Chapter 23

 

He felt lonely. Again.

And it sucked. Even the guitar resting on his thigh seemed to be in tune with his shitty mood, prompting him to mechanically play one dreary song after another. One more time mumbling his way through Beck’s “Lost Cause” and he might have to dive head first into Brides Bay just to get away from himself.

He’d spent a lot of time tinkering with his bikes and puttering around the house and yard. He’d needed to catch up on a bunch of little jobs he’d been neglecting for a while. And when he wasn’t working, he kept picking up his guitar to see if music could chase away his blues. He’d run through a couple of up tempo numbers and sometimes start to feel a bit better, but then his autopilot would take over and start playing some depressing melody.

Loneliness wasn’t a familiar feeling. He’d always craved solitude, and liked to avoid company except in small doses. But for the past five days—since the stupid blow-up with Claire in New Hampshire—he was just rattling around the house, bored and more than a little pissed off at the whole damn world. Even Stanley’s constant happy presence hadn’t been enough to lift him out of his funk for more than a few moments.

He glanced at Claire’s painting, still on the floor and still turned around so the back faced out. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to hang it. Would there ever come a day when he could see it and not think about how much he missed her?

He should probably just give it to her as a gift. She’d said it was one of her best works because she’d poured her heart into it. He’d never really understood emotion in art before, but maybe he did now. There was something about the painting that made it a lot more than just a pretty view. Sometimes he even imagined that its bleak perspective had foreshadowed the blowup of their relationship.

Yet offering it to her anytime soon would likely hurt her even more, and the cold fact was that he’d hurt Claire too much already. He’d been a fool to get involved with her in the first place. She needed to find a good, reliable guy to settle down with, preferably a hometown dude who never did anything more dangerous than lighting a backyard grill.

For now, he decided he’d just put the painting in a closet.

Stanley padded into the office and jumped up onto the sofa, shoving his big head under Ry’s elbow and jostling his still-sore arm.

“Stan, you’re killing me.” He put down his guitar, managing a laughing tone despite the stab of pain in his shoulder. “You picked the wrong arm to bash around, old buddy.”

The poor guy just wanted a little more affection. Ry’s sour mood obviously hadn’t been easy on the Newf, even though he’d tried to give the dog as much attention as he could. Dogs always picked up on their owners’ moods, whether good or bad. That was no doubt why Stanley was prodding him now, trying to get him to enjoy his magnificent canine presence rather than keep gloomily picking away on the guitar.

“Okay, we can do some snuggling,” he said as Stanley climbed halfway into his lap. “But only for a few minutes, because I’ve got to look at the new sketches.”

The ones he’d been avoiding all day.

The architect’s revised drawings had arrived by courier this morning and were now spread out on his desk. A cursory glance had told him that they were closer to what he’d been hoping for since his discussion with Carter. While still a bit too modernistic for his taste, this version was certainly moving in the right direction. With input from Carter, he hoped to give the architect the kind of detailed feedback that would lead to the finalization of an acceptable final design. And that should feel like a monkey off his back.

Or maybe not.

The fact was that he’d lost most of his interest in the project.  He still planned on building the new house even if he decided to pull out of Brides Bay—that was the only thing that made financial sense—yet nothing about it felt right anymore. He should have known better than to put down even the shallowest roots here.

Maybe not anywhere else either, at least until he got his head on straight.

When his cell rang, his first thought was to ignore it, since he wasn’t in any mood to talk. Checking the call display made sense though. What if it was Claire?

The name of the caller was blocked.

For some reason, he decided to take the call anyway. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ryder. It’s me.” A pause. “Surprised?”

He nearly dropped the phone. He hadn’t heard that voice for years. Yet it was one he’d never forget.

* * *

Ry wouldn’t have recognized her if he’d seen her up close on the street. Fortunately, she’d called him from Portland Airport as she was renting a car. She’d said it didn’t feel right to just show up at his door unannounced.

He wasn’t sure he believed that. He remembered just how much Samantha Henry loved surprises.

Even though her call had prepared him, it had been a hell of a gut-wrenching surprise to lay eyes on his stepsister.

“Thanks,” Sam said as he handed her another cup of coffee. She’d already downed four cups in two hours, joking that she’d given up meth only to become addicted to caffeine.

She was stretched out on the sofa, casually dressed in a pretty cotton tunic and black tights. He could hardly believe the change since the last time he’d seen her. Three years ago, when he caught up to her in San Jose during one of his team’s West Coast road trips, she’d been a hollowed-out junkie just out of her third stint in rehab—all of which he’d paid for. That day, she’d promised him again that she’d finally kicked meth.

Not long thereafter, she’d dropped entirely out of sight.

The last time he’d heard from her was two and a half years ago, when she sent him an email from a Hotmail address. He’d replied, but she never responded. He’d tried after that to contact her in every way he knew how but had always come up empty. His father and Sam’s mother had been equally in the dark. Unlike him, they’d made no effort to locate her.

The twenty-five-year-old woman sitting across from him now was still rail-thin, and years of addiction had taken a toll on her skin and teeth. But Sam’s eyes were no longer vacant. Most of the other meth symptoms were gone too—no more dilated pupils, twitchy movements, and picked-at skin. Her blond hair was clean and cut short, and she looked tanned and healthy.

“I’m really glad you tracked me down, Sam. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I thought I’d lost myself forever. You were so good to me, Ry, and I let you down. I’ll always feel rotten about that, believe me.”

He waved a hand in dismissal, somehow able to forget how furious he’d been with her over the years.

“But I had to hit rock bottom,” she added, “and fortunately when I did, an angel was there to lift me up. It was a miracle.”

She’d already told him about the priest who’d literally picked her up when she stumbled into his church somewhere in San Francisco. She’d told him she was dying and, collapsing in front of the confessional, had said she just wanted someone to give her the last rites. The priest, who ministered to addicts every day of his life, was having none of it. He not only got her into a rehab facility within a day, he was there for her every step of the way—not just in treatment but every day thereafter. And through him, Sam had discovered religion. And, she said, meaning to her life for the very first time.

Ry had never been big on churchgoing, but for Sam it had obviously worked.

“So, you enjoy your volunteer work at the homeless mission? And at Narcotics Anonymous?”

Sam nodded eagerly. “Helping people like me—well, like I used to be—there’s just nothing better than that. Oh, and hey, I got my two-year recovery medallion a couple of weeks ago.” She reached down into her bag and pulled out what looked like a big coin, handing it to him.

The black and gold medallion had the Roman numeral two stamped in the middle of a triangle. “Two years. That’s awesome, Sam. I’m really proud of you.”

Ry was still having a hard time believing his little stepsister had not only gotten herself clean, she’d somehow tracked him down in Maine and come all the way across the country to see him. Hardly anyone knew where he’d gone after New York, so he gave her full marks for finding him in little Brides Bay.

“Hey, how about a tour of your estate, big brother? The view out those windows is just spectacular. I’m wickedly curious as to how you ended up here in End-of-the-World, Maine.”

Ry smiled as they got up. “A friend showed me this property when it came up for sale. It had a vibe that felt right…at least it did at the time.”

Sam and Stanley followed him out the door and onto the patio. “From the sound of that, it seems like the attraction might be wearing off a little?”

“Maybe.” He cut across the lawn and stepped almost to the edge of the bluffs.

Sam pulled up beside him and they gazed across the beautiful bay toward Spy Hill. “Wow, what a sweet view. I wouldn’t mind waking up to that every morning.”

They stood there for a few minutes taking in the scene. It was a gorgeous late afternoon, and the gently sparkling water was dotted with several sailboats as well as a lone lobster boat heading back to the marina. Ry had to admit he’d really miss the peaceful view if he moved away.

With a small sigh, Sam tugged at his elbow until he turned to face her. “Ry, it’s taken me awhile to get up the nerve to say what I’m going to tell you now. But it’s something I just have to do.” Her mouth was tight and her lips were thin.

“Say what, Sammy?”

“More than anything, I wanted to find you so I could tell you how I’m sorry I am that I’ve been such a horrible sister. I was so wrong to treat you the way I did.”

Ry shook his head. “You had a disease. It was the drugs, not you.”

“Yes, but I’m talking about how awful I was to you before you left home. We were all rotten to you. It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it now.”

Yeah, she’d been a brat, but nothing like the pain in the ass her mother had been. That woman had been the bitch from hell to him—second only to his father in the horror department. “You were just a kid then, Sam. You shouldn’t even think about those days anymore. Let them go.”

That’s what Ry tried to do every day.

“But I was such a little shit to you, and…” She stopped as she started to tear up.

Ry put his arm around her shoulders. The ache in his heart seemed to expand and take her in too. “I told you it’s okay. And hey, you and your mother couldn’t even come close to Dad for being a complete asshole.”

“That damn dickhead,” Sam said bitterly.

The pain underlying those words was real and stark, and it brought back a million memories for him, none of them good. But it brought an element of surprise too.

“And here I always thought the old man treated you with velvet gloves, at least compared to me,” he said. “Maybe I was wrong about that.”

“Not totally.” Sam pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. “You always got it worse than I did, by far. But, if it’s any consolation, those velvet gloves came off for good once you moved out. From then on, it was bare knuckles all the way, man.”

A chill washed through him. He turned her to face him. “Jesus, Sam, I thought he stopped. I mean, after…”

“I’m sure neither of us will forget how you slugged him the day after you came back from Canada. Yeah, he stopped after that, but only for as long as it took you to leave again. And Mom didn’t do a damn thing. Never,” she said, her voice thick. “I was just an annoying problem for those two to live with until they could finally get rid of me. All your father cared about was you, and all my mother cared about was him.”

“My father cared about me? Now there’s a hell of a news flash,” he said drily. “Are you sure you’re not still on drugs?”

Sam let out a watery laugh. “Okay, I take that back. What I meant was that all he cared about was your career. About all the glory you’d bring him when you made it to the pros. And the money too, of course. That had plenty to do with it.”

“I’ve never given him money, Sam. Not after everything…”

“Oh, yeah, I know. He and Mom used to bitch about that all the time. I can’t tell you how awesome it is that you didn’t reward them for being such assholes.” Sam’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “It drove them out of their minds to see you making so much money and not doling it out to them. And then when you paid for my stints in rehab, I’m sure it totally fried their asses.”

“Man, we sure put the D into dysfunctional, didn’t we? When was the last time you saw your mother?”

Sam shrugged. “I can’t remember exactly. Not since I saw you the last time—I’m sure of that. And I don’t want to see her anytime soon either. Father Christopher says I need to find forgiveness in my heart for those two, but after what they did to us—you and me—I…I just don’t…” She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue.

“Sam, if it was that bad after I left, why didn’t you—”

Ry stopped himself. Child abuse victims rarely blew the whistle on an abusive parent, especially where the other parent was complicit.

“Forget it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just sorry I wasn’t there longer. Sorry I didn’t make sure I found out what was really going on with you.”

He’d always believed his father had treated his stepdaughter better—a hell of a lot better—than he’d ever treated his son. Ry guessed he’d been too wrapped up with hockey and his own sorry ass to see the truth.

“You were smart to get away as soon as you could. And you had no reason to look out for me anymore, especially since everybody at home had treated you like dirt. I was…” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “I was so jealous. You were the big hero. You were getting to leave home to have an exciting life and make a lot of money, while I was never going to amount to anything.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I was just so focused—”

She waved away his apology. “Like I said, it’s me who needed to apologize. You saw a chance to get out and you took it. You had to, and I knew that. And I needed to come here and say that to you. I need to make things right, Ry. I need to properly thank you for the incredible amount of help you gave me all those years when I was sick.”

He gave her a fierce hug. “Thanks, Sammy. I was glad to do it. It’s awesome to see you doing so great now. It feels like a miracle that we both made it through.”

“It is a miracle, Ry. God’s grace.”

He wouldn’t go that far, but he wouldn’t diss her beliefs. Clearly, a little faith could go a long way.

Man, his world had been turned on its head in the space of an afternoon. While that seemed to be happening a lot lately, at least this upheaval felt good. Like an unexpected gift.

“I can hardly believe it,” he said with a ghost of a laugh. “I do have family after all.”

“Damn right you do, big brother.” She grinned through tears. “But enough of the mopey stuff. I’m starving. How about buying your little sister a beer and a burger? We can talk some more while we chow down.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Perfect, because you sure don’t want to eat my cooking. There’s a pub in town that has decent food in a small town Maine atmosphere. It’s a big hangout for lobstermen.”

Samantha’s eyes lit up. “Presumably they serve lobster there?”

“Everywhere here serves lobster, even the fast food joints.” He pointed out the window toward the middle of Brides Bay. “In fact, your future dinner was probably minding his business on the bottom of the bay this morning, but tonight he’ll be on your plate.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, that’s kind of gross, but I’ll still happily eat it. You know, I think I could love Brides Bay. You’ve got a super house, a perfect view, and apparently tons of lobsters. You’re one lucky dude, my brother. I’m so happy for you.”

Huh.

Sam’s take on his situation knocked him upside the head a bit. Yeah, he was pretty damn lucky, all things considered. And right now he was thankful for the young woman who’d wanted her brother back and had worked up the courage to do something about it.

He wondered if he too had that kind of courage.