And a plan…
Chapter Twenty-six
WHEN THE FILM SHOOT ENDED, Panda went back to the island, as if that would bring him closer to her. The house sat wet and lonely in the gloomy November afternoon. Leaves plugged the gutters, spiderwebs decked the windows, and tree branches littered the ground from a recent storm. He turned on the furnace and walked through the quiet rooms, his shoulders hunched, his hands in his pockets.
He hadn’t gotten around to finding another caretaker, and the furniture held a light coat of dust, but Lucy’s touch was everywhere: in the bowl of beach rocks on the sunroom coffee table, the comfortably rearranged furniture, the clutter-free shelves and tables. The house no longer felt as though it were waiting for the Remingtons to come back, but it didn’t feel like his either. It was hers. It had been since she’d first stepped inside.
The rain stopped. He pulled an old extension ladder from the garage and cleaned out the gutters, barely avoiding falling off when he slipped on a rung. He threw one of Temple’s disgusting frozen dinners in the microwave, popped a can of Coke, and tortured himself by going to bed in Lucy’s old bedroom, the one that used to be his. The next day he ate a cold breakfast, drank two mugs of coffee, and set off through the woods.
The cottage had a fresh coat of white paint and a new roof. He knocked on the back door, but Bree didn’t answer. Through the window, he saw a pot of flowers on the kitchen table and some school papers, so she and Toby were still living here. Since he didn’t have anything else to do, he sat on the front porch and waited for her to come back.
An hour later, her old Cobalt came into sight. He rose from the damp wicker chair and wandered to the steps. She stopped her car and got out. She didn’t seem upset to see him, merely puzzled.
She looked different from the person he remembered-rested, almost serene, no longer quite so thin. She wore jeans and an oatmeal-colored fleece jacket with her hair pulled up in one of those casual buns. She walked toward him with a new confidence.
He dug his hands into his pockets. “The cottage looks good.”
“We’re getting it ready to rent out next summer.”
“What about your bees?” Lucy would care about that.
“I made an arrangement with the family that owns the orchard next to the cottage to move the hives there.”
He nodded. She waited. He shifted his weight to the other foot. “How’s Toby?”
“The happiest kid on the island. He’s at school now.”
He tried to think of what to say next and ended up asking the question he’d never intended to utter. “Have you talked to Lucy?”
She was just like Temple. She nodded but didn’t offer any information.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and came down off the steps. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Just then, Mike’s Cadillac drove in. Mike jumped out, arm extended, looking as if seeing Panda again was the highlight of his day. “Hey, stranger! Great to have you back.”
His hair was shorter, no longer so carefully styled, and except for a watch, he’d given up his jewelry. He looked easy, happy, a guy without any demons. Panda stifled his resentment. It wasn’t Moody’s fault that he’d managed to do what Panda couldn’t.
Mike slipped an arm around Bree. “Did she tell you we finally set a date? New Year’s Eve. Toughest sale I ever made.”
Bree arched an eyebrow at him. “Toby made the sale.”
Mike grinned. “Chip off the old block.”
Bree laughed and kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Congratulations to both of you,” Panda said.
The day was warming up, and Mike suggested they sit on the porch. Panda took the chair he’d just abandoned, and Bree claimed the matching one while Mike perched on the railing. He talked about how well Bree was doing with her business, then offered up a list of Toby’s recent accomplishments. “He and his teacher are working together on a black history unit.”
“Toby knows more than she does,” Bree said proudly. “But you came here to talk to me about something?”
Having Mike around complicated an already difficult task. “It’s okay. I can come back later.”
Bree frowned. “Is it about Lucy?”
Everything was about Lucy. “No,” he said. “It’s a private matter.”
“I’ll leave,” Mike said genially. “I have some errands to run anyway.”
“Don’t go.” She gazed at him. “Despite appearances, Mike is the most discreet person on the island. And I’ll end up telling him whatever you tell me anyway.”
Panda hesitated. “Are you sure? This… has to do with your family. Your father.”
She looked wary. “Tell me.”
And so he did. He sat there in the creaky wicker chair, leaning toward her, his forearms braced on his knees, and told her about her father’s relationship with his mother, then about Curtis.
When he was done, Bree had tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Panda shrugged.
Mike came to stand beside her. Bree searched her pockets for a tissue. “After my father died, Mother made sure we all knew what a rotten husband he’d been, so it’s not exactly a surprise. But none of us imagined he had another child.” She blew her nose.
Mike curled his hand over the back of her chair and gave Panda a steady gaze, his easygoing demeanor vanishing as he assessed whether this information posed any harm to the woman he loved. “Why did you buy the house?”
Panda liked him for wanting to protect her, so he told them the truth. “Some kind of twisted revenge. I hated your father, Bree. I told myself I hated your whole family, but that was jealousy.” Panda shifted in the chair and then he shocked himself. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly when I bought the house. After I got out of the military, I had problems with post-traumatic stress.”
He said it as if he were confessing a tendency toward head colds.
Their expressions were a mixture of concern and sympathy, but they didn’t run screaming from the porch or dash around looking for a weapon to protect themselves. He had Jerry Evers to thank for this. Kristi had found the right guy for him to talk to, a no-bullshit shrink who’d seen combat himself and understood exactly how terrified Panda was that the demons he’d fought would reemerge and make him hurt other people.
Bree was more interested in Panda’s revelation about Curtis. “Do you have any pictures of him?”
He hadn’t thought of that, but he liked that she’d asked. He reached for his wallet. “I’ll send you some when I get back to Chicago. This is the only one I have on me.”
He took out Curtis’s final school photo. It was tattered, a little faded, the word PROOF still faintly visible across his T-shirt. Curtis was smiling, his adult teeth a tad too big for his mouth. Bree took it from him and studied it carefully. “He… looks like my brother Doug.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “My brothers need to know about Curtis. And they need to know about you, too. When you’re ready, I want you to meet them.”
Something else unexpected. “I’d like that,” he heard himself say.
As she held out the photo to return it, her thumb moved gently across the image.
“Keep it,” he said. And somehow that felt exactly right, too.
HE WAS OUT ON A run late the next morning when his cell rang. He never used to bring a phone along, but now that he had people working for him, he had to stay in touch, and he didn’t like it. His business might be thriving, but he still preferred working alone.
He glanced at the display. An East Coast area code. He didn’t recognize the number, but he knew that area code. He immediately slowed and answered. “Patrick Shade.”
