“Then don’t come.” Noah found a need to steady himself by gripping the porch railing. “Here’s how it’s going to work. We agree on you receiving a finder’s fee. Then you step away.”
“No way, that’s not—”
“I’m not finished. You are not, repeat not, part of any deal. The sale is straight from me to him. Setting the price, moving forward, all that happens without you being involved.”
Everything he said, it all made perfect sense. Noah had handled dozens of such contracts. Hundreds. Attorneys and studio execs and directors and producers, all wanting to front the actual deal. Take a major cut, insert themselves into the decision-making process. His response was so cut-and-dry he could be reading from a script.
Only not this time.
Noah felt like each word he spoke added to the weight. Finally, he had no choice but to shift himself over, crossing the porch in vague shuffling steps, and let the nearest rocker take his full weight.
He half-listened to Wallace’s whining response. The longer the man complained over how his guy wanted to stay in the background, the more certain Noah became. Jenna had been right all along. This wasn’t just a salvage operator pushing for a bigger payday. There was a hint of desperation at work here. Bandsaw tension.
Gradually Wallace’s voice receded into the distance.
Noah knew it wasn’t actually happening. Just the same, the sensation was vivid. He felt like he was back in his dream. Only now he wasn’t chasing after someone. Wallace might be moving through unseen rooms, drawing farther away. Noah remained there on his rear porch, staring at the barn and the boat. Wallace was the only one moving. The growing distance made room for the hollow void that now threatened to consume Noah.
He heard himself say, “This is new.”
Wallace merely paused, like he couldn’t be bothered to actually hear what Noah was saying. Then his bandsaw whine resumed. How it was time Noah accepted the boat for what it was, too big a project for just one man. Something he’d never finish. Especially not with his money nearly gone. And even if he did manage to get it back in the water, running costs on a boat this size . . .
Noah’s voice was scarcely a whisper. The volume didn’t matter, though. He was only talking to himself. “All this time, I’ve been looking in the wrong direction.”
Wallace stopped. “Do you even hear what I’m telling you?”
Noah forced himself to take aim at the man on the phone. At least temporarily. “Your cut is five percent.”
“No, but—”
“Don’t call me unless it’s to pass on the buyer’s name.”
Noah mostly cut the connection so he could focus on this new realization. It rose from somewhere deep, like a bubble moving slowly toward the surface of dark and troubled waters. Then it arrived in his conscious awareness, with a savage force that caused him to moan.
He’d been so focused on the past he couldn’t see thenow.
Jenna had been right all along. Not just about the boat. Or Wallace.
About everything.
* * *
Noah’s burdens grew heavier with every passing minute. He sat there like an old man, hands dangling limp off the chair arms, head tilted back so the rocker took its weight.
Another hour passed, or half an eternity, he couldn’t tell which. Noah was mildly surprised the chair didn’t collapse under its heavy load. His own weight, plus all the wrong moves and the guilt. All the bad thoughts and fears. Everything that had led him to hurt a good woman.
Because she cared for him.
He was still sitting there when Amos drove up and parked. Night had wrapped itself around the valley. He was sore and he was tired and hungry and getting colder by the minute. Noah’s mind kept shooting out firefly sparks, half-formed thoughts that were shattered by the time they emerged. How it was growing cold. How he needed to shower off the day and get into clean clothes. Make something for dinner. Feed the dog and fill his water bowl.
Try to work out what he needed to say to Jenna.
Amos climbed the stairs and stood there, leaning against the railing. Arms crossed. Cutting a sharp and angry silhouette from the night. Silent. Waiting.
Shaping the words was almost more than Noah could bear. “I’m such a fool.”
“No argument there.”
Just the same, that simple exchange was enough to propel his brother into action. Amos entered the kitchen. There was the sound of running water, then of a shovel striking gravel. Amos emerged holding the pitcher and rubber bucket Noah used to feed Bear. He crossed the yard and spoke softly to the dog. Returned. Set the implements inside the kitchen. Then, “Word to the wise. Don’t go by my house just yet. It’s hard to say who’s madder at you just now, Aldana or my daughters. I’ve told them they’re not allowed to shoot you on sight. But you know women.”
