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I felt an inch tall. I glanced in the rearview mirror to acknowledge my shame. “Yes,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, but yes.”
“Because you think I disparaged my relationship with Jack?” he asked. “That less than a year wasn’t long enough to wait?” he added.
“Yes,” I said. “Petty, right?”
“I wished you were the only person who thought that, Cole, but you aren’t.”
“Really?” I asked, suddenly ashamed I was piling on.
“Many of Jack’s friends felt that way. Most cut me off. Especially when they heard I’d fallen in love with a nineteen-year-old.”
His admission stunned me. His honesty was worth respecting, though. “Nineteen, huh?” I reconfirmed. “Yeah, I suppose that didn’t look good.”
“You could say that,” he agreed. “But would you like to know what really set them off?” he asked, not waiting for a reply. “It was me telling every hater that Jack himself had led me to Lucas. Everything I did was a request from Jack. A letter he left insisted I do what I did.” I was shocked by his remarks. I remained silent for an uncomfortable ten seconds. “See?” he asked. “Now you’re probably figuring you shouldn’t have called, right? Maybe I’m the asshole for making up such a ridiculous excuse as Jack insisting I find a new love?”
“You believe he did that?” I asked, stumbling with my words, wondering if he actually believed himself. “That Jack wanted that?”
“Jack didn’t want,” he corrected. “He demanded. I don’t have to tell you how Jack ran our world. And because Jack was Jack, he had a plan for me if something happened. Unfortunately, his plan came sooner than any of us wanted. But I am telling you the truth, Cole.”
Somehow, I knew he was. I knew Jack almost as well as Perry did. What he’d just said would have been truthful and right up Jack’s controlling-ways alley. Jack was a planner. A doer. He saw shit the rest of us didn’t. And of course, he wrote a letter. Jack wrote letters by the hundreds. Hell, I’d received dozens just on my own.
“He knew this Lucas boy?” I asked. “Like, how?”
“He’d never met Lucas. I have no idea how he did it, but please trust me, I’m convinced he did,” Perry stated. “Not to freak you out, Cole, but Jack had… well… he had…” He paused.
He couldn’t find the words to describe Jack’s unusual force of nature, so I did. “An unusual way about him? A strange way of knowing stuff?” I offered. “A sort of sixth sense?”
“Precisely that,” Perry agreed.
“Jack sent me a letter in a Christmas card the week before he died,” I blurted out. “I recently rediscovered it and reread the letter inside.” I heard Perry inhale quickly, but he remained silent. “Jack, as usual, offered advice and comfort,” I added.
“Of course he did. Anything else?” Perry asked.
“Even though I’d made plans to move already, I’d forgotten that even back then Jack had suggested a change of scenery in his letter, confirming I was right to try for a fresh start away from New York City. That’s the eight-million-dollar change,” I reminded him.
“I’m not surprised in the least that Jack would give that advice. Where to?” he asked.
“Virginia Beach,” I answered.
Perry drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, boy,” he chuckled. “Of course, Virginia Beach. Son-of-a-bitch. Jack is at it again.”
CHAPTER FIVE: Chad
I’d received the code numbers for the garage doors and the front door of the house from Mr. Hicks. We spoke for a few brief minutes about him driving down in three days and what he wanted me to do in preparation. He informed me that a woman from an interior design firm named Marla would be putting his house together for him before I went over to prep for his arrival.
I walked over from my house and noticed the For Sale sign that faced the beach was being removed from the sand. In all the years I’d either walked by or surfed in front of the Talbot house, I’d never spent much time noticing it, but now I was astonished at how beautiful it was.
Most of the homes along the beach were the typical cedar shingle siding ones you’d see on shorelines along the East Coast. This one was no different. The cedar was normally bleached out to a distressed gray color with the window shutters and doors outlined in bright-white paint.
Mr. Hicks’ home was smaller than my folks’ place. His was a two-story bungalow with a small deck coming out of what I assumed was the second-floor master bedroom. A large deck wrapped around the main floor had brightly colored Adirondack chairs scattered about, with large wooden tables and potted palms displayed in the corners of the deck. It was cozy and beachy. A typically tasteful, monied person’s beach house.
The man removing the sign was surprised to me see coming up the path.
“This is private property,” he said.
He was in a suit and appeared miserable in the heat. He was an attractive man. My type, actually. I liked professional men a decade or so older than me. I found their experience and manner very alluring. However, this person seemed uptight and suspicious of a beach-bum looking surfer dude walking toward the multi-million dollar home behind him.
“I’m aware of that,” I politely replied. “I’m Chad, the new owner’s hired caretaker.”
