The Best of Us (Sullivan's Crossing #4)(29)

“Don’t you dare,” she said. “It’s bad enough everyone knows we’ve been on a date and now they all think we’re a couple.”

He reached across the bar and took her hands in his. “That doesn’t bother me at all.”

“I think you’re romancing me,” she said very quietly.

“Don’t hold that against me,” he said.

Helen closed her laptop and slid it into her duffel. She pulled on her sweater and slipped into her shoes. She drank the last of her green tea. And she heard his feet on the porch stairs before she saw him.

“Are you done writing?” Sully asked. He carried a leash in his hand and Beau stood impatiently behind him, wagging up a breeze. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“I’m done for now,” she said. “Thank you for loaning me your porch. It’s the most perfect spot.”

“I love looking over from the store and seeing you on the porch. I imagine it’s the only contribution I’ll ever make to great literature. Want to go for a short walk? Beau needs to stretch his legs.”

Helen stood and stretched her arms over her head. “I should probably stretch mine, too. What’s the leash for?”

“This is the strangest dog. He runs free all day but if I get out the leash like he’s going for a proper walk, he can’t stand the wait. But I only leash him if we run into animals. Beau’s nosy. We ran into some elk once and he had a confrontation with a cranky bull. That taught him.” He looked at her feet. “Those shoes good for walking?”

“That depends on how far we’re going,” she said.

“Not that far, I guess. Need to make a pit stop?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

He turned and looked at Beau. “You want to lead the way?” he asked the dog. And Beau shot away, prancing down the porch steps and off past the garden. Sully followed and Helen followed Sully. She remarked on how good the garden was looking, the sprouts getting taller and thicker.

“Was it a good writing day?”

“I think so. I won’t really know until tomorrow. Sometimes I reread what I’ve written and think it’s brilliant, sometimes I think it’s awful. More often the latter, I’m afraid. But you can always improve on awful.”

“And what did you write about today?” he asked.

“Well, let’s see... I was writing about a young boy who has been going through a lot at home and at school. His father is abusive, his mother lacks the ability to protect him, he’s grown withdrawn and that gets too much attention from the bullies at school. He has trouble with his schoolwork—I think maybe he has a learning disability but he’s very intelligent. He’s only thirteen but he just can’t catch a break.”

“I think just about every young boy can relate to that set of circumstances...”

“And just when he thinks things couldn’t get any worse, he discovers a dead body. A young woman floating facedown near the shore of a lake, tangled up in the reeds.”

“Holy Jesus, woman! Do you have a dark side?”

Helen laughed. “I might,” she said. “Oh, Sully, look at the flowers! Look how thick they are here! Like a carpet!”

“Notice the buds on the trees,” he said. “The aspen are as close together through here as marching soldiers. What will you write about tomorrow?”

“I imagine my young man will have to do something about the body. He’ll have to tell someone.”

“The police!” Sully said.

“He doesn’t trust the police. The father of one of the mean boys is with the police. Besides, he passed a police car as he was walking toward the lake and he’s afraid of them—he’s used to being misunderstood. But there is one teacher at school he trusts. I think he’ll tell her, but I’m not there yet. Maybe he’ll go back to school, though it’s the end of the day. Or maybe she’ll be jogging along the road and he’ll show her. Eventually she and one of the male teachers will end up helping and protecting him.” She paused. “I’m very good at teachers as heroes. And troubled teenagers as vulnerable.”

“Where must your mind play?” he asked.

“I just love a good mystery.”

“And how did you settle on mysteries?”

“It was very hard to find one I couldn’t guess and some of the ones I couldn’t guess were just badly written and no guess was possible.”

“How many of them have you written?”

“Oh, I guess about fifty. Maybe more.”

“Land sakes, I don’t think I’ve even read fifty! Is there always a dead body?” he asked.

“At least one,” she said. She walked on a bit, then said, “I bet this would make a good setting. There could be lots of dead bodies out here in the woods...”

“That should be good for business,” he said. “What are you doing for dinner?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose I’ll call Leigh and ask her what she’d like me to pick up.”

“Or you could call her and tell her to run out here,” he said. “I have salmon filets, little red potatoes and green beans. It all goes on the grill. It’s downright edible off the grill.”

“Do you eat a lot of fish?”