Ben

I settle around the small table in the kitchen. Reece falls into the chair next to mine. Her braids run down her shoulder. The sunlight picks up streaks of gold in her light brown mane. She settles her cheeks in her hands and stares at me.

Those grey eyes are unnerving.

I lick my lips and chuckle nervously. “Is something on my face?”

“It’s funny. Sometimes you look like him. Sometimes you don’t.” A skinny arm hovers in the air and a slender finger points. “Like your eyes.”

“My eyes.”

“They’re bluer that Daddy’s.”

“I guess so.”

She studies me a second more and then flounces back, disinterested. “My dad was handsomer.”

“More handsome,” Logan corrects. “And I agree.”

Ouch. “First off, it depends on what you’re looking for. Plenty of women would beg to differ. In fact, just last night I was at the bar and these women—”

“Ehem.” Logan narrows her eyes.

I shrug innocently.

She frowns. “Reece, I thought you were going to help me with the pancakes?”

“I’m not hungry any more.”

“But…”

“Can I go back to sleep?”

Logan’s jaw drops. “You’re still tired?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess.” Logan’s mouth twitches with concern.

We watch the little girl rise and slump down the hall. Her expression is pure sadness.

The sight of Reece in pain gets to me. Maybe because I know it would hurt Harry to see her like that. From everything I’ve gathered so far, my brother was a great father.

Logan twists the knob of the stove and looks pointedly at me.

I meet her gaze. “What?”

“Shouldn’t you make sure she’s alright?”

I stare at Reece’s back. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“She lost her dad yesterday,” Logan says. Like I need a reminder. “This is an opportunity to introduce yourself. Get to know her a little. Maybe even share some of your favorite memories about Harry.”

I groan. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

Logan wields her spatula. “Go or this thing might end up wedged where it doesn’t belong.”

I scramble to my feet. The chair legs scrape against the floor. My hands curve around my behind. “Yes, ma’am.”

She nods sharply and returns to the pancakes.

I shoot a terrified look over my shoulder as I wander down the hall. Geez, what made her so feisty? It’s too early in the morning to start picking fights.

Logan catches me watching her and I freeze. She lifts her chin and jerks it down as if to say: ‘what?’

“Nothing.” I rush down the corridor.

Most of the doors are open. There’s a bathroom to my right. Just up ahead, I glimpse a pink wall and what appears to be the ear of a giant stuffed teddybear. Bingo. That must be Reece’s.

I quicken my pace and ease the door open. My gaze sweeps the expanse of a princess-themed room. It’s like a Disney movie threw up in here.

There’s an exquisitely carved white vanity dresser filling one side of the room. Animated characters grin from the posters on the wall, and a display of plastic tiaras sparkle in a glass shelf.

But there’s no Reece.

I back away slowly and return to the corridor. Where did she disappear?

I hear sniffling coming from a room across the hall and inch closer to peer inside. There’s someone sitting in the middle of a large bed spread with a navy blanket. It’s Reece.

I knock on the door before opening it. “Can I come in?”

Reece sniffs and rubs her cheeks.

“Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

She glares at me. “What do you want?”

“Whoa. Let’s chill with the tone. I’m not here to drag you back to Logan’s pancakes. I bet they’re not that good anyway.”

She turns around so I can see only half of her face. “Logan’s pancakes are the best. Apart from Dad’s.”

“Your dad made pancakes?” I approach the bed.

“Every Saturday morning. Sometimes we made waffles too.”

“Wow. I thought Harry hated cooking.” I sit on the bed and share, “Once, our mom left us home alone for the weekend. Neither of us wanted to cook so we ended up blowing our money on takeout. She was furious when she came back home.”

Grey eyes wide with interest, Reece whirls around so she can watch me without craning her neck. “Did he get in trouble?”

“Yup. We got no allowance for a week.” I pause and then admit, “He must have really loved you if he cooked so often.”

“Honestly, pancakes were the only things we made. We ordered food most of the time.”

I laugh. “That sounds about right.”

She blinks slowly, her black eyelashes sparkling with tears. “What did you say your name was?”

“Benjamin Duncan.” I offer my hand to her. “You can call me Ben.”

She clasps it gently. Her fingers are so much smaller and thinner than mine, but her grip is firm. “I’m Reece Duncan. You can call me Reece.”

I release her and take my time surveying the room. It’s mostly bare of furniture, but everything is neat and tidy, not a sock out of place. “This was Harry’s room?”

“Yes.”

I notice a picture frame on the nightstand. It’s Harry, grinning broadly. Reece has her arms thrown around his neck. Their eyes are sparkling like stars. A panther stalks a dusty path in the background. It’s black coat gleams darker than midnight.

Reece notices me looking and turns to find what has my attention. She grabs the photograph and shoves it into my hand. “We went to the zoo with my class. I was just a kid then.”

I arch an eyebrow. Unless I’m going blind, she’s just a kid now.

Reece smiles fondly. “We spent all day walking around. Everyone wanted to be in our group because Dad made the tour so fun.”

“He looks sunburned,” I observe. Harry always did get pink easily.

She frowns. “He didn’t look like any of the other parents in my class. All the kids wanted to know if I was adopted.”

I look at her and then at Harry’s picture. From what I’ve seen of Belize so far, the population is a toss up of blacks and Hispanics. Most of the Caucasians are tourists. So it makes sense that Reece’s friends would have questions.

Since I generally shy away from deep conversations about race and politics, I’m not sure what I should say here. The way things work in the Caribbean might be different from the way they are back home.

“Did you ever feel strange about that?”

She tilts her head to the side. “About Dad?”

I nod.

“No. He was just Dad. I didn’t care what color he was. And anyway Dad says we shouldn’t judge people by their skin. We should judge them by their character.”

“You’re a wise kid.”

“Or maybe you aren’t a smart adult.”

“Touché.” I straighten my shoulders. “This was a good talk. If Logan asks, tell her we bonded.”

Reece giggles. Her teeth are tiny. She’s a cute kid. “You’re weird.”

“I prefer the term ‘refreshing’ but I’ll let you use ‘weird’.” I wink.

“I meant you’re not that bad.”

“Thank you?”

Reece’s expression turns serious. “Why didn’t Daddy mention you?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t know. I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“I miss him.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “I want him to come home.”

“I know, kiddo.”

As Reece sobs quietly, I reach out. My hand lingers in the air. I pull it back. Stare at her bowed head and trembling chin. Move over to her. Move back.

Why is this so hard?

At last, I put my hand on her shoulder and pat it. “There, there.”

She looks up and through a pool of tears asks, “What are you doing?”

“Offering comfort.”

“Oh.” She shakes her head and forces a smile. “I think I’m ready for those pancakes now.”

“Yeah.” I slide off the bed and bow at the door. “After you, m’lady.”

The smile turns a bit more genuine.

I follow Reece down the hall and back to the kitchen thoughtfully. She’s a smart kid, and I get the sense that she can pretty much look after herself. I also sense that such laid-back parenting wasn’t what Harry had in mind when he appointed me her guardian.

I could easily accept the title and leave Reece to her own devices, but I’d rather not disappoint Harry any more than I already have.

“Hey, you two,” Logan says when we enter the kitchen. She slides a steaming heap of fluffy pancakes in front of us. “Eat up.”

“Whoa!” Reece digs in like she wasn’t just bawling her eyes out a minute ago.

Logan pours a cup of orange juice and hands it to me. “Want some?”

I stare suspiciously at it. “You didn’t poison this, did you?”

“With what?” She snorts. “If you don’t want it, fine.”

When she tilts it to her lips, I grab it out of her hands. “I’ll drink it.”

Logan puts her own plate on the table and spears a pancake. “Lydia called a few minutes ago. She’s coming over to discuss some details that you didn’t get to cover yesterday.” From the way Logan is arching both eyebrows, I guess she’s talking about the funeral.

“Oh, yeah.” I cough. “The details.”

Reece glances between the two of us. “Are you talking about Daddy’s service?”

I freeze.

Logan blinks rapidly.

Reece chews with a thoughtful expression. “Dad always said he wanted his funeral to be a party. He didn’t want any black clothes or crying.” She sniffs but manages to hold her tears back. “Anyway, make sure it’s like that.”

“We will,” I promise her.

Lydia arrives after breakfast. I stare sheepishly at the floor while she makes her greetings. She smiles politely and doesn’t scold me until we’re alone in Harry’s office.

“Where did you run off to yesterday?” she asks.

“I went sightseeing,” I lie.

She arches an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. I appreciate that about Lydia. She’s not the type that nags. Logan, on the other hand, she’ll just threaten bodily harm until her victim’s given up everything.

“Since you weren’t around to confirm, I went ahead and set the funeral date. We’ve got four days to order flowers, send out death announcements on the local news channels, and post in the obituaries.”

“Alright.” It all sounds like gibberish to me. I’ve never planned a funeral and I have no desire to do so now. I’m glad that Lydia is taking charge.

She pulls out a small purse and flips it open to reveal a pair of fragile gold glasses. With careful movements, she wipes the lens and then places it on the edge of her nose. Next, she pulls out a book and a pen.

Her watery brown eyes meet mine. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. And I don’t know why Harry never mentioned his family in the six years that I knew him. However, as a mother, I would want to know if my child passed away.”

I bristle. “You want me to tell my dad?”

“So you do have a father.” She leans forward. “And what about your mother?”

“She passed.” My gaze lands on the floor.

Lydia pats my knee. “I can tell by your expression that there’s a story here, but I’m not going to pry. At least not yet. Whatever happened between you boys and your father, he deserves to know about Harry’s funeral.”

I think of Dad and Lauren prancing into the church I visited with Lydia yesterday. Imagine them sitting in the front pew and weeping over Harry’s body like they weren’t the people that drove him away from us in the first place.

“I… don’t know if I can.”

Lydia stands, her knees creaking with the movement. “The truth is… I looked you up online. I have the number for your dad’s hospital, and I’m sure I can get in touch on my own. But I think this is something you need to do.”

“Lydia…”

“You have until tomorrow. Call him.” She waddles to the door. “Or I will.”