The Seacrest (13 page)

He walked into the room and helped Jax up to his bed. “You probably deserved it,” he said, surprising me with his candor. “Now sleep it off. There’s no reprieve for you. You’re still getting up at six. And you’d better be ready to work your tail off, young man.”

Jax shot me a nasty look, then rolled onto his bed and snorted. “Sure thing, Dad.”

I gave my father a half-smile, and he stepped closer to ruffle my hair. “Good night, boys. I’ll expect better of you in the future.”

“Night, Dad.” I lay back in bed and rubbed my sandy feet against the sheets. “See you in the morning.”

Chapter 29

July 20th, 2013

9:30 A.M.

I
nside the big farm kitchen at Blueberry Hill, I settled at the table with a pile of bills. It was a strange feeling, knowing I could pay them all with Jax’s money, unlike the pile on my own table at the cottage that had been juggled to the point of lunacy. I wondered if I’d ever get used to thinking of it as
my
money. How could I? I hadn’t earned it. I hadn’t sweated and toiled for it. And I wasn’t even sure Jax had done all that much aside from moving money around in various investment accounts for it. It was all so strange.

Ace circled and lay on the braided rug at my feet, and I shuffled through the envelopes, ripping them open my usual way and ignoring the fancy pearl-handled letter opener gleaming on the counter. The car insurance bill was bigger than any mortgage I’d ever heard about. The cable bill, over three hundred dollars, was peppered with X-rated rentals. Finally—there it was—the AT&T phone bill.

I tore it open and spread the pages on the table, fanning them out to examine the detailed call sheets.

The month of July stared back at me. Text messages, calls, ring tone downloads. I ran one finger down the line of phone numbers, and there, in the full light of morning, in the very kitchen in which I’d grown up and had breakfasted with my beloved parents, in the room where I’d introduced Cora to them many years ago, I had my proof.

Every day. Many times per day. Texts and phone calls to Cora’s cell.

There were over four hundred listings for the month of July alone.

My heart rolled in my chest, hurting, swollen with grief. Reeling from this final blow proving beyond a doubt that Cora had lied to me, I accepted the awful truth.

Memories flashed back at me, Cora’s phone dinging, her cucumber cool expression of nonchalance, her claims all the beeps and bleeps were annoying marketing texts, just like those unwanted phone calls we got on the landline.

And what about her late night study sessions with classmates at the library? The classes she supposedly attended?

Had it all been a hoax?

I lay my head on my arms on the kitchen table.

I’d believed her. All along, she’d fooled me really well.

God damn it, Cora.

Why?

I’d given her everything, hadn’t I? After Libby dumped me, I’d been a piteous wreck. I’d slowly come to appreciate Cora’s ministrations, and over time, I’d come to love her.

Something niggled at me. Something too difficult to face. I realized it in a flash, as hard as I tried to avoid the unwelcome thoughts.

Had I
really
loved Cora? Or had I been going through the motions?

Was she a convenient, comfortable gal with whom I’d set up house?

After Libby, it seemed the world dulled. If I faced facts, the bitter truth was I’d never felt about Cora the way I did about Libby. That uncontrolled, wild, almost desperate passion that had been Libby’s alone had never resurfaced. It had lain bruised and broken, somewhere deep beneath my consciousness. Still wanting my Sassy, my Libby. Still aching for her touch.

Maybe Cora had sensed this. Maybe she knew I didn’t love her with all my heart, with all my soul.

Guilt spiraled through me.

Had Cora known?

I certainly went through the motions, though. I devoted myself to her in action and word. I’d done thoughtful things for her, brought her wildflowers on a whim, tended to her when she was sick, worked hard to pay off our collective debt.

I sat up, the truth dawning. I’d been going through the motions of love, of marriage, of affection. Just going through the damn motions.

And Cora had sensed it, wanted more. She wanted the kind of passion I’d had for Libby.

Had Jax given her that? Had he romanced her, danced under the stars with her? Had he made love to her in the ocean and at the cove? Had he trembled with the thought of touching her in all her secret places? Had his eyes burned passion when he glimpsed her in the supermarket, quickly turning away so I wouldn’t notice?

I wanted to know more.

When had it all started?

I figured maybe I could ask for our phone records for the past few years, see how far back it went.

I reached down to pat Ace, who seemed to sense my unease and pushed his cold nose into my hand.

How could I have been so damned blind? How had Cora hidden the whole thing from me so successfully?

Had she really taken college courses? Or was she lying in Jax’s bed the whole time?

Jax had done it again. He’d taken the last living person from me, the only one I had left. And as difficult as it was to face the fact that maybe Cora didn’t love me anymore, that maybe I hadn’t loved her enough, I had still cared for her deeply.

Now she was dead.

And here I sat in Jax’s tidy, upscale kitchen, on his chair, and leaning on his table.

Well, technically, now they were mine.

A hole the size of Texas blackened my heart.

Mom. Dad. Eva. Gramps. Cora.

Were they having more fun than me up in Heaven? A whole family, floating in bliss through worlds of color and unimaginably beautiful music? Was my father tending blueberries with no weeds that produced fruit the size of melons? Was my mother baking cookies effortlessly to feed the crowds of blessed souls? Was Eva tripping through fields of flowers, singing in her sweet little voice? And Gramps, oh, I pictured him reeling in the big marlin under perfect blue skies.

My throat tightened. I glanced at the knives on the shelf, then shook off the feelings of desperation and loneliness.

No. I wouldn’t give in. Jax had tried to destroy me, but I couldn’t let him. I had to live on, care for my buddy Ace, and take care of the farm.

And I still had one thing that bugged me, that needled at me, that called for an answer.

I needed to find out why Libby hated me one minute, and kissed me the next.

I stood abruptly. “Come on, boy. Let’s go.” Ace bounded beside me, happy to be leaving the scene of such sorrow. We jumped in my old Jeep and headed back to The Seacrest.

Chapter 30

August 3rd, 1997

6:30 A.M.

J
ax glowered at me from across the breakfast table, his black eye swollen to a slit and his mood as mean as he looked. “You gonna eat all the bacon, pig?” He grabbed the plate from me and took three more pieces before I could finish it off. “Geez, what’d you do last night? Screw the whole cheerleading squad?”

I slunk down in my seat, avoiding a sidelong glance from my father. “No.”

Although it promised to be hot today, I wore a short-sleeved shirt whose collar hid the hickey Jax had pointed out last night. I hardly remembered Libby doing that in the heat of the moment.

Jax glared again. “Well, he sure has a hollow leg this morning, doesn’t he, Mom?”

My mother flashed a tentative smile and slid more eggs onto my plate. “He’s a growing boy. Nothing wrong with a good appetite.”

My father frowned. “Feed ‘em well, dear. They’ll be working their behinds off this morning. We’re coming into peak season and there are already cars parked down by the gate, waiting to pick.”

Jax moaned. “Why can’t we get just one day off, Dad?”

My father slammed his orange juice glass on the table; juice spilled over the side. “And who would do the work while you frolicked on the beach with your latest conquest, Jax?”

 My brother flushed—surprising me. How did my father know about Jax’s late night escapades? Had he heard us talking last night? Or maybe he just assumed that’s what his eldest son did every night when he disappeared for hours at a time. Like I did, now.

My mother tried to smooth things over, as always. “Now, men. There’s no time for silly talk like that. We’ve got work to do. Finish up, I’ll get these dishes done, and I’ll meet you down at the weighing station in a half hour.” She stood with her plate, and with a start, I noticed a slight bump that showed beneath her apron.

The baby. It was really happening.

I smiled and wondered if I’d have a little sister or brother.

“Finn has a girlfriend, too,” Jax said. “He saw her last night.”

I shot daggers at him over the table. “Shut up.”

My mother turned from the sink. “Who is she, honey?”

I clamped down on my desire to tell her, now that I finally knew who she was. “Just a girl, Mom.”

My father’s stern expression deepened. “I hope you’re being careful. We don’t want you to get in the same situation as your brother.”

My mother shushed him, surprising me. “Dear, remember we discussed this?”

I looked from my father to mother to Jax, and back again. “What situation?”

Jax stood up abruptly. “For God’s sake. Is nothing private around here?”

Jaw dropped, I stared. “What? What happened?”

Jax stormed to the door and turned. “It’s none of your damned business, little bro. You need to take care of your own crap.”

He disappeared upstairs and I heard the shower start up. Luckily I’d already gotten my own shower and didn’t have to worry about him hogging it again.

“Dad? Mom? What’s going on?”

My mother came to my side, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “Honey, please don’t worry about it. It’s not your concern. Let’s just look forward to a good day together, all right?”

My father’s warning glance told me not to push it.

“Okay. I guess.”

“That’s a good boy,” she said, heading back to the sink. “Now go fill up the tank on the trolley. You’ll be busy all day today.” She winked and smiled at me, and I tried to forget about whatever it was they’d been hiding, but I couldn’t.

What had Jax done this time?

I shrugged and headed outside. I’d find out eventually. I always did.

Chapter 31

July 20th, 2013

Noon

O
n the drive back to The Seacrest, I passed cottages with cedar shake siding faded to gray, neat hedges of electric blue hydrangeas, and tumbling stonewalls covered in pink roses. Orange daylilies filled the roadsides and flanked the roses, and the sun winked off white shell drives, hot and bright, nearly blinding me.

I reached for my sunglasses, settled them on my nose, and realized I had a major decision to make.

Would I move into the old farmhouse, or stay at The Seacrest?

I really didn’t know where I wanted to live, in spite of my desire to reclaim the blueberries.

I supposed it made sense to move. A whole house, now in my name, just sitting there waiting for me.

Could I ignore the fact that Jax had lived there for the past decade? Could I forget that my parents and sister had died there?

And another thought—would I be able to keep working for the Vanderhorns? Was it possible to bridge my old and new life, to keep tending horses and gardens and also try to reclaim the blueberry farm?

Change was something I did not welcome.

I’d been relatively comfortable in the little house on the estate, even if I’d lived there with a woman who no longer loved me, who’d cheated on me with my own brother.

I grimaced, and slowed to curve around a tight turn, glimpsing the sea in the distance.

Maybe that was the problem. I’d been
comfortable
with our life.
Comfortable
with Cora.

Was that so bad? After eight years of marriage?

I frowned and spoke aloud, hitting the steering wheel with one hand. “I should have worked harder. Tried to rekindle some passion.”

Ace looked up at me, wagged his tail, and stuck his big head out the window to catch scents on the breeze.  

But how could one light a fire when the sticks were wet?

I shook my head, maneuvering the old Jeep around another bend.

“Was it my fault, buddy?”

He turned again, woofed once, and flopped onto the seat, his big eyes still on me.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

When we reached The Seacrest, I wound around the servants’ drive and reached my cottage, parking behind it as usual. “Okay. Let’s go find Libby.”

He bounced beside me on the way to the house, licking my hand occasionally.

We headed for the back door to the kitchen, my usual entrance, and pushed the screen door inside to find Fritzi at the table making deviled eggs.

I reached for one and popped it in my mouth. “Delicious.”

“
Ja,
my special recipe,” she said, reaching to pat Ace. “Hello, doggie.”

Ace wagged his tail and sat expectantly beside her, his eyes wide with expectation.

I sat across from her. “Hi, Frizti. What’s cookin’? Smells good.”

She gestured to the bread maker on the counter, her German accent still as strong as the day she’d arrived in the States. “Oatmeal bread. Almost done. You want me to make you a chicken salad sandwich with it?”

I inhaled the fresh aroma of bread. “You bet I do.”

She tried to hide a smile. “
Gut.
I have a treat for the doggie. On the top shelf of the Frigidaire.”

I found the meaty bone wrapped in foil, opened it, and handed it to Ace. “Here you go, boy.”

He accepted it greedily and took it beneath the table, holding it between his front paws.

“Thanks, Fritzi. He’ll work on that all day.”

“
Ja.
I know.” She cast me a funny look, started to say something, then stopped.