Chapter 36
BEN
“I love this time of day up here!” Reese yells over the roar of the engine as she kicks the dune buggy into fourth gear and swerves to avoid a pothole in the trail, the late-afternoon November sun beginning its descent over the horizon.
“Can we not add to the funeral count this week?” I yell back, gripping the roll bar with white knuckles. The woman is a maniac behind the wheel. I don’t know how she hasn’t crashed her bike yet and I’m starting to think that I don’t want her on it anymore, because it’s only a matter of time before she does. The only reason I handed her the keys is because I knew she’d need to have a bit of fun before I drop a giant bomb on her head.
“Left up here.” I point and hold on as she whips around the corner, setting my granddaddy’s old yellow truck in our sights.
We come to a skidding stop, a dust cloud billowing out behind us and Reese’s radiant smile making me second-guess this plan. Maybe I should just pack her up and take her back to our attic room. But, no. That won’t change anything. She needs to know this and I’ve always been the “tear the Band-Aid off” kind of guy. If she ever found out that I’d sat on this kind of news instead of letting her know right away, she wouldn’t trust me again. The very idea of that makes my stomach tighten.
I yank the keys out of the ignition—if she’s gonna run, it’ll have to be on foot—and climb out of the dune buggy. Picking up the walking stick, I go through the same process I’ve done for years, rattling the truck to scare off anything living in it.
Reese, having changed into jeans and a T-shirt, hoists herself up onto the tailgate. Such a rare, peaceful smile rests on her lips. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it on her before. It forces my body still, to just stand there and stare at her for a long moment.
I hate that she’s about to lose it.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I hesitate. And then I reach back and pull out the stack of envelopes that’s tucked into the back of my jeans.
Reese’s eyes narrow. “Mason had those yesterday.”
My thumb flips through the stack—five white envelopes and a yellow one. The yellow one, I’m supposed to hold on to until the end. “Were you and Mason talking about your father recently?”
“Yeah. Last week.” Her eyes dart to the envelopes. “Why?”
With a sigh, I stroll over to sit next to her on the tailgate. “Mason told Jack about your ex. How the guy’s living in Miami and remarried, and how you’ve been in touch with him. Mason’s worried you’re on a mission to punish him.”
Reese’s head falls back with a loud groan. “Dammit! I told you that guy can’t be trusted!”
“Just . . . hold up, Reese. Let me finish.” I pause. “Mason was worried; that’s why he said something. And of course Jack was worried, too. He’s been worried about you since he picked you up from Jacksonville. Worried that you were going to turn out as bitter as your mother after being hurt so bad.”
“I’m not Annabelle!” Her cheeks are turning red with anger, making me hold my hands up in surrender.
So far, this isn’t going well.
“I know you’re not. But, just listen. Whatever you and Mason talked about . . . well, he thought it was a good idea to find your father so you could get his side of the story. See what kind of guy leaves his five-year-old in a diner and why. Maybe he had a good reason. Maybe he’s just an asshole and your mother is right to hate him. But it’s good to know, don’t you think?” Knowing what my father was and, more importantly, what I am not has helped me make some important decisions these past few days. Including the one that led me to sitting here with Reese. “Jack agreed with him. So he called the firm’s private investigator on Monday morning and asked the guy to look into it.” I take a deep breath. “He found him, Reese. He found your father. Turns out it wasn’t so hard, after all, if you knew where to start looking.”
I watch as the blood drains from Reese’s face, until her normally pink cheeks are stark white, making her caramel eyes look a sickly yellow. “Well, where is he?” It comes out in a snap, though I know what sounds like anger is actually fear. Her attention darts to the stack of envelopes in my hand. One of them has a stamp of “Return to sender” on it. The others were never even mailed.
I slide the first one into her shaking hand.
Clearing her throat, she slowly lifts the seal. “These were opened already.” The accusation in her tone is thick. “Did you read these?”
“No.” Mason admitted that he and Jack had read them first, not wanting to just hand something over to Reese that could devastate her.
With a deep breath, she pulls out the first letter, a single lined sheet of paper with similar but slightly neater handwriting than Reese’s.
There’s not much else I can do, so I just sit quietly next to her, feeding her a new envelope every time she finishes the last.
Watching the tears start rolling down her cheeks.
And when I hand her the yellow one, the one holding a copy of the official report inside, the telltale stamp on the front, she turns perfectly still.
Her voice is raspy as she whispers, “After all this time, I’m really just like her, aren’t I?”