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So I threw myself into work.

Cooper and Hank called me into a meeting to discuss the next project. The timely shipment to Albany was a big deal, but Boston was even bigger. We had the lumber; the manpower to move it was another matter. We hashed out a plan that entailed juggling hours and incentivizing employees who agreed to work longer hours. The new contract was the biggest yet with an eco-friendly construction firm. If we delivered, there’d be more business. Lots of business.

The bosses were jazzed. Hell, I was jazzed. I forgot about meeting Jess altogether, more concerned about when I’d be able to sneak in time with Reg. I wondered what he was doing tonight. I could throw some steaks on the grill and⁠—

“Finally. I’ve been waiting for you.”

I headed up the path to my porch, pausing to study the old man sitting on the top step. “Mr. La Rue?”

“Clark.” He grabbed the railing and hoisted himself to stand. “I almost got lost, but don’t tell anyone. I mean it. The last thing I need is a lecture about my noodle.”

“Okay, but…what are you doing here?”

Clark scoffed irritably. “I’m here to work, Mountain Man. We’re gonna fix Jed Calhoun’s crappy deck.”

“Now? It’s dark. We won’t be able to see what we’re doing,” I hedged, sliding my cell from my pocket to text Reg.

“Gimme a second before you call in the brigade,” he barked, adding a softer, “Please.”

“Come on in.” I unlocked the door, turned on the lights, then grabbed a couple of water bottles from the kitchen and handed one to Clark, who was standing at the sliding glass door, peering into the darkness. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. I’m parched.”

“Long walk?” I asked. No reply. I fished my cell from my pocket and tried to think of what to do. “I’m going to text Reg to let him know you’re okay. I’ll tell him to take his time.”

“No. Call Rosie.” Clark rattled off a number, his gaze fixed ahead.

I did as instructed, assuring his wife that he was safe and sound, and that I’d drive him home soon. She exhaled audibly on the line and offered a teary thanks.

I ended the call and regarded the old man thoughtfully as I uncapped my water bottle. I didn’t know this script, and I didn’t want to agitate him. I figured it was best to stick to safe topics.

“Wood Hollow has probably changed a lot since you were a kid.”

Clark pivoted on his heels, his bushy brows knit like a white caterpillar. “You don’t know the half of it. This house is the same.”

I knocked on the wall. “Built to last.”

His lips curled slightly. “True. Even if it is a piece of shit.”

“Did you grow up on this street or close by?”

“Yes. Next block over on Clover Street. My mother loved pastel colors, so my father painted the siding the softest shade of yellow with white trim. There were flowers hanging from pots on the porch and weeping willows between our property and the Willises’. It’s still there. I checked. Mrs. Willis wore an apron all day, every day, and her pockets were always stuffed with butterscotch candies. Mr. Willis was an accountant. He did taxes for everyone in Wood Hollow and knew how much or how little they made. He never divulged monetary secrets, but he was quick to shake his head if someone rolled up in a new Caddy. He’d say things like, ‘Cecil’s got no business drivin’ that car. None whatsoever.’ I can remember them clearly. They were good people. The Calhouns were, too.”

“Were you friendly with Jed?”

Clark moved into the living room, sinking into the battered leather armchair next to the fireplace. “Jed’s a good ten years younger than me. He was my first ever arrest. Got him for speeding down Main Street. He was a teenager with a smart mouth, I’ll tell you that much. His folks owned this house and passed it on to their kids. They wanted to retire in Florida, and there was no point in trying to sell ’cause the market was terrible. It’s different now.”

“Yeah. Lots of new houses by the lake,” I commented in an even tone.

His facial features twitched—his nose, his mouth, his cheeks. “I’ve seen them. The first sign was on Belvedere. It said, ‘This way! New homes coming!’ I reported it to the police, but they thought I was joking. The signs kept coming, though. I filed more complaints until the chief himself called. ‘Dad, what are you up to?’ Dad. That gave me a jolt.”

“I bet.”

“You know Reg, yes?” Clark leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

A lump rose in my throat.

I joined him by the fireplace and perched on a sofa cushion, setting my water bottle on the coffee table. “Yes, I do.”