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“Hey, buddy,” she said.
“Can’t talk, Mom.”
Alien massacres for sure. “I asked Uncle Van’s friend over for lunch, and I wanted to warn you guys. Will you let your uncle know?”
“I’m not sure where he is.” His movement made Van’s leather sofa grumble. “I think I hear him in his office. He might be on the phone, too. I’ll tell him if he comes out.”
“Good enough. See you in a little while.”
“Okay.” He started to hang up. The phone hit the receiver, but then he was talking again. “Mom, did you go by Gross’s Sporting Goods?”
Her heart broke. She lied to her son because she couldn’t stand telling him no again. “I forgot you wanted me to, son. Maybe we can look together sometime this week.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can’t afford what I want anyway.”
She was failing her son, and all avenues of escape seemed to be disappearing. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Okay. Mom?”
“Hmmm?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She gritted her teeth. “It’s normal to be upset you can’t have what you want.”
“I understand why, though.”
Something was wrong. All the more reason not to play sighs-and-smiles with her temporary neighbor.
AIDAN SKIPPED the hot-dog fest. Not that he didn’t want hot dogs or another few minutes with the first woman who’d made him feel alive in eighteen months.
At around dinnertime, he’d stood on the weathered gray deck of the cottage, scenting the delicious aroma of a grill at work—wanting to go—but Beth obviously hadn’t wanted him to show up.
In the end, he’d lost himself in the business channels on the satellite, pretending that catching up on the news he’d missed was just as much fun. Which probably explained why he’d fallen into a deep sleep on the fat, blue-and-white plaid sofa.
Something thudded into the door a little after six in the morning. Aidan’s eyes opened and he gasped a deep breath. He rolled his head on a sofa cushion, not recognizing the tick of the clock, the rough scratch of the upholstery or the deep, thick silence of no-one-else-at-home.
He’d hardly slept since the heart attack. Not that he was avoiding Madeline’s accusing face in his dreams. He did try to sleep.
He pulled on sweats and padded to the front door. Outside, The Honesty Sentinel lay on the rug. He picked it up, sliding it out of its plastic sleeve.
His father was the one who’d persuaded the nurses to hide newspapers from him. Aidan had put his foot down the day his mother had tried have his television removed. No CNN? No CNBC? She and his father had retired from running the business eight years ago, but they still kept in touch with the business world.
She was trying so hard to cut him off from it, she must want him dead.
He caught up on the print news of the past ten days, licking his lips every so often in a craving for coffee. The hospital staff had cut him back to one cup a day.
After a caffeine headache that had lasted the first half of his hospital stay, he anticipated the lone, large, rich cup. Every lunchtime, he sipped, making the treat last.
Putting that boon off took all his concentration. He checked his watch. At seven on a Tuesday morning, his mother would be up, also scouting for coffee before she went to the office. He dialed, and a severe British voice answered.
“I’m not sure Mrs. Nikolas is available. May I deliver a message for you to your mother?”
“Tell her she won’t avoid my questions about the business by pretending she’s asleep.”
“Oh, let me have it, Simon.” His mother’s impatience stabbed at the quiet. “You’re supposed to be resting, Aidan.”
“What goes on with the Skyliner deal? It’s not in the papers.”
“How’d you get a newspaper?”
“Mother, I ran Nikolas Enterprises by myself until—” Even the memory of that day made him feel mortal. “Tell me what’s happening. Dragonlawn—have they agreed to our terms? I want to start R&D on the redesign of their residential lawn mower. That’ll be a quick profit.”
“Aidan, I cannot listen to this. Put down the newspaper. Turn off your TV. Lay off the coffee, and go for a walk.”
“I haven’t touched caffeine, and obviously you haven’t, either. Tell me what’s going on or I’ll browbeat the staff into filling me in.”
“You’d have to fire them. Your father and I have warned everyone in the building they’re not to worry you about work.”
“I’m bored out of my mind.” He tightened his grip on the phone. “If somebody doesn’t tell me what’s happening, I’ll fire the whole damn company and start over with loyal associates.”
“I’m sure they’ll be terrified. God knows I am.” His mother turned away from the phone. “Thank you, Simon.” She sipped loudly in Aidan’s ear. “Ahh, that’s better. Look, we’re fine. Work’s going well. I’ll let you know if your empire starts to crumble.”
“Let me talk to Dad.”
“Sorry. He’s already headed to the car.”
“Tell him to call me on his cell.”
“No.”
“No?”
“And I’ll tell him not to answer if you call. Between Madeline and a heart attack, we’ve been on the verge of losing you for the past year. I’m tired of being afraid, and I don’t care that you’re forty-two. You’re still my child. Have a good day, darling.”
Aidan pressed his fist to the granite counter. The expensive bag of coffee beans he’d stashed in the cupboard above the fridge sang a siren’s song. Bourbon would be even better.
Anything to dull the humiliation. He saw his car keys on the table. There must be a SuperComputer store in town.
They sold laptops.
SMOKE. Eli kept smelling smoke. In his hair, on his shirt and his jeans. Standing in the tall grass at the edge of his uncle’s yard, he slapped at his clothes and his head. The smoke followed him like a shadow. It wouldn’t leave him alone.
No one else ever noticed because it wasn’t real.
He smelled it because he felt guilty—and that scared him bad.
Lucy jumped up, whining as she clawed at his arm. He pointed toward the edge of the lake where the grass grew taller. That shouldn’t stop a Lab. “Your ball is over there.”
She jumped at his hand instead.
He grabbed her and dropped to his knees, still hugging her. With his head close to her ear, he said it. “I set the fire.”
They all thought it was lightning from the storm that day, but Lucy knew the truth. He confessed to her at least once a day, and she loved him anyway. He only half believed she didn’t know what he was saying. Telling her made him feel better for a few minutes.
His mom thought he was upset because she’d left his father two years ago. Sure he wanted her and his dad together. Except he could do without the yelling. His dad’s yelling—and then the horrible sound of his mom whispering to his father to keep his voice down.
He couldn’t figure out why he was always madder at his mom.
Eli buried his face in Lucy’s silky ear. She nipped at his hand. She never bit—just held his fingers in her mouth. He burrowed deeper, smelling Lucy and sunshine. He didn’t want even her to see him cry.
In the darkness of her fur and his closed eyes, he saw the cigarette again, a white tube with a glowing red top. The blackened match he’d thrown in his garbage can. It must not have been out.
The night before, his mom had been ranting through a news report about kids his age smoking. Sometimes the high school kids came by the lodge and tried to buy cigs. His mother threw them out. She could guess any guy’s age.
A lot of kids smoked at the middle school. After his mom had blown up like a maniac, he’d scored one from Billy Thorpe, and then he’d tried it in his room after school.
It had made him throw up. At the time, he’d been grateful for the lightning and hail and thunder that had covered the sounds.
He’d come out of the bathroom to find his room on fire. It had to have been that match. Or the cigarette.
They said a lightning strike had set the fire, but he couldn’t remember where he’d left the cigarette.
Sometimes that night happened all over again in his mind. He rubbed his hands as flames jumped at them again. The fire had eaten his blanket when he’d tried to smother it. It had flown across the papers and books on his desk. He hadn’t been able to make it stop.
As he’d turned, flames had already started on his DVD player and his video games. Black smoke had wrapped him as fast as he could move. He’d started for the door, but pictured his mom standing out there, waiting to hate him.
He’d jumped out his window, slid across the green tin porch roof and then dropped onto the grass. Trying to hide from another clap of thunder, he’d yelled for his mother and run back inside, where Lucy was barking at the smoke that hovered, waiting to attack from the top of the stairs.
“Get out, get out,” his mom had shouted from the landing.
“I can’t.” He couldn’t leave her to fight his mess. He’d gone up and dragged her back down. They’d both hauled Lucy out by her collar.
By the time the fire trucks arrived, they’d all been covered in black soot, he and his mom hugging each other in the rain. Both crying, though she’d never cried before or since.
No one had noticed his burned hands that day. When his mom had grabbed him by both of them the next morning, he’d said he’d burned himself going back for her.
Guilt had made her face different—like she hurt. Maybe that was why something had been chewing on his guts ever since.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU ASKED AIDAN over here for hot dogs and you didn’t tell me?”
“Hold it down, Van. Eli will hear that you’re upset with me.” She laid a piece of salmon on the grill. Mrs. Carleton’s sister was still sick and Beth felt safe taking liberties with her kitchen.
“Don’t use your son to shut me up. I told you to stay away from Nikolas.”
“I didn’t say a word about a loan. You’re right. I can’t ask him for help.”
Van opened the fridge and brought back spinach and feta. “You sound upset.”
“I am.” She shrugged. “He could have been the answer to my prayers. Instead, I’m still looking.”
“Are you all talking about that guy in the cottage?”
Beth and Van turned.
“Did you meet him, too, Eli?” Van asked.
“I’ve seen him going in and out.” Eli crossed the kitchen and plucked a grape tomato off the cutting board. “I can see the cottage from my window.”
Beth passed him another tomato. “We’re supposed to leave him alone. Uncle Van says he’s here because he’s been sick and he needs quiet to get better.”
“I think you should date him, Mom.”
“Huh?” Beth turned, and the salmon she’d been in the process of flipping, splatted onto the floor.
“You should date him.”
“No, she shouldn’t,” Van said. “What are you talking about, Eli?”
“I heard you. Mom wants to talk to him. It’s time you started dating again, and if he knows you, Uncle Van, he must have the bucks.”
“Eli.” Beth bent to clean up the salmon. It slipped out of her hands. “Date him? Where’s that coming from?” Two tries later, she scooped up the fish and dropped it into the sink.
“I told ya. You need money. He has it. We’d be okay if you went out with someone like that guy.”
“We have all the bucks we need, and that’s no reason to date anyone. I don’t understand you. For the past three years, any time a guy’s looked twice at me, you’ve been upset. When those men who stayed at the lodge left a big tip behind, you thought they were trying to come on to me.”
“That was before we found out they tore the mantel off the fireplace in their room.” A shrug made him look a decade older. “You need a life, Mom. I feel like a bug under your microscope, and I’m old enough to know you should be interested in guys. I don’t expect you and Dad to get back together anymore.”
“I’m the one who’s supposed to matchmake for you, Eli. You’re creeping me out.”
“Most divorced moms date. My friends’ moms do.”
“When the guy is right. And the time. I have to get us back into our own house.”
“You worry all the time.” He grabbed the plates and silver she’d stacked on the counter. “I’ll set the table.”
Stunned silence thickened in the kitchen as he rushed to the dining room. Beth turned to Van, still clutching the oily spatula. “That was too many firsts. I should date, I need a life and he’s setting the table without being asked.”
“He’s hiding something. He thinks by going after you, he can keep hiding it.” Van popped a tomato into his mouth and turned toward the dining room door. “Sucks to be Eli.”
“Wait.” She almost lost another piece of salmon. “What are you going to do?”
“Drill for the truth.”
“He’s been fragile since the fire.”
