The first beer went down too quickly, and he felt an actual thirst. So he ordered another. By then a couple guys he recognized from the town works department had come in. Bill Hardings was nice enough, but he was with another guy Wendell didn’t particularly care for, Owen Miller, who was a bit of a blowhard. “Wendell, good to see you,” Bill said. Wendell nodded and kept to his beer.
He tried not to listen as the guys talked about their work week and who was leading the men’s softball league that summer. None of it mattered to him. But his ears pricked at the mention of Scooter Dunham. Ronny Perkowski was talking. “He’s buyin’ the Lancaster place. All of it. Going to turn it into a subdivision.” He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Big money.”
“No way, I heard it was going to be open space for the town.”
“Nah, that sister came over from London and took over. It’s hers to do with what she wants. Ain’t that right, Combs?”
He could feel their heads turn in his direction.
Wendell shrugged. “I don’t know anything about it,” he said.
“That’s not what I hear.” Ronny Perkowski slid off his stool and came around the side of the bar. He was smiling, but Wendell didn’t like his tone. “I hear you’re still working up there. You must see and hear all kinds of things. What’s that Brit got you working on these days?”
Wendell took a swig of his beer. “It’s just business, Ronny. Why don’t you mind yours.”
Ronny came up beside him. “Didn’t I hear you’ve got a horse now?”
The hair on the back of Wendell’s neck prickled.
“Yeah, I think I did hear that. Wasn’t that the older girl’s horse?”
The men started to snicker behind him. Ronny leaned in close. “What’d she do for you to get that horse?”
Wendell was off his stool before Ronny could finish his sentence. The first punch landed on the bridge of his nose. When Ronny regained his balance and popped back up, the next punch went to his gut and sent him sprawling backward to the ground. He lay on the filthy floor, holding his face, and cursed.
“Don’t you mention those kids ever again!” Wendell shouted as he stood over Ronny. He spun toward the others, who’d moved closer and now stepped back.
Bill Hardings held up his hands. “Easy, Combs. Nobody wants to fight.”
Wendell stared down at Ronny. “What about you? Anything else you want to say?”
Ronny’s nose gushed behind his hand. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed as Owen Miller helped him up.
Wendell took another step at him, and he jerked back. “Nothing else?” Wendell said between his teeth.
Ronny shook his head and leaned on the bar. “Get me some ice, dammit.”
Wendell threw two twenties down on the bar and got the hell out of there. His hand throbbed, and outside, he examined it in the growing darkness. Nothing appeared to be broken, but his knuckles were an angry color and scraped. He sure hoped he’d broken Ronny’s nose.
On the way back, he drove straight past his house. He didn’t slow until he turned sharply into Roberta’s narrow driveway, gravel spitting beneath his tires. She met him on the doorstep, a look of alarm on her face. “Wendell. Is everything all right?”
“I need your help.”
Thirty-Four Roberta
The Housatonic Probate Courtroom had once been hers to preside over. Standing outside its double doors felt like stepping outside her body and back in time. If it weren’t for Wendell, she wouldn’t be here.
Inside, she took a quick seat on the bench while Wendell went to see the clerk about filing the papers they’d worked on together. She wondered what Charlotte Combs would say about her son’s decision. Roberta was pretty sure it’d be a lot.
Roberta was not the praying kind, but at that moment, she prayed that neither Judge Bartlett nor any attorney she might know would walk by. She was relieved that she didn’t recognize the clerk. As soon as Wendell filed, she could get out of here.
As she waited, Roberta closed her eyes and let her mind wander. Being back at the courthouse was unnerving. The room was warm, and her memory was too long to keep her thoughts in check. She thought of something Charlotte had told her long ago. “Life is just a giant Ferris wheel, spinning through time. We’re on it for the ride, and all we can do is hang on.” Roberta pictured herself seated at the highest point of the wheel, the courtroom the cog. As she dipped down, she saw her past rising up to meet her from ground level. There was Charlotte, her dear friend. Perhaps her only true friend, who had found her that day in the IGA market with the two little boys in tow, and rescued her. Charlotte, who gave her a sense of family, who invited her to birthday parties and holidays, and made her laugh when she felt like crying, and saw her as she was and where she was in her station in life, and decided she was worthy.
After Charlotte, came the boys, Wendell and Wesley, both young. They were fast and squirmy, and on rare occasions, she could catch one and pull him onto her lap. Oh, they smelled like little boys: sweat and heat and shampoo, all mixed together with something earthy. She let them go, and as they ran, she knew they were running headlong into futures that would shake them both. And leave one behind.
Roberta felt the dizzying pull of centrifugal force as the wheel swung skyward and she swept by faces on the ground. Faces of those she’d worked with. Attorneys she’d fought against and some she’d fought for. Families she’d come to know, along with all the dark details that had brought them to her courtroom. And among those faces, little Layla Bruzi.
Roberta closed her eyes, picturing her before the apartment fire. Her strawberry-blond bangs cut crookedly; her smile bow-shaped and uncertain. Layla’s stubborn young mother, Jenny, and little Dominic. And the man whose name she would not permit her lips to utter. The largest of all her regrets, which she could never let go of. Regret that had kept her shuttered away, alone in the shadow of life.
As the wheel crested, she pictured the Lancaster girls. Two unexpected vibrant faces, full of hope and sorrow. Who had, just maybe, given her a second chance.
“Bertie?”
Roberta opened her eyes, startled.
“Are you okay? I thought you might be sleeping.”
Roberta put a hand to her face, then smiled. “No, no,” she said, collecting herself. “I was just daydreaming. Are you all done?”
Wendell held his hand out to help her up. “I am,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
Thirty-Five Ginny
It had been a crazy couple of days at the office. Since the Feldman Agency had listed White Pines, business had picked up, and her parents were thrilled. Ginny wasn’t sure if it showed a local increase of confidence, their having landed such a big listing, or if more people were noticing her marketing efforts and were being reminded of her parents’ business. Regardless, they’d had a busy week, with two new listings, both nicely appointed homes in private communities, and a contract with an out-of-town young family looking to move before the school year began. “Keep it going,” her father told her on the phone. She’d been so swamped at the office, she’d barely had time to visit her folks. Let alone enjoy some downtime at her cottage. In fact, being back in Saybrook had kept her so distracted that she hadn’t given Thomas or Chicago any thought.
On top of that, she got a call from Scooter Dunham’s attorney. He wanted to finalize the contracts and closing details for White Pines. Ginny had tactfully reminded him that the permits had not officially come in from zoning, and his contingencies had not yet been satisfied. If she were a less ethical broker, she’d have scheduled it and hoped they’d forget about the contingency.
But the attorney didn’t seem concerned. “Mr. Dunham would like to sign the executory contracts and get the closing on the calendar anyway. He’s expecting the permit approvals shortly, so we can go ahead and pencil in a date.”
Ginny was surprised. It was Scooter Dunham himself who’d so vocally objected to moving ahead with the deal at White Pines before his subdivision feasibility w
as secured by the town. “Is there new information from town hall?” she asked, wondering if she’d somehow missed a relevant update.
“No. Mr. Dunham is just confident things are moving in the right direction.”
Ginny thought back to the morning of the site walk. How she’d seen Scooter Dunham pacing in the driveway when she’d arrived to meet with Geoffrey and Candace. How strange it had seemed that he did not join them inside but, rather, remained by his car on the phone while the commissioners conducted their site walk on the property. And how later, when she was leaving, she’d seen him speaking privately to one of the commissioners by the side of the barn.
“I’ll reach out to my client and check her schedule,” she told Scooter’s attorney, now. “We’ll be in touch shortly.”
Candace seemed delighted when Ginny called with the update. “I have an executory contract to drop off for signatures,” Ginny told her. “Are you available this morning?”
“Yes, bring it by any time.”
When Ginny pulled up the driveway at White Pines an hour later, the first thing she noticed was the red sports car parked in front of the main house. What was Scooter doing here, now?
Ginny was just stepping out of her car when the front door opened. “What fortuitous timing.” Scooter came down the front steps to greet her as if the place was already his.
“Good morning, Mr. Dunham,” Ginny said. “I’m here with executory contracts for my client. Copies were just faxed to your attorney’s office for review as well.”
Scooter looked pleased as punch. “Good to hear you’re on top of things.”
“Thank you for bringing those by, Ginny,” Candace said. Then, “I’m going to walk Mr. Dunham out, but there’s fresh coffee in the kitchen if you’d like. Help yourself to a cup.”
But Ginny did not help herself to coffee. She lingered on the other side of the open doorway, pretending to check phone messages as Candace walked Scooter to his car. Their voices were low, but she caught much of what they said.
“The final report should be available in the next day or two,” Scooter said.
“And you’re confident things are in good standing? Mr. Banks still has concerns about that item we discussed earlier.”
“That item has been taken care of,” Scooter stated. “And there’s no need to loop Mr. Banks in further.”
Candace glanced up at the house, and Ginny stepped back out of sight. “That’s a relief. We can keep this between us.”
“Agreed.”
By the time Candace joined her, Ginny had made sure she was in the kitchen pouring herself coffee. “Busy morning at White Pines,” Ginny mused, wondering what exactly they’d been meeting about. It was most unusual for a seller and buyer to meet, especially without their agents present. That was Ginny’s job.
“It is,” Candace agreed.
Ginny couldn’t shake the feeling she’d interrupted something. “Is everything all right with Mr. Dunham?” As Candace’s agent, she certainly had the right to ask.
“Yes, of course. He wanted permission to walk the property with one of his contractors.”
Ginny sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “It’s a bit premature for that, isn’t it? As your agent, I’d advise that you continue to show the property and operate under the assumption that it’s not sold until the closing is finalized.”
“I’m not worried. If Mr. Dunham wants to move ahead, that only works in our favor.”
Indeed, but it still didn’t add up. Maybe she was missing something. “Have you received the report from the Wetlands Commission site walk yet?” Ginny asked.
“I believe Mr. Dunham said it would be ready in the next day or two,” Candace replied.
There was no way Scooter Dunham would know when the report was being issued. Only the commission knew that information. Was that what they’d been discussing in the driveway?
“Well, hopefully, it’s good news.” Ginny checked Candace’s face for any clue but could find nothing. “Here’s the contract for Geoffrey to review with you. You may wish to make changes, in which case we’ll need to share those with the other side. He’ll know what to do.” She handed Candace the file with the updated contract, but Candace was more interested in next steps.
“Thank you. When are we thinking for closing?”
“Assuming all goes well with the commission report and the mortgage guarantee, it sounds like Mr. Dunham’s attorney wants to schedule before thirty days. He suggested two weeks out.”
“That’s perfect timing,” Candace said. “We’ll be heading back to London soon after.”
Ginny bit her lip. Candace had said “we.” Unless Julia or Pippa had told her, Candace was unaware that Ginny had any knowledge of her legal issues with the girls or the hearing that had just taken place. Candace certainly didn’t know her involvement with Wendell. So that made it impossible to press about the sudden change of plans for London. “So you have a return date set?” Ginny asked casually.
“Once this sale is finalized,” Candace replied. “It’s the only thing left for me to take care of here in the States.”
Which could mean only one thing. The judge had reached a verdict. And it didn’t sound like it had gone in Julia’s favor.
As soon as she got in the car, Ginny called Wendell. Each time it went to voicemail. Finally, she drove over to the farmhouse straight from work to look for him. But his truck was not in the driveway. When she drove through the village center, she didn’t see it parked in any of the places he might be. She even tried the Spigot, the old dive bar that he used to frequent when he came home from Afghanistan. She was relieved not to see his truck in the parking lot.
Just as she was pulling out, her phone rang. It was a local number, but she didn’t recognize it. “Ginny? It’s Gail Hawthorne calling from town hall. I wanted to reach you before I left work for the day, if now is a good time.”
There was something different about Gail’s tone. “Now is good,” Ginny said.
“I may have found something. After you brought up the Wetlands Commission, it triggered some memories. I knew something had gone on in town years ago, but I couldn’t recall the details. So I pulled the files of the properties abutting White Pines.”
“That was smart,” Ginny said, wishing she’d thought of that herself.
“Turns out there was an application back in the eighties to expand some farm buildings on one the of the lots neighboring White Pines. The application was denied because of a turtle species they discovered.”
“A turtle?” Ginny almost laughed.
“Apparently, a turtle that was on the state endangered species list was found up there. They were a protected species at the time, and the whole project was halted as a result.”
Ginny grabbed a pad of paper from her bag on the passenger seat. “Can you tell me what species is was?”
“The red spotted turtle. That rang another bell, and I looked it up online. As it turns out, by the eighties, their population had made enough of a comeback that they were taken off the list. When some meadows in town were bought for development, there was a big hoopla. Even the first selectman got involved.”
Ginny exhaled. “Alder Combs?” That was Wendell’s father.
“That’s him. He tried to make a case that the species was still too fragile, but the town pushed ahead and the DEP okayed it. The story goes on from there, since they ended up being back on the endangered list after that, but I can send you the links if you’d like.”
“Please do.” Ginny’s heart raced. “Gail, do you happen to know if those turtles are still on the endangered list for the state?”
“Sorry, honey. I’m a town clerk, not a wildlife biologist.”
Ginny laughed. “You’ve done more than enough. Thank you.”
“You bet. I’ll email you the rest.”
When she hung up, Ginny let the car idle a long time as she tried to piece together all Gail had shared. Just because the turtles had been an issue back in the eighties didn’t m
ean they would be now. And there was no indication that the turtles even lived on White Pines property. But given what she’d seen of Scooter Dunham during the commission walk, and what she’d heard between him and Candace, she thought it was enough to delve into. Now she had even more need to find Wendell.
She tried his phone once more, but there was no answer. By then she was tired, her clothes were rumpled, and she wanted nothing more than to go home to the cottage and grill something for dinner on the deck. Pour herself a much-needed glass of wine.
There was already a vehicle in her driveway when she pulled in. Wendell opened the truck door and got out just as she pulled up next to him. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said. “I think something is going on…”
Wendell circled around to her door and reached for her hand. Instead of just helping her out, he pulled her. Right up against him. “There’s something I have to tell you, too. But first I have to do this.”
Then Wendell’s mouth was on hers. Ginny dropped her bag in the driveway and threw both arms around his neck. They kissed with an urgency she hadn’t thought possible. They paused only once, when Wendell kicked her car door closed with the toe of his boot. Then, still kissing the whole way, they stumbled to her front door. Once inside, they halted in the doorway, out of breath.
Over Wendell’s shoulder she spied her bag still lying in the driveway. Her unlocked car. She pushed the door closed, anyway.
Then, very slowly, Wendell pulled her up against him.
“Ginny,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck. Running his hands up the back of her shirt. She shuddered beneath the swirl of his fingertips.
“Wait.” She stepped back and very slowly unbuttoned his shirt, running her hands across the breadth of his chest and down the washboard of his abdomen. The man before her was not the same boy she’d loved in high school. There was a strength and solidity to him that was wholly new to her, and yet Wendell still felt so familiar. So safe.
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