The Inn - James Patterson Page 0,96
you for about a week. You had no idea.”
The two of them giggled together. I sat back in my chair and cradled my coffee.
“My house is full of liars,” I said.
My own words stayed with me as I looked around the table. Though Susan had told me a little more about her ex-husband and her need to hide from him, I still knew nothing more about what Effie Johnson, sitting feeding her pet rat, had seen or heard that meant she had come and hid in my house. I didn’t know who’d tried to kill her, and every day the secret wandered the house as she did. I didn’t know why the man standing in the window above us never left his room, whether it was fear or habit that kept him away from human contact. Nick had not told me any more about what he had done in the Middle East that left him so scarred and broken, but I had a feeling that his memories and hallucinations were tied to something impossibly dark, something beyond the horrors of war.
When Siobhan had assembled the crew before me, she might have known she was taking liars, runaways, and secret keepers into our home. But even that, I would never know for sure.
I drank my coffee and watched them all and felt strangely comforted by their many untruths. This inn by the sea had become a safe place for those who were lost. It was like a harbor from the storm, accepting all, no matter the loads they carried.
“Maybe it’s time,” Susan said. She elbowed me in the ribs, and I stood, getting the attention of everyone at the table. Clay and Nick looked over from where they had been huddled over a newspaper, reading an article about this year’s Sox lineup.
I drew a breath. “I’d just like to—”
“You can’t do this now!” Angelica cried. “He’s not here yet!”
“Let him make his speech.” Nick waved at Angelica. “Then when the guy gets here, you can make yours.”
“I’d just like to congratulate you, Angelica,” I said, “on the publication of your very first novel. I was glad to hear everybody made it into the last draft. Even you, Vinny, although I don’t know how you ended up as a dangerously attractive neurosurgeon.”
“It’s the knives.” The old gangster shrugged.
“I believe from the excerpt I read that the character called Susan is a smart-talking fighter pilot.” I gestured to Susan, who grinned. “Brave and clever. Sounds about right. And then there’s me. The crazed arsonist. Who knows how you got there, Ange.”
“You’ve burned a few steaks in your life, Bill,” Clay mused. “You always burn the potatoes. A few pieces of toast. Some chicken kebabs—”
“Thanks, Clay, thanks for that.” I raised my glass. “Anyway, what I’m saying is that we’re very proud of you. Our very own author in the house. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that we can’t wait to—”
“He’s here!” Angelica yelled.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TEN
THE FEDEX MAN had followed our sign at the front of the house and was turning the corner of the porch hefting a large box. Angelica ran to him like a wife welcoming a sailor home from a decade at sea. Everyone crowded around as she placed the carton on the table and set to it with a box cutter.
As my friends huddled around one of their own in her proudest moment, I looked at the faces near me. Nick had been officially diagnosed with schizophrenia and was being treated. He caught my eye from across the group, and despite the terrible secrets he carried with him, he smiled. Clay was on the other side of Angelica, chewing his nails in anticipation. When I glanced up I saw that Neddy Ives was looking down, his head almost touching the windowpane in order to get a better view.
Angelica shoved open the flaps of the box, reached into the packing peanuts, and brought out a book with a yellow-and-black cover. A moan of appreciation went up from the gathering.
“What’s it called again?” Vinny leaned in to see. He’d been asking what it was called for weeks, over and over, poking fun at his girlfriend. Angelica put the book in his hands and I saw the jacket illustration of a beautiful woman, a farmer’s wife, looking out across an empty field.
“‘The Lucky Ones,’” Vinny read.
“It’s an allegory,” Angelica said proudly. “It’s based on a story Marni told me once. Oh, I can’t wait for you to read