“Then when their lawyer floats the idea of a settlement, which I expect she will at some point, that’s a firm no.”
“That’s a firm fuck you.”
“You are better.”
“I spent most of the last year in a fog—shock, guilt, fear. Every time the wind changed, blew in a little clear, all I could see in it was another trap. I’m not out of the fog yet, and Jesus, I’m afraid it may roll back in and choke me, but right now, today, I’m willing to risk one of those traps to get the hell out and breathe fresh air again.”
“Okay.” Neal balanced a silver Montblanc pen over his legal pad. “Let’s talk strategy.”
When he finally left Neal’s office, Eli walked across to the Commons. He asked himself how he felt being back in Boston, even for a day. He couldn’t quite find the answer. Everything here remained familiar, and there was comfort in that. There was hope and appreciation for the first green spears pushing up out of winter ground toward spring sun.
People braved the wind—not too much bluster in it today—to eat their lunch on benches, to take a walk as he did or just to cut through on their way to somewhere else.
He’d loved living there, he remembered that. That sense of familiarity again, the sense of place and purpose. He could walk from there if he wanted a good, strong hike, to the offices where he’d once entertained and strategized with clients as Neal had done with him.
He knew where to get his favorite coffee, where to grab a quick lunch or to have a long, lingering one. He had his favorite bars, his tailor, the jeweler where he’d most often bought Lindsay’s gifts.
None of those were his anymore. And as he stood there, studying the hearty green of daffodils waiting to erupt, he realized he didn’t regret it. Or not as keenly as he once had.
So he’d find a new place to get not really a haircut, and buy tulips for his grandmother. And before he went back to Whiskey Beach, he’d pack up the rest of his clothes, his workout gear. He’d get serious about reclaiming the parts of his life that were still there to be taken, and start really letting go of the rest.
By the time he parked in front of the beautiful old redbrick home on Beacon Hill clouds had rolled in over the sun. He thought the oversize bouquet of purple tulips might offset that. He balanced them in one arm while he maneuvered the big bowl of forced hyacinths—one of his mother’s favorites—out of the car.
He could admit the drive, the meeting, the walking, had left him more tired physically than he liked. But he wasn’t going to let his family see it. Maybe the day had gone gloomy, but he clung to that hope he’d pulled to him in the Commons.
Even as he crossed to the door, it opened.
“Mr. Eli! Welcome home, Mr. Eli.”
“Carmel.” He would have hugged their longtime housekeeper if his arms had been free. Instead he bent down to her five feet of sturdy joy to kiss her cheek.
“You’re too skinny.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to have Alice fix you a sandwich. You’re going to eat it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Look at those pretty flowers!”
Eli managed to pull a tulip from the bunch. “For you.”
“You’re my sweetheart. Come in, come in. Your mother will be home very soon, and your father promised to be home by five-thirty so he wouldn’t miss you if you don’t stay. But you’re going to stay, have dinner. Alice is making Yankee pot roast, and vanilla bean crème brûlée for dessert.”
“I’d better save her a tulip.”
Carmel’s wide face warmed with a smile, an instant before her eyes filled.
“Don’t.” Here was the pain, the distress he’d seen on the faces of people he loved every day since Lindsay’s murder. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“It will. Of course it will. Here, let me take that bowl.”
“They’re for Mom.”
“You’re a good boy. You’ve always been a good boy, even when you weren’t. Your sister’s coming to dinner, too.”
“I should’ve bought more flowers.”
“Hah.” She’d blinked away the tears and now gave the air a brush with her hand to send him on his way. “You take those to your grandmother. She’s up in her sitting room, probably on that computer. You can’t keep her off it, all hours of the day and night. I’ll bring you the sandwich, and a vase for