Rundown (Curveball Book 2) (22 page)

“
Nancy,
what’s wrong?” I ask, setting the basket on the hutch.

She
shakes her head, trying to get herself together.  I rub her arm,
attempting to console her and after what feels like an eternity she
speaks.  

“
This
was a tradition that Alexis started–writing down all the things
we’re thankful for each year.  These,” she says picking up a
handful from the basket, “were the constants.  All the others
she took out and put somewhere else.”

I
smile warmly. “I bet she’d love for it to continue.”

“
You’re
probably right.”

“
Can
we help?”  

Nancy
and I turn to see Colin and Aubrey standing in the doorway, holding
hands.

Nodding
eagerly, Nancy covers her mouth to muffle a sob.  Colin runs
off, returning a few moments later with paper and a pen.  Drew,
Paul and Maddie join us shortly after and we all silently sit at the
table, writing our thanks.  

“
Now
we read what we’re thankful for and put the notes in the basket.”
 She walks over to Colin and holds the basket in front of him.
 “I think Alexis would want you to go first.”

Colin
smiles and politely pushes the basket away.  “Can we try
something different?”

I
observe Nancy nervously as her apprehension breaks into a grin.
 “What do you have in mind?”

“
We
need a bag and the balloons.”  

Colin
explains his idea and I’m floored.  
I can’t believe he
remembers this.  
Nancy collects the bag and we all dump our
notes inside.  Once outside, Colin closes it and ties it to the
string, securing the bag to the balloons.
 
I’m floored.
 My seven-year-old son has the maturity of a grown man; I
couldn’t be prouder.  Standing there, I watch him take control
of what could have been a depressing moment and turn it into
something special.  

“
The
weather’s perfect for this, Colin,” Paul observes, looking up to
the sky.  “And so is your idea.”

“
You
sure you don’t want to put anything in the bag for your father?”
Nancy offers.

“
We’re
sure,” Colin replies.  

Nancy
smiles and kisses him on the forehead.  He then hands his
masterpiece to her and steps back, letting Nancy have her moment.

“
Where’d
he come up with this?” Drew whispers in my ear.

“
After
my mom passed away, my dad and I went to a psychologist.  I
think it was too hard for him, because it only lasted about three
visits. Anyway, this was one of the activities she suggested to help
me feel like I still had a connection to my mom, and perhaps bring
closure.  I don’t know why, but it worked for me.  I must
have written her a hundred letters over the years,” I admit. 
“When Mark died and the kids were having a hard time, I had them do
the same thing.”

“
Did
it help?”

“
For
Colin it did.  I’m not sure either of the girls would
remember; they were really young.  We only did it once so I’m
surprised he remembered.”

Drew
rubs my arm.  “I’m glad he did.”

“
I
wish I had known your sister.”  

“
Me
too.”   

Drew
kisses my forehead before going to his mother, and together, the
three Scott’s release the balloons, and perhaps some of their
grief, as they send their love to Alexis in heaven.  Standing in
a circle, we hold each other, watching until the balloons can no
longer be seen. 

“
Happy
Thanksgiving, Alexis.  We miss you so much.”  

The
breaking of Nancy’s voice draws tears of my own.  The fact
that Alexis didn’t even know me, yet tried to warn me of some
unknown threat, affects me in ways I didn’t fully grasp until now.
 Because of that, taking part in this moment of remembrance is
both profound and fitting.  

“
I’m
starving,” Maddie dramatically grumbles, breaking the silence.
Thankfully, Paul and Nancy laugh.  

“
Then
by all means, let’s eat.”  Drew scoops up Maddie and leads
us inside.

Read
Between the Lines

“
As
much as I enjoy being alone with you, why are we here?  You’re
exhausted.”

“
I
wanted to show you around,” I tell her.  

I
reach across the table and take her hand in mine, rubbing small
circles on her hands.  The warm atmosphere of the bistro and the
sensation of her skin on mine are so soothing it practically lulls me
to sleep.  

“
It’s
a lovely town, Drew,” she says leaning forward. “But if I see you
nod off one more time, I’ll head over to that gazebo across the
street and spin in a circle so we can call it a day.  You should
be in bed.”

“
Always
trying to have your way with me,” I muse.  

“
Please.
 You’d fall asleep before my clothes were off, you’re so
tired.”

“
Wanna
bet?”

Breanne
rolls her eyes and leans back, giving me an unobstructed view of her
chest.  I unintentionally zone out, earning me a kick under the
table.  

What
does she expect from me?

Instead
of shooting daggers at me, she’s staring off in the distance.  I
follow her gaze towards the window where Everett stands guard.  I’d
say he’s trying to blend in, but that really isn’t possible in a
small town like this.  

“
He’s
in almost as bad of shape as you.  Why hasn’t Spencer stepped
in to give him a break?  I mean, did the FBI even offer him a
vacation or anything after what you guys went through?”

“
They
did, but he wouldn’t take it.”

“
Oh.”
 

Judging
by her tone, I can tell she gets it.  Not that he’ll talk
about it, but I know Everett feels responsible for what happened to
us, and he’s also having a tough time accepting the loss of his
partner.  I’m struggling with that too.  O’Conner may
have had a gruff exterior, but he had a heart of gold.  The man
took his job seriously, and that means that he lost his life because
of me.

What’s
equally as troubling is that I can’t shake the feeling that I know
information that could help end this bullshit, except the answers are
locked away in a part of my memory where I might never get access.
 My inability to remember what took place at Alexis’s house is
causing this situation to continue.  By default, Breanne’s
life is just as much at risk as O’Conner’s was and that scares me
more than anything.  

I
can’t lose her.

I
glance at Breanne who’s still watching Everett.  “I can’t
help but wonder if there’s more to it than just wanting to protect
you.”

“
Like
what?”

“
Like
maybe he doesn’t trust Spencer.  What the hell has he been
doing anyway?  He’s here, yet we barely see him.”

“
What
makes you think Everett doesn’t trust him?” I ask.  My eyes
rest on hers as she formulates a response.

“
I
don’t know.  It’s just a feeling I get.”

“
Do
you trust him?”

“
Maybe.”
 She pauses and begins twirling her necklace. “Not really.  I
keep thinking back to that night when I saw someone in the back yard.
 Spencer was outside keeping watch.  It took him awhile to
make his way to the backyard, longer than it should have, and the
person didn’t leave right away, even after Corinne was by my side.
 Spencer didn’t show up until after the person was gone.  It
could be my imagination, but neither Spencer nor the other guy seemed
to be in a hurry.”

“
What
else?”  I can tell by the way she’s chewing on her bottom
lip that there’s more to her suspicions.  

“
At
the end of the game yesterday I chased after the ball as it started
rolling down the hill.  When I went to pick it up I burned my
finger on a lit cigar.  Spencer scared the shit out of me, and
apologized for not putting it out…”

“
But,”
I urge her to continue.

“
I
can’t remember seeing him down that way and the cigar was barely
smoked.”

“
Meaning
it was recently lit.”

She
nods.  “I’m probably over thinking this, but I don’t want
any of us to be alone with him.”

“
Well
since Everett won’t be leaving my side, and you’re either with
us, or Corinne and the kids, we’ll be fine.”

“
If
the five of us could be together all the time, it’d be perfect,”
Breanne says.  “We’d only need the two of them.”

“
Speaking
of the two of them, did you hear Everett call her Corinne instead of
Jackson this morning?”

“
No.
 I imagine it didn’t go well.”

“
Yeah,
apparently you are the only one who she allows to call her by her
first name.”

“
You
call her Corinne,” Breanne retorts.

“
Not
to her face.  If I have, it’s been tolerated.  I highly
doubt Everett will make that mistake again.”

While
I’m doing my best to distract Breanne from stressing over Spencer,
in the back of my mind I’m planning on telling Patterson to get her
a different agent.  

After
lunch, Breanne and I spend an hour or so browsing the different
shops, her favorites being The Cinnamon Stick, a gourmet gift shop,
and The Wine Barrel, a new place that takes wood from old wine
barrels and transforms them into tables, chairs and other rustic
décor.  

“
Can
we stop at the coffee shop?” she asks as we’re leaving Browsers.

“
Sure.”

“
Why
don’t you two stay out here?  Maybe the fresh air will
invigorate you.”