Stillhouse Lake (Stillhouse Lake #1)(38)

“I got a B!” Connor shouts through the door. Lanny raises one eyebrow in a sharp arc. I wonder if she’s practiced that in front of a mirror.

“See? He got a B. Clearly he’s losing his edge.”

“Enough,” I say sharply, and as if to punctuate it, there are three percussive raps on the wood overhead. Lanny yelps, and I realize that Cade is now working at the back of the house, and she and Connor wouldn’t have seen him from the front as they came in.

“It’s all right,” I tell them, as Connor throws open his door, eyes gone wide and blank with panic. “That’s just Mr. Cade. He’s on the roof replacing shingles.”

Lanny draws in a deep breath and shakes her head. She pushes past me to go into her room.

Connor, on the other hand, blinks and shifts to something quite different: interest. “Cool. Can I go help him?”

I consider that. I consider the risk of my son tumbling off the edge of a roof, falling off a ladder . . . and then I weigh that against the hunger I see in him. The need to be around an adult male, one who can show him things I can’t. Who can represent something other than the pain, fear, and horror his father does now. Is it smart? Probably not. But it’s right.

I swallow all my worry and force a smile as I say, “Sure.”



I won’t lie, I spend the next few hours outside, clearing up all the mess that Cade and Connor are cheerfully throwing down and watching for any sign that my son might get overconfident, overbalance, and get himself hurt—or worse.

But he’s fine. Nimble, well balanced, having the time of his life as Cade shows him the science of how to create a solid, overlapping roof pattern. It heals me a little inside to see the fierce, real smiles that Connor flashes, and the genuine pleasure he’s taking in doing the work. This, I think. This is a day he will remember: a good day. It’s one of those memories that will pave the way to better things for him.

I hate it, just a little, that I’m not the one to share in it directly. My son doesn’t look at me with the same hero worship, and I think he never will. What we have is real love, but real love is messy and complicated. How can it not be, with our history?

It’s easy for him to be with Sam Cade, and for that, I’m grateful. I shut up, clean up, and while the heat’s a bit much for me, the work’s good and healthy.

We eat dinner together around the table, though Cade insists he’s not fit for company as is; Lanny has taken over the kitchen and sternly commands him to go home, get cleaned up, and come back, and I can tell he’s amused by having this fierce goth child ordering him around while wearing a flowered apron. He leaves and returns, freshly showered. His hair’s still damp and clinging to his neck, but he’s in a clean shirt and jeans. Deck shoes, this time.

Lanny has made lasagna, and we dig in with real hunger, the four of us; it’s delicious, layered with explosions of flavors, all fresh except for the pasta, which she’s conceded to buy from the store. Connor is incredibly voluble about all that he’s learned today . . . not at school, but how to hammer in a nail straight with one sharp blow, how to line up shingles, how to keep your balance on an incline. Lanny, of course, rolls her eyes, but I can see she’s happy to see him in this mood.

“So Connor did okay,” I say when my son takes a breath, and Sam, his mouth full of lasagna, nods, chews, and swallows.

“Connor’s a natural,” he says. “Great work today, pal.” He offers a hand, and Connor high-fives it. “Next time, we tackle the other side. Barring wind or rain, we should be done in a few more days.”

Connor’s face falls a little at that. “But—what about the wood? Mom? The wood on the side of the house where it’s rotted?”

“He’s right,” I say. “We’ve got some rot. Probably need to replace trim that’s gone bad, too.”

“Okay. Three days.” Sam forks up another healthy mouthful of lasagna, dangling strings of cheese. “Might be a whole week if you want to spring for that deck on the back.”

“Yes! Mom, please? Can we do the deck?” Connor’s look is so earnest that it hits me like a tide, and washes away any last, lingering disquiet I have. I’ll still trade Javi for the van, but if I was looking for a reason to stay, it’s here. Here in my son’s eyes. I’ve been worrying about his introspection, his solitary nature, his silent anger. For the first time I’m seeing him open up, and it would be cruel and wrong to cut that off purely for a what if.

“A deck would be nice,” I say, and Connor raises both arms in a victory pose. “Sam? Would you mind doing the work late, after Connor gets off school?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t mind, but it’ll go slower. Might take a month if we only put in half days.”

“That’s okay,” Connor rushes to say. “I only have another week of school. Then we can work all day!”

Sam Cade lifts his eyebrows and sends me an amused look, and I raise my own and take a bite of my food. “Sure,” Sam says. “If your mom says it’s okay. But only when she’s here.”

Sam’s not a stupid man. He knows how touchy I am, how guarded. And he knows a single dude barging into a family is likely to be suspect of many unpleasant things. I can read it in his face that he’s well aware, and has no trouble playing by whatever rules I set up.