“Do you keep a weapon on the premises?”
I pointed to the decapitated spade. “Right there.”
“Take my advice. If they want to burn the place down, let them. Don’t try to be a hero. It’s not worth losing your life over.” He put on his cap and adjusted it. “Whatever you decide,” he said, “I think you owe Brad a call. He’s tied up in court—something about a body you dug up in your basement—so he can’t come up here himself to check on you.”
I’d forgotten about the hearings and trials that would be taking place right around now. Thankfully, the prosecution had more than enough evidence to make the convictions without my testimony.
“Brad says call him. It’s urgent.” The officer climbed in his vehicle, turned it around, and drove off.
20
I waited until I was good and ready, about ten minutes later, to put in a call to Brad. It was urgent, Officer Segerstrom had said. It better be. Granted, I owed Brad the courtesy of the return phone call. But that was all. We were done. Over. Kaput. This whole past week I’d been in the process of moving on.
“Tish. Thank God you called.”
His voice tore a gash in my stitched-up emotions.
“Hi.” I barely formed the syllable.
“I need a really big favor,” he said without formalities.
This was no time to grant favors. No. No. No. I put a hand to my temple. Just the sound of his voice made me wish I’d never left Rawlings. My earlier resolve crumbled against the power of my desires.
“Sure. What is it?” I heard myself say.
“It’s Sam.”
“Sam?” My voice perked up. Samantha Walters was Brad’s gorgeous, spunky sister. She’d been a good friend to me back in Rawlings. “Is Sam okay?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “Her ex is scheduled to get out of prison this week and I don’t want her anywhere near Rawlings when he does.” He took a deep breath. “Can she come stay with you for a while?”
“Umm, ahh. . .” I launched into some foreign vowel recitation.
“It’s really important. You don’t know what this guy is like. They shouldn’t even be letting him out.”
“Well, umm, how long is a while?” I liked Sam well enough, and I hoped the best for her, but I just couldn’t bear to have a daily reminder of my failed relationship with Brad lounging on my sofa. Besides, the last time I’d had a roommate was during my short stint in college. All I remembered was her penchant for soap operas during my study time and a boyfriend who should have been paying rent.
“A couple of weeks, max. Just ’til I can get a handle on him and see if he plans to cause Sam trouble.”
I rubbed at my eyes. What I’d give to have Brad care for me even a smidge as much as he cared for his sister. But he’d never gone out of his way for me. I certainly didn’t feel compelled to go out of my way for him, even if Sam’s safety were on the line. Brad was a cop. He’d find another place to put her. “I don’t know, Brad. I’ve got the brute squad after me as it is. I don’t need to be expanding my list of miffed-off men.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Maybe you don’t remember,” he said after a minute, “but I helped you out of a tight spot or two. The least you could do is return the favor.”
My ears started clanging. GUILT TRIP, GUILT TRIP, the bells warned.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love your sister,” I said. It wasn’t as if I was saying no to Samantha. It was more like I was establishing boundaries in my relationship with Brad. And in a relationship like ours, there was no obligation to return favors. My voice was firm. “It’s just that I’ve just got too much going on in my life right now. I can’t afford to get sidetracked.”
“Name something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, name something you have going on in your life. I bet you can’t think of anything.”
“I can too.”
“Well?”
He made it sound like I sat around and ate bonbons all day. I cleared my throat. “There’s the whole upstairs that has to get finished. I just need to focus in on that.”
“Sam can help you.”
“What? No. I work alone. That’s how I do things.”
“It’s time to change your policy. Sam is a good friend and she needs you. I’m still a good friend, aren’t I, Tish?”
I squeezed my eyes. Guilt poured like hot coals over my head. “Of course you are.”
“Then do it for me. Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Didn’t he know I’d do anything for him—if only he wanted to be with me? I let out a sigh. “Fine. Whatever. Send her up.”
“Thanks, Tish. You won’t be sorry.”
I gave him directions, then clicked the disconnect button. Tears coursed down my cheeks. I was already sorry.
With no clue as to when Samantha planned on showing up, I went on with life as usual. A week passed, and still no Sam. I figured she’d changed her mind about coming when she heard how unreceptive I’d been to the idea of her moving in. If Sam wanted revenge, she’d gotten it—I’d been swimming in a lake of guilt since that phone call with Brad.
Thursday morning arrived. A touch of disappointment niggled at me when I finally accepted the fact Samantha wasn’t going to show. I leaned on the deck rail out front and gazed at the blue-on-blue lake and sky before me. From the direction of the driveway, I heard the sputter and cough of an engine. I jumped off a corner of the porch and raced to the source. Next to my Explorer, a 1970’s-something Volkswagen van refused to die. The driver got out and ran to me.
“Tish!”
Sam slung her arms around my neck, almost taking me to the gravel. Strands of her long black hair landed between my lips.
I struggled free of the embrace. “Sam! You made it.” I held her at arms’ distance. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
The Volkswagen kept up its wheezing. I nodded toward the red and white vehicle. “What’s wrong with that thing?”
Sam shrugged. “Oh, you know. Old cars.”
She grabbed my arm and practically hauled me toward the cottage. Behind us, the van gave a final sputter, then was quiet.
“I’ve got to see this place,” she bubbled. “I was ecstatic when Brad said you wanted me up for a visit.”
I decided it would be rude to correct her. Brad must have spared her the details of our conversation. “I’m so glad you could make it,” I settled on saying.
“The exciting part is, I can stay until the end of August.” She squeezed my hand.
I ground to a halt just outside the kitchen door. My arm jerked in its socket as she kept walking.
She stopped and turned around.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Brad told me a couple of weeks. What about the diner?” Surely Sam’s namesake Coney Island restaurant back in downstate Rawlings couldn’t afford to shut down the whole summer.
“That’s the best part.” She jumped up and down, looking like a gorgeous pro football cheerleader in her cutoff denim shorts and white blouse tied over a red tank. “My awesome cousin offered to handle everything until she heads back to Michigan State in September.” She squealed and flashed me a “sis boom bah” smile.
“Great.” Come June, I’d probably be ready to go down and run the Coney myself. I wasn’t sure I could take all this “happy, happy, smiley, smiley” 24/7 for the rest of the summer. Besides, the mention of Michigan State
