Young Truths (Young Series) (21 page)

“What’s not to like?” Bonnie asks softly, grinning. “I have to say, Samantha, you and Matt make some gorgeous babies.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

“I also have to say, even though I’m sure I’ve said it a hundred times, it is so wonderful to see you two together again,” Bonnie says, not taking her eyes off my daughter. “He’s a different man with you, happier, less worried about everything around him. I’ve seen the difference in you, too, and I don’t think there’s ever been a more perfect couple than you.”

My eyes water, whether from her words or baby hormones, I’m not sure. “I think so, too.”

“You just do everyone a favor and keep that boy in line,” Bonnie instructs, still not looking up at me. “He only ever listens to you when it really matters.”

I snort a laugh. “Not always,” I say wryly.

Finally, she meets my gaze again, her eyes stern. “No, Samantha. He always listens to you. He might not always want to believe what you’re saying, but he does listen. And he’s trying his best to prove that to you.”

Nodding, I smile slightly. “I know he is,” I say. “We both are.”

“You’ll get there,” she says with certainty. She’s quiet for a few moments, turning her attention back to Olivia. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

My eyes widen a little. “Oh?” I ask cautiously. “What’s that?”

Sighing heavily, she stands, handing Olivia back to me. I gently place my daughter in her crib as Bonnie reaches into her large purse and pulls out an envelope. “I was going to wait and do this until Matthew could be here, too, but I’ve got to go away for a few days, so here I am.”

She looks a little nervous, which in turn makes me very nervous as I take the envelope from her. “What is this?” I ask.

“It’s for you,” Bonnie says quietly, sitting on the edge of my bed and taking my hand. “It’s something I intended from the beginning to give you and now seems as good a time as any.” I look at her in confusion. “You’re a smart girl, Samantha. Smarter than most people I’ve ever met. You know what’s wrong with me even without hearing anybody say it, don’t you?” My silence and darting away of my eyes is answer enough. “I don’t want to mar your daughter’s birth and I’m sorry if that’s how it seems. But you and I both know there’s not much time left. This, my dear,” she taps a finger on the envelope in my hand, “is the one thing in my life that I don’t want to leave to chance. I did a lot of thinking on this, even consulted that husband of yours, and we’re both in agreement that there is no one better suited for this than you.”

My hands begin to shake. I suddenly know exactly what is in this envelope and I have no idea what to say or feel. “Bonnie, I can’t,” I whisper.

She gives me a
don’t-be-stupid
look. “Of course you can,” she scoffs. “Like it or not, you already have. Your over-the-top husband insisted on actually doing this as a damn business transaction. I managed to talk him out of trying to buy the place for retail value and ended up talking him down to a nice steak dinner out. Completely worth it, if you ask me. Anyway, it’s yours now. Or whenever you’re able to get back to work. There are people to cover for you in the meantime and Matt has promised he’ll do whatever he can to help.”

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry. “Bonnie, I don’t know the first thing about running a business,” I insist.

“Oh, please,” she says, sounding vaguely annoyed. “What the hell do you think you’ve been doing over the last few months? Samantha, I haven’t been in charge of that place since November. It’s been all you; I’ve been there just to give the illusion of leadership. And I don’t want to hear anything about how you don’t want this and you could never replace me or any of that bullshit. You’re going to do a better job with that store than I ever did. And I don’t want to hear anymore argument from you. Got it?”

I choke out a laugh. “I don’t know what to say.”

She smiles kindly, squeezing my hand. “Say you’ll take care of my store and your family.” She pauses, smirking slightly. “And say that when I finally go, you and Matt will throw a huge party in my honor. None of this depressing crap. I want everyone wearing bright colors—Hawaiian shirts are perfect. And booze. Plenty of booze.”

I burst out laughing as she continues to list more party plans and she joins me. Once we both calm down, we’re still smiling. “I think I can arrange all that,” I say, still snickering.

She winks at me, pats my leg, and moves to sit in her chair again. “Good girl,” she says approvingly. “Not that I plan on going anytime soon, of course. I intend to be around long enough to see baby Young number three.”

Rolling my eyes, I smile. “You and Claire,” I say with a sigh. “Between you two, Matt and I will have a family of ten by the time we’re done.”

She considers my words, smirking. “Sweetheart, if I had a man who looked like yours in my bed, I’d aim for a family of twenty.”

Our laughter wakes my daughter and we spend the rest of Bonnie’s visit calming her. When Matthew calls to check on me, Bonnie gives me a hug and kiss, and leaves, promising to see me next week. Matthew, of course, knew about her visit and apologizes a hundred times for not being here with me; I assure him I’m fine and tell him to have fun with Tyler, reminding him this will probably be his last night of full sleep for a while since we’re going home tomorrow.

The long day and lack of sleep begins to catch up to me. I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep until I hear my husband’s soft chuckle over the phone. He tells me he loves me and Olivia, and I think I reciprocate, but I’m fast asleep before I even set the phone down.

I can’t think of any better way to have spent an afternoon, evening, and now a morning. After spending hours playing videogames and racing each other in go-karts, Tyler and I came back to the apartment with a stack of pizzas, candy, and a six-pack of the best root beer I’ve ever had in my life, and spent the hours before bedtime watching scary movies that, in hindsight, probably weren’t a good idea. It wasn’t long before Tyler and I ended up in the same bed after one of us decided he was afraid of the dark. And I will maintain until the day I die that it was my son who snuck into my room and not the other way around. I’ve even used some of my breakfast cooking lessons to make double chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast as bribery to convince him not to tell anyone what happened last night. A man needs to hold on to his dignity by any means necessary, after all.

As promised, Marcus sent over a couple people to deliver the baby furniture he and his wife are so kindly lending us; perfect timing as Samantha and Olivia will be coming home this evening as long as the doctors deem them both completely healthy, which I’m assured they will be. While Tyler ate breakfast, I called to check in on my wife and aside from not getting much sleep last night, she sounded great. She’s eager to come home, mostly so I can share in the parental duties of tending to our daughter in the middle of the night. And I’m probably the only man in history who is honestly looking forward to late night feedings and diaper changes and just keeping Olivia company when she needs it. That will probably change in the next week or two, but for now, I’m embracing it. And something tells me my wife won’t be complaining.

Before we pick up the girls, Tyler and I are heading to the house for our first glimpse of the fire damage. I haven’t mentioned this little outing to Samantha, mostly because I don’t think she’d approve of Tyler being there, but this is the only time Marcus can meet me and since it’s still technically a crime scene, I need an escort on my own property.

The moment we pull into the driveway, I’ve got an odd sense of homesickness. With everything going on lately, I haven’t had much opportunity to think about the state of my house and now it’s hitting all at once. It’s a little ridiculous, to be honest; after all, it’s just a house and as clichéd as it sounds, I’m at home wherever Samantha and my children happen to be. Of course, I know why I feel this way: I had this place built from the ground up when I was twenty-three. Not many people can say that at any age, let alone when they were so young. The memories I have in this house are endless. All the best pertain to Samantha in some way, of course. Like the first time she visited. She’d been so nervous—well, both of us were, to be honest—but that all vanished the moment she laid eyes on this house. It was the first material thing of mine that I remember her being anything but indifferent about. I’d been so proud and pleased at her reactions as I showed her around and I hadn’t realized how much I wanted her to like it. Even then I think knew our relationship wasn’t just some fleeting thing; I wanted her comfortable in my home, because I eventually wanted her to live here with me. And to my pleasure and relief, she soon did. This is where I first made love to her; where I first said
I love you
; where our son was conceived. The list goes on and on.

I think what saddens me most about the house fire is that she and I had so many plans for it. We were going to convert the basement to be a playroom for the kids and make the upstairs living room actually functional. I’d been looking into getting an estimate to have an indoor pool built. We were going to watch our children grow up here and we even once talked about sitting out on the back deck and watching our grandchildren running around the yard.

The only upside to all of this is that we can rebuild. We can make this a family home rather than a bachelor’s where we’re rearranging things to allow our family to be comfortable. I’m really starting to look forward to sitting down with Samantha and starting to come up with ideas and plans. Maybe if I focus on that thought, I can get through this without feeling the urge to cry like a little girl.

Not at all to my surprise, Marcus is already here, standing beside his car in front of the garage. From this angle the house looks perfectly normal. It’s the back side that will show the real damage. I park the car and get out, raising a hand to greet Marcus before getting Tyler out of the car. “I need you to stay with me while we’re here, Ty,” I tell him, putting him on his feet and taking his hand. “Okay?”

He nods, cuddling his stuffed penguin and yawning. “Okay,” he murmurs.

“Don’t you ever let your kid sleep, Young?” Marcus calls as we approach.

I smirk. “Are you kidding? You can’t take advantage of free child labor if they’re unconscious,” I joke back.

He laughs. “Remind me to mention that to your wife.” He turns and leads us to the backyard.

Immediately, I’m taken back to the night of the fire. Waking up to scratching on the bedroom door. Smelling the smoke. Rushing to get my pregnant wife and son out before they were affected or hurt. The two trips I made back inside without thinking twice. Waking up in the hospital to find Samantha relieved and angry—relieved that I was awake; angry that I had no regard for my safety and ignored her begging me to stay with her instead of going inside. Anger fills me now as I think that someone did this to us intentionally. They tried to kill my family. I have the urge to rip somebody apart with my bare hands. Preferably Frank Marone. It hasn’t been proven yet, but I know—I just
know
—that fucker is behind it. All of it.

“Breathe, Matt.”

My gaze snaps away from the giant hole in the wall that used to separate my dining room from the outside. All I can see now is piles of ash and charred remnants of furniture. The dining room table where I spent weeks in November making final arrangements for my wedding to Samantha even while she was at Claire’s, and I had no idea if she’d ever be mine again. Marcus is watching me carefully as though he’s expecting my final strand of sanity to snap at any second. “I’m fine,” I murmur, looking around me. For a moment, panic fills me. “Where’s Tyler?” My tone is sharp and accusatory towards Marcus.

He jerks his head towards the jungle gym I bought last summer when Samantha, Tyler, and Tom Saunders were staying with me. “Playing,” he says softly. “We both saw the look on your face and I think it was scaring him a little, so I sent him over there.”

I nod, relaxing. “Right. Thank you. Sorry.”

“No problem. While he’s occupied, I thought I’d show you some of the evidence we’ve managed to gather during the fire investigation,” Marcus says, holding up a manila folder I hadn’t noticed before. “I’m sure you’ve figured it out already, but this was definitely arson. As I told you before, it originated in the basement. The cause was pretty obvious: a melted alarm clock sitting on the floor between your couch and the wall. You probably walked right past it when you went to get Samantha out of the panic room that night. They reworked the wiring so that when the alarm went off, it ignited and we’ve estimated that it was only a matter of minutes from the first spark to full on inferno down there. I’ve said it before, Matt, but it’s worth saying again: it’s a fucking miracle you got your family out of here when you did.”

I try to speak, but bile rises in my throat at the thought of what could have happened to us that night.

“We’re still working on entrance points and how your security team missed finding them. I have theories, but they’re just that and you’ve got enough to worry about without having half-assed thoughts in your head.” Marcus pauses. “Having said that, however, I think you should be aware that I believe this is connected to the person that’s been following your family around town. I don’t know if he’s the one who set the fire, but I’d be shocked to find out he’s not somehow involved.”

Sighing, I nod. “I’ve been thinking the same,” I admit. “What scares me, Marcus, is that you say this alarm clock was in my basement sitting between the couch and the wall and that I probably walked right past it when I went to get Sam and Tyler of the panic room. Does that mean whoever did this was in the basement with them while security was doing their searches? How’d they get in? How long were they here?”