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It told me a whole lot more than I wanted to know, though at the time, it confused me, and I’d pushed it to the back of my mind. I’d set it back where I found it and crept back to bed. The next morning it was gone, and I hadn’t seen it since.
It told me a whole lot, though. That Jeremy was Jeremiah’s son and that Jer abandoned both, his son and the woman who bore him that child. I knew it explained Margo’s hatred for my family. I never told Cassie. I hoped to just pretend none of it ever happened.
I open Jeremiah’s ledger and begin to read, start to end. It doesn’t take me long to finish. He wasn’t a loquacious kind of guy. He kept to the facts. Acknowledging what I’d already suspected. That Liam was his—I mean, it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance if you’d ever seen pictures of my dad and Jer when they were youngsters.
It also mentions Jer’s love for Margo, but how his love for the sea was greater. I know he’s not the first man who loved the water more than his woman.
I tackle her love letters next, not even flinching that I’m violating her privacy. She’s guilty of the greatest of violations, stealing and hiding my daughter. There it goes. Surfacing again. Head-fucking me all over.
A short time later, all I’ve known and suspected about Margo and Jer is confirmed. He pretty much abandoned her. Twice. And she was pregnant both times. She loved him, left her husband and her baby girl—my very own Cassie—for him, only to have him crap on her. Twice. She came to hate him, and I know that she might have sort of hated Liam by proxy.
There’s an obituary in there. An old newspaper clipping in Spanish. It mentions Jeremiah, and I don’t know Spanish other than what I learned in high school—sue me, my family wasn’t all about passing down the language and the heritage—but it’s clear to see he drowned and was listed in the paper and somehow that paper made it to the US, to my father, and to this box. Beneath that article is another clipping. This one is in English in a local Argentinian paper, and it seems to state the same thing as the Spanish one. Another obituary.
There’s a knock at the door. I raise my head, frown. No one should be knocking. Did Cassie…
I jump up from my spot on the couch, not bothering to hide the stuff I’ve spread out on the coffee table before me, and open the door.
There, standing on the other side of the screen, is Reese McKane. He grew up just outside Boar Creek, and we went to the same county high school. Then he went off to college, and I didn't. He’s living in Austin, so what the hell’s he doing here?
I throw the door open and give him a hug. A real hug. Not one of those side-hug gestures. “What’s doing? Why you in town?”
“Moved back here.”
“Wait. What about law school?”
“Yeah. Well, pipe dreams. I’m needed here.”
I can tell from the set of his jaw and the look in his eye he’s not interested in getting into it. And frankly, I probably don’t know that I have the time. I’m sitting on pins and needles, waiting for Cassie to call me so I can go pick her up after the showdown she’s going to have with her mother. Probably having right at this very moment. I can only imagine the fireworks.
“I saw the truck in the driveway. New one? Thought I’d stop by and see what’s going on. You move back here?” He has a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and I can commiserate. I’d want to have some friends in this dying town too. Most of it is farmers, old folks, and the shrimping community. Which neither he nor I are very big on, though both of our fathers were from shrimping families.
“Nah. I’m just in town on an errand. Brought Cassie home to see her family.” I manage to make that sound so drama-free that it makes me want to laugh out loud.
He studies my face. “You two get back together?”
“Guess you could say that.” Though I do wonder myself if we’re fully back together. Of late, she’s been so damned remote, distant, detached. Hell, those are understatements. She’s been downright avoiding me for the longest.
“Good, I guess. You seemed happiest when you were together. Both of you.”
I nod. What else is there to say?
“Guess I better get going. I need to get some supplies. We’re taking the boat out tomorrow.”
“Okay. Cool. How’s your dad?”
Reese’s eyes narrow. “Same as he ever was.”
That speaks volumes.
He heads out to his pickup, and it roars down the road, in need of a new muffler, at the very least.
I decide that I should put the memories—Jeremiah’s and Margo’s—back in the bin and maybe lock up and head out. There’s a place to park down the road from the Ransom home where my truck won’t be seen by anyone at the house. It might get the attention of some of the neighbors, but I’m hoping that I can talk my way out of it if a suspicious local deputy or sheriff is called in.
I put the bin in a clear oversized trash bag and then secure it in my pickup’s bed. I think that Cassie needs to see this stuff, and I don’t want to have to drive back to Boar Creek just to collect it. It’s already been a hell of a strain on my schedule coming down here today.
A few moments later, I park down the way, near a hill that overlooks the bayou. The road’s not a private drive—as far as I know—and I’m sure it’s not illegal to be on it, but getting out of the truck and sitting at the top of the hill looking out onto the bayou might be trespassing, and I don’t need the hassle.
Not that I have a chance to contemplate that for long. Seconds after I’ve turned the pickup’s engine off, I see Cassie exiting her parents’ front door. She’s storming out. Her face is red, and her movements are stiff with anger.
