Page 112 of Finding Noah

In all the years I'd known Charlie Corbin, I had never seen him so interested in conversation with someone other than my aunt. I wished he hadn't waited until now, when I was leaving, but I'd take what I could get.

“There's this one guy I work with—Mike. You know those cops you see on TV? The ones who live on coffee and doughnuts?”

Charlie replied with a nod, then called across the driveway to instruct me on how to secure the gate open.

“Well”—I crouched to the sidewalk and used the gate stop to hold it open—“that's this dude. He sits at a desk all day and almost always has a doughnut in his hand—not even joking. There isn't a doughnut in the world this guy doesn't love. He has a whole friggin' spreadsheet on the best doughnuts from all these different places he's been to—”

I looked up as Charlie walked over, an amused smirk on his face.

“What?” I asked, standing up and brushing my hands on my jeans.

He shook his head and huffed a light chuckle. “Nothing. I was just thinking … you're so much like your dad.”

“My dad?” I snapped.

The comment instantly had me reeling, and I reared my head back, furrowing my brow with a thousand protests sitting at the tip of my tongue.

I'd rather be dead than remind anyone of that man.

And then …

Holy fuck, he isn't talking about Seth.

Of course he wasn't. Charlie hadn't known Seth. Charlie came into the picture years after he'd been shot dead in the living room at 1111 Daffodil Lane.

“You meant Dad,” I thought aloud, steeling my nerves and calming my frenzied heart. “Sorry.”

Charlie lifted his head and eyed me studiously for a moment, like he'd only just now realized something. Something eye-opening and alarming. That look on his face made me swallow, made me glance away and want to run toward my car and get the hell out of Salem. Out of Massachusetts and away from all memories of that night twenty years ago. Away from the remaining pieces of whatever life I’d had with the father I hated the thought of and back to the life I had with the one I reminded people of. The one I'd choose again and again and again until all memory of the bogeyman was erased.

“The past only haunts us as long as we allow it to, Noah,” Charlie said in a low voice, heavy with intent and sincerity. “Trust me on that. Don't just run away from it. Let that shit go.”

My narrowed gaze met his, and I tipped my head with question. “Is that what you did?”

He pursed his lips as his deep brown eyes looked to the ground at our feet. “It's a work in progress,” he muttered quietly, his tone laced with a lingering sadness. “But that doesn't mean I'm not trying.”

“I try too,” I said. “I thought I was doing a good job actually. But recently …”

I let the words unsaid drift out into the street toward the hotel across the way. Charlie nodded as if he understood though, and you know what? I truly believed he did.

“The ghosts find us, no matter how well we think we're hiding,” he said, offering another line of sage wisdom. “The key is to face them, look them in the eye, and tell them to go fuck themselves. Show them you aren't scared, and they'll lose their ability to choke the life out of you when you least expect it.”

“Hmm,” I grumbled, nodding slowly.

Maybe I should tell Mom and Dad about Tommy. About his son. About that night.

Maybe that's what this is all about. Maybe I've been hiding the past for so long that I don't know how to face the truth.

Maybe … the secret to peace wasn’t to tell my fiancée or find Tommy's orphaned son.

Maybe I just need to go home and have a talk with my parents.

But first …

I sighed, imagining my warm, soft bed and the woman waiting for me. “I should get going,” I said, swinging my gaze toward Charlie's.

“Yeah,” he replied, clapping a hand against my shoulder. “I just—”

Caw! Caw!