CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frank’s house in Upper Nyack, New York, looks very much like the house from the Julia Roberts movie Stepmom in its magnificence. The place is right on the Hudson River on a nice lot with about five or six acres. It’s not hard to imagine kids sitting around the yard, maybe a barbecue going, even a softball game.
Logan is walking along the perimeter doing whatever it is men do when they’re checking out property. I turn back to the house. Dean explained that Frank’s house was bought as an investment—a rental property. Why this house? Was it the type of home he and Maggie dreamed of owning? I step up onto the porch just as Logan comes up beside me.
“Are you ready to go inside?”
I had gotten the keys from Dean after confirming that the house is currently unoccupied. I nod and Logan unlocks the door and holds it open for me. The place is completely empty, but still charming with walnut floors and walls that are painted in a mossy green with creamy-white trim work.
“It’s been kept in really great shape, most of the bones have been updated lately.” Logan makes this observation but I’m not really listening because I can see it, in my head—Dupree House. Teenagers sitting at the bar in the kitchen doing homework, relaxing in the living room between classes or at the end of the day, holing up in the library reading. But beyond seeing that, I can see Frank and Maggie, building a life here. Having all of their children brought home from the hospital to this house, having all the major moments in a life here, surrounded by heart and home.
“Saffron?”
“He missed out on so much.”
“Frank?”
“Did he see himself in a home like this with Maggie? If he had, and knowing Frank, he had, he never heard the sound of his children’s feet running down those stairs on Christmas morning. He didn’t play hide-and-seek with them in that yard or celebrate birthdays in the kitchen. He chose to not live life after he lost her. He chose to exist, to survive, but not to live.”
“He did, though, Saffron. He did all of that with you.”
“But I wasn’t his child.”
“Family is more than blood. He chose to live for you. He loved you so much that he pulled himself from his heartache for you.”
“I changed my last name to Dupree.” I realize I’ve blurted that out when Logan lifts a brow at me. “Dean drew up the papers. It was made official a few days ago.”
“Like I said, family is more than blood. Frank would have liked that, very much. When we get back, we can start on the plans for the Dupree House.” There was a note of reverence in his tone.
“We?”
“Was there ever a question?”
Love wraps around me and squeezes. “No.”
“Broderick and Dante are good resources, working the legal parts, and before you say anything, they will definitely want to help.”
“Okay, once we get back we get the ball rolling.”
We leave Frank’s house in the rental car Logan arranged for us when we arrived earlier and head off to my big surprise. “Since the day has arrived, are you going to tell me?”
“And spoil the surprise now that it’s so close? No way.”
Turning my head to stare out the window, I mutter, “You sure know how to keep a secret.”
“Hm? I didn’t quite make that out.”
Gloating, I am certain there’s gloating in his tone, and despite myself my lips curve up. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How have you managed to keep Logan and David separate?”
The tensing of his shoulders is a clear indication that the subject is not a pleasant one for him. “Never mind. We don’t have to talk about it.”
He takes my hand in his. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it with you.”
Staring at his face, I wonder if there will ever come a day when I get used to the fact that this man is mine. I kind of hope not. Though his attention is back on the road, I still feel his focus on me.
“It’s a juggling act. The shows I attend are only for David’s work. I don’t make appearances as Logan so no one can place a face with a name. No one’s interested in Logan, he’s just another painter. He doesn’t have David’s checkered past, a sordid past that makes him news to those who hunger for gossip.”
“David’s fans are coming to Harrington. Eventually they’re going to put two and two together, that it’s not David living there but Logan.”
“Maybe, but from my experience, the ones hungry for the story are really only interested in the pictures. The stories they make up are whatever will help those pictures sell papers. The person I am is of little consequence to them.”
“Don’t you hate it?”
“Yeah, but I’ve learned to deal. My sculptures are viewed around the world. I have pieces in museums, private collections, there’s even a sculpture in the White House. To have reached that level of success in a field I love, I can endure the bad that comes with the good.”
“I’m sensing a but.”
He glances at me. “I like that you know me well enough to sense the but. But yes, sometimes that bad goes beyond what’s tolerable.”
“Meaning?” And then I answer my own question. “You’ve had crazy fans.”
“A few.”
“Like stalker-crazy fans?”
“Yes.”
Can’t help the tingle of fear that raises the hair on my arms. Could he be worried about a stalker-crazy fan? “How bad?”
“One broke into my house once, slashed some things, took some others. The police arrested her down the street attacking some poor tabloid grunt who got her picture leaving my house. She wasn’t after the picture to save herself, she wanted the picture for her collection.”
“Creepy.”
“And dangerous. Any attention that seems even slightly off, I take very seriously.”
I have the sense there’s more he wants to say, but he decides against it and changes the subject and since the old subject was disturbing, I’m just fine with that. But a kernel of fear has rooted firmly in my gut.
We’re just passing Boston. The leaves on the trees lining the road are all changing colors, a palette of gold, burgundy, and rust. A sign with mile markings for the upcoming towns comes into view and it is then that I know the surprise. I have never in my life had the need to cry because of intense happiness, but I am feeling the need now. Emotion tightens my throat. “You’re taking me to Salem.”
“A family vacation.” He smiles at me with an almost uncharacteristic warmth. “I’m not your family, but I would like to be.”
The words can’t be stopped, rushing up my throat and out of my mouth because every cell of my being is screaming them. “I love you.”
He touches my cheek, wiping the tear away with his thumb. He doesn’t say it back, not with words, but I feel it all the same.
Logan got us a room in the Coach House Inn—a hand-carved mahogany bed, a little sitting area with wingback chairs, and a fireplace combine to send me into movie-quality fantasies. Logan sets our bags near the closet before reaching for a black duffel that he drops on the bed and opens.
I try to reach into his bag and he actually slaps my hand away.
“Patience, Saffron.” This new boyishness about him absolutely charms me. He glances over and grins before he starts unloading the bag. “We have popcorn, I made sure that there was a microwave in the room, Junior Mints, Sour Patch Kids, M&M’s, soda, and wine.”
“Logan . . .”
“I’m not done. As I’ve been instructed, proper movie attire is pajamas. Unfortunately, I own none.”
This I know because the man sleeps in the nude and I have only two words to say about that.
Hell. Yeah.
He then lifts out a pair of black flannel pajama pants from his bag. “It’s the best I could do.”
I’ve always heard guys say it’s more of a turn-on to have a woman scantily clad than completely bare because the imagining makes all the difference. “That should do,” I say with sudden hoarseness. Logan in those, knowing what I know is hiding under them . . . Hell. Yeah.
He puts the candy and drinks on the table in the sitting area before he folds his pajamas and lays them at the base of the bed; I feel a pang of sadness watching him. He turns to me and clearly realizes that something has distressed me, so he walks over and brushes his hand down my cheek.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It’s not really fair, is it?”
“What’s not fair?”
“When people see you they see this.” My fingers brush along his jaw. “And don’t get me wrong, this is exceptional, but there’s so much more to you than a pretty face, but those groupies of David’s that won’t give you any peace, they only see this.”
“That doesn’t bother me. I actually prefer it. You see the man under the celebrity and you’re the only one that matters.”
We decide to start our adventures in Salem by riding mopeds through town. There’s a place that rents them right near our inn. Reaper is vacationing at Uncle Tommy’s, who will no doubt spoil him, but I do miss him.
I can’t believe Logan not only remembered my story about wishing for a family vacation, but he actually planned one. Walking through graveyards, ghost tours, and haunted houses is so not his thing and yet he’s going to do them with me. I’m not really sure what I did in my life that my karma landed me a man like Logan, but I thank the stars every night for him.
Logan is filling out the paperwork for our mopeds and I’m scoping out the shops because I’ve found I’m a bit of a souvenir junkie. It’s a beautiful autumn day, the air crisp and cool. The tranquility is interrupted when two little girls just down the street from me get their ice cream cones knocked out of their hands by a boy who is as frightening as Scut Farkus from A Christmas Story. The cones sail through the air and crash into a messy blob on the sidewalk. Even from my distance, I can see the tears filling the girls’ eyes. Their parents appear, taking the girls by the hand, leading them away from the boy and to more ice cream.
A dog barks, which captures the demon’s attention and he walks over to the husky, who’s leashed to a bench, and starts antagonizing the poor animal. Thinking of someone doing that to Reaper infuriates me. We all know how this will end. The dog will eventually feel so threatened that he will attack to protect himself, and will end up being put down. That is exactly where the little drama before me is leading.
As I stand there, I’m wondering where his mother is and why the hell she isn’t paying any attention to her kid. He’s captured the attention of pretty much everyone on the street except his own damn mother. I scan the crowd and my eyes land on a woman with the same orange-red hair, flirting like a schoolgirl with Logan; more than likely she’s a David groupie. He’s being nice about it but the back-off vibe is definitely clear. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
A few people seem to have started searching out the owner of the dog. I notice bikers parked across the street. Looking at the leather-clad bodies, the chains, the tattoos, and the hair, I get the glimmer of a wickedly childish plan. To be a part of perhaps the only time in his life where a little jerk like this will have the shit scared out of him.
As I cross the street toward the bikers, their attentions shift from the boy to me. A few even give me a very blatant perusal. My momentum slows with that hard, mean-looking attention. I stop in front of the man who appears to be the leader of the group and, though he isn’t ugly, or as old as I expected, he is scowling. And then I realize he’s scowling at me, so I immediately extend my hand. “Hi. I’m Saffron.”
“Dirk.”
“This is kind of out of the blue, but I noticed you were watching that future felon across the street.”
“Yeah, kid needs a good kick in the ass.”
“I agree. I would hate to see any harm come to that dog because of that little monster, so I had a thought.”
“I’m listening.”
After I share my plan, he throws his blond mane back and howls with laughter. He climbs off his bike. “Sounds like fun, count us in.”
I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am.
Dirk nods at the little bastard across the street. “Any idea where his mom is?”
“Yeah. She’s in the shop trying to dry hump my boyfriend.”
This gets more laughter from several of the other bikers. “So we good?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
Crossing the street, I head for the devil’s spawn. I don’t have siblings, but, as I’ve already noted, I have watched more than my fair share of movies and television. It seems like kids at his age react to being asked to stop something in one of only a few ways. I’m banking that he’s going to go with the most obvious reply. Stopping just in front of him, I slip my hands into my pockets before I attempt my best John Wayne impersonation. “I think you best leave that dog alone, kid.”
A chill goes through me at the coldness in his eyes. He curls his lips and practically spits his reply. “Make me.”
Bingo. I take a step closer. “Okay.”
Shock flashes across his face, which turns to fear at the sound of shit-kicking boots thundering behind me. A wall of leather and muscle is starting across the street toward us. Beelzebub’s eyes have widened with fear and his jaw has dropped nearly to the ground.
“My friends are animal lovers. If I were you, I’d run.”
And just like that the kid takes off down the street, leaving a blazing trail in his wake. Applause breaks out. All the clapping and cheering finally stirs the mother from her lascivious plans for Logan and she hurries down the street after her son. Logan joins me just as Dirk and his gang step up on the curb.
One of the old ladies behind Dirk purrs, “Very, very nice.”
She’s eying Logan even though she’s standing with a man who looks very much like the mythical Thor: big and tall with piercing blue eyes that startle a “Likewise” right out of me.
This earns me a hiss from the old lady and a grin and a wink from Thor.
“Dirk, this is Logan.”
“Nice to meet you,” Logan offers as he shakes Dirk’s hand. “I guess I missed all the fun.”
“Yeah, man, but you were too busy with that woman trying to get you to impregnate her.”
A visible shudder goes through Logan as he makes an ick face. “She had nails like talons.”
“Nasty business that. We’re having a clambake later right on the beach. Why don’t you two come?”
Logan glances at me before he says, “We’d like that.”
And we did. We sat around a bonfire, ate clams, drank beer, and then later the guitars came out and Logan drew me up from our spot on the rocks so we could dance under the moon, joined by several of the other couples. Before we left, we gave Dirk our address in Harrington and told him and his crew to stop by whenever they were in the area.
The following morning, Logan and I set off for the beach for the annual sand sculpture competition. I wonder why Chastity never thought to do a sand sculpture competition. Maybe I should put that in the suggestion box, anonymously, of course. When we arrive the contest is well under way and most of the competitors have a fairly discernible sculpture, all but one. The kid is by himself and, though he’s working very hard, there’s no way he’s going to be able to pull it off on his own. He’s young too, maybe eight or nine.
“I wonder where his parents are?” I say this to myself because Logan is no longer at my side, he’s approaching the boy. He stops to chat with him for a few minutes and then he moves to the judges’ table. After a moment, he’s given a number to pin on his shirt before he returns to the boy. It’s adorable watching as Logan listens to his directions before he starts sculpting.
It’s completely an unfair advantage having a master sculptor competing, but watching Logan turn sand and water into a dragon is incredible. The detail is so fine that it looks as if at any moment the dragon will either stand up and fly off or open his mouth and scorch us all with his fire breath.
Logan is so focused, though, that he doesn’t notice the crowd forming around him, but he does stop every now and again and ask the boy for direction to make sure that what he’s creating is what the boy wants. At this point, the boy is so in awe that he can only watch with his little mouth hanging open. Two hours later, the most incredible dragon I’ve ever seen stands before the crowd, but there are just enough childlike components to show that it wasn’t all done by Logan. The judges do their thing and some kids that made a car out of sand win first place, but the boy doesn’t seem to care as he looks in wonder at his dragon.
When Logan starts back up the beach to me, he’s stopped and asked for autographs and photos since people now recognize who he is. He handles the requests with quiet courtesy. Some time later he drops down on the sand next to me and yanks me down so I’m lying flat on my back before he rests his head on my stomach.
“I need a nap.”
“I think you’ve earned one. I love your dragon.”
He eyes me through his lashes. “It’s pretty fucking cool, isn’t it? The kid was okay that it wasn’t going to get judged, he just wanted a wicked dragon. His words.”
Before he settles in for his nap, a woman appears, her head blocking out the sun. Unlike the others who waited a bit of a distance from Logan, this chick moves right up into our personal space as if she has every right to be there.
“You’re David Cambre.”
Logan sits up, game to give her an autograph. In the next minute she’s got her phone out taking our pictures. I feel like I’m in a modeling shoot. Logan jumps to his feet, the girl steps back but she’s still clicking away. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me up against his side, turning me into his chest so the camera doesn’t get my face and moves us away from her at a ground-eating pace.
“Wait until I post these. My friends aren’t going to believe it. Is that your girlfriend? What’s her name?” The chick screams down the beach as she follows after us. What the fuck? “C’mon, what’s her name?”
I can feel every muscle in his body go hard. He’s about to lay into the girl, but she’s saved by one of her friends, who calls her back. At least someone in her company recognizes that she’s acting like an ass.
Her parting words: “Thanks for the pictures, sexy.”
It’s my turn to lay into her, my body is halfway around, but Logan’s hold on me turns to steel. “Let it go, Saffron.”
“Sexy, I’ll give her sexy when I shove my size seven up her ass.” I scream the last part.
Logan’s shoulders are shaking with his laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’d actually like to see that.”
“I’d ruin my shoes.” Now he’s howling with laughter. The sight of him with his head tilted back is magnificent and I am not the only one to think so; there is definite envy in some of the ladies we pass.
“I’m sorry, Saffron.”
“Annoying and rude, ignorant and infuriating, but not a big deal.”
“It’s a fucking invasion of privacy.”
He’s not wrong, but getting upset over some stupid bimbo who doesn’t have the sense God gave a mule is pointless. My arms tighten around his waist. “Let’s go back to the room and fool around.”
“Good plan.”
“So is that what a stalker fan is like?”
“No, she was just a stupid kid, ignorant but harmless.”
That was harmless? Just how far would these stalker fans go to get to him? That question is so disturbing I immediately force it from my head. Now is not the time.
“I don’t want your first vacation ruined by shit like that.”
“Won’t ruin it for me, so don’t let it ruin it for you. Deal?”
It takes him a beat longer to agree but he does, holding me closer and pressing a kiss on my head to seal it. “Deal.”
Yep, I am a very lucky lady.
Looking up at the ceiling, I search for guidance and patience before turning my attention back to the man currently lounging on the bed. I realize he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he’s being extremely difficult in accepting that he’s wrong: totally and completely wrong.
“As I’ve explained, Logan, an Alien will never defeat a Predator in a fair fight.”
“I disagree. We’re talking acid for blood, Saffron, that’s a pretty significant weapon against any foe. The Predators aren’t immune to it.”
“Yes, this is true, but the Predator is a species born and bred for battle much like the Spartans. The Aliens are just mutant serpents.”
“I’m sorry, but I agree with Tommy on this. The Aliens are serious badasses.”
“You don’t even believe in aliens.”
He shifts so he can rest his head on his hand as a grin turns up his mouth on the one side. “I do, now.”
We’ve watched Alien vs. Predator, but I don’t know how anyone can watch that movie and take from it that the Aliens are cooler than the Predators. I mean, there’s no competition. It’s like comparing Brad Pitt to one of the dudes from The Big Bang Theory. I give up. Trying to make Logan see the error in his thinking is just more than I can handle, especially when he’s lying there with that truly spectacular chest exposed for my viewing pleasure.
Crawling over to him, I straddle his lap as I run my hands down his chest. He’s no longer thinking about Aliens or Predators either.
“There’s a Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. I think we need to check that out.”
He rolls to shift our positions and grins down at me. “We’ll check it out after.”
And then his mouth takes mine. My hands move down that chest, loving the way his muscles respond to my touch. I barely have breath to say, “Too many clothes.”
He’s off me and pulling that flannel down his legs in a flash and I don’t waste any time yanking off my nightgown and slipping my panties off, tossing them on the floor. He grabs me and rolls so I’m straddling him again and I take him in my hand and center him right where he needs to be.
The frenzied rush turns to lazy deliberateness when I slowly sink down onto him. His hold on my thighs is painful as his hips move against mine. My hands come to rest on either side of his head as I move, finding that right spot that makes my toes curl. Logan’s tongue touches my nipple before he pulls it into his mouth. Moving, I guide the neglected breast to his mouth and he sucks on it hard. I feel the orgasm start just as Logan slips his hand between our bodies and hits that spot that sends me over.
“Come with me,” tumbles from my mouth and he does, seconds later.
Logan has a surprise for me and he is so excited that he’s got me really excited, not that anything can top the night we shared. Note to self: get a Jacuzzi tub. And then we reach our destination and I look over at him like he has completely lost his mind.
“I’m not sure this is such a great idea,” I say.
“It’s fantastic, trust me.”
“Trust isn’t the issue here but that”—I point in front of me—“that is.”
“You’ll love it, it will give you a whole new outlook.” He reaches for my hand and starts toward the docks.
“I like my current outlook,” I mutter, but he doesn’t hear me since he’s too busy negotiating with the captain. Twenty minutes later we are heading out into the great wide open on a seventy-foot sport fisherman to game the almighty swordfish.
I glance over at Logan, who’s chatting up the guy next to him: an old weathered-looking fella with gnarly hands and a bent back—kind of the quintessential old man of the sea. I can hear the stories from where I’m standing. I question the stated lengths of the fish he’s claiming to have caught, but there is no mistaking his clear love of fishing. There is an upside: this particular charter will not be hauling in the fish we catch. I detest swordfish, but only when they’ve been cut into steaks and grilled. The actual fish I have no quarrel with, and so I am happy to know that we will not be harming them.
Once the boat gets out to where we’ll be trolling, Logan walks me to the stern where fishing chairs are arranged in a line with huge rods and reels attached to each. A vision of Jaws plays in my head. That fishing trip did not end well. I look to the horizon, but there is nothing but ocean as far as the eyes can see. A wave of nervousness washes over me. What if we run into Jaws out here or Moby Dick or, worse yet, an enormous squid? Glancing around the deck, I study those around us because we are all walking and talking chum for any sea monster waiting to devour us. How are we preparing to do battle to save our very lives? We’re strapping ourselves into chairs and serving ourselves up like a smorgasbord. Logan’s watching me and not even attempting to hide his humor.
“You never saw Jaws, did you?”
He’s laughing at me now so his answer is barely audible. “No.”
I look at the old fisherman Logan was talking to earlier as he straps himself into his chair, but he’s looking at me with merriment in his old eyes. I nod at him. “Have you seen Jaws?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you’re assuming the role of Quint with no obvious discomfort.”
His laugh sounds more like a cackle before he reaches for his fishing rod.
I sit in my sacrificial chair and glance down at my faded jeans and sweater. “I really don’t want to spend the ever after in this outfit, Logan.”
“Saffron, what is going on in that head of yours?”
“You don’t want to know. Allow me to worry about all of our mortal—key word being mortal—souls.” I reach for his arm and squeeze. “Don’t worry, if it comes to it I’ll do us both.”
“What?”
I wave his question off. “Never mind, your lack of movie knowledge is shocking,” I say, though I pause to think that it’s good for me since he doesn’t realize that most of what I say comes directly from movies. “I’m ready, strap me in.”
Well, at least if I find myself in the stomach of a sea monster today, it’s comforting to know that Logan will be right there with me.
Logan hunches down in front of me with his hands resting on my thighs. “You really need to tell me everything that is going on in your head, because you have the oddest expression on your face.”
Reaching for his hand, I try for a smile. “I was just thinking of you and me together for all eternity in the belly of a sea monster, who even now is slowly rising for the depths below.”
His eyebrow raises and I reach out and touch it. “Is that hard?” I attempt to mimic his look, the arching of the brow that all men seem to master by the tender age of five, but when my one brow goes up, so does the other.
“I was going to offer to get you a beer, but I’m wondering if you didn’t sneak some earlier in the room.”
“Sober, stone-cold sober, I am. That is a condition needing some modification. Just keep the liquor coming, Logan.”
He wraps my face in his hands and presses a hard kiss on my lips. “I love you, you crazy woman.”
“Crazy like a fox,” I call after him, but he’s already disappeared inside the cabin. I turn my attention to the sea as the music from Jaws plays in my head.
Three beers later and no one has caught a blessed thing. And no tentacles have shot out of the water either, so on all fronts we are looking good. Logan and I are sitting on the boat’s edge—no longer strapped in—and that’s when Earl, the old fisherman dude, grabs his line. The water sheets off the struggling fish like glass, the distinct swordlike nose pointing straight up into the air before he twists and turns and dives back into the water.
“Oh my God, did you see that?” I holler.
“A beauty, ten-footer,” Earl says.
“Eleven,” I say. I can’t help the Jaws reference, which isn’t lost on Earl, who cackles again—deep and throaty from obvious years of heavy smoking—but it goes completely over Logan’s head.
The magnificent swordfish jumps again. He is a little closer this time and with another graceful turn of his body, he dives again. To look at calm and collected Earl, you wouldn’t think he had that incredible fish on the end of his line. He expertly reels that baby closer.
Half an hour passes and still man and fish battle for supremacy and then Earl looks up at me. “Want to bring him in?”
“Me?”
Earl hands the rod to Logan as he unstraps. “It’s one thing to watch, another to do.”
Oh, wise Yoda.
I sit down and Earl straps me in before Logan places the rod in the cup. Earl hands me his gloves.
“Don’t try to reel it in. He’ll lead you, just follow.”
The pull on the line, the tension on the rod, and the sight of that magnificent beast gracefully fighting for its life is awesome. I wouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much if we were killing what we caught. Honestly, after putting up such a fight, the fish deserves to live.
Twenty minutes into it my arms and shoulders are killing me, so I can’t even begin to imagine how the fish is feeling what with all that wild jumping. We can’t actually bring it up to the boat since that nose could do serious damage, so the plan is to cut the line. Right before the line’s cut, the fish and I have a moment and I swear it’s almost like two battle-worn fighters acknowledging the skill of the other. And then the line goes slack and he’s free. As soon as he realizes it, he jumps one last time in victory before disappearing into the murky deep. I am awed, moved in a way I have never been before. Unstrapping myself from the chair, I launch myself into Logan’s arms.
“Thank you. You were right. I have a whole new outlook.”
His lips brush over my ear. “Life changing, isn’t it?”
In the car heading home after the best week of my life, I notice we’re not on I-95 as we should be. “Is something wrong?”
“No, but I do have one more surprise for you.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“We’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“Where?”
He spares me a glance. “You’ll see.”
A half an hour later we’re passing a sign for a nursing home and pulling in to its parking lot. I notice the ambulances and wheelchairs by the doors.
“Where are we?”
“My guy located Margaret’s sister. I contacted her, explained who we were, and she was very excited at the idea of meeting.”
A chill, like a wave, moves from my shoulders clear down my body. “She lives here?”
“Yes. Are you mad I didn’t tell you?”
I throw myself across the car, wrapping him into a tight hug. “No.”
“I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want you to be distracted during your first ever family vacation.”
“God, I love you.”
“Good, cause you’re stuck with me.” He kisses me, quick but thorough. “Let’s go. She’s waiting.”
Madeline Ann Phillips is a resident of Briar Hall Nursing Home. She’s ninety, but in very good health, according to the receptionist.
Logan and I are sitting in one of the common rooms: a tasteful room done in earth tones with little groupings of furniture conducive to conversation. A large wide-screen TV hangs from the wall in the distance, but far enough away that its noise won’t take over. Potted ficus trees are scattered about the space, and bookcases, filled with all the current popular fiction from floor to ceiling, line one wall.
A petite woman is wheeled into the room by an orderly, who applies the brakes on her chair before taking his leave. Her hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing light makeup. Is this her sister? Is this what Maggie looked like?
“Hello, I’m Saffron Mills”—my name is officially Dupree now, but I don’t want to confuse her—“and this is Logan MacGowan.”
“Madeline Phillips. I was surprised to receive your call. You knew Frank?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t heard that name in so long. I was sorry to hear about his death. Your young man mentioned you had something to ask me.”
“Yes. I was very close to Frank. He left me his journals. While reading through them, I learned about your sister, Maggie, and how very important she was to him. He seemed to have felt her loss for the rest of his life. Frank was cremated but I still have his ashes at home because I couldn’t figure where I should lay him to rest, but after learning of your sister, I’d like to bury him with her.”
Tears spring into Madeline’s eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Frank meant the world to me—I would love to know more about the woman that captivated his heart. He was something of a father figure to me. Please? I’d love anything you could give me.”
Logan reaches for my hand and I know he’s doing so because he realizes I’m close to tears and he’s offering his silent support.
Madeline is watching us with a slight smile curving her lips, but it fades as she says, “Maggie was so young when she died. I guess I should start from the beginning. We were poor, really very poor, and our dad worked the docks with Frank. That’s how Maggie and Frank met. Dad brought him home for dinner one night and boy did the sparks fly. They were inseparable and it wasn’t just romance; it was like seeing a soul torn in two brought back together again.
“It really was a wonderful thing to watch and I was envious of them and what they had found in each other. Never found it myself. They could sit for hours and just talk, never seeming to run out of things to say. She taught Frank how to relax and laugh and he taught her how to find beauty even in the ugliest of situations.
“They wanted to marry right away, but my dad asked that they wait until she was at least eighteen. So they did, and every time they planned to marry, something would happen to push the date back. It became a little bit of a family joke! But almost four years after they met, the date was set, the rings purchased, and the dress sewn.
“One week before the wedding, Frank and Maggie were out at dinner. The problem with the two of them was that they tended to forget anyone else was around. Maggie wasn’t paying attention to where she was going as they walked home. Frank had stopped, though, to purchase flowers for her at the corner stand. Neither of them saw the out-of-control truck barreling down the street. We lived near the docks and, though it wasn’t a really congested lane, it did see its share of trucks making deliveries. By the time Frank realized what was happening, he was too far away and the truck was too fast.
“He held her broken, lifeless body in his arms for hours until the cops had to pry her away from him. He changed after that, but who could blame him. Then Pearl Harbor happened and he enlisted and just left everything behind. I never saw him again.
“Years later when I was going through Maggie’s things, I realized he hadn’t left everything behind. He had taken a reminder of her. They used to sit for hours in front of an old chess set that Maggie had picked up at the local pawnshop. Frank was always trying to teach her, but she was a terrible student. It made my heart happy to know that he took that piece of her with him.”
Tears spill down my cheeks as Logan presses a tissue into my palm. “I have that chess set now. Frank tried to teach me on it too, but I wasn’t any better a student than Maggie.”
The smile that spreads over Madeline’s face touches my heart with its sad beauty. “Maggie would have liked that.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she adds, “In all of my life I never again saw sparks like I did with Frank and Maggie, but I’m seeing them now. Treasure each other.”
Two days later, after a call to Broderick, we are standing in front of Maggie’s grave as a priest offers a prayer. When it’s time for me to relinquish Frank’s remains for good, I have trouble letting go. I send Frank my own silent prayer.
Thank you for always being there for me, for being my family. I miss you so much and I love you. If only there was a sign to let me know that this is what you want. I hope wherever you are, dearest Frank, that you are happy and that Maggie is at your side.
With great difficulty I hand the urn over to the caretaker and as soon as Frank is placed with Maggie, it starts to snow. My face tilts back to see the gray clouds as my heart sighs. It’s my sign. Frank always loved the snow.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks with a soft tone.
I nod in reply and step into his arms to rest my head on his chest. I am and I think that Frank is now too.