So, around the fifth game, he moved on to hoping Piper slept all day, and all evening, and then maybe by tomorrow he’d have figured out how to tell her.
As he lost his eighth game of solitaire, he heard the unmistakable long creak of Piper’s front door open. He got up and walked to the window, watching her canvas-shoe-clad feet come into view and tiptoe down the stairs. Was it his imagination, or was she trying to be quiet? He stepped to the side so she wouldn’t see him ogling her through the window. And he watched as she came into full view, furtively glancing from side to side while hurrying to her bike. Then, instead of walking it out down the alley to the main road, she threw her leg over the frame, hopped onto the seat, and took off to the right of the shed, through to the neighbor’s backyard, and then she was gone.
Anders stayed put at the window, considering her actions: Maybe she was feeling better and wanted fresh air. Perhaps she wanted to go out to Graver’s Beach, after all. But if that was the case, what was the point of being so sneaky about it? And then, like a light bulb clicking on, Anders remembered all the times the past few weeks when Piper was less than forthcoming regarding her whereabouts and how she’d apparently been sick a few weeks ago and today—but aside from her swollen sad eyes, she’d appeared perfectly healthy.
And though it probably didn’t take a journalist or someone with keen observation skills, Anders had a deep gut instinct that Piper was hiding something—and he was determined to find out what it was.
He ran out of the house, grabbed Tom’s bike, and took off after Piper, pedaling as hard as he could through the neighbor’s backyard. Fortunately, the grass had been tamped down by Piper’s tires, creating a clear track, which he pursued until it ended at the road. Betting on instinct, he turned left. Sure enough, when he got close to the Graver’s Beach sign, he saw her figure atop the bike up ahead, her curls blowing behind her in the breeze. He kept his distance, without losing sight of her, and made sure he stayed far enough behind that if she turned around she wouldn’t spot him.
By the time he reached Graver’s Beach, Piper was nowhere to be seen; the only evidence she had come that way was her bike lying sideways on the edge of the road. He dumped his beside it and snuck down the sandy path to the beach, expecting to find her sitting on a rock basking in the late October sun. But she was not.
Anders walked the entire length of the beach twice before accepting the fact that Piper had somehow vanished.
So he sat on a rock in the late October sun and waited for her to reappear.
And four hours later, just when Anders was ready to give up, she did.
Anders stood up as he watched a boat approach the shore and then slow to idle. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun and recognized Piper, as she hopped over the side and started wading in the knee-deep water. And then his gaze drifted to the man helming the boat. And his heart full-on stopped. His jaw dropped to his chest.
And he stared at the man that—from a distance—looked exactly like Piper’s dead husband, Tom.
Chapter 25
Piper held her skirt bunched around her upper thighs with one hand and her shoes in the other, as she waded from the boat to the shore, and kept her eye on the figure standing on dry land waiting for her, trying to decide what exactly she was going to say to Anders when she reached him. She had seen him following her, of course. She just hadn’t thought he’d actually wait around this entire time for her to return. Turned out she’d underestimated him a lot these past few months. And she knew she needed to tell him the truth. She had wanted to so many times—and she almost had, too, right there on the beach when he asked why she had come back for him but not Tom. What was it about being surrounded by darkness that made it easier to lay your soul bare?
But then—how on earth to explain? If he didn’t already think she was crazy, he certainly would now. And Piper wasn’t sure why she cared so much about what Anders thought of her, but she did. She sighed, as her feet sunk into the wet muck of sand, and then she was free of the tide lapping around her ankles altogether and was standing in front of Anders.
Sweet, freckle-faced, logical Anders.
“Hi,” she said nervously, wishing she could just rewind time and tell him the truth from the get-go.
Anders didn’t smile in return. He looked shell-shocked. “Who was that? On the boat with you?”
Piper looked behind her to the retreating vessel and then turned back to Anders, feeling a little sick to her stomach. “I can explain.”
“Was it Tom?”
Her eyes flew wide. “Tom? No. Of course not.” She squinted, picturing the man in her mind’s eye, and then realized how Anders could think that, with their similar build and sun-kissed buzz cuts. “It’s all really . . . complicated.” She looked around. “We should probably sit.” She walked to the nearest rock to lower herself onto it, then waited for Anders to follow suit. When he did, she wasn’t quite sure how or where to start, but thought the beginning was best. She looked at Anders, took a deep breath, and said: “So . . . you remember that cat?”
—
Piper, of course, knew the cat was not her dead husband, Tom. Well, now she knew. But when she woke up
