Is It Any Wonder (Nantucket Love Story #2) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,104
Her question was quiet, as if she didn’t want to remind him. But he didn’t need the reminder. He routinely spent sleepless nights trying to figure it out—a mystery worth solving.
What difference did it make, really? So someone wanted to remember his dad. That was great—he should be thankful. But the not knowing nagged him. He kept replaying the seemingly disconnected details he did know, rolling them over in his mind along with Ted’s comments about Warren and his affinity for high-stakes poker. None of it seemed to fit together.
The mix of emotions was something he’d always been successful at ignoring—but not here on the island and certainly not standing in front of that cross.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She slipped her hand in his and let him be still.
“But no, still no idea.” He squeezed her hand and turned to face her.
Louisa looked at him, and all his senses were on high alert. She saw the pain he kept hidden from everyone else—with her, he couldn’t hide. The thought terrified and comforted him at the same time.
“We won’t stop trying,” she said.
He felt like a jerk for not telling her about the poker. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment or think about anything other than the way she felt in his arms. Besides, he didn’t know much. Only that Warren played. Maybe Daniel had jumped into a game or two himself, and maybe he’d lost big. Maybe that’s why they had no money when he died. All speculation. No facts. It drove him nuts.
No, he didn’t want to talk about any of that. He’d tell Louisa another day. When the mood was different. Now he simply wanted to take her hand and continue down the beach, away from the memorial—away from the memories.
Found on Cody’s porch in the early hours of a Saturday morning: a chair he and Louisa had seen at a yard sale earlier in the week with a note pinned to it.
You’re not “just one guy” anymore. I’m going to need a place to sit. —Louisa
That night, Louisa was tied up with an especially difficult client, so Cody assured her he’d go check in on Maggie. When she finished her work, Louisa would meet him at the old woman’s house.
He left the station just in time to see McKenzie Palmer ride off with Charlie Pope—a perfect match in his mind. He thought back to the night at the bar when it became glaringly clear to him that he was not meant to stay and hang out with McKenzie or her friend. It was nice of them to include him, but the second the music started, he found himself on the dance floor itching to go home. Around them, he felt old and boring. Or maybe they felt young and obnoxious?
In the end, he’d left early but put a bug in McKenzie’s ear that Charlie might be more the kind of guy she was looking for. She’d done that annoying pout thing with her lips that young girls seemed to do, but it had zero effect on him. He wasn’t interested.
“Well, I still need to interview you for my article,” she’d said.
“Fine,” he said. “That I can do.”
“You’re missing out.” She shimmied off.
He silently agreed. He was missing out. But not with McKenzie. At that point, a relationship with Louisa was nothing but a fantasy.
Last week, McKenzie’s three-part blog series on Nantucket’s finest Coasties was published, and Louisa pointed out that Charlie’s photo was the big one at the top. Cody could not have cared less—he was just thankful the regatta had been successful and they’d been able to present the Wirth family with a nice-size check, though they’d all hoped they were contributing to Jackson’s recovery—not his funeral. In the end, they’d fostered goodwill in the community and genuinely helped someone in need. That had seemed to appease the master chief, for now anyway. Maybe that meant Cody could get back to doing what he loved—training the guys, saving lives, leading a crew.
He walked up Maggie’s front steps, knocked on the door, then let himself in, thinking it was nice that he’d begun to make peace with Nantucket.
“Hello?” he called out into the silence, but there was no response. He followed the blue light of the television into the living room. “Maggie?”
She sat in an armchair, avocado-green-and-yellow afghan on her lap, staring at the muted television. She was so still, for a second Cody thought she was dead.