But strategizing his Montana life had never given him the enjoyment and peace he experienced when he thought about Finley.
That was unique to her.
When he tried one night to purposely walk through his future home in his mind, the way he’d done so many times before, he found it had begun to blur. Furious with himself, he spent long minutes building back the details in his imagination. Seeing the place—hisplace. He’d been picturing himself turning in a slow circle in the living room of his dream home when an image intruded—Finley looking at him with humor in her eyes—and the Montana house vanished like smoke carried away by wind.
The day of their failed visit to the library, Finley had requested that an announcement about her search for theBrothersbook run in the library email. The day after that, she’d tacked a piece of paper to the library bulletin board.
She hadn’t heard back from a single person.
A week later, she’d discussed a new tactic with him.
“It could be that my dad didn’t leave a specific clue in the library book.” She sat in her office with a pug named Clarence on her lap and her hair on top of her head. “Maybe the clue in theBrothersbook is like the clue at the train depot. There for all to see, but for me alone to understand. If that’s the case, any copy of the book might do the trick.”
Luke had liked Ed in life. But in death, Ed aggravated him. His old friend had sent Finley to a book that had been sold to someone who could not be found.
Weren’t you smart enough to anticipate, Ed, that the book might not be available at the library eight years after you created this hunt?
Apparently not.
“Or it could be,” Finley continued, “that the decimal number Dad left isn’t actually meant to lead us to theBrothersbook at all.”
If that was true, he’d never make it to Montana.
“I think theBrothersbook is right, though,” she hurried to add. “I really do think that it’s the next clue. So I’m going to order a copy for myself.”
She found the book for sale at a small bookstore in Maine. Apparently they were sending it by boat because it wasn’t supposed to arrive until February sixteenth.
Another person who wouldn’t leave him alone—Blair.
He’d always had a soft spot for 1970 Pontiacs. Considering how low Blair’s car-buying budget must have been, she and Dad had purchased a great car. However, cars were like houses. You’d rather get one that hadn’t been updated at all than one that had been updated badly. Blair and Dad’s repair efforts had screwed things up worse than they’d been before.
The car was stored in a barn-turned-garage owned by a friend of his parents. When Luke holed up there alone, he lost himself in the job in the best possible way. Working on the car demanded his concentration, occupied his hands, and lowered his stress. After every session with the car, he could see his progress. He’d forgotten how much he loved the process of bringing a broken-down car back to life.
Only one thing sucked the enjoyment from the Pontiac—the fact that Blair kept barging in on him. She’d ruin the quiet of the garage by griping about people at school. Lecturing him about how wrong he’d been to abandon their family. Talking big about all the things she was going to do after she had her diploma. Complaining about their parents’ rules. In general, she did her best to undo the contentment her car brought him.
Another person who wouldn’t leave him alone—Ben. Ben came by the Center two afternoons a week to volunteer with the after-school program. Every single time, he stopped by to talk with Luke.
Ben had always been a good guy. The least observant person on the planet would recognize that Ben was a good guy. And Lukecouldn’t bring himself to shut Ben out after the way he’d helped him with Agatha.
Another person who wouldn’t leave him alone? CeCe. Ben’s plump, feisty mother kept showing up at Luke’s apartment with food.
He would’ve pretended not to be home if her food hadn’t been so delicious. If he had one weakness, it was Finley—
Strike that. That’s not how he’d intended to finish that sentence.
If he had one weakness, it was food, and CeCe made some of the best food he’d ever tasted.
The last three times she banged on his door, he’d let her in. Then he’d put up with at least twenty minutes of her bossy conversation. She’d known him when he was a kid and she was a mother to one of the Miracle Five, so she seemed to think she had the right to give him advice he didn’t want and had no intention of taking.
She kept going on and on about the Valentine’s Day party that she and Genevieve’s mother, Caroline, were planning. Caroline would be hosting it at her historic home in one of the oldest neighborhoods in town, and CeCe kept insisting that he had to come.
“I have an idea!” she told him three days before the party. “You can drive over in your truck on Sunday! I love your truck. We’ll reserve space so that you can park it across Caroline’s driveway. I’ll make sure there will be lots of those giant balloons waiting for you. Just put them in the truck bed, okay? That’ll make a great photo op when people come and go.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ve brought you three meals now. You owe me this one little favor.”
“I thought the meals came without strings attached.”
