Chapter 1
July 2, 2013
Life can change in the blink of
an eye. This blink came when a cop car cruised up The Seacrest’s white shell
driveway on a hot Saturday in July.
I’ll never forget the moment. You
know how folks remember where they were when John Lennon died? Or when
President Kennedy was assassinated? It was like that, every detail stamped into
my brain, forever.
A fresh breeze laden with the
scent of the sea rustled blue flowers in a nearby hydrangea hedge. Hot and
sweaty, I stood in the blazing sun, feeling like a fool. I’d just finished weed
wacking around the paddock fence posts. Unfortunately, said weed wacker had
spooked Libby Vanderhorn’s favorite mare, Serendipity, who I secretly called
Dippy, because she was such a loose cannon. She’d bucked three times and
knocking down several fence boards. Libby was a good rider, but this time she’d
landed in a sprawling heap on the soft dirt, swearing at me.
The boss’s gorgeous, stuck-up
daughter didn’t mince words, and the sting of her accusations still sounded in
my head. How stupid can you be, Finn?
What’s wrong with you?
Libby’s father held great power
on Cape Cod. Rudolph Vanderhorn sat on so many boards, I’d lost count. His
father’s fish canning company made a fortune back in the eighties, and he and
his daughter had enjoyed the spoils ever since.
I stooped to pick up a hammer
from my toolbox, planning to reattach the fence boards before any of Libby’s
horses got hurt on the protruding nails. Curious now, I watched the Brewster
Police car circle the long drive, heading toward the mansion. The local
authorities stopped by every few days to discuss town matters with my boss. But
today the blue light was flashing, which didn’t look like a casual visit.
A shudder went through me, and I
turned cold. Something bad had happened. I sensed it.
The front door opened, and Rudy
watched them approach, one hand shading the sun from his eyes. Like a majestic
lion, he stood broad-shouldered and strong, his longish white hair lifting in
the sea breeze.
Libby stopped hosing down her big
white mare, who thankfully hadn’t hurt herself in the fit she’d thrown earlier.
The horse snorted and rubbed her big head against her owner’s arm as if to
scratch an itch. Long, dark hair blew around Libby’s face, and she stared with
open curiosity at the cruiser, rhythmically combing her fingers through the
mare’s curly mane.
Time froze.
I stood still, gripping the
hammer, studying the patrol car as it drove past the front porch with its
impressive columns and portico. It didn’t stop for Rudy, but passed the six-car
garage, followed the driveway to the barn, and rolled to a stop ten feet from
me, lights still flashing.
Police Chief Kramer and Deputy
Lowell stepped out and ambled toward me, their eyes somber.
I dropped the hammer, letting it
thud to the grass near my feet.
“Finn?” Kramer said, approaching
slowly. “I’m afraid we have bad news.”
There is nothing worse than
hearing that bad news is about to be delivered. My brain went wild, imagining
the worst scenarios. But somehow I didn’t quite picture what he was about to
tell me.
“There’s been an accident,”
Kramer said.
Lowell, a high school football
star in his day, kicked the dirt at the edge of the path. “Car went over the
cliffs,” he said, avoiding my eyes.
“For God’s sake, guys.” I looked
from Kramer to Lowell. “Who was in
the car?”
Kramer pulled out a piece of
paper. “I regret to inform you that your wife, Cora Mae McGraw, and your
brother, Jaxson Robert McGraw, have been killed in a vehicular accident.”
Deputy Lowell touched my sleeve,
then awkwardly stepped back. “We’re real sorry, Finn.”
“Car went into the ocean,” Kramer
said. “We believe they were dead on impact.”
I stared at them, numbness
creeping up my spine. “What the hell?”
“Er, look, if there’s anything we
can do...” Lowell seemed remorseful, and he offered a hand when I lost my
balance and grabbed for the fence.
Libby and her father appeared at
my side in seconds, but in the dreamlike state of denial and shock, I caught
only brief snatches of their words, as if the wind had grabbed them, teasing me
with the bits and pieces.
“What happened?”
“Bad accident.”
“She died?”
“Who was with her?”
And so on.
Libby guided me across the lawn
and around back to the mansion’s cavernous kitchen. I leaned woodenly against
the refrigerator while the family’s beloved cook, Fritzi, bustled her big,
ample self about the kitchen making coffee and pushing fresh corn muffins at
the officers.
Someone guided me into a chair. I
sat, dazed and unmoving. The voices warbled around me and now my brain began to
pick through the new knowledge, still not comprehending.
Cora’s
dead?
It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.
Jax
is dead?
I hadn’t seen my brother in ten
years.
Ten years since I’d even talked to him. I sometimes almost drove
past the blueberry farm, thinking of my old life. But I never actually stopped
there.
Ten years since my parents died
in that fire. Since I lost my little sister, Eva. Ten years since my family
burned because of that cigarette smoldering in the couch.
Ten freaking years.
I didn’t even know what Jax
looked like anymore. Had he lost hair? Gained weight? Turned prematurely gray
like our father did at age thirty?
Ten years.
A shudder passed through me. A
great gulping sound sputtered from my throat. I think I started to
hyperventilate.
I locked eyes with Libby, whose
mouth was moving. I couldn’t hear her.
Cora
is dead.
Jax
is dead.
Laying my head on my arms, I
silently convulsed.
One thought wandered around the
edges of my brain, refusing to go away, in spite of the enormity of what had
happened.
What
the hell was Jax doing with Cora?
Chapter
2
July 2, 1997
I’ll never forget the day I fell
in love with her.
There she stood, all tall and
lanky, dark hair blowing in the breeze as if it loved caressing her face.
She held a beach ball and faced
the sea.
She was sixteen.
That’s all it took. That one
salty, sandy, sunshiny day—forever staked in my memory.
Her father had claimed a spot on
Paines Creek Beach, right next to ours. They laid out a red-and-white striped blanket
and matching umbrella with beach chairs, a cooler filled with watermelon and
soda, and white paper bags that smelled of fries and burgers.
I’d settled on a beach towel next
to my grandfather, Dex McGraw, surreptitiously watching them.
Gramps sat beside me, drinking
from a cold thermos of gin and ice, his favorite. He sat with his shirt off and
long legs stretched out, his head back and shaggy silver-blond hair glinting in
the sun. He always told me his time was “before the hippies,” but I had a feeling
he would have made a good one. He was one helluva rebel. And he always stood up
for what was right, no matter what.
He saw me watching the girl and
casually appraised her, gray eyes slit and his head nodding in approval. With a
low whisper, he turned to me. “Pretty girl.”
I know I blushed, because at
sixteen that’s all I seemed to do when girls were involved. “Yeah. I guess.” I
traced circles in the sand with my forefinger. The sun burned the skin on my
back and shoulders, although I’d slathered plenty of sunscreen on earlier at my
mother’s insistence.
He didn’t say anything for a few
minutes, but closed his eyes, soaking in the sun and soft breeze. I wondered
what he was thinking about. Adventures at sea? Lost loves? I knew he had many,
and that some of them had died awful deaths. Once in a while he talked about
it. But it seemed I never got enough of his stories. I always wanted more.
“Finn?”
“Yes, Gramps?”
“I want to tell you something.”
He opened his eyes, and caught me watching her again. She’d dropped into a
chair while her father dutifully rubbed white suntan lotion on her shoulders.
“I’m listening.” I stared up at his leathery
skin, his eyes so full of wisdom. He didn’t look like my friends’ grandfathers.
Lean, muscled, and strong, he didn’t use a cane, or bend over when he walked.
His body boasted scars earned from long-ago adventures. I bragged about those
badges of courage to my friends.
He leaned in close to me. “Grab
life with both hands. If you love someone, put your whole heart into it. Give
it your all. Your everything.” He glanced sideways at the girl, and a wistful
expression crossed his face. “Nothing is forever, my boy. So enjoy every single
second.”
“Okay,” I said.
He locked eyes with me. “I’m
serious.”
I nodded. “I got it.”
“Why don’t you go say hello? I
think she’s looking for someone to toss that ball with.”
I nearly froze, but he gently
urged me with his eyes. Summoning my courage, I stood up, brushing sand from my
legs and arms.
“Go on. You’ll have fun,” he
said.
I glanced at her.
Now her father rubbed lotion on
her back. Creamy skin. Soft skin. Touchable skin.
She held her hair aloft with one
delicate hand.
Piano playing fingers, I thought.
Be
strong.
Be
brave.
You
can do this.
As if reading my mind, Gramps
nodded in her direction again. “You’ve got this, Finn.”
“Right.” With heart thumping, I
took a deep breath and headed toward her.
Chapter
3
July 5, 2013
On the day after Independence
Day, I stood beside the grave, staring at the casket.
Cora.
Oh my God.
Cora.
The pain spread through me like
hot oil in a frying pan, searing my insides and coating my brain with sticky,
gooey nothingness. For the past two days, I’d been disconnected from the world
and had rarely responded to people’s questions. I hadn’t met anyone’s eyes. And
when they’d finally left me alone, I stayed in my dark bedroom for hours. No
lawn mowing, no weeding in the Vanderhorns’ gardens, no stall mucking.
It was embarrassing, really, in
that part of my brain that still connected tenuously with normal thought. But
the double loss of Cora and Jax, coupled with my unresolved anger at him, was
quite simply—unbearable.
My wife’s coffin lay in the
rectangular hole covered with fake green grass carpet, sparkling white with
lavender flowers. With a detached inner smile, I thought she would have liked
it. That is, had she been standing here beside me and able to ignore the issue
of her own death.
Maybe she was standing beside me? Maybe her spirit lingered in the salty sea
breeze.
I wasn’t so sure. Because in the
end, I didn’t even know if she still loved me.
Libby and Rudy Vanderhorn stood
on either side of me, alongside a small group of our friends who crowded around
the grave overlooking the cliffs, the very spot where my wife and brother had
plunged to their deaths.
It was too much. Seeing those
craggy bluffs, imagining—over and over again—the car bursting through the
guardrail and plunging into the deep green water.
But I had no choice, really. The
Shady Pines cemetery hosted the plots my parents bought long ago, and I didn’t
exactly have enough pocket cash to buy two new gravesites. Okay, I’ll admit it.
I didn’t have enough money to get the muffler fixed on my old Jeep. Or pay for
that stack of overdue bills on the kitchen table. Worst of all, I didn’t have
enough to cover the cost of flowers or funeral services.
Cora and I had sunk everything
into paying off school loans. Me with my useless degree in fine arts, she with
a performance degree in cello. Together we’d owed almost a hundred grand.
We both tried for years to get
jobs in places like museums and orchestras. Occasionally, we’d get part time
gigs. I sold some of my watercolors once when I lowered the price at the town
sidewalk sales to ridiculous levels. But it was never enough to pay the bills,
and over time, both Cora and I had given up our elusive dreams and fell into
the jobs as groundskeeper/groom and housemaid at the Vanderhorns’ mansion by
the sea.
The Seacrest wasn’t a bad place
to work, and part of the deal was free use of a one-bedroom cottage on the far
side of the barn. Where I used to sleep every night with Cora. Every night with
Cora. Never again with Cora. Never.
Cora.
I surveyed the contiguous plots
beneath the tree. Beside the graves of my parents and little sister, there was
a space for me, a plot for my brother, and two adjacent spots for our wives.
Jaxson’s wife had left him years ago, so I had no idea who would end up buried
between him and me. My brother and Berra had produced no kids, thank God.
Cora and I had no little ones,
either, although I’d always wanted a family. She’d said we “weren’t ready”
every year, for the past eleven years. It always came down to finances, the
fact that we had no home of our own, and her insistence that she wasn’t ready
to be a mother.
Now she’d never get the chance.
And I’d probably never be a father.
Another stab of pain hit me hard
in the chest. I’d really wanted a family.
I clutched at the tie I borrowed
from Rudy, loosening the choking fabric. The sun blazed overhead, and I’d
broken into an uncomfortable sweat since we left the shelter of the cool
limousine. I wore the same dark suit I’d bought for the triple funeral when my
parents and sister died in the fire. It hung loose on me now, especially since
I’d worked all day, every day for the past five years outdoors.
Today Rudy and Libby flanked me,
also dressed in black. Rudy had kindly arranged for the funeral details for
both Cora and my brother. Somehow, the flowers and service were ordered and
paid for. Jax’s funeral was yesterday, a complete blur. I was certain it had
displaced a number of July Fourth barbecues. I remembered very little, except
some of the hymns we used to sing in church when we were a whole family. A
complete family. A living family.
How
can I be the only one left?
Reverend Mitchell droned on and
on, but I didn’t process his words. He hadn’t known Cora. His words were
hollow, and I almost resented the way he talked about her as if they’d been
best friends.
I watched his mouth move, his
hands holding a worn bible. His wizened mouth puckered and turned to a frown
when a crow tried to compete with him and yammered in the white pine overhead,
seeming to mimic the pastor’s words.
I almost laughed out loud.
I hadn’t stepped foot in the
quaint little Presbyterian Church where he preached since the deaths of my
parents and sister.
I was still mad at God for that
one.
But I was also equally mad at
Jax. I was certain it was his cigarette that started the fire.
“Finn?” Libby took my arm and
guided me toward the car when the coffin was lowered. Someone’s hand—maybe my
own—had dropped a handful of soil on it.
I held in my grief like a man.
My father would’ve been proud. My
mother would have wept. And my little sister would have comforted me, holding
my hand and telling me she loved me with those big green eyes.
But I felt it welling up in my
throat, and if someone approached and was too nice, I was afraid I’d lose it.
“Finn? Come on. Let’s get you
home.”
Libby had been kind for the past
three days, sparing me her usual quips and complaints. Her father had treated
me with respect and kindness, also out of character. Yet both of them had
tactfully avoided the question I still agonized over.
Why had Cora been in Jax’s car?
I didn’t think they’d ever met.
She’d asked about him, of course. Wondered why he inherited the farm and I got
nothing.
She’d treated me like I lost my
mind when I told her I’d rejected the inheritance and told him he could have
it. All of it. The three hundred and fifty acres of blueberry fields and woods.
The house and barns. The stand for the berry picking operation.
I’d given it all up to flee the
horror of that night.
With a sigh, I slumped in the
back seat of the limo. Libby touched my hand, and I felt my resolve crack.
Just five more minutes. Hold on
for five more minutes.
Chapter
4
July 2nd,
1997
We played with the beach ball for
about an hour, laughing and churning up sand three hundred yards up the beach,
away from the sunbathers and family picnics. After the first few nervous
minutes, the whole thing felt very natural, as if we were just kids and there
were no boy-girl elements to be embarrassed about.
But there certainly were boy-girl
elements.
I watched her tawny arms as they
flailed and whapped the ball and marveled at her long, delicate legs when she
ran back and forth along the quiet stretch of sand we’d chosen. Her eyes had a
way of widening in mock horror when I tossed it too high and she missed it,
quickly followed by a wide smile that dizzied me.
She had a nice figure, with slim
legs, a narrow waist, and pretty shoulders. Her one-piece black suit covered
areas I tried not to stare at, but couldn’t help wanting to. I wondered how it
would feel to touch her. Probably softer than silk. Her hair cascaded along her
back, bouncing dark against her summer brown skin.
We collapsed on the sand with the
ball between us, breathing hard and laughing.
“You’re pretty good at this,” she
said.
I leaned back on my arms and
chuckled. “So are you. For a girl.”
She sat up and hit my arm. “What?
For a girl?”
Afraid she’d storm off, I took
her hand and pulled her close to me. “I’m just kidding! Really, you’re good,
even for a guy.”
She smiled that lazy, sweet grin
again and I felt my heart melt.
“Okay. That’s better.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Guess.”
“What?”
“Guess.”
“Okay.” I sat up, furrowed my
brow, and placed fingertips against my temples, staring at her. “I’m getting
something. It’s coming.”
She laughed and poked my chest. “Oh,
really? What do you see?”
I gave it a shot. “Jennifer?”
She snorted. “No!”
I tried again. “Sarah?”
She giggled. “Heck, no.”
I tried to think of the most
popular names of our generation, hoping it was one of them. “Allison?”
“Uhnt-uh.” She shook her head.
“Give me a hint.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on!” I frowned. “How
can I guess?”
“You have to.”
“Okay. Hannah? Jessica? Carly?
Jenna? Lisa?”
“No, no, no, no, and no.”
“Hey. How ‘bout if I tell you my
name?”
“What is it?”
I hesitated. “It’s a weird one.”
“Tell me.”
“Okay. It’s Finn.”
She tilted her head. “That’s not
weird. I like it. Finn.” She seemed to taste the letters on her tongue,
enjoying the feel of it. “It’s different. But nice.”
“Okay. Your turn.” I sat forward
expectantly.
“Nope. I’m not telling. You have
to keep guessing.”
I ran through all the names I
could imagine, and didn’t hit on it. Frustrated now, I flopped back on the
sand. “Okay. Then I’m gonna make up a name for you.”
She made a face. “Really?”
Quickly, she leaned over me, her face blocking the sun.
In a sudden rush of feeling, I
wanted to pull her to me, to smother her in kisses, to taste the salt on her
skin.
“Okay, what’s it gonna be? What’s
my new name?”
“Let me think.”
Her hair danced over my bare
chest. I caught it and played with it. “You are sweet. I could call you Honey.”
“Boring,” she said.
“How about Candy?”
“Sexist,” she pouted.
“Bambi?”
“Even worse! I’m not a playboy
bunny!”
“Okay, Well, you look delicious.
How about Cupcake?”
She hissed. “That sounds like a
chubby girl. Or a pony.”
“Okay, okay. Let me think. Maybe
I need some inspiration. How about a kiss?”
At first I thought she’d reel
back and hit me. But to my surprise, she lowered her lips to mine, stopping
just an inch apart. “Okay. Just a little one, though.”
I reached my arms up to her neck
and pulled her toward me. At the last minute, just as I felt the soft sweetness
of her mouth brushing mine, she pulled back.
“Nope. Too soon.” She got up and
laughed, twirling around with the ball. “Come on. What’s my nickname?”
I sat up, trying to control the
heat surging beneath my bathing suit. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
“What? What is it?”
“Sassy.”
She pranced toward me. “I love
that! Okay. From now on, I’m Sassy to you.”
Her father appeared out of
nowhere, his face a study in disapproval. I think he hated me from the moment I’d
asked her to toss the ball around. I also figured he’d probably seen us lying
near each other, and got nervous.
He glared at me. “Time for lunch.
Let’s go.”
There was no arguing with his
stern tone. She tossed him the ball and wiggled her fingers at me. “See ya ‘round,
Finn.”
I grinned like an idiot. God, she
was cute. “Okay, Sassy. See ya.”
I watched her link arms with her
father and sashay away from me. The sun winked on the brilliant sand, almost blinding
me. As if hypnotized, I stared with slack jaw until I could barely make out her
figure among the crowded, colorful throng of beach-lovers.
Sassy.
Oh, Sassy. You’re the one for me.
AUTHOR
BIO: Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. An
award-winning, bestselling Kindle author of three addictive mystery series,
writing books, and a new love story, Aaron enjoys the Genesee Valley
countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with
their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his
website at http://www.lazarbooks.com and watch for his upcoming releases THE
SEACREST (2013), SANCTUARY (2014), and VIRTUOSO (2014).
Buy
Links:
Twilight Times Books by multi-award winning author, Aaron Lazar:
VIRTUOSO (~2014)
MURDER ON THE SACANDAGA
(~2014)
STANDALONES
THE SEACREST (coming fall of
2013)
WRITING ADVICE:
AWARDS:
Double Forté
- 2012 ForeWord
BOTYA, Mystery, FINALIST
Tremolo: cry of the
loon –
- 2013 Eric
Hoffer Book Awards: Grand Prize Short List
- 2013 Eric
Hoffer Book Awards: Honorable Mention, Eric Hoffer Legacy Fiction
- 2011 Global
eBook Award Finalist in Historical Fiction Contemporary
- 2011 Preditors
& Editors Readers Choice Award – 2nd place Mystery
- 2008 Yolanda
Renée's Top Ten
Books
- 2008 MYSHELF
Top Ten Reads
For the Birds
- 2011 ForeWord
Book Awards, FINALIST in Mystery
- 2012 Carolyn
Howard-Johnson's Top 10 Reads
Essentially Yours
- 2013 EPIC Book
Awards, FINALIST in Suspense
- 2013 Eric
Hoffer Da Vinci Eye Award Finalist
Healey’s Cave
- 2012 EPIC Book
Awards WINNER Best Paranormal
- 2011 Eric
Hoffer Book Award, WINNER Best Book in Commercial Fiction
- 2011 Finalist
for Allbooks Review Editor's Choice
- 2011 Winner of
Carolyn Howard Johnson's 9th Annual Noble (not Noble!) Prize for
Literature
- 2011 Finalists
for Global EBook Awards
Terror Comes
Knocking
·
2013
Global Ebook Awards, Paranormal – Bronze
For Keeps
·
2013 Semi Finalist in
Kindle Book Review Book Awards, Mystery Category
A big THANK YOU to Aaron Paul Lazar for sharing with us on his book tour today. And now, as promised, enter to win a signed copy of another of Aaron's fabulous books, Essentially Yours. HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!
