I just hope she sees it that way, too.
Chapter 35
REESE
“I can’t believe how much you all look alike,” I say, taking in the row of Morris children standing and watching two little blond girls tease Quincy with a ball. The hound’s attention sways back and forth between the girls and the crowds of people as if she can’t decide if she’d rather have the ball or the scraps of food that are bound to fall from the small paper plates.
“Yeah, we get that a lot.” I instinctively fold into Ben’s side as his arm settles over my shoulder, squeezing me tight to him.
“But you’re the best-looking, of course,” I add wryly, beating him to it.
“I am. Don’t forget it,” he teases with a chuckle and I fight the urge to kiss him. We’ve been very careful with all public displays of affection given Jack is floating around. At some point, we’re going to have to break the news to him that Ben and I are together and we’re far past just friends. Though I’ve decided that I’ll throw a fit and threaten to quit if Jack doesn’t let Ben stay at Warner, I honestly don’t know how the hell we’re going to work together. The guy can’t be in a room with me without touching me in some manner, and it doesn’t seem to matter who else is there.
He proved that early this morning when he pinched my ass as I was meeting his entire family for the first time.
I had wondered what being in a room with all five Morris children would be like, and whether Ben was an anomaly or part of a matching set. When I was finally allowed out of the attic and into the bustling sunroom, I found out quickly. The entire Morris clan plus affiliates were there, grazing off a table laden with pastries and fresh fruit and deliciously scented coffee.
Laughing. Smiling. Filling this big, sad old house with what it so desperately craved again.
A family.
Within five minutes of introductions—leaving me red-faced after Ben’s brother Jake felt the need to comment on the disruptive noise over their room last night—I could see that their ties went much farther than physical similarities. The very idea that these five children and their mother haven’t been under this roof in eight years seems unfathomable. Any outsider watching wouldn’t buy it. Then again, they also probably wouldn’t believe that the man whose physical attributes can be seen in each and every one of his boys cast a gloom over their lives dark enough to make them abandon each other.
The service for Ben’s father was held in an old white church ten miles away and was solemn, as expected. What wasn’t expected was the crowd of people in attendance. Though Joshua Senior may not have made many lasting friends, the Bernard and Morris families certainly have. Those people packed the church to pay their respects, over two hundred of them returning to the grove with the family for a late lunch.
“What do you think’s going to happen now?”
Ben frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean tomorrow and next week, and next month. Look at everyone.” I gesture toward his family—Jake standing behind his girlfriend, his arms coiled around her belly; Rob and his wife laughing at their kids; Elsie and Josh linked arm-in-arm and smiling. Granted, I didn’t know them before, but they all look so content. And Wilma . . . The woman has been dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief all day. During the service, I know those tears were meant for the loss of her husband. But mostly, it wasn’t sadness I saw.
It was gratitude, and relief.
“This house is meant to be filled with noise. Wilma’s meant to see her children. Her grandchildren should be running around, laughing and swinging on that big old swing. Even Quincy’s in heaven right now!”
Ben chuckles. “She’s going to end up in dog heaven soon. She’s too fat for all this excitement.”
“But what happens after today?” I press. “Please tell me you guys have talked. Something has to change. For Wilma’s sake, for this grove’s sake . . .” A lump in my throat is forming, as I think about how sad and lonely Wilma will be once everyone’s gone. As much as I loved the grove before, now that I’ve seen it at its best—alive—I can’t bear to see it so quiet and empty again.
Ben sighs. “I’m not sure yet, Reese. Everyone’s got a life somewhere else now. We’ll see what happens.”
“You need to make it happen, Ben. At least for holidays and birthdays and . . .” A thought hits me. “Jake and Rita should get married here. You need to tell him that.”
“Sure!” Ben’s face splits out in a wide grin as he cups one hand over his mouth and hollers, “Jake! Reese thinks you and Rita should have your wedding here!”
“Ben!” I’m not fast enough shoving my fist into Ben’s ribs to cut off his words and, by the flat glare his brother gives him, Jake isn’t impressed by them. If Rita heard them, which I’m sure she did, she doesn’t let on, intent on keeping her focus on the two little girls.
“Benjamin, would you stop harassing your brother,” Wilma’s stern voice calls. We turn to see her closing the distance, trailed by Jack and Mason. I instinctively shift away from my comfortable nook against Ben’s body at the same time that his arm slowly retracts from my shoulders, until just his hand is settled on my back.
“Ben, Jack was just telling me how impressed he is with you at work,” Wilma explains, smiling up at her son, her face full of pride.
“I proofread like a boss,” Ben mocks good-naturedly.
“Though I don’t know why you bothered with law school, given you had this place to fall back on. It’s breathtaking here,” Jack offers, his hands lifting in gesture of our surroundings.
“It is,” Ben agrees.
“Maybe you and Mason can come with Reese another time. I’m expecting her up here quite a lot.”
Good Lord, Wilma. Ben’s deep inhale next to me tells me he’s thinking the same thing I am.
I think all of our eyes—Mason’s included—are locked on Jack, waiting for the reaction, wondering what it might be.
Those gray eyes soften with a genuine smile as he dips his head, as if acknowledging something silently. Maybe he is. “We’ll gladly come visit with her sometime. I wish we could stay longer today, but we’ll be leaving shortly for Miami.” Turning to Wilma, he offers, “Again, we’re very sorry for your loss. If there’s anything we can do to help, please just let Ben know.”
Wilma glances at Ben and me and winks as a woman calls her name from the front porch. “You already have. If you’ll excuse me, it sounds like I’m needed in the kitchen.” She reaches out to shake Jack and Mason’s hands. “Thank you for coming today.” With that, she turns and hurries to the house.
“Well, Reese’s Pieces, I suppose we’ll see you by the end of the weekend, hey?” Jack says, a loving smile on his face.
He steps forward, gripping my arms with his hands. “And remember, we’re always here for you.” Worry flitters through his eyes as he turns to level Ben with an unreadable look. “Take care of my girl this weekend.”
“I will.”
He slaps Ben’s shoulder once. “I know you will.”
I feel the deep furrow in my brow as I watch them leave. “Okay, see that? Now Jack’s acting weird too. Don’t you think?”
“Well . . .” Ben draws that out as he turns to settle a long, hard look on me. So long, it starts to make me squirm.
“What?” I snap.
Gritting his teeth, he gives a cursory glance around the lawn. “I think I’ve shown my face long enough here.” Dropping his gaze to me again, he says, “Let’s go for a ride.”
Chapter 36
BEN
“I love this time of day up here!” Reese yells over the roar of the engine as she kicks the dune buggy into fourth gear and swerves to avoid a pothole in the trail, the late-afternoon November sun beginning its descent over the horizon.
“Can we not add to the funeral count this week?” I yell back, gripping the roll bar with white knuckles. The woman is a maniac behind the wheel. I don’t know how she hasn’t crashed her bike yet and I’m starting to think that I don’t want her on it anymore, because it’s only a matter of time before she does. The only reason I handed her the keys is because I knew she’d need to have a bit of fun before I drop a giant bomb on her head.
“Left up here.” I point and hold on as she whips around the corner, setting my granddaddy’s old yellow truck in our sights.
We come to a skidding stop, a dust cloud billowing out behind us and Reese’s radiant smile making me second-guess this plan. Maybe I should just pack her up and take her back to our attic room. But, no. That won’t change anything. She needs to know this and I’ve always been the “tear the Band-Aid off” kind of guy. If she ever found out that I’d sat on this kind of news instead of letting her know right away, she wouldn’t trust me again. The very idea of that makes my stomach tighten.
I yank the keys out of the ignition—if she’s gonna run, it’ll have to be on foot—and climb out of the dune buggy. Picking up the walking stick, I go through the same process I’ve done for years, rattling the truck to scare off anything living in it.
Reese, having changed into jeans and a T-shirt, hoists herself up onto the tailgate. Such a rare, peaceful smile rests on her lips. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it on her before. It forces my body still, to just stand there and stare at her for a long moment.
I hate that she’s about to lose it.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I hesitate. And then I reach back and pull out the stack of envelopes that’s tucked into the back of my jeans.
Reese’s eyes narrow. “Mason had those yesterday.”
My thumb flips through the stack—five white envelopes and a yellow one. The yellow one, I’m supposed to hold on to until the end. “Were you and Mason talking about your father recently?”
“Yeah. Last week.” Her eyes dart to the envelopes. “Why?”
With a sigh, I stroll over to sit next to her on the tailgate. “Mason told Jack about your ex. How the guy’s living in Miami and remarried, and how you’ve been in touch with him. Mason’s worried you’re on a mission to punish him.”
Reese’s head falls back with a loud groan. “Dammit! I told you that guy can’t be trusted!”
“Just . . . hold up, Reese. Let me finish.” I pause. “Mason was worried; that’s why he said something. And of course Jack was worried, too. He’s been worried about you since he picked you up from Jacksonville. Worried that you were going to turn out as bitter as your mother after being hurt so bad.”
“I’m not Annabelle!” Her cheeks are turning red with anger, making me hold my hands up in surrender.
So far, this isn’t going well.
“I know you’re not. But, just listen. Whatever you and Mason talked about . . . well, he thought it was a good idea to find your father so you could get his side of the story. See what kind of guy leaves his five-year-old in a diner and why. Maybe he had a good reason. Maybe he’s just an ass**le and your mother is right to hate him. But it’s good to know, don’t you think?” Knowing what my father was and, more importantly, what I am not has helped me make some important decisions these past few days. Including the one that led me to sitting here with Reese. “Jack agreed with him. So he called the firm’s private investigator on Monday morning and asked the guy to look into it.” I take a deep breath. “He found him, Reese. He found your father. Turns out it wasn’t so hard, after all, if you knew where to start looking.”
I watch as the blood drains from Reese’s face, until her normally pink cheeks are stark white, making her caramel eyes look a sickly yellow. “Well, where is he?” It comes out in a snap, though I know what sounds like anger is actually fear. Her attention darts to the stack of envelopes in my hand. One of them has a stamp of “Return to sender” on it. The others were never even mailed.
I slide the first one into her shaking hand.
Clearing her throat, she slowly lifts the seal. “These were opened already.” The accusation in her tone is thick. “Did you read these?”
“No.” Mason admitted that he and Jack had read them first, not wanting to just hand something over to Reese that could devastate her.
With a deep breath, she pulls out the first letter, a single lined sheet of paper with similar but slightly neater handwriting than Reese’s.
There’s not much else I can do, so I just sit quietly next to her, feeding her a new envelope every time she finishes the last.
Watching the tears start rolling down her cheeks.
And when I hand her the yellow one, the one holding a copy of the official report inside, the telltale stamp on the front, she turns perfectly still.