He should have told her, straight up, from the beginning.

And when he didn’t, when he saw her with those goddamned letters, he should have come clean.

He didn’t.

And he didn’t because he was an idiot. He didn’t because of pride. He didn’t because he didn’t ever want to lose that look in her eyes she gave him just half an hour before, her in his bed, her hair down and mussed, his cum still inside her.

Contentment.

Safety.

Happiness.

Love.

When she knew, it would be like when your kid first finds out you can’t make miracles.

Like when your daughter’s grandmother dies and you can’t bring her back and she knows you want to heal every hurt and thinks you can move mountains to do that. And when she figures out you can’t, you still have her love, you still have her heart, but you’ve lost something precious. What you’ve lost is that understanding that runs deep that you can do everything.

And when you want to give her everything, seeing it in her eyes she knows you can’t fucking kills.

He wanted more time to have that from Josie.

He should have just told her.

Now, he was going to tell her.

And thank fuck, he could do that, he saw as he drove up the lane to Lavender House and her Cayenne was parked out front.

She had several out buildings, one of them being a garage that looked like it was built the year the Model A rolled out. It needed to be fixed up, a decent door put in so Josie could park in there. Especially since the weather was going to get worse.

Or it needed to be knocked down and something built onto the house so she didn’t have to walk outside at all.

He’d discuss that with her and deal with it later.

After he got this shit done.

He got out, went to the door and turned the knob.

He stared down at it when he found it was locked.

He then hit the doorbell as he found the key on his ring.

He stared down at the lock when his key didn’t fit.

Jesus.

Was she so far gone she’d change the locks?

He hit the doorbell again and knocked.

No sound came from inside, not that that thick wood door would let any out.

He again tried the key.

No go.

“Jesus,” he whispered out loud this time, hitting the doorbell again.

Nothing.

He pulled out his phone and called her.

He got voicemail.

“Fuck,” he muttered, disconnecting, his heart again thumping in his chest. He moved around the house, trying the key in each lock and looking in windows.

She’d changed the locks on all the doors and was nowhere to be seen.

At the back, he moved beyond the greenhouse and took in the landscape. The sea. The arbor. The empty garden.

He turned and looked up at the house.

He saw her in the light room.

She was in the window seat staring down at him and he began to lift a hand but went solid when he watched her stand up, turn away and disappear.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Jake whispered but moved swiftly to the greenhouse, trying the door he knew was locked and looking through.

She didn’t appear in the kitchen.

She didn’t appear in the family room when he walked by.

Or the living room.

Or at the front door when he went back to it and hammered.

Jake hit her number on his phone and when he got voicemail, his chest was burning and his jaw was tight.

“Baby, call me. We got shit to talk about. I’m drivin’ away now, givin’ you time. Tomorrow, we’ll meet at The Shack for an omelet. Nine o’clock.” He drew in breath and finished, “Kids miss you, Slick, and so do I.”

He disconnected, moved into the lane and looked back up at Lydie’s house. Josie’s house.

Fuck, he should have just told her.

Then he got in his truck, his chest still burning, his jaw clenched, his gut tight, and he drove away.

* * * * *

At nine fifty-five the next morning, after getting a coffee and standing at the end of the wharf for nearly an hour, Jake Spear walked away from The Shack.

And Tom watched him do it.

Then he slid the steel shutter over the window.

* * * * *

“I’ll leave you to it,” the bank manager murmured as he took his leave.

“Thank you,” I replied, took a deep breath and looked down at Gran’s safety deposit box.

Keeping my mind off things I should have my mind on, I opened it.

I’d found the key I’d completely forgotten the day before when I was going through my bag, again keeping my mind off things I should have had them on.

This precisely being the fact that I’d done much the same as what Donna had done.

I’d had a drama, made a silly decision, stuck my feet in and refused to look at the facts.

These being I was in love with Jake, Jake was in love with me, we were happy and whatever it was between him and Gran was between him and Gran.

He wanted to keep it that way and I had to trust he had his reasons. He told me it was important that I let it go and he’d also told me it was not that big of a deal.

These two contradicted each other.

But even as they did that, I knew two other things.

Gran loved me.

As did Jake.

And the first time he told me that, I’d walked away.

I just didn’t know how to fix it even though he’d told me how.

Call him.

Meet him at The Shack.

I didn’t do either.

The last boyfriend I had I fought with and the results were very unpleasant.

Jake was not him.

I still didn’t know how to go about seeking someone out to admit you’d been a fool and apologize.

Jake had not called again.

Jake had not called after I didn’t meet him at The Shack.

And now it was past one o’clock, which was a long time since I should have met Jake at The Shack, and I was going from feeling imprudent to being scared.

Thus, on a kind of autopilot, I was carrying on with inconsequential things when I should be finding Alyssa and picking her brain in order to sort out the mess I’d made.

“I’ll do that after this,” I murmured to myself as I looked through the things in Gran’s box.

Stock certificates. A goodly number of them. Jewelry. A great deal of it, all high-quality and expensive. Birth certificates. Hers. Mine. My father’s and uncle’s. Surprisingly, a deed to a plot of land in Florida.

And, at the bottom, a plain white envelope.

I pulled it out and saw that there was not a letter inside but something else.

And on the outside was written For my Buttercup in Gran’s hand.

I felt the envelope and noted it felt like one of those small tapes from a dictation machine.

Either Gran had a message for me or this was a tape that exposed such as the identity of Deep Throat from the Watergate scandal.

I was suspecting it was a message from Gran.

Oh God.

Hurriedly, I replaced all the items in the box and shoved the envelope in my bag. I moved to the door, opening it, and caught the bank manager’s eyes.

“I’m done.”

He nodded, came in, grabbed the box and we went back to the vault where he returned it. He turned his key. I turned mine.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Certainly,” he replied.

I gave him a small smile and directly left.

With care, I drove home thinking about Gran’s desk. I hadn’t scoured through the drawers but I didn’t recall seeing a tape machine in there.

However, if she’d recorded something for me, she had to have one somewhere.

I just had to find it.

This was on my mind when I drove up the lane, seeing a rather well-kept but nevertheless very old white pickup truck in the drive. Closing in behind it in my Cayenne, I saw a tall, sturdy, somewhat older man step out from the entryway of the front door. The wind was whipping his silver-gray hair and his jacket, his eyes in his (it had to be said) rather weathered face squinting in the sun.

I’d never seen him before in my life and, although he looked kindly, I didn’t want visitors.

I needed to find a tape recorder, listen to that tape, call Alyssa, ask her how you admitted to your man that you’d been an idiot and then find Jake and, well…handle him.

Nevertheless, since doing the first part of that required access to Lavender House, I had to get out of my car and approach the house.

This I did and I did it calling, “Hello.”

“Josie,” a somewhat familiar voice replied.

He knew me.

But upon closer study, I again noted I did not know him.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” I asked.

“Tom,” he answered.

I blinked.

Tom?

The mysterious Tom from The Shack?

“Jake missed you at The Shack this morning,” he went on.

Oh my.

It was the no longer mysterious Tom from The Shack.

At my door to tell me Jake had been there and I had not.

Oh dear.

“Um…” I began.

“It was me,” he stated.

I blinked at him again.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“Me,” he repeated. “Me who told Lydia you should be with Jake.”

At this shocking news, I drew in such a deep breath I was forced back on a foot to do it.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, sounding winded.

“Worried about you, she was. Worried about you all the time. Wanted you to be happy. Wanted someone to look out for you. Make you laugh. Give you a good life. Came to The Shack a lot. Liked my coffee. We got to talkin’ and she told me. She told me what you needed. Said they had to be tall. Good-lookin’. Smart. Protective. Fierce. Said they had to live local so she could have you but mostly so you could have Magdalene and Lavender House. She told me all that, I told her about Jake.”

Oh my God.

He kept talking.

“Jake was married to Sloane back then but I still told her about him. Probably more hope than anything, but I didn’t think it would last with Sloane seein’ as she was not a good woman. Looked good. Could turn a man’s eye, not like you ‘a course,” he said complimentarily, grinning and tipping his head at me. “But she was pretty enough. All about Jake in the beginning. Then again, they always are. See a man like that, way he looks, way he is, think it’s gonna be smooth sailin’. A strong man like that, he’ll pound out all the kinks of life and all you gotta do is sit back, enjoy the life he gives you and let him. But, you know, life is life and, pardon my French, but shit happens. Shit even a man like Jake can’t make not happen.”

When he stopped speaking and it seemed something was required of me, I said, “Of course.”

But before I could invite him inside or say more, he kept going.

“So, I still told Lydia about Jake, kind of hopin’ that he’d get quit of Sloane. Now,”—he raised his hand—“don’t be thinkin’ I don’t believe in the sanctity of marriage. I do. Just not a marriage that involved Sloane.”

At this, I had the hysterical need to giggle and nearly choked when I swallowed it down.

Tom kept going.

“Think Lydia had a gander at Jake, probably caught sight of Sloane and definitely had the same idea as me. Think that because the next thing I know, Jake’s over at her house cleaning out the gutters. Kids are over there after school and on the weekends. Jake’s in her garden helpin’ her out ‘cause we all know, Lydia liked fresh veggies from her garden.”

Jake.

It was Jake, who had worked the garden for Gran.

Because, no matter how busy he was, no matter all the plates he had spinning in the air, that was what Jake would do because Gran liked fresh veggies from her garden and he loved Gran.

I felt my eyes begin to sting.

“Now, don’t know, even though Jake and I know each other real well. I was his father’s best friend, best man at his dad’s wedding, watched Jake grow up. And Lydia and I could have a good natter over a coffee when she could still get around and when she couldn’t, I’d find occasion to bring her a coffee and gab with her here. But even with all that, still don’t know, when he got shot of Sloane, why she didn’t get him to you,” Tom said. “Years, I waited to see if that would happen.”

I held my breath.

Tom kept speaking.

“Didn’t.”

I swallowed.

Tom continued.

“Then I saw you.”

“You saw me?” I forced out.

“Pretty thing you are,” he told me on another grin. “Pure class.”

“I…” I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”