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“Callie!” I hissed. Benson had old school beliefs. Telling him we didn’t need him would offend him, even if it was true.
“I just mean—we’re older now. I think you can see this as a retirement.”
“If you want,” I rushed to interject. “I think that’s a fair trade. You continue to live in the guest house. That will always be yours—if we don’t sell—and you can use your time as your own.”
Benson didn’t speak for a long while, then he nodded. “I think that’s a fair arrangement. Though I am always at your disposal, as usual.”
“Benson! We aren’t little kids anymore,” Callie sighed loudly. “It’s not like we need you to blow our noses, or something?—”
“But we still appreciate you,” I interrupted, reaching to kick Callie under the table. She scowled at me, sticking her tongue out. “Really. And you’re always welcome in the house, anytime you want to visit. Of course.”
“Of course!” Callie agreed.
“Thank you,” Benson nodded.
“Now, that’s settled,” Callie said, “I’ll tutor my friends at school, and you can get a job. We’ll make things work.”
“I agree,” Benson said, “I think you can find a way to make it work. Your father always did.”
Except, I had no idea how. I loved their optimism, but…
I blew out a frustrated breath, again wishing my father had opened up to me more. Taught me how to do things. I had no idea what I was doing.
“Please, Summer.” Callie could sense my hesitation. “It…I…It’s just,” she spread out her hands, her throat bobbing, “it’s dad.”
“You know that selling the house won't take away all the good things he did for us. He wouldn't want us to struggle. He-"
"I know," she cut me off, and I heard the panic in her voice, felt the fear bubbling up inside her. I swallowed down my protest.
I took a deep breath and gave in. "Okay, I'll only sell the house—if we end up having to choose between us and living on the street."
She nodded, sure. "We'll make it work," she insisted. “We’ll find a way.”
CHAPTER 9
Rook
The stench of grimy salt and sea water burned my nostrils, and the deafening chorus of crickets and frogs was a thunderous cacophony in my ears. A shiver ran down my spine as I heard something ominously slithering beneath me.
I continued deeper into the swamp, each step causing an eerie suctioning sound as I made my way through the murky waters and towards the looming plantation home ahead.
It was Friday.
Dark thoughts swirled through me like ravenous vultures, and yet, hope hung in the air like a carrot, dangling before the ass—me—that Garrett was right, and Saul would meet his favorite mistress here.
Grabbing the bag strapped to my back, I held it high over my head to keep it from getting wet, my eyes on the sole source of light a half mile away. I stumbled as my leg sunk into the hidden depth of the swamp and I threw an arm out to keep my balance, growling in frustration.
Approaching on foot through the swamp was the only way to arrive undetected, and at this point, I would do almost anything to eliminate the man responsible for killing my nana.
I didn’t envy his life—living in fear that someone would kill you at any moment. If I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps, on the constant run for my life, I would have to be very careful about this.
No one could know it was me.
Finally reaching my destination, I managed a decent job of cleaning myself, using the supplies in my backpack, and put on the waiter uniform.
Ironwood Manor was the home of one of Greybone’s founding fathers—now a combination of a restaurant, its menu filled with fresh catch from the local area, and a boutique hotel.
Since I didn’t know what time Saul might arrive, I waited in an unused room, settling in by a window facing the front driveway. As I lay in wait, my thoughts, once again, drifted to Summer.
