“Really? But the vegetarian…”
“Is happy to make a meal out of rabbit food,” Bodie finished. “That means lettuce. Salad. I’ll eat most anything other than meat. I eat eggs, cheese, yogurt, rice, fish, all those things without a fuss. I’m not a fanatic about being around meat in general. I just don’t like the taste of beef or chicken. Or pork.”
“Have you always avoided meat, or was it something you did for someone else?”
She frowned. “Oh, you mean like I pick my food choices based on whoever I’m with? Nope. That’s not me. Ever since I was a kid, I pretty much wouldn’t touch meat. But the rest of my family is like a pack of carnivores. I’m the oddball, remember?”
“You’re telling me that you’ve never eaten a BLT?”
“Sure, I’ve eaten bacon. I suppose if there was a zombie apocalypse, I could pull off the occasional cheeseburger. But it wouldn’t be my first choice.”
Amused, he showed off his purchases. “Well, I bought mushrooms, because you ate them last night on the pizza, a zucchini, some orange bell peppers, and cherry tomatoes for kabobs.”
“You’re overthinking this. What you bought is perfect.”
“Really?”
She leaned over and pressed her lips to his. “Yep. Really.”
“But you’re around beef and pork all day at the Diner. How do you stand it?”
“Like I said, I’m not repulsed by watching other people scarf down sausage or bacon…or meatloaf.” She made a face just as she caught sight of the steak on the counter. “Or that. It’s just not for me. My dad loves a good T-bone or ribeye. My mom routinely fixes fried chicken. My sister eats her weight in bacon. I’m okay with it. I’m not sure what else to say to convince you. Why don’t you give me a tour of your house?”
“Sure.” He led the way out of the kitchen and into the dining room, which had a large bay window overlooking the backyard.
She turned the corner into the other room and stopped short. Her mouth dropped open, just standing there in awe of the plant that seemed to take up the entire glass frame. She cut her eyes to his. “What you have here is the biggest N’Joy pothos I’ve ever laid eyes on. You didn’t tell me that it twined around half the window and up to the ceiling. No wonder your mother didn’t want to move it from its spot. It probably never would have survived the trip to Florida.”
“That’s what she said. We haven’t killed it yet.” He glanced back at Lago. “Have we, boy?”
The dog woofed on cue.
She ran a hand across the pooch’s head. “I see that. Good job. Both of you. Good job, not munching on it for a snack.”
“He munches on other things,” Tucker admitted. “Like shoes. Lago is big on shoes. I have to hide my trainers or else he’ll use them for a chew toy.”
Her eyes drifted back to the focal point, a rosewood dining table with matching chairs. The hutch took up one entire wall. “I take it this belonged to your parents?”
“Grandparents, who handed it down to my mother as a wedding present.” Probably during happier times, Tucker decided without saying it out loud.
They wandered into the adjoining living room. The big windows here confirmed her first impression from the outside of the house. With a bit more formal feel, this room hadn’t seen much use over the years. The gold brocade couch seemed outdated, more in line with something an older woman would pick out. But it was in perfect condition with little wear and tear along the edges. The same was true for the Persian rug that adorned a portion of the hardwood floor.
“Your parents didn’t take all their stuff with them, did they?”
“They left a lot behind,” Tucker confirmed. “More than you know.”
She realized they were no longer talking about furniture.
From there, he circled back to the den where a flat-screen TV dominated the center of one wall. She’d also expected old-fashioned furnishings in here, piecemeal remnants or leftovers from another decade. But what she got instead was a blend of stylish fabric, comfy leather to sink into, and lots of wood with just a touch of midcentury modern thrown in to give it an upscale loft vibe.
“So, your parents talked you into moving here and left you with their furniture except for this room?”
“The stuff in the dining and living rooms were already here. I shoved what I brought from LA into a few corners of the den. Some of my stuff works while other pieces don’t. I make do. Some rooms are still sitting empty. It’s a big house.”
“I guess hardwood floors make it easier. Hardwood goes with everything, no ugly carpet to rip out,” she noted as they rounded the corner into what was his father’s old study.
A huge pedestal desk in honey walnut sat in the center of the room like an Art Deco masterpiece, a throwback from the 1930s. Tucked neatly in its slot was a vintage Chesterfield, a button-tufted captain’s chair in soft leather the color of oxblood.
Paneled bookshelves lined three walls. Bodie couldn’t resist perusing the titles. Which told her right away Tucker’s taste in books leaned toward nonfiction. But a few titles indicated he was a fan of thrillers and Michael Connelly mysteries.
He took her from room to room, Lago trailing after them. He paused at the door to his childhood bedroom. She could still see traces of posters he’d had hanging on the wall that only a teenage boy could have pinned there. “Let me guess. I bet you were a Foo Fighters fan or maybe Red Hot Chili Peppers.”
“Sure. But Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains were my go-to bands back then. You?”
“Some. But mostly Counting Crows and the Cranberries.”
“You’re a strange woman, Bodie.”
She grinned at the dig, took it in stride. “Don’t I know it. You’re not the first man who’s ever pointed that out.”
They moved on to the master bedroom, a massive space with a large sitting area, and another bay window. A perfect place to curl up and read on a rainy day, Bodie decided. But she found this space lacked any warmth. She wasn’t sure why. Whatever pieces of furniture his parents had left behind didn’t help the vibe. The midcentury leftovers didn’t mix well with Tucker’s contemporary platform king bed, which seemed out of place. The rest of the room sat empty except for a matching oversized dresser.
The sitting area was mostly vacant too except for an antique carved Italianate settee done in dark blue that didn’t match anything in the room. She stared at the only other piece of furniture, a retro stereo cabinet that still played vinyl records. The collection of old albums was stacked two feet high. Bodie got the feeling the room still needed something to pull everything together.
“I almost couldn’t move in here,” Tucker admitted. “But since this was mostly my mother’s room, I got over it enough that when the moving truck pulled up with my stuff, I pointed them in this direction instead of the other bedrooms. After I assembled the bed, I still had a difficult time getting a good night’s sleep in here. Then I remembered that my parents hadn’t shared a bedroom for probably twenty years or more. That helped some, I guess.”
Bodie nodded in understanding. “I get it. But why?”
“Why didn’t they sleep together? That is a very complicated and long story.”
“I have all night.”
“Fair enough. How about I explain it while I grill up dinner? I’m starving.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Watch me work my magic.” He snatched her hand and tugged her back down the hallway to the kitchen.
“At least let me take care of the drinks,” Bodie offered.
“Sure. Sorry. I forgot about offering you anything when you first got here.”
“That’s okay. I was fighting off your dog.”
“Lago might knock you down, but he’d never hurt anybody. I’ll take a beer. There’s wine chilling in the fridge if you’d rather have that.”
She twisted off the cap to one of the bottled beers and handed it off. After pouring herself a glass of the red, she got comfortable on one of the barstools at the coun
ter, so she could watch him put together the kabobs. After he’d skewered the veggies, she followed him outside to where he’d set up the grill.
The night stars formed a cluster of faint dots above in a holding pattern until sundown. But as the sun made its arc toward the sea, it seemed like a night to be outside.
She studied the woods behind the house, some thirty yards from where she stood. Then her eyes tracked to the man. That yearning in her belly was like a fierce hunger, raging, ready to burst into action. It was all she could do to keep her hands to herself. She cleared her throat and began a silly string of conversation. “How come you look like you know what you’re doing?”
He lifted that sexy shoulder. “A guy has to eat.”
“Tru enough.” She listened to the sizzle and pop of the meat and veggies searing to a crispy brown on the grill—and then was embarrassed when her stomach rumbled for real.
“Seems someone is hungry,” Tucker noted with a grin as he plated the food on a bright yellow platter for serving.
“I could eat. I’ll get the plates and silverware.”
“Plates are in the second cabinet near the stove. Utensils are in the drawer closest to the fridge.”
Ducking back into the kitchen, she called out over her shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’m resourceful. I’ll find them.”
“Inside or outside?”
“It’s such a nice evening. We should enjoy the fruits of your labor under the stars, don’t you think?”
“Outside, it is.”
Lago must’ve agreed. He curled up near Tucker’s feet, hoping to score anything that fell off the patio table.
They settled into the meal in a zone of quiet and comfort as each one dug into the food.
“This is seriously good,” Bodie said, between munching on zucchini.
His eyes lingered on her face. He reached over and lightly brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “I’ve never seen anyone relish a bunch of rabbit food like you do.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She leaned into his hand, kissed the palm. “Now…tell me what happened between your parents?”
Tucker knew he couldn’t avoid the topic forever, not with this woman anyway. “My little sister drowned in the creek behind the house.” There. He’d said it out loud for the first time in years.
“But when I asked about siblings, you said you didn’t have any.”
He took a slug of the beer, more for courage than because he wanted it. “That question always poses a problem. Do you go into detail about a death right up front, or do you let the question slide and hope you get a chance to explain later.”
“It’s later. Explain.”
He sucked in a long breath before taking another sip of beer. “It was August, almost time for school to start. She was younger than me by not quite two years, five at the time to my seven. She was a pistol. Tessie. That was her name. It’s been so long ago I almost can’t see her face. I used to get so mad because my parents just stopped talking about her as if she’d never been here at all. How could they do that? How could they never bring her up in conversation? Never remember the things she used to do?”
“And you tried?”
“Oh, I did. I talked about her all the time—at school. But I once made the mistake of reminding them about Tessie dressing up as Cinderella for Halloween—the last time she got to trick or treat. And oh my God—my dad hauled off and slapped me for it right there in the entryway by the candy bowl. I got out of there, ran out the door, and started my Halloween early. To this day, I remember how he lost it, how he told me to shut up about her, and to never bring her up again.” The sting of the slap had faded, but the memory of it still hurt.
Bodie fought the urge to tell him what she thought of Joe Ferguson. But what good would it do now? Instead of condemning his father, she squeezed Tucker’s hand in support. He looked very much like the sad little boy who wasn’t allowed to talk about his sister. With great care, she tried to reason it out, gathering her thoughts to counter his pain. “Tucker, I’m sure they were devastated. Sometimes the loss of a child either brings two people closer together, or it sends them to opposite corners. It’s a fairly common reaction to loss. Parents don’t cope well with losing a child. It sounds like that might’ve been what happened with your mom and dad.”
“But to never, ever, talk about Tessie, what message did that send to me?”
“Your dad was wrong, Tucker. No other explanation. Hitting you like that for mentioning what she wore for Halloween was wrong.”
“But what about my mom? She stood there and watched him, probably retreated to her room after I ran out the door. She always did that. For the first six months after Tessie died, she cried herself to sleep at night. I knew they were hurting, each in their own way. But they seemed different after that, unable to function. I mean, my mother would fix breakfast, go through the motions of doing what she had to do to get me off to school. But it was like she was on automatic, a zombie. You know, I never spoke Tessie’s name again within these walls after dad hit me. I just kept my mouth shut just like he said.”
“I’m sorry.” She had a hunch and went with her gut. “And did they also change their attitude toward you?”
Nodding, he gripped her hand tighter. “That was the other part I couldn’t wrap my head around. I wasn’t with Tessie the day she drowned. I’d gone off on a cub scout overnighter. The end of summer pack event where I could earn one more pin to put on my uniform once school started in the fall. I got dropped off at the house that afternoon by another dad and came back here to chaos.”
“That’s a tough burden for a seven-year-old,” Bodie remarked. “It doesn’t make much sense either. They couldn’t have blamed you for what happened.”
“That’s what I thought. Unless they blamed me for not being there to look out for her.”
“That’s even more ridiculous.”
“Well, we did have a treehouse back there. My fort. Her playhouse. Maybe I should’ve been around to make sure she didn’t fall into the creek.”
“How deep is this creek?”
“At the time, it was probably a few feet deep. I was used to seeing it after a hard rain when it flowed down to where Caleb’s place is now. But it’s mostly just a dry creek bed.”
“Really? But was it deep enough to drown in? Even for a five-year-old, it would take a few feet? Was she found near her playhouse, or did her body travel farther down the wash?”
She could tell the wheels were turning in his head, thinking it over.
“Had to be deep enough, right? That’s how she died.”
“Hmm. Are you certain of that? Absolutely certain? I mean, you were just a kid. And you weren’t allowed to ask questions about what happened.”
A scowl took over his face. “Huh. I just know what they told me, which means I’m not sure of anything. I’m not sure where they discovered her body, which spot along the creek. That’s weird. I’ve never thought of that before, never thought to question the adults in charge.”
“Want to take a walk? I can see you’re itching to show me where it happened.”
“You can see all that, can you?” His lips curled up at the corners as he let out a sigh. “I have to take Lago for a pee break anyway. We’ll need flashlights. You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”
She looked westward, where the sun was about to vanish behind the offshore haze of wispy clouds. “I’ll risk it. I want to see this treehouse.”
“Then, I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the house and came back a few minutes later, carrying two heavy-duty metal flashlights. He handed both off to Bodie, then clapped his hands to get Lago’s attention. “Let’s take a walk by the creek bed; whaddya say, boy? You know the way. Go on. Show Bodie where we like to walk.”
The dog dashed off a few yards before stopping to wait for his human to catch up.
It made Bodie grin. “Lago has enough energy for all of us. You guys have done this before. My guess is since you’ve b
een back, you’ve gone down there a lot.”
Tucker took one of the flashlights back and shined the beam on Lago to signal that the pup could go ahead. “Why not? Nobody around to tell me not to.”
“Is that what they did? They made you give up your fort?”
“Pretty much. Besides, it wasn’t the same after Tessie died. It just wasn’t. Sneaking off to play there brought back all the fun times we had together. But it also made me incredibly sad.”
“And there was no one around to talk about it, to discuss all those good memories and pent-up feelings you had?”
“Nope. Nobody who mattered anyway.”
They walked in silence after that through the thicket, following Lago down a well-traveled path until they came to a dry creek bed.
“This is it,” Tucker began, shining his light on a small drop off.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but even in the dark, it was disappointing. She crept closer to the edge and peered into a shallow ravine. “This is where she drowned? It’s more like a gully than a creek.”
“I guess so. As a kid, everything seems bigger. But you’re right. I remember thinking the same thing the first time I came down here after I moved back. Was it really deep enough for a child to have drowned in, a little girl who could swim?”
“How much water gathered here after a hard rain? Because to me, even in the dark, it doesn’t look two feet deep, eighteen inches max.”
Tucker leaned over next to her to get a better look for himself. “Geez, it really is shallow, isn’t it?”
“It is. Where was the fort? Could your sister have been leaning over a branch or something and fallen out, maybe hit her head and then drowned in the water that way?”
Tucker shook his head. “You’re asking all these questions, and the truth is, I have no idea what the circumstances were. But I do know that the treehouse wasn’t over the water. It’s there.” He aimed the beam of the flashlight on a singular tree twenty-five feet in height and held it in place on one leafy branch. “This is where the treehouse used to be. Some of the wood is still there. The rest rotted away.”
The Boathouse (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 14) Page 8
