“I need to take this call, Tommy,” Frank said, sliding the last pancake onto a plate. “Start without me.” He stepped onto the back veranda and took a deep breath. “Hi, Marcus.”
“They’re asking questions, Frank.” His old friend’s voice was tight with worry. “A reporter fromThe Timesshowed up at the firm yesterday. They’re digging into everything surrounding the court case with Sterling Industries.”
Frank’s fingers gripped the porch railing. “It won’t do them any good. The documents are sealed, and no one is allowed to say anything.”
“For now. But they’re asking about a lot more than the case. They’re asking about you. Where you went, why you left. Someone mentioned your grandson.”
The morning air suddenly felt too thin. Through the kitchen window, Frank watched Tommy drowning his pancakes insyrup, safe in his book bubble and small-town routines. “What exactly did they ask about Tommy?”
“Nothing specific, Frank. But the reporters had to get their information from somewhere and they’re not going to stop. The trial date’s getting closer, and Sterling’s lawyers are desperate. If they can discredit you before you testify?—”
“I’m not testifying. That was the deal.”
“But what you know about the contracts, about what Sterling was really doing with that technology, could?—”
“I’m sorry, Marcus. I have to go.” Frank ended the call, his hand shaking as he slipped the phone into his pocket.
When he returned to the kitchen, Tommy stared at him with that too-perceptive look he’d inherited from his mom and grandma. “Is everything okay, Grandpa?”
“Just work stuff.” Frank forced a smile. “How are the pancakes?”
“They’re yummy.” Tommy hesitated. “Do you think Isabel likes pancakes?”
Frank had been trying not to think about Isabel, about how she listened to Tommy, and how her eyes crinkled when she smiled. But most importantly, how much harder it would be to leave Sapphire Bay if he let himself care about her.
“I’m sure she does, buddy.” He sat down, reaching for the coffeepot with a steadier hand. “Why do you ask?”
“Maybe we could invite her over some time? She’s going to own the bookstore, and she knows lots of things about writing.” Tommy picked up his orange juice. “And she makes you smile.”
Frank’s chest tightened. “Tommy?—”
“I’m going to get something from the attic,” Tommy announced suddenly. “For show and tell. Can I look through Mom’s old boxes?”
“Sure, just be careful up there.” Frank watched his grandson bound up the stairs. For some reason, Isabel had made a bigimpression on Tommy. It wasn’t like they didn’t talk to other people. And Frank even smiled once in a while, but maybe not enough.
He was clearing the dishes when Tommy’s voice carried down the stairs. “Grandpa? Why do we have some old Seattle newspapers in the attic?”
Frank took the stairs two at a time. Tommy sat cross-legged on the attic floor, surrounded by Sarah’s old high school yearbooks, debate team trophies, and the newspapers he thought he’d destroyed years ago.
The first headline blazed up at him. ‘Tech Giant Sterling Industries Faces Federal Investigation.’ The second story had changed their lives forever. ‘Whistleblower Allegations Rock the Seattle Business Community.’
“That happened a long time ago,” Frank said carefully, reaching for the newspapers. “From before we moved here.”
“But it has your picture.” Tommy pointed to a grainy photograph of Frank leaving the federal courthouse. “Did you do something wrong? Is that why we had to?—”
“Time for school,” Frank cut in. “You don’t want to be late.”
Tommy’s face fell slightly, but he didn’t argue. As Frank followed him down the stairs, he felt the familiar ache of guilt. Tommy deserved answers, deserved a normal life where he could invite friends over without worrying about saying the wrong thing.
But until the court case was over, they had to avoid anything related to Sterling Industries.
Frank’s phone buzzed again. Another Seattle number. He declined the call, but the message was clear—his carefully constructed peace was starting to crack.
Later, after dropping Tommy at school, Frank drove to the lake. It was the memories of past vacations that made him think Sapphire Bay might be a good place to heal. To hide.
But you couldn’t hide forever. Not when your grandson was falling in love with a town, making friends, and putting down roots. Not when a woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile made you remember what it felt like to want something more than safety.
His phone buzzed. This time it was a text from Marcus:
