“Good heavens, woman, I’m not dead yet,” said George, giving Claire the once-over. “Don’t you have a more cheery-looking frock than that?”
Claire plucked at the skirt of her gray dress. Like all her other dresses, it was decidedly plain, designed to help her fade into the background. “This is your day, George. Nobody cares what I wear.”
“Balderdash. I’m calling Ivy.” He grabbed his mobile phone.
Claire didn’t argue. This was George’s day. She had never planned to return to Avalon, yet she’d found herself aloft in Duke Elder’s plane, flying northward over the Hudson, which formed a bright ribbon leading to the green-clad highlands of Ulster County. For the first time ever, she dared to believe there could be an end to her ordeal, that she could actually have a life that didn’t involve a constant series of goodbyes.
Ross had contacted someone named Tyrone Kennedy with the state prosecutor’s office. Mr. Kennedy put his best assistant on the case. Based on a retest of evidence—the boys’ clothing—there was enough forensic evidence for an arrest. Once he was charged, Claire would produce the missing piece of the puzzle—the bloodstained inner pocket. Mel Reno was put under guard, and was expected to make a full recovery.
And just like that, everything shifted. Claire didn’t quite trust that the ordeal was finally over, though. She’d been let down by the system so many times.
This time would be different. Ross had promised.
Although still wary, she decided that at least for today, she’d put her worries aside. She was in her room in the cottage, scowling at the other four dresses hanging in the closet. Beige, brown, charcoal and black, her standard palette.
“Eeny, meeny, miney, moe,” said Ivy, rapping at the door frame to her room. “Granddad said to help you figure out a dress for the reunion.”
When Claire turned and saw Ivy, she gasped. “You look incredible.”
In a floaty, colorful silk print dress, Ross’s cousin flitted into the room, part girl, part butterfly. Her sandals were made of thin braids of colorful twine, and a rakish-looking clip held her hair in an informal updo. “You like?” she asked, twirling. “You think Granddad will like?”
“Of course. He didn’t care for this one,” she admitted, indicating the gray sleeveless sheath. “Which one of these, do you think?”
Ivy regarded the selections for about two seconds. “None of the above.” She grabbed Claire’s hand and marched her downstairs. She stopped to poke her head into her grandfather’s room. “Are you all right in there?”
“I could use some help with my tie,” said George.
His voice was thinner, a bit vague. Claire didn’t say anything, though. She didn’t want anyone to worry today.
“I don’t know how to tie a tie,” said Ivy.
“I do.” Claire picked up the silky necktie. “Hold still, George.” His coloring was slightly off. “Listen, if you need anything at all, you let me know.”
“I’ll be all right. Ivy, can you get my cuff links? In the top drawer of the bureau there.”
She rifled around in the drawer. “Granddad, what’s this box from Tiffany’s?”
“That,” he said, “is a very old ring, and it’s part of a very long story.”
“Wow, it’s gorgeous. Must be worth a fortune. Did it belong to Grandma Jackie?”
He offered a slight smile. “I like to think it’s still looking for its owner.”
“Granddad. I never knew you were such a romantic.” She helped him with his cuff links. The blast of a revving engine sounded outside. “Yikes, what’s that?” she asked.
“That,” said George, putting on his sport coat, “is my ride. Just a little something I’ve always wanted to do.”
Connor Davis, Olivia’s husband, had a Harley. He and George were going for a ride, and then they would arrive at the reunion in style. Ivy and Claire stood watching them go, the motorcycle a silver flash in the sunlight. George reached out both arms as if to embrace the very air around him. Over the low purr of the motor, they could hear his distinctive laughter.
“My granddad’s so wonderful,” Ivy said, her voice breaking.
“He is,” Claire agreed.
“I’m scared. I don’t want to lose him.”
They watched together until the Harley rounded a curve in the path and disappeared. Ivy took Claire’s hand. “And don’t think you’re off the hook.” She brought her across the way to the rustic bunkhouse where the girl cousins and family friends were staying. Their shared accommodations were a throwback to Camp Kioga in its heyday as a summer camp. The walls were decked with authentic-looking handicrafts from times gone by—a painted wooden paddle, signed by campers in the 1970s, a crazy quilt from the sixties, collages made of found objects from the lake and the woods.
“Makeover time,” Ivy announced, then turned to Claire. “Resistance is futile.”
Claire blushed, though the idea intrigued her. She’d undergone makeovers in the past, but they were all designed to make herself even more nondescript and anonymous, which was clearly not the goal here. “I’m all yours.”
Ivy and the others descended, choosing a sunflower-yellow sundress and heeled sandals with gleaming gold straps. “Love the dress,” said Claire. “Not too sure about the sandals, though. I don’t wear heels.”
“You do today,” Ivy said. “They’re perfect. And they’ll look incredible on the dance floor.”
Claire examined the spike-sharp heels. “They’re weapons of mass destruction.”
“Hush, you’ll be fine.” Hair and makeup were next, and the pampering felt like pure indulgence. “I’m an artist by trade,” Ivy explained, brandishing a wand of highlighter. “I do painting on ceramics.”
“No offense,” said another cousin, Gerard’s daughter Nicole, “but that watch you’re wearing is butt-ugly.”
“No offense taken,” Claire said easily, removing the chunky watch and stuffing it in her pocket. She didn’t explain why she had to keep it with her.
“Ross freaked out when you took off,” said Ivy, brushing highlighter on Claire’s brow.
“What do you mean, ‘freaked out’?”
“He’s head over heels in love with you.”
The matter-of-fact statement gave her chills. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Claire said.
“Nope,” another cousin piped up. Her name was Bridget, and she was doing Claire’s hair with a curling iron and a spritzing bottle. “Ivy’s right. We’ve never seen Ross like this before. He’s had girlfriends in the past, but with you, he’s…different. We all thought he’d be so crushed about Granddad that he’d barely be able to function. But he’s…okay. Not happy with the situation—none of us is. But he’s found a kind of peace, and a lot of that is thanks to you.”
Claire had no idea if they were right. She did know she loved him, even though she’d spent most of the summer trying not to. Like the most powerful of emotions, love had a will of its own, and would not be denied. She had no idea where it would lead, but for the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid of what waited for her around the next corner.
“Ready for the big reveal?” Nicole led her to a full-length mirror. “Check this out—ta-da!”
Claire regarded the girl in the mirror. The bright yellow look-at-me dress accentuated her figure. Her hair was no longer a mousy-brown pulled back with a clip, but a glossy brunette framing her face in flattering waves. The makeup accentuated her eyes and lips, and the color in her cheeks was a blush of pleasure. “Wow,” she said. “I look…just, wow. You guys are miracle workers.”
“It wasn’t a huge stretch,” said Nicole. “You’re really pretty, Claire.”
“You just need some practice in hair, makeup and wardrobe.” Ivy handed her a pair of hoop earrings. “Try these.”
They went together to the reunion party, chattering excitedly about meeting all the other Bellamys. This was to be the first official meeting of George and Charles’s relatives together. Claire felt confident it would go well. These people were not perfect, but they all wanted the same thing—a joyous celebration.
“Who’s that girl?” asked a familiar voice, stopping her as she made her way toward the buffet table to get something to drink.
She turned, a smile on her face. “What girl?”
Ross slipped his arm around her waist. “I don’t recognize her.”
Claire savored his expression, an irresistible mixture of pleasure and pride, tinged with unabashed lust and maybe even love. She thought the attention might feel like all too much, but not today. Today, she wanted to shine. “Your girl cousins gave me a makeover. And as a special bonus, the high heels can be used to aerate the lawn.”
“You’re a knockout.” He turned to survey the arriving guests. “I hope one of Great Uncle Charles’s relatives is a doctor, because I’m going to need CPR.”
“Sophie’s husband, Noah, is a vet.”
“He might have to revive me. Seriously, Claire, you take my breath away.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re not going to dance with me,” she said.
“The whole world is going to want to dance with you, but I’m keeping you all to myself. Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you something, honey. How do you feel about a town like Avalon?”
“How do I feel? I—” She broke off, pondering his question. She’d never let herself get attached to a place before, yet here, the bond seemed to grow as naturally as the willows dipping their fronds into the lake. The beauty of nature and intimacy of small-town life, where everyone knew everyone else, had seemed daunting at first. She remembered feeling exposed and vulnerable, beginning with the day a cop had pulled her over. Over the summer, however, Avalon had come to represent a place of safety. “Why do you ask? And did you just call me ‘honey’?”
“You got a problem with that? I hope not, because I’ll probably be calling you honey from here on out. Dear. Sweetheart. She Who Must Be Obeyed.”
“Ross—”
“I love you. I love you so much.”
Despite the presence of the gathering crowd, she stood up on tiptoe and kissed him. “I love you, too. In the…the biggest sense of the word. If I could think of a bigger way to say it—”
“You just did.”
She couldn’t stop smiling. “I have a question for you, too. How does it feel, making another person’s every dream come true?”
The blast of the Harley engine heralded George’s arrival.
“To be continued,” said Ross. “The guest of honor is here.”
George was flushed but smiling as Ross helped him dismount from the cycle, and Connor drove it away to park. “Not quite as invigorating as skydiving,” George said. “But nearly. How did you like my grand entrance?”
“Very impressive,” said Claire.
George did a double take. “My, my. Look at you. This is much better. You are unbelievably beautiful, and I’m honored.”
“Aw. Thanks, George. How are you feeling? A lot of people are here to see you today.”
“Then let’s get this party started.”
She stayed close to George as the band—the local group Inner Child—warmed up and people gathered at the buffet tables. Philip Bellamy strode eagerly over to greet George. The eldest of all the various Bellamy cousins, he had been away, and he hadn’t met George yet. Philip was tall and handsome, exuding personal charm and confidence. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” he said, taking George’s hand.
George studied him for a long moment. His eyes, though faded in color, seemed to glow brighter as he regarded Philip. “It is,” he said in an emotional voice, “a distinct honor.”
Philip’s mother, Jane, seemed tense and uncharacteristically quiet. Claire had come to think of her as the bubbly one. This was a solemn moment, though. The brothers had been estranged for the span of Philip’s life. Meeting him now felt…significant.
George removed his hand from Philip’s and gave him a long, tight hug. “Thank you for coming,” he said.
“You bet,” said Philip. He introduced his wife, Laura. “I’m just glad we got back from our trip in time for the reunion. And this,” he added, indicating the swaddled infant in Laura’s arms, “is my grandson, Ethan Bellamy Davis. He’s Connor and Olivia’s son.”
Before George could protest, Laura placed the baby in George’s arms. Claire, who had volunteered to take pictures of the day’s festivities, caught a snapshot of his expression as he gazed with a look of wonder at the tiny face.
“I believe that makes you officially his…great-grand-uncle,” said Philip.
George cleared his throat. “No, that makes me officially older than rock itself.” He handed back the baby, offering congratulations to the parents. He studied Philip for several moments. “It’s very, very good to meet you.” Then George turned to Charles. “Your son’s a fine man.”
“Just like his father,” Jane said softly.
“Go and get something to eat,” George said with sudden briskness. “I’m told there’s to be dancing later, so you’ll need sustenance.”
He watched them go, his eyes misty and thoughtful. Ross helped him take a seat in the wheelchair. He was so quiet, he scarcely seemed to be breathing. Claire observed him keenly; he could be in the grip of a seizure.
“George?” she softly prompted.
“I’m all right. Just…processing two different stories, one here, and one here.” He touched his head and then his chest, and Claire knew he was still sorting through events of the past that had splintered the family apart long ago. She hoped today, the healing would be complete.
“A wise man once told me there’s more wisdom in a single beat of the human heart than an entire board of experts,” Ivy said.
“Your grandfather said that?” asked Claire. “George, you’re brilliant, you know that?”
“No,” said George, “I’m terribly flawed. The mistakes I’ve made in my life—”
“Look at this.” She gestured at his family, everyone laughing and talking and eating. It was a beautiful scene, like a painting, with the lake and the forest in the background. “You and your brother did this. It’s a monument to the life you lived. Be proud, George. Be happy for the times you’ve had.”
“Now that,” said Ross, “is why you’re paying her the big bucks.”
George chuckled. “You were the one who scolded me for finding her on the Internet.” Then his humor faded. “Claire is right. I’ve been keeping my list, tallying things up, but what I’ve realized is that my greatest achievement is right here. This family. They are…proof that I was here. That I mattered.”
Claire’s throat heated with emotion. In the end, a human life amounted to the love he shared. She’d been so wrong, thinking she could go through life without it.
Ross reached down, pressing a hand to his grandfather’s shoulder. She aimed the camera, liking the unstudied pose of the two of them. She got the shot, but the low-battery light blinked.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said. “I need to go grab the spare battery. There are a lot of shots I’ll want to get today.” As she made her way along the wooded path to the cottage, she found herself wishing she’d hired an event photographer, but it hadn’t occurred to her or to anyone else. Apparently one of the Bellamys—Daisy—was a professional photographer, and the family usually relied on her for pictures. But she was away, so they would have to make do with Claire’s snapshots.
She practically floated along the path. She felt flushed with love, her heart soaring. Did she want to stay in Avalon? Did she want to stay with Ross? It was all she could do to keep from climbing to the nearest rooftop and shouting yes. This was it, the leap of faith she’d always dreamed of, and now she was actually doing it. Because now she’d found a reason to take the risk.
Humming under her breath, she let herself into the cottage. The minute she stepped inside, she sensed that something was different. A faint, ineffable tension hung in the air, like a smell that was not quite a smell. A sound she couldn’t identify, perhaps the creak of a floorboard or the intake of a soft breath.
An icy sense of danger flashed over her. She turned and ripped open the door, but it was already too late. Someone grabbed her from behind. Pinned her against the door, one hand on her throat, the other drilling the cool, smooth muzzle of a gun up into her jaw.