Seven months later.
Eighteen months later.
Willa looked up at Rad.
Rad had turned around from the other side of the car, seen the paper in her hand, and gone very still.
“Willa,” he said, walking forward, with his hand outstretched to grab the paper in her hand.
“Why do you have this?” Willa asked. Her voice was entirely level, which surprised her, given what was happening in her chest.
“I can explain,” Rad said. He reached out to take the page. “Give it to me, and I’ll explain everything on the way home.”
Willa looked at the paper. Then she looked at Rad.
She pulled it back and held it against her side.
“No,” she said, shaking her head as shock coursed through her. “You’ll explain it now.”
“Not here,” Rad said, his voice dropping, his eyes moving to where Ace was standing a few feet away, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes. Margo had stopped beside Rad and looked on with curiosity. “On the way home, I promise I’ll explain.” He took a step closer. “Please, just give me the page.”
“I don’t think so,” Willa said, folding it. “I’ll keep it, and youwillexplain what this is about on the drive home.”
Willa turned and walked to Ace’s car without looking back, the paper in her hand. Something cold and certain was settling over her that had nothing to do with the night air and everything to do with what she’d just read.
June
The deck at Willa’s house looked different in the evening.
June had always thought so, from the first summer she’d spent here watching the light change over the water as the day moved through its final hours, the sky over the Gulf at this time of year going through more colors than seemed strictly necessary for a sunset, as if it were making a point.
Tonight it looked especially good.
The dinner plates were stacked inside, the wine was poured, and Holt was beside her on the porch swing with his arm around her shoulders.
“I cannot tell you,” Holt said, looking at the water, “how glad I am that I agreed to come to Sandpiper Shores this summer to recover.”
June smiled. “You didn’t do much recovering,” she pointed out, “for someone who was supposed to be on medical leave.”
“Look who’s talking,” Holt replied, with a soft laugh. “You were recovering from a car crash.”
“I hate sitting still,” June admitted. “I was climbing the walls within the first week of getting out of hospital. To be honest, when Carmen was at work, I spring-cleaned the heck out of my house.” She shook her head. “Then, when Willa demanded I come here to recover, I thought at least I’d have my grandchildren to keep me busy.” She sighed. “Turns out teenagers don’t need a parent around them twenty-four seven.”
“Don’t I know that only too well?” Holt agreed with her. “I thought I’d take Tyler fishing, for hikes, like we did when he was younger.” He sighed and shook his head in resignation. “Turns out now he has better things to do than hang out with his grandfather.”
June laughed. She leaned into Holt’s warmth, looked at the water, and felt like she’d just come home after being in isolation for years. She glanced at Holt and liked the familiarity of them being together again. It was home. June acknowledged that there were still unresolved issues that needed to be cleared up. Like the investigation, and Victoria still being at large. Guilt suddenly ripped through her, mingled with a bit of fear, as she was reminded of a conversation she’d been avoiding having with Willa for longer than she could reasonably justify. She glanced at Holt, knowing there was one they still needed to have as well.
A memory of her sister and a breakfast conversation they’d had that morning flashed through her mind. Carmen had advised her that it was time for the truth before it erupted on its own, like an emotional volcano.You need to tell her, June. You need to tell both of them. The longer you leave it, the worse it gets.Carmen’s voice echoed in her head.
June knew Carmen was right. She’d known it for thirty-eight years. The knowing hadn’t made the doing any easier.
She’d been waiting for the right moment, which was its own particular kind of dishonesty, because the right moment for something like this didn’t exist and never had.
“June,” Holt said softly.
She turned toward him, dragging her mind away from her guilty thoughts and dark secret.
Holt’s eyes were warm in the evening light and entirely focused on her in the way they’d been focused on her since the night of the storm. The night when everything between them had stopped being managed and had simply become what it was. The space between them closed. His head dipped, and his lips were almost on hers when the front door slammed open with a force that indicated blinding rage.
