The old man gazed across the water, and he took the time to study him more closely. His father was nearly ten years older than his mother, putting him in his early seventies. Even though age and sickness had taken their toll, the man was still tall.
Big arms throwing him in the air.Laughter. Joy.
Gus frowned, then blinked the memory away. He searched Porter’s face but didn’t see himself reflected there. But then, he’d always been more like his mother. Gus noticed that his hand trembled, and he took a step forward. “Do you want to sit?”
“If you don’t mind.” Porter Boone slowly nodded, his breath ragged as he attempted a smile. “That might be a good idea. I snuck out of the house, but I might have overestimated things.”
Gus guided Porter back to the deck, where a small table and four chairs sat beneath a bright blue umbrella. The going was slow, Porter shuffling while Gus held him up. It was strange. Being here, incognito, helping a man who, for most of Gus’s life, he’d felt nothing but disgust for. He supposed it was because Porter was so damn pathetic. So less than.
He felt something, and it wasn’t pity. Though, it wasn’t hatred, either.
Gus assisted Porter until he sat and would have left things at that, but the old man pointed to the chair opposite him. “Sit for a bit. I’d like to discuss the cottages.”
“I thought your son was running point on that.”
“He is, but I still would like to discuss the work.” There was some backbone there, a spark of the old man’s former self.
Gus decided he’d humor him, so he sat down and stretched out his long legs, making himself comfortable. “What would you like to know?”
“Timeline,” Porter replied, tugging on his sweater and pulling it tighter. “How long will you be here?”
“I’ve hired a decent crew. I figure we’ll be done by the end of summer.”
“A couple of months, then.”
Gus nodded. “Unless we run into major issues, which I don’t anticipate.”
“You were able to source everything you needed locally? I’ve always been a big supporter of that sort of thing.”
“Yes. The local lumber yard and hardware store had everything we needed.”
“Good.” His voice was strained, and Porter winced.
“What kind of cancer?” Gus watched him closely. If he was surprised by the ask, Porter didn’t show it.
“Colon. But now it’s spread to my lungs.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It was the proper response.
Porter shifted his body a bit. “You were a SEAL.”
Gus nodded but didn’t reply.
“I always respected a man in uniform. My brother served.”
Brother? How in hell did Gus not know he had an uncle?
“Marshall died five years ago.” Porter’s eyes glittered from their sunken depths. “We left things in a bad way. He wanted forgiveness and I couldn’t give it to him. It takes a black kind of bitterness to deny a dying man absolution and I was fine with it then. Hell, I believe a part of me relished his pain. But now I understand it differently. And I’ve got no time.” His voice shook, and the tremble in his hand was more pronounced. “No time,” he whispered fiercely, looking back over the water.
Motorboats zipped by, cutting through the blue water and leaving a trail of white in their wake. The sounds were familiar and cut at something deep inside Gus.
“Why did you come to Fire Lake?”
Surprised at the change in conversation, Gus didn’t reply right away. Instead, he got to his feet and walked to the edgeof the deck. He had an appropriate response prepared, one he’d formulated before he’d set one foot in this town. And yet . . .
Gus turned. He trained his eyes on the man who was his father. “I heard about this place from a guy I knew a long time ago. I had some vacation time coming to me and decided to pay a visit. My visit turned into an indefinite stay.”
“Does your friend still live here?”
