David looked at Rufus then back at Crystal. “Really?”
She nodded. “Really.”
David compressed his lips bravely. “Okay.”
Crystal smiled. “Good. Hop up then.”
He straightened his skinny legs, standing to climb back under the covers.
She tucked him in, then patted the foot of the bed. “Come on, Rufus.”
The dog looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Up here,” she said encouragingly with another pat.
Rufus cocked his head, eyes narrowing.
“Come on, Rufus,” called David.
The dog gave Crystal one last, searching, suspicious look. Then he rose to his feet, gathered his body and jumped onto the bed.
“Good, boy,” she sang, scratching behind both his ears. “Now, lie down.”
She’d already learned that lie down was a familiar command to Rufus. He curled his body next to David’s feet, then dropped his head down on his front paws.
She moved back to the head of the bed. “You going to be okay?” she asked David.
He nodded.
“Remember, Mr. Sticky and his adventures in Candy Land.”
“With his faithful dog, Rufus?”
“What’s Rufus made of?”
“Bubble gum.”
“Perfect,” said Crystal, giving David a final kiss on the forehead.
“G’ night, Auntie Crystal.”
“Good night, David.”
She glanced over to Jennifer’s bed.
The girl’s eyes were open.
Crystal moved across the room and straightened the covers. “Good night to you, too, sweetheart.”
“I like Rufus,” Jennifer whispered.
“I like Rufus, too,” said Crystal as Jennifer’s eyes fluttered close.
Crystal walked to the bedroom door, pausing to gaze back at her beautiful niece and nephew and the somewhat scruffy Lab who seemed to be standing guard over them.
Her tomorrow would revolve around another dinner with Larry. But she’d have to find a way to talk to Amber, as well. If Zane was the monster in David’s nightmare, then he had to get out of their lives-permanently, and soon.
AFTER LIBBY DIED, LARRY’S family and friends had told him to get on with his life. Get a hobby, they’d said, don’t work so hard. As if throwing himself into his work wasn’t the best and only way to keep from going insane with grief.
He’d ignored them, and his approach had worked. For a while.
But on this last wedding anniversary, something inside him snapped. He realized he needed to rejoin the human race. And to do that, he needed to take on something brand new, something totally unconnected with Libby. So, he’d taken his family’s advice, used some of the money he’d earned through mathematically calculating the stock market, and bought himself a hobby-a big, old Victorian house on the shores of Myrtle Pond.
Two hours northeast of Charlotte, the tiny community of Myrtle Pond was on the edge of the national forest. The road in was worn and potholed. He had a total of fifteen neighbors. Calling the big house a fixer-upper was being kind, but it was exactly what he wanted, needed.
He’d stocked up on power tools and two-by-fours and transported them to the house last month. Today, since he’d been up at four o’clock-which wasn’t a problem, because he’d been cursed his entire life with a need for only four hours sleep-he’d fired up his compact Cessna airplane and flown from Charlotte to Myrtle Pond.
By one in the afternoon, crowbar in hand, he was staring at a pile of broken drywall, bent nails and the bare two-by-four frame of the formal dining room.
“Do you have the first clue about what you’re doing?” came a man’s voice from behind him.
Larry turned to see his nearest neighbor Nash Walkins standing in work boots, blue jeans and a faded T-shirt. Nash wore his usual orange baseball cap, and his burly arms were folded across his chest.
He owned a fishing store and boat rental business now, but Larry had learned he was once an architect in New York City.
“Not even the slightest,” Larry admitted. He’d hoped that by revealing the guts of the sagging wall, it would become obvious how to fix it. He had a number of reference books and some faded building plans for a similar house.
He’d decided to start with the dining room, since it seemed to be in the worst shape, followed by the upstairs bathroom, the kitchen and, well, pretty much everything else except the master bedroom, which had been redecorated by the previous owner.
Nash took a step forward. “You’re gonna want a jack to support that while you cut out the dry rot.”
A jack. Good idea. “Can I get one around here?”
“You’ll have to head up to Asheboro. Drucker’s will have them in stock.”
Larry nodded. Not today, then. “I have to get back to Charlotte by six.”
“Giving a lecture?”
Larry hesitated for only a moment. “I’ve got a date.” He liked the sound of that. He really liked the sound of that.
Nash grinned his admiration. “I don’t suppose she has a sister.”
“Her sister’s reconciling with her ex.”
“Now, that’s a damn shame.”
“Are you going through a dry spell?” Larry had been up to Myrtle Pond at least once a week for the past two months. From what he could see, there was a fairly steady parade of attractive women on Nash’s deck next door.
“Always on the lookout.”
“For the right woman or the next woman?”
Nash measured the height of the dining room wall. “For the next right woman, of course.”
“Then it’s not going to be Crystal’s sister,” Larry warned. “Or anyone else she knows, for that matter.”
Nash selected a couple of two-by-fours from the pile at one end of the room. “Don’t worry. I won’t mess things up with your girlfriend.”
“Not girlfriend,” Larry corrected.
Nash turned a dial on the table saw. “First date?”
“Second. Well, second if you count Pizza Heaven.”
Nash paused and looked back at Larry. “You took a woman to Pizza Heaven? How long did you say you were married?”
“Thirty years.”
“Man, are you out of practice.”
“Her niece and nephew came along,” Larry defended.
“You got any metal strapping?”
“Sure.” Larry exited to the living room, hunting his way through a line of cardboard boxes.
He’d pretty much given the guy at the hardware store free rein to load him up with tools and supplies. He’d also ordered a series of home renovation books. He was becoming familiar with the terminology and tool usage, but he was stifling the urge to read his way through the series before he got started. The whole point of this hobby was to get his nose out of books and to move his mind from the theoretical to the practical.
The table saw was whining when he reentered the dining room.
“You might want to think about steel-toed boots,” said Nash, glancing pointedly at Larry’s tan suede sneakers.
“Guess I haven’t made it to that chapter yet.”
Nash gave a barrel laugh. “Grab a set of cutters. We’re going to strap three two-by-fours together and brace
