Is It Any Wonder (Nantucket Love Story #2) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,52

that his dad must have had a plan for it. His father always had a plan.

Right?

It didn’t matter. At least that was what he told himself. Wherever it was, his dad’s nest egg was gone. None of it was left for Cody, Marley, or their mom. The pain of that sliced through their family like a newly sharpened knife through a ripe cantaloupe.

His father’s death turned his mother into a different person. She went from joyful and engaged to nearly catatonic, and the only thing Cody wanted to do was take her pain away.

When it came time to pack up the house, she haphazardly filled boxes, and Cody and Marley went behind her to try to make sense of the disorganized mess. Their last night in the house, Cody realized his father’s office door was still closed, and as far as he knew, nobody had packed anything from inside.

He pushed open the door and inhaled—the scent of his dad’s aftershave still lingered in the air. Nagging guilt nearly overtook him. How was it possible that his dad was really gone? Weren’t fathers invincible? Cody had always thought so.

The room was tragically frozen in time, photos on the wall, books filling the shelves. His father was a voracious reader, and as Cody ran a hand over his collection of crime novels and history books, he tried to take a mental snapshot so he’d never forget this room.

“What are you doing in here?”

He spun around and found a haggard, tired version of his mother standing in the doorway.

“We should pack up Dad’s office.”

“No,” she said. “Everything stays here.”

Cody didn’t understand. His father’s office was full of things they would want. Memories, sure, but paperwork, too. What if there was something important they needed down the road?

“Let me handle it, Mom,” Cody said. He refrained from adding, You’re not thinking clearly.

“What could we possibly need? Everything is gone.” She moved away from the door and motioned for him to pass through, which he did, grudgingly. “Don’t go in there again.”

But he did go in. That night, when his mother was in a prescription pill–induced slumber, he went in and packed everything he could into a box that would pass for one of his own. He didn’t look through the contents of the desk; he just silently moved them from the drawer to the box, put the lid on it, taped it up, and wrote his name on the side.

And that was how it had stayed all these years. Until tonight when he stupidly opened it like a kid on Christmas. Like there was joy to be found inside.

Right on top was a sheet of paper with his father’s handwriting on it, and the sight of it had nearly knocked him out cold.

After the tidal wave of emotions crashed through his body, he was certain this was not a path worth investigating. The past needed to stay in the past. End of story.

He cut the engine, grabbed the box, and walked inside. What was he so afraid of? Bank statements and tax documents? Like he’d always said, his dad must’ve had a plan—they couldn’t possibly know what he’d been thinking in the weeks leading up to his death. But Cody had chosen to believe there was a reason for what seemed like major financial mismanagement.

A memorial at the place where he died changed nothing about that. An IOU note from someone who missed his dad didn’t change anything either. Cody knew who his father was.

He set the box on the empty kitchen counter and stared at it.

He knew who his father was.

Except what if there was more to his father than the man he knew? Men had secrets, even fathers. What if his dad had a whole life Cody knew nothing about?

After several long seconds, he brought the box into the living room, dropping it on the floor in front of his solo recliner. He continued staring at it as if he could open it by telekinesis. As if that would make it hurt less. If he were smart, he would’ve left it with Louisa, paid her a nice sum to go through it, and asked her to track down whoever it was that had left the note behind.

But Louisa wasn’t a detective, and frankly, the less she knew about his personal life the better. He’d been foolish to accept her help in the first place. She had this infectious enthusiasm that he couldn’t help but find amusing—even now, when he wanted nothing to