The final answer, if he was soul-searching, was that he could no longer live as if tomorrow would never come. It had been great while it lasted, he’d had a swell run, but he just wasn’t the same person. When Olivia died, mortality hit him like a forty-foot crusher. Tow-in surfing was exhilarating, it was amazing, it was epic, and it was all-time. But it wasn’t worth leaving Carly an orphan over.
Long before he’d had his fill, he swam in, shaking the water from his hair like a wet dog, striding across the beach with his board under one arm. He was glad no one bothered him for an autograph or approached him to gush. Obscurity was welcome.
Ben grabbed a shower in the poolroom and changed before making his way to the kitchen, stomach rumbling with hunger. When he saw his daughter, all of the restorative powers of exercise and ocean disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Carly was crying.
“What happened?” he asked, looking around for James. Blaming him was like second nature.
She scrunched up her face and sobbed.
He sat down and put his arm around her, feeling protective and paternal when she allowed the embrace.
“Where were you?” she asked shakily, her voice high-pitched with emotion.
Ben was at a complete loss. His whereabouts were never a mystery. When he was gone, he was always in the same place. “I went surfing. What’s wrong?”
She shuddered, hiccuping against his chest. “I just thought…I don’t know what I thought. I was worried.”
He patted her back reassuringly. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t even know you were awake.”
Lifting her head, she focused her weepy, wet-lashed black eyes on him. “I couldn’t bear it if you died.”
His throat tightened. “Why would I die?”
“Mom did.” She looked out the window behind him forlornly. “So did James’ dad. And Lisette.”
“Carly,” he began, cringing a little. “About Lisette-”
She closed her eyes, as if anticipating a blow.
Ben found that he couldn’t deal it. He couldn’t tell her what happened. There were some things a father and daughter weren’t meant to discuss, and this was one of them.
Or so he thought.
“You killed her,” Carly whispered.
The words were so unexpected he wasn’t sure he’d heard them. “What? I did what?”
Fresh tears squeezed out her eyes. “It’s okay, Dad. I won’t tell anyone. I’m sure it was an accident, and I know she, um, bothered you.”
“You think I killed her?”
She was afraid to meet his eyes, but she did. “You didn’t?”
Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed, feeling lighter than air. His daughter thought he was a murderer! What a relief.
He hugged her so tight she squeaked in protest. “I thought
Her jaw dropped. “Me? Why would I do it?”
He laughed and hugged her again. “I don’t know. You have to admit you’ve been up and down lately. I thought you two got in a fight over what happened in my room, and you conked her over the head or something. Defending my honor.”
“Defending your honor?” she sputtered. “I’ve been up and down? What, you think I’m a freaking psycho?”
“Yes. But you’re my psycho.” He dropped a kiss on her adorable nose.
“You didn’t kill her,” she said with a tentative smile.
“And neither did you,” he returned, smiling back.
“So who did?” James asked with a yawn, standing at the doorway.
CHAPTER 19
James looked from father to daughter, uncomfortable to have interrupted a private moment. He’d woken to the sound of Carly crying, and could not pretend, in good conscience, that he hadn’t listened in on their conversation.
His question about Lisette echoed across the kitchen. Once out, he couldn’t retract it. It just hung in the air, like a bad smell.
“Do you mind if I use the phone?” he asked, leaving the previous query unanswered. “I promised I’d call Stephen.”
“Go ahead,” Ben replied, pointing at the den. “There’s a phone in there.”
There was also one in the kitchen, right next to him, but James appreciated the privacy. Carly was looking at him like she’d lost her puppy, so he winked at her over Ben’s shoulder as he walked by.
She gave him a wobbly smile that made his empty stomach flop like fresh catch.
Shivering with the memory of another arduous night, thinking about what she was doing in her bed upstairs, unable to sleep, unable to, er, relieve his tension, he ducked into the den and picked up the receiver, wondering if it was possible to die of acute horniness.
He shifted from one foot to the other, willing the ache in his groin to go away as he dialed the number.
“’Lo?” Stephen answered, his voice barely registering on the sound scale.
Maybe it was James’ imagination, but every year it seemed Rhoda got louder and Stephen got quieter. If she sucked up any more of his life force, Stephen would just plain disappear. “It’s James,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Uh…”
“Any news about Dad?”
“Yeah. Maybe you should come by.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know if I should say it over the phone-”
“Tell me.”
Stephen hesitated for a moment. “They found Mom.”
Elation lifted him. James felt a silly grin break across his face. “Yeah? Where is she? When can I see her?”
His brother made a strangled sound. At first, James couldn’t place it. When he realized Stephen was trying to smother a sob, his stomach dropped to his shoes. “No,” James said, denying the truth before it had even been spoken. “No,” he repeated, an emptiness spreading through him, invading his soul.
“They found her in the backyard.”
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head back and forth.
Stephen’s voice was thin and strained, but audible. Horribly, frighteningly audible. “They dug her up from under the patio.”
“No, Stephen,” he yelled into the phone, suddenly furious. “You’re lying! Why are you lying? Sober the fuck up for once and tell me the fucking truth!”
Too wound up to listen to another word, James took the receiver from his ear and slammed it into the console, over and over again until the thing was smashed to bits.
“James,” a quiet voice said from the doorway.
He looked up from the black plastic shards, hearing the sound of his own ragged breathing along with the echo of the mayhem he’d just created.
Ben was standing at the door, shielding Carly with his body. In James’ fractured state of mind, he couldn’t understand why Ben would do that. Then he saw the horrified expression on Carly’s face, and felt a wetness dripping from his hands.
He glanced down stupidly, wondering where all the blood had come from.
“Fuck,” he said, wrapping the tail of his shirt around his hand. Not only was he ruining their carpet, he was bleeding on borrowed clothes. “I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, not sure if he was talking about the phone, the shirt, or the carpet.
“James,” Carly said from behind Ben, her voice still raw from crying. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at her, not remembering why she’d been upset. “It’s my mom,” he said. “They found her in the
