I walked through the house with the shoebox under my arm. Without him, it was no longer the house I grew up in. It was just a massive, cavernous building with lots of rooms and a double staircase that sat like a giant zipper to bring the two wings of the house together. Sheffield was sitting at the dining room table, finishing up paperwork and waiting for me to bring down the list of things I wanted.

He looked up over his narrow eyeglasses. "You can't be finished already? Don't forget your dad's study. There are a few sculptures in there that are worth a hundred thousand each. That one of George Washington—"

I held up the shoebox of old pictures. "I've got what I need. Everything else can be auctioned off for the cancer charity."

His double chins warbled as his mouth dropped open. "That's a shoebox."

"Yes and it's filled with faded old pictures of my dad and his parents, my grandparents. This is all I need. I've got someplace to be, if you could lock up."

He pushed up from his chair and followed me to the entryway. "Nash, there are pictures in this house that are worth more than most people make in a lifetime."

I stopped and looked at him. "And I already have more than I can spend in my lifetime. Please, James." I tapped the box. "This is all I want. Call me if you need anything else." I headed down the steps and walked to the car.

It had been two weeks since Shay walked out of my life, and I'd thought of little else. She'd fled in her house on wheels and she'd left no address. And, in my usual egocentric state of mind , I'd never asked if she had a phone. I had no way to contact her. For the first few days, I wandered the house, convinced that it was for the best. She knew where I lived but, she never returned. She was obviously not missing me at all. And I was the last thing she needed in her life. But if nothing else, I needed to pay her money. She'd left with nothing, and she'd quit her job to help me. I worried she was still living in her shitty car. The streak of jealousy I couldn't contain when it came to Shay had given me a clue about where I might find her.

I hopped in the car and headed toward the valley.

Traffic had given me time to gather my thoughts and words in case I was lucky enough to find Shay at the assisted living home. But after an hour of a brake light symphony, I had nothing. My feelings for Shay were still so strong, I couldn't think straight enough to put them in any reasonable order.

I pulled up to the parking lot. I'd left my Ferrari and taken the jeep I bought myself. Driving the Ferrari was impractical, and I'd started to hate the attention. I scanned the lot and was thoroughly disappointed not to see Shay's car. At the same time, I was relieved. I wasn't sure I was ready to see her or even talk to her. Then there was the distinct possibility that she'd run or tell me to go away when she saw me.

She had visited her grandmother every other day, so there was a fifty-fifty chance I'd shown up on the wrong day. I wondered if there was a visitor's log in the reception area. It seemed likely. I climbed out of the car. Dark clouds had been hovering all morning, and it seemed they'd be dropping rain soon enough. It would be the first storm of the season.

The pathway to the entrance was lined with hanging pots of flowers and a small fountain gurgled just right of the sliding doors. It was a nice facility. I had no doubt it cost Shay a lot of money to keep her grandmother in the home.

A small table with a large ledger sat off to the side of the front lobby. The woman behind the counter height desk lifted her face from her computer. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I was going to sign the guest book."

"That's fine. Who are you here to see?" she asked, catching me fully off guard.

I walked to the counter. "Well, that's where you could help me out. This is my first visit here."

"Yes, I figured that." The woman took off her glasses, apparently to get a better look at me. "I've never seen you before."

"Right. I'm here for a friend, actually. Her grandmother lives here. My friend's name is Shay Starling."

Her brows arched up at the name. "Right. What did you say your name was?" She stood quickly from her chair.

"Nash Archer. Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Just a moment." She scurried into the back office. Seconds later another woman appeared in a gray pencil skirt and a starched white blouse.

"Mr. Archer?" she asked.

"Yes. As I told the other woman, I'm just here looking for a friend—"

"Yes, Shay Starling. Margaret's granddaughter."

"Right. Has she been here recently?"

"Actually, we haven't seen her in two weeks, and we're hoping you might know how we could contact her. I'm afraid she's got an overdue bill. If I don't hear from her by next week, I'll have to call social services to move her grandmother to a state facility."

This was my fault. I'd screwed up Shay's entire life. She'd quit her job and now she was behind on her bills. She'd left my house without a cent, but at least I would be able to pay her some of what I owed. I pulled out my wallet.

"How much is she behind?"

The woman's eyes lit up when she saw my wallet. "Eight thousand. That includes nurse visits, food,—"

"Work up an invoice for a year." I pulled my card out.

My request had silenced both women. "I don't think you understand, Mr. Archer. Eight thousand is the cost for one month. It's a highly regarded facility, and we offer premium care."

"I'm not questioning that. I just need you to write up an invoice. I'd like to pay for a year in advance."

"I see." She cleared her throat, and cast a secretive look at her coworker that was anything but secretive. Minutes later, the woman returned with a bill for a hundred and three thousand dollars. I paid it and had her make me a copy, giving her the original to hand to Shay when she returned. If nothing else, at least I was able to repay her for part of the contract.