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“It is good to be back.” And it is. But my heart just isn’t with me. It’s still broken, shattered in pieces, and while I am hopeful it will join back together, I know it will take some time.
Beth senses my feelings and gives my hand a squeeze, and Kelly joins us for a group hug. I do love these girls.
Beth, Kelly, and I spend the next few hours talking through the Rothschild event, cross-checking that everything is on track and that the decor has been ordered, before I step into meeting after meeting, getting up to speed on three other events we have on the calendar. I then allocate the afternoon to going over the financials for the month as well as a quarterly review. It has been a great month, further proof the team doesn't need me here the entire time holding their hands.
As the day progresses, I feel lighter and am thankful that I did spend time in the office today. But that feeling is short-lived, as I am quickly brought back to reality at the sight of Richard walking through the door. I am suddenly aware of the evening I still have in front of me, and I wish I could cancel, but if I don’t go, I know I will never hear the end of it, and he will keep badgering me. I sigh because all I really want to do is go straight home to bed. I would take Poopoo over Little Dickie any day of the week.
4
Jake
After a few days being at the cabin, I am starting to acclimatize, but sleep still eludes me. Usually, I come here and sleep for days. The work I do in Boston eats up all my energy and sleep is not something I get a lot of in the city.
The day after I arrived, the town held a small memorial for Danny. Not everyone could make it to D.C. for the funeral, and he spent so much time here in Hancock that it seemed only appropriate. Many of the guys who were in D.C. were also here for the memorial, and although he isn’t buried here, he has a special area in the local cemetery next to a few other local veterans, which is now overflowing with flowers and other momentos.
Even though I have said goodbye to him twice, for some reason, I still can’t sleep, and it is annoying the fuck out of me. I am like a grumpy bear with a sore head, and I am glad there is no one around to experience my wrath. I usually head into town and spend time playing darts with the boys at the local bar, but I have missed it due to not wanting to be a downer on their nights out.
The cabin and its surroundings are quiet, just how I like it, and I have been spending my days building an extension to the main room downstairs to make a bigger living space. Why, I don’t know, because it is only ever me that is here, but I feel like I need more room on this visit. I also like building, fixing, and making things. I have always been handy, and I don’t get to use my hands much in the city. I am still physically active while I’m there, just usually with my fists or a gun where required, rather than a hammer or a shovel.
I have tossed and turned the last few nights since the funeral. Thinking of my friend and still shocked that he isn’t here. But it is more than that, because I have also been thinking about Isabelle. I picture her every night, an image of her blonde hair cascading down her back, her large blue eyes peering up to mine. Those thoughts then wander to unzipping her perfect black dress and seeing her in nothing but those fancy pearls she was wearing. But with those thoughts, I carry guilt. I am too old for her, too old to even entertain the thought I could be with her. She is also the daughter of one of my most sacred comrades. She is Danny’s little girl; there is a line there that I just can’t cross.
But no matter if it is right or wrong, I have still been thinking about her. Constantly.
I have jerked off to her image in my mind more times than I would like to admit this week, and there has been no need for hot water here at the cabin because cold showers are now my new daily requirement.
I am not good around women, having not had anyone serious in my life really ever. There have been lots of women, too many probably, but they have always been casual. I can't commit to anyone with the lifestyle I lead. It stems from the military. Military life doesn’t agree with all women; most of those who do marry, end in divorce. So over the years, given my work, I have stayed away from anything serious and have kept my casual flings to a minimum. In my line of work, I can’t become too attached. The target on my head is large enough. Having someone else close to me is risky, and I haven’t found anyone worth taking the risk for.
The sun has nearly disappeared as I finish hammering in the last nail on the framework, and I sit back and breathe in the cool air. It is always a few degrees cooler here, and I appreciate the cold, fresh air on my skin and in my lungs. It is refreshing, helps to clear my racing mind. Getting back to nature has always grounded me.
While I work in the city, I could never live there full time. I am a man of the land; it is where I belong, and I love it here at the cabin. Hancock is a wonderful small town, and it is peaceful here.
I look up and around at the property and my security cameras. They were something that I installed years ago and have added to each year since. My cabin is more secure than the FBI headquarters because I like my privacy and am not always here, so I need it to be protected. I also have too many people who would want to seek revenge. I have defeated a lot of people for the Marshall family, and while many of them will never see the light of day again, it is always important to be vigilant. Especially since I just got back from Sicily. While things have calmed down, the target on my head grows with every battle I win.
The trees have grown in the months since I was here last, adding a thicker and taller layer of privacy and protection. I can just make out the neighboring cabin, Danny’s cabin, through the limbs and branches. It is all quiet, dark, and locked up. There is no sign of life there, and I feel another wave of sadness wash over me that my friend has passed, and I wasn’t able to say goodbye.
He set me up with this cabin next door to his years ago. We saw each other a few times a year, where we would reminisce, talk through our problems and deal with the devil that often rose within each of us. We lost some good people, saw some horrifying things, and those memories don’t just leave you when you retire; they stick around.
Immediately at the thought of Danny, my mind goes back to the funeral and to Isabelle, and I wonder how she is doing. It certainly seemed like she was on her own at the funeral, and I wonder who she’ll lean on during the tough times now that Danny isn’t around.
I step down from my ladder and grab a bottle of water, then sit on the deck of my cabin, looking out at the trees. I can hear the water of the lake in the distance. As I watch the sun set, I am grateful for my life, but I wish my mind would slow down so I could sleep.
Large fir trees line the house perimeter, and I have dense hedging behind them. Aside from the private driveway, there is a small walkway that connects my cabin to Danny’s cabin, and these are the only two entryways to my place. My place is secure, private, quiet, and not on anyone’s radar.
My black Escalade is parked undercover at the side of my cabin, and the wood chopping pile sits to the left of that. I have two Adirondack chairs on my deck, but only one of them has ever been used. Aside from Danny and a few of the boys, no one else has ever been here. I have never brought anyone here. I like the peace and quiet; it helps keep things in perspective.
My boat, one of the things I have splurged on recently, is safely locked away down on the lake in the boathouse. I love the boat and getting out on the water. That and the cabin are really the only things I spend time and money on. To look at me, you wouldn’t know I was as wealthy as I am. Thanks to my work with the Marshall family, there are many millions in my bank account. That has recently been significantly added to thanks to Marco and the recent near-death experience we both had.
I am slowly renovating the cabin myself, and it is luxurious. I like to be able to rest and relax in comfort, so I have splurged on many things. After this large extension, the place will pretty much be perfect. Made of timber and rock, it is masculine, strong, and secure. Dark timber inside, with lots of grey and glass. I have never had a female inside the place to offer anything different.
I watch the sun go down, another day nearly over, and I decide to pack up and move inside. Lighting the wood fire, I’m ready to lay on the couch and sleep for days. I sit on my large sofa, with a glass of whiskey, my mind thinking over a million different things. From my time in Sicily, my boys and team in Boston, Danny’s funeral and then Isabelle. I rest my head against the back of the couch and rub my eyes, willing sleep to consume me, but I don’t even nap for a minute, because as soon as I close my eyes, I see her.
She is the only thing I see.
5
Isabelle
We arrive at Fiola Mare promptly at 7pm and are ushered to a table set for two in the corner of the main dining room. Elegantly dressed, the table has white linen and candlelight, and not for the first time, I am regretting the decision to come tonight. This definitely feels like a romantic date, not dinner with a friend.
