“Of course,” he said quietly.
While he stared straight ahead, Phoebe studied his profile. She could not say it was troubled—a profile that stoic did not reveal troubled thoughts—but in the taut set of his bluntly carved features, Phoebe saw evidence of his grit and his reticence.
“Do you want to know what I think?” she asked.
“Honestly? I’m not sure. You scare me, Phoebe.”
“I do not.”
He glanced at her, an eyebrow cocked. “No? Believe that if you like.” He returned to staring straight ahead. “All right. Tell me. What do you think?”
“It’s Fiona. I’m here because of Fiona. What has she done, Thaddeus? What is it that I’m expected to make right?”
He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “No expectations. Just hoping.”
“I see. Then what is it that you hope I’ll make right?”
“She wants to leave. Me. Twin Star. It’s not one or the other. They’re one and the same.”
“I know.”
“Do you think she understands that? Would it matter if she did?”
“I can’t answer either of those things.” She watched him nod as if her answer did not surprise him. She said carefully, “What makes you think Fiona wants to leave? Did she tell you that?”
“She wanted to go back to New York, allegedly—there’s a lawyer’s word for you—to bring you here.”
“Remington told you this?”
“Because he overheard Fiona practicing her lines.”
Phoebe did not require an explanation. Fiona’s approach to managing or manipulating difficult situations was to compose the script in her head and find the right tone by engaging in a conversation with an imaginary partner. Sometimes she would speak in front of her vanity mirror to find complementary expressions, but just as often, she spoke aloud as she paced the floor or soaked in her bath.
“You said ‘allegedly.’ Is that because you don’t believe her? The part about bringing me here, I mean.”
“That’s right. That’s my judgment, not my son’s. He encouraged me to confront her, hear it from her. It was one of the few times I did not take his advice. I chose to head her off at the pass, so to speak.”
“I understand. You invited me and told her afterward.”
“Yes. God help me, Phoebe, I couldn’t let her go and just pray that she’d come back. In the first place, I’m not much for praying. Haven’t been since my Mary died. In the second place, they say God helps those who help themselves.”
“I see.”
“Do you? I can’t lose her, Phoebe. Sure, I know she’s a stick of dynamite, knew that right off. She has so many airs that it’s a wonder she doesn’t float herself back to New York. I knew that and plenty more about her when I proposed, and if I hadn’t figured it out for myself, you had a way of dropping hints that I couldn’t ignore.”
“Breadcrumbs,” she said. “Apparently I drop breadcrumbs.” When she saw his confusion, she shook her head. “Not important. What is it you’d like me to do?”
“Well, you being here is a good start. By accepting my invitation, you took away her excuse to go back to the city.”
“You’re not keeping her prisoner, are you?”
“Hell no.”
Phoebe gave a start when he slapped the heel of his hand on the rail to emphasize his denial, but then she caught his sidelong glance and definitely saw guilt there. “Thaddeus?”
“This is why you scare me, Phoebe. I have a feeling you’ve always seen too damn much, pardon the language.”
“I don’t care about the language. Tell me what else you’ve done.”
