She didn’t say This is nothing, but she might as well have.
Rowan wished she hadn’t called her, but she had to call someone. She has plenty of friends who are closer—-much closer—-than her sister is these days. But she can’t bear the thought of admitting her secret to anyone else, regardless of whether they’d be less inclined to pass judgment than the almighty Noreen.
At least this isn’t news to her. She’s always known that Rowan is capable of terrible things.
The -people in her life now—-Jake included—-only know the best side of her: the charade. She’s carried it off for years now, aside from that momentary blip on a snowy afternoon fourteen years ago, when she reverted to her true character and got away with it.
No wonder someone wants to see her get what she deserves.
Someone?
Rick. It had to be Rick.
Unless Noreen was lying, or unless Kevin . . .
She’s been thinking a lot about her brother--in--law today. About how he, like her sister, seems too good to be true.
“Ro?”
It’s Jake, calling from the kitchen.
“In here.”
She silences the ringer on her cell phone as her husband’s footsteps cross the hardwood floors of their dream house. If Rick calls back now, she won’t be able to pick up.
She hears the slight jingling of dog tags as Jake stops in the hall to pet Doofus. Then he’s framed in the doorway, unknotting the tie she’d watched him tie this morning.
“I thought you were making dinner tonight. Chicken Marsala?”
“I didn’t have time. I got home late.”
“That’s okay.”
But it isn’t. She let him down.
“I’m sorry. It’s just been . . . a crazy day. And my field trip is tomorrow morning, so . . .” She trails off, implying that an impending field trip is sufficient reason not to follow through on a promised dinner.
“Which field trip?”
“To the historical society. You remember.”
He nods. Of course he remembers. He grew up here. He’d know all about fourth grade and Ora Abrams and the hot cocoa even if he weren’t married to Rowan and a parent whose three kids had gone through the local school.
That’s the thing about Jake, Rowan thinks. The thing that Rick Walker could never have, or be, or share.
Mundy’s Landing is Jake’s home just as it is hers. More so, because he’s a Mundy. Their shared roots are just one more bond that can never be broken. They belong here. Together. This—-this village, this house, this man, this life—-isn’t just her past, or her present. It’s her future. He’s her future, and no one is going to take that away from her.
“It’s just us for dinner, right? Mick is working?” Jake asks.
“Yes. Maybe I can throw something together.”
“We can order takeout, or I can have leftover meatloaf.”
Stop it! She wants to scream. Stop being so nice to me, because you’re only making things worse!
I don’t deserve you!
I deserve . . .
She takes a deep breath. It’s not about what she deserves. It’s about what Jake deserves.
The truth.
When Kurt Walker’s phone rings, he’s already in bed. It’s not particularly late, but it’s been a long day and all he wants to do is watch some television and get some sleep.
But when he sees the Florida area code accompanied by the name Robert Belinke in the caller ID panel, he quickly snatches up the phone. Bob is his stepfather’s lifelong best friend, and the one person in the world Kurt would expect to hear from if something happened to Rick.
“Bob? What’s wrong?”
Like Rick, Bob is a pull--no--punches Midwesterner. He wastes no time on small talk, or trying to convince Kurt that everything is fine, because clearly, it isn’t.
“Have you talked to your stepfather lately?”
“No, but I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for a few days. He left me a message on Sunday night.”
“Really? What did he say?”