Eva might not have forgiven Arthur for running away, but if she thought he was in trouble, Isobel had no doubt her sister would jump to his aid. And while that was courageous, it didn’t mean it wassmart.
The violence of last night’s rain had destroyed some of theflowers in their yard, the tallest and flimsiest stems pressed flat into the mud with their once-silken petals now crumpled and strewn around them. Izzy stood on her front porch, taking in the mess outside. The inside of their cottage wasn’t much better, still covered in the flora that Eva had grown during the disastrous events of yesterday.
With the craving for whiskey sitting on her tongue, Isobel turned her attention first to putting the kitchen to rights. She started with peeling the newly grown layer of moss off the tiles and walls. The spongy texture of the moss pressing into her palms gave her something soft to focus on, rather than the worry cutting up her insides. Broken glass clinked against the tiles as she swept the floor clear of debris. She was almost glad for the shards, glad to have something shattered that she was capable of fixing.
Isobel was plucking a rogue cluster of turkey tail mushrooms that had started growing on the hallway wallpaper when she saw the mirror. The glass looked as though it had been struck by an angry fist. Her chest tightened, and she flashed to yesterday, when Dane had led Arthur away, his bloodied knuckles drawn behind his back in handcuffs.
Determined to hide her worry and keep up the facade that all was well, Isobel prepared a lunch platter to share with her father. They ate it while he still rested in bed, a little more color leaking into his pale cheeks. Dad asked her about Eva and Arthur again. Biting her lip, Isobel forced a smile she didn’t feel and cheerfully said that the two of them had gone down to the valley and had asked that she pass along a hello to Dad when he woke.
Eager to escape her guilt over the lie, Isobel spent the afternoon outside, tearing out weeds and clearing up debris the wind hadblown into the yard during last night’s storm. There was nothing she could do about the patrol car Eva had taken out of commission, its tires sunk deep into the ground, with a layer of flora snaking up its doors and around its hood, as though the whole thing was being swallowed. They would need assistance and heavier equipment to break it free and tow it off their property.
The sun seemed to be trying to make up for yesterday’s cloudy weather. By the time Isobel hung her tools in the greenhouse and called it a day, she was sweating, exhausted, and more than a little achy in her lower back.
Dad went to bed early, still looking too pale. When she tried to check on him, he shooed her away, so Isobel retreated to take a shower, eager to cleanse the layer of grime off her skin.
While she was showering, Dane left a message on her voicemail.
He’d had no luck on the search today.
Dusk had fallen over the sky like a bruise by the time Isobel slipped out onto the porch and sank into her mother’s old rocking chair, the knot of worry in her chest cinching a little tighter. The woods sang around her, the air smelling sweet and clean. Isobel rocked in the chair and tried to tamp down the feeling of helplessness she’d been hiding from all day.
It found her anyway.
Through the orchard, she watched the main lights in the Walker farmhouse click off one by one, until only Dane’s office light remained.
Isobel pushed to her feet, carried by a sharp and sudden need.
For distraction.
For escape.
She grabbed the closest shoes she could find and marched to the fence line dividing their properties. The usually pristine rowsof trees were looking a little beat up, a smattering of golden pears thrown to the ground in the storm.
Halfway to the farmhouse, she knew she’d chosen the wrong pair of shoes. The kitten heels sank into the softened ground. It was pride, maybe—or perhaps adrenaline—that carried her to the back door, where she bent and fished out the secret key from under the mat.
The brass lock stuck on the first try, drawing her frustration to the surface.
She needed a drink.
No.Isobel shook her head. No, that was why she’d come here instead.
When the key finally turned, Isobel all but fell into the back hallway of the farmhouse. It was dark, save for the gap beneath Dane’s office door hemorrhaging golden lamplight.
She crept down the hall, trying to avoid the creakiest floorboards. She didn’t want to wake Dane’s daughter, Esther. Evidence of the little girl was everywhere, from the dirty handprints Isobel knew were on the walls to the pile of tea party bric-a-brac abandoned along the baseboards.
Isobel needed to fall apart, and she feared if she didn’t come here, she might go somewhere else. Dane Walker was the least of her vices, and unlike alcohol, he could kiss her back.
Bad days like today made her miss the secret drinks Priya used to slip her from behind the bar at Dawson’s. Days like those were long gone. Isobel had never told her ex-girlfriend about her sobriety, but in a town this small, Priya knew.
Isobel smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She could still taste the whiskey she wanted so badly—whiskey she hadn’t had in over eleven months.
When she opened the office door, she found Dane glued to a spread of papers on his desk. He wore a pair of navy slacks and a pressed button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, each turn made with careful, measured precision. Isobel shivered. She’d read far too many romance novels in her thirty-two years not to appreciate a well-chiseled cliché.
“Knock, knock,” she said softly when he didn’t notice her entry.
Dane jumped, his attention snapping to where she stood. For just a moment, he looked as frazzled as she’d felt since the jailbreak yesterday. “Isobel.”
The knots in her shoulders loosened a little. To everyone else she wasIzzy,but not to Dane. She loved the slow, unhurried way he said her name. Always three syllables:Is-o-bel. It was her favorite mask. Isobel was confident, sexy, sober,brave. Most importantly, Isobel didn’t keep secrets from the people she loved the way she’d done with her father that day.
