happy, she didn’t consider the money hers. Tomorrow, she’d start an account for the nonprofit. She’d feel much better when the financial pieces all fell together.

  She spotted a spray of wildflowers at a farm stand on the way to the Shermans’. Brooke pulled onto the dirt shoulder and slowed her car. She put it in park and poked through her wallet, hoping she had cash on hand.

  The farm stand was a cute little lean-to run by an elderly lady and a little girl who must be her granddaughter.

  “How much are the flowers?” She pointed to the white bucket to the right of the stand.

  “Five dollars,” the little girl with two curly pigtails said with a lisp, her tongue poking through the gap in her teeth.

  “Did the tooth fairy come and take your teeth away?” Brooke asked, handing the girl a ten-dollar bill.