“Pa, let him know that Bass isn’t joking. He needs some space.”
Sanna went to a closet and pulled out a pile of blankets and pillows, then disappeared into her room, presumably to make up Bass’s bed. Isaac dumped the duffel on the table and sat with his head in his hands. Einars sat in the chair next to him.
“He’s never going to forgive me. He’s been through so much with his mom. Seeing her sick, seeing her high—though he didn’t understand what was happening. She’d been an addict for years—fentanyl.” Einars made an O with his mouth, now understanding Isaac’s concern about leaving his pill bottles lying around. “She was in her fourth rehab facility and had paid an orderly to sneak her some drugs. She finally ODed. When I got the call, I finished up my current job, packed the car, and we left. I couldn’t tell him. I just couldn’t tell him that his mom chose drugs over him. How can you tell a child that?”
He looked up to see Sanna standing in her doorway. Without a word, she closed the door.
Einars got up, pulled a bottle from the back of a cabinet, grabbed two glasses, and returned to Isaac. He poured a finger of the amber liquid into each glass and held his up to clink glasses.
“To doing your best,” Einars said.
Isaac copied his movements and drank the liquor in one quick gulp. It burned going down, nearly singeing his nose hairs, but with a hint of apple at the finish.
“Apple brandy. I made it years ago. A very small batch—I don’t have Sanna’s gift. I pull it out when something stronger than cider is needed.”
“Now is definitely one of those times.” Isaac had taken another measure, wanting to feel the pain every second it went down his throat, and settled into the chair when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Einars shouted.
Two firefighters walked into the great room. They had taken off their heavy coats and hats, but still wore the pants with suspenders over T-shirts soaked with sweat from working in the heat under so much equipment.
“Hey, Einars,” the older of the two said. “We’ve got some news.”
“Doug.” Einars nodded in greeting. “Should we go look at it?”
“Nah. I knew you weren’t moving around too good, so I have pictures. Everything is already packed up as evidence.” He pulled a digital camera to show the pictures. “Who’d you piss off? This is pretty clearly arson, unless your guests have a habit of lighting gasoline-filled bottles under the trailer.”
“Not recently,” Isaac said.
Einars and Isaac looked at the broken-glass pictures, squinting to make out the label, and Isaac’s stomach dropped even more. It looked like one of his labels he’d made for Sanna. Another smack in the face.
“That looks like one of mine.” Sanna’s voice came from over their shoulders, then she walked out of the house, leaving her rosy scent behind. She returned in a few minutes, carrying an unburnt version of the bottle in the photo. “Someone took some bottles out of one of the crates in the barn. I wouldn’t have noticed except I recently had to count to make sure I had enough.”
Her voice rasped from the smoke.
“Why did you go into the trailer?” Isaac asked before remembering she wasn’t speaking to him. He braced for her silence, but instead she looked at him with her cornflower-blue eyes and answered.
“Bass kept trying to run in for Snarf. I couldn’t let him do that. I saw the duffel under the bed when I crawled into the bedroom, then filled it with whatever I could grab.”
“Thank you. Losing Snarf would have devastated him.”
“I think he’s devastated anyway.”
Bass emerged from Sanna’s room. She grabbed a pack of Oreos and the milk from the fridge and spoke as the two of them went down the stairs and out the door.
“We’re going back to harvesting. No need to join us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Eva walked into one of the many small restaurants lining the main street of Fish Creek. She’d been to this one enough times that the waitstaff knew her order as soon as she walked in. Outside the window, the sidewalks teemed with strollers and older couples walking hand in hand. When she first arrived in Door County, the leisurely pace and pastoral scenes had made her antsy, but now she found it hopeful and reassuring—that there might be a different way to live.
By now Patrick had probably spilled the beans about her new plans, but she was hoping to beat him to it—too bad she was on hold with her own damn company. She hated the instrumental versions of eighties pop songs. She had heard them too many times while waiting for her father to answer his phone.
She slid into a booth with a smile and a wave from the hostess. Before she finished settling the tube containing the new drawings on the bench next to her, the waitress, Ann, set her black coffee down in front of her.
“Your egg whites will be out in a minute, Eva.”
“Thanks, Ann.”
During her last visit, she’d found out Ann had lived here her entire life. She went to college but found it didn’t suit her. She came back and married her high school sweetheart, who was taking over the family’s company, which rented watercraft to tourists. She and her husband had two kids under five and the grandparents helped watch them while Ann and her husband worked. They weren’t rich, but they didn’t need to be. Eva had always been rich—she worked to please her father, not for the money.
Eva envied Ann.
“This is Mr. Drake.” Her father had finally picked up.
“It’s Eva.”
“Wonderful, the papers are signed then.” There was an edge to his voice. Patrick had already told him, and he was baiting a trap.
“I’ve revised the original plan to make it more amenable to the sellers, but I expect they’ll agree soon.”
“I heard.” The words contained even less warmth than usual. “So the papers aren’t signed yet. I told you not to call until it was done.”
“Dad . . .” She hated the begging tone in her voice.
“You know not to call me that at work.”
“Sorry, sir. Money alone won’t convince them. I’ve adjusted accordingly.”
Her eggs arrived, and she gave Ann a thumbs-up.
“The clock is ticking. Do what needs to be done. Prove you can make the tough decisions. You’re the one who wanted this deal. It has already taken much too long. Don’t call again until it’s done.”
The phone went quiet. She set it next to her coffee cup. She’d get this damn deal done. She’d show them she was better than all of them combined and earn her spot at WWW. She sipped her coffee, letting the bitter liquid singe her throat as she swallowed—savoring the burn.