“We’ll sort a time,” I offered.
“Great,” he repeated.
“Now I’ll let you get to work.”
“Right. Got any questions, you know where to find me.”
I nodded.
He jerked up his chin and moved to the stairs.
I watched him disappear down them and then turned to my view.
From start on the lighthouse to finish, Walt assessed the work would take six to eight weeks. They were three weeks in. I was thinking it’d be closer to eight, which meant I’d be in by October.
This meant I could contact Kath and have her ship the rest of my stuff in a couple of weeks. If it came early, I could store it in the generator building. There wasn’t much: more clothes, winter stuff we didn’t need to take up room in the car to pack when we drove out there, some keepsakes.
I’d have it and I’d be in and that would be it.
I’d be back home.
Turning to a fresh chapter with blank pages for me to write.
And as long as I had no more clashes with my brother (and I’d have no more clashes with my brother), I could just enjoy and draw strength from all I’d wrought (well, Walt, Paige and Patrick’s money had wrought, but I’d picked the fixtures and fittings). And if I ran into Coert occasionally, considering he’d proved he was a man who could carry an unnecessary and mean grudge, so be it.
This was me.
Cady Moreland.
I did things that were perhaps unwise, like make friends with Maria and Lonnie, get drunk and nearly raped, which put me in the path of an undercover police officer who would use me to (rightly) stop my friends from their illegal pursuits, marry a man old enough to be my grandfather, and finally, pull up stakes to live in the town where the only man I ever loved (that way) also lived, and did it hating me.
But I was right here.
My decisions meant I’d replaced a family who didn’t understand me, and one of them detested me, with a family who adored me. They meant I’d been given the honor of making the last years of a good man’s life as comfortable as they could be as he battled pain and wasted away before my eyes. And they meant I had the opportunity to take hold of a historical legacy and was breathing new life into it, showing it the love it deserved.
So my decisions might be unwise but they were a part of me, and in the end, they’d put me right there.
So I should embrace them.
Because they were me.
And on that thought, I wandered down the stairs, through the disaster that was now my lighthouse, doing this what would be the last time for weeks because the next time I walked through the front door, I’d be coming home.
It was Saturday, four days later, when it happened.
I was walking down Cross Street in Magdalene. There was a used bookstore there that I had not taken time to fully peruse and I needed a new book (or five), and if memory served, they had a small espresso counter and I fancied a coffee.
I was marveling at how lovely the streetlamps were so I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going.
Therefore, the door to the ice cream parlor in front of me had opened and the little girl had danced out, but I didn’t see her.
Or the man who came out after her.
But I ran into him as well as my shoulder slamming into the still-opened door.
I cried out in surprise, not pain, took a small step away and opened my mouth to offer my apologies for not paying attention when I tipped my head back and looked from close into hazel eyes that were more light brown with some green in them to make them interesting.
And my lungs squeezed.
“You al’right?” a little girl’s voice asked.
I stared into hazel eyes I’d seen that close time and again before a kiss, after a kiss, lying on a pillow across from them.
“Hey lady, you al’right?”
The voice came again and I tore my gaze from Coert’s and looked down into an identical pair of hazel eyes, and when I saw them, my lungs didn’t squeeze.
Every inch of skin on my body opened up, causing pain even with the life I’d lived I couldn’t believe.
“Hi,” she said brightly.
“Hi,” I forced out, the one syllable sounding strangled.
She tilted her adorable little head to the side. “You al’right?”
“Sorry?” I whispered.
“You ran into Daddy an’ the door.”
Daddy.
It happened then.
God.
God.
It happened and I couldn’t stop it. I wanted to. I should have been able to. I’d seen her pictures. I knew she existed. I should have been able to stop it.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t stop the tears from filling my eyes as I stared down at the most beautiful child in history.
“You aren’t al’right,” she whispered, her eyes getting big as she stared up at me.
“Cady,” Coert murmured.
I took a quick step away.
Jerking my head to look at his shoulder, I mumbled. “Fine. Fine. I’m fine. So sorry.”
“Cady,” Coert said again.
It seemed he was reaching to me so I lurched away, feeling the wet fall over and course down my cheeks.
“I’m . . . I . . .” I looked down at Coert’s girl. “You should eat that, honey,” I pushed out, clumsily angling my head to the cone she was holding. “It’s melting.”
And with that and a choked back sob, I let my eyes list through Coert’s and I turned and rushed away.
I got into my car and I had the presence of mind to sit in it, stare at my steering wheel and take deep breaths before I switched it on, dashed my hands across my cheeks, carefully backed into the street and went home.
It seemed to take a year for the gates to open, and my phone started ringing while I was waiting.
I left it to ring, and when the gates opened I drove around the garage to park beside the studio.
I got out, grabbing my purse, and let myself into the house.
I didn’t know what to do then. All the words I said in my head telling myself it was all right, I could do this, I’d done the right thing, I was in the place I was meant to be were gone, vanished, with just one look at Coert’s daughter’s face.
I’d made a fool of myself. I’d alarmed his daughter.
God.
God.
Why hadn’t I handled that better?
It wasn’t like I didn’t know it would happen (eventually).
It was just that I didn’t think it would happen that soon.
My phone rang again and for something to think about that was not the humiliation I’d just perpetrated on myself, I pulled it out of my purse and stared at the screen.
No name, just a number. A local one so it probably had something to do with the construction or the Historical Society, or it was someone from Stone Incorporated calling for reasons unknown (since they only said “Mr. Stone wishes to make an appointment with you,” something I always refused) for the fiftieth time or I didn’t know.
And I didn’t care.
It wouldn’t have anything to do with what just happened so I took the call like it was a lifeline, putting the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Where are you?” Coert growled.
My body froze solid.
He had my number.
I forgot he had my number!
“Goddamn it, Cady, where are you?” Coert bit out when I didn’t answer.
“I’m home,” I whispered.
“Do not leave,” he clipped, and I heard a beep that said the call was disconnected.
I took my phone from my ear and stared at it.
Okay, I needed wine.
No, I needed whiskey.
No, I didn’t drink whiskey so I didn’t have any whiskey (but Pat and Daly drank it so I’d have to get some in, mental note).
Vodka was out, that wasn’t my thing either.
I’d never even tasted gin.
I only drank rum on vacation on a beach.
And I only drank tequila in a margarita and I didn’t have margarita mix (another mental note).
In fact, I actually only had wine in the house.
“Why can’t I drink spirits?” I shrieked like a lunatic.
I needed to go to a liquor store and break my rule about rum only on a beach.
But Coert said not to leave and frankly I was in no state to drive.