There’s a flash of sadness in Lynley’s eyes, but instinctively, I know it isn’t about me leaving. It’s for her children and what they’ve lost…What I’ve cost them.
“Goodbye, Christopher,” she says. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”Because you won’t ever find it here.
The message comes through loud and clear, and I nod once, carefully keeping my eyes averted from Grafton’s before turning and walking away.
Epilogue
LYNLEY
One year later
“You have a pool? Inside?” Mase steps as close as he can get, his socked feet peeking over the edge as he stares down at the calm water with a mesmerized expression. His head whips around so quickly that I barely stop myself from darting forward, sure he’s about to fall in. “Can we swim in it?”
Grafton’s father, Roger, frowns. “Now, I don’t know about any swimming, but you can absolutely have a picnic on the bottom.”
Ginny scoffs from her safe position between Grafton and me. “You don’t picnic in pools. The food would be all soggy!” Her face scrunches up in distaste as Roger turns to peer at her.
“Huh. You might be right. Okay, no picnics. Maybe you could do some ice skating in there.”
Mase seems to have caught on to the silliness, his lip curling. He stays quiet, eyes flicking over to Ginny’s suspicious expression, waiting tosee what she’ll do.
“No,” she exclaims, feeling brave enough to step forward and prop her hands on her hips. “You swim in a pool.”
Roger blinks, looking confused. “You swim?” he repeats. “Why on earth would you do that?” Louise steps into the room, an apron covered in gingerbread men tied around her waist. “Louise, they want to swim.” His tone is the perfect amount of flabbergasted, like he can’t think of anything more ridiculous.
She drops her mouth comically wide. “In the pool? Graft, where on earth did you find these children? Mars? Imagine that… Swimming in a pool.”
Ginny’s brow knits together, looking a little concerned for Roger and Louise’s mental capacities. “Because it’s fun! Why else would you have a pool inside?”
Roger’s eyes are twinkling, but before he can carry the game on, Mase reaches his limit, cutting in, “Mom, did you pack my trunks? Can we swim right now?” Both kids turn to stare at me with wide eyes.
“Yes, I packed them. Maybe we should check how far away dinner is with Louise?—”
“It’s nothing that won’t keep,” she says quickly. “They can swim for as long as they like. It’ll be the perfect thing for little bodies that have been stuck on a plane all day.” She smiles, and the kids barely wait for my nod before dashing back out the door, heading for the rooms where they were told to store their bags. Louise looks between her husband and son. “You both are on lifeguard duty. Lynley and I are off to have a glass of wine in the kitchen.”
Roger blinks. “I feel like we drew the short straw.”
Grafton chuckles. “No way. We can take bets on who we think will make the biggest cannonball.”
His father eyes him, sensing something amiss butclearly unable to pinpoint what it is. “Alright, I’ll take the bet. I’m putting my money on Mase. The kid looks like he knows what he’s doing. How about it?”
I hide a smile as Grafton sends Roger a sharp grin, slapping their palms together. “Hope your wallet is flush.”
It’s a straight hustle, because Ginny is definitely the clear winner of any splashing competitions, although we still haven’t figured out how she manages to do it.
Louise rolls her eyes. “Come on, Lynley. Let’s leave them to their gambling. I’ve just opened a bottle of chilled white, and I bet you’re ready to sit back and relax.”
I don’t protest, following her back to the kitchen. “I’ve been on a plane most of the day,” I protest mildly, but I still sink onto the barstool pushed up to the kitchen island, gratefully thanking her when she slides a wine glass over to me.
“Traveling is exhausting,” she says, leaning against her side of the counter and sipping her drink. She watches me over the rim, her eyes creased at the corners. “Especially with children.”
“Grafton made everything a thousand times easier. First class all the way. Although I don’t think he’d fit his legs into an economy seat.” I laugh.
Louise grins crookedly. “You’re not wrong, but he’s also not used to traveling any other way. We didn’t go away much when he was small, and Roger was still working his way through the ranks… By the time Graft was old enough to remember, he was in first class, and there was no getting him out.”
We fall quiet, but it’s an easy companionable silence as Louise turns around to check on the pot roast she’s been cooking. I watch as she pulls the meat out, covering it withfoil so the kids can swim, and press my fingers to my sternum, rubbing away the tightness there.
It’s such a small thing, delaying dinner so the kids can swim, and it shouldn’t be hitting me as hard as it is. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s Christmas, but my emotions are running high.
