“But she’s so happy that we’ve finally exonerated Gilbert,” Willa said.
There was a pause before Carmen asked June, “Has Judy said anything more about what happened to her?”
“No.” June shook her head. “Lucy and the neurosurgeon have forbidden us to ask her.”
“She’ll let you know when she can,” Carmen told June with a smile, then glanced at the kitchen clock and took a few more sips of coffee. “I’d better get moving.” She set her coffee mug down. “I’ve got to coordinate with the sheriff’s department and get the medical station set up before people start arriving.” Sheglanced at Willa. “We’ve got extra deputies on the ground today and a paramedic unit standing by. Given everything that’s still unresolved out there, Holt and I agreed we weren’t taking any chances.”
“Thank you, Aunt Carmen,” Willa said, smiling gratefully. “We’ll meet you there soon.”
Carmen said goodbye and rushed out the door.
“Are you all ready to do the final Hidden Truths?” her mother asked her.
“Yes, but we haven’t really had time to get it together,” Willa admitted. “But we will after the memorial.”
“I’m glad Gilbert is finally being exonerated,” June told Willa.
Before she could answer, there was a knock at the front door that drew her attention away from her mother.
Blaze launched himself off the floor near the back door and careened toward the hallway with the enthusiasm of a dog for whom every knock at the door represented an unconfirmed but highly promising social event. Willa followed at a more considered pace and opened the door.
Ace stood on the porch.
He was in a dark navy suit she hadn’t seen before, his tie a deep charcoal, his shoes clean against the morning light. Ace had his hair cut since the island, Willa noticed. He looked composed and familiar and entirely himself, and the sight of him landed in her chest with the particular, complicated warmth that she’d been managing carefully since they had gotten back from the island.
Willa hid a smile, thinking how Ace had been exactly what he’d promised to be when they’d had their talk on the island. He’d been patient, present, steady, and had given Willa the distance she’d asked. Ace had done it without distancing himself from her or her children at all.
“Morning,” Ace said. His eyes moved over her once, taking in her formal dress, captain’s uniform. “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” Willa told him. “Come in.”
Ace stepped inside and crouched immediately to manage Blaze, who was vibrating with welcoming energy and had decided Ace’s suit pants needed a close inspection with a touch of dog hair for good measure.
Ace straightened and looked at her.
“Thank you for giving me a lift to the memorial,” Willa said. “My car is still being serviced.”
“Of course,” Ace replied simply. “I don’t mind at all.” He glanced down the hall. “Are the kids coming with us?”
“No, my mother will drive them,” Willa answered.
She turned back toward the kitchen, and he followed.
The next few minutes were the organized, familiar chaos of getting a household ready to be somewhere at a specific time.
“Okay,” Willa said to Ace. “Let’s go.”
The campground near Ember Lake looked different on Memorial mornings.
It always did. The rest of the year, it was a place of ordinary summer activity, of families and tents and the sounds of childrenrunning between trees. On this morning it was something else. The grounds had been cleared and set with neat rows of white chairs facing the memorial monument, a large, polished granite stone set on a raised platform at the edge of the treeline. It rose and glinted in the sun with the lake visible beyond. The names were carved into its face in deep, clean lettering, and this year, for the first time, one new name had been added below the others.
Gilbert Fry.
Willa saw it as soon as she and Ace walked through the entrance to the grounds, and she stopped walking for a moment without meaning to.
Ace stopped beside her.
Willa exhaled slowly.
