The Country Guesthouse (Sullivan's Crossing #5)(35)

“I think it’s ’cause there’s no other kids,” he said. “When there are kids, I’m the slowest one.”

That stopped her for a second. But then she said, “That’s going to change, too. And when you catch up to the other kids, you’re going to be able to read!”

“A little bit,” he said.

“Read me what you can of this page,” she said.

He barely stumbled. He sounded out phonetically the words he didn’t recognize. Sometimes they had to talk about the meaning. Owen came from his barn to sit on the porch and listen for a while. He smiled and nodded at Noah. After about ten minutes, Owen went back to the barn and Noah read with Hannah.

The temperature dropped, it rained a little and Owen made beef stew with biscuits for dinner, ice cream for dessert. Instead of sitting on the porch, they found a movie and lit the fire. When Noah was in bed, Hannah snuggled up against Owen in the great room.

“Did you hear how brilliant Noah is?” she asked him. “I don’t know anything but I bet he’s reading at a fourth-or fifth-grade level. He’ll turn six before the end of the year, but c’mon, he’s only five! You are so smart to have some kids’ books. I guess that’s for the families that rent your house...”

He was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t buy them for future rental guests. I bought them for my son,” he said. She slowly turned her head and looked up at him. “I have some things to tell you,” he said. “Some things that are going to be hard to hear.”







New beginnings are often
disguised as painful endings.

—Lao Tzu



7


“His name was Brayden and he was the victim of a violent crime when he was seven years old. He was kidnapped from the sidewalk in front of our house. Well, two doors down. I was in the open garage. I never heard a car. He never yelled. His body was recovered eighteen months later. That’s when I left California. And I haven’t been back.”

“Owen,” she whispered after a long moment of silence.

“I know. It’s horrendous, I know.”

“It must be so hard to talk about it,” she said, giving his cheek a gentle stroke.

“I can talk about it. What’s hard is watching someone hear about it. Especially someone I care for. I usually talk about it with people who already know—my mother, my sister, even my brother-in-law. I know it’s shocking...”

“It’s heartbreaking,” she said. “I don’t know how you survived it. Do people around here know?”

“No one has mentioned it. Nor has anyone asked me. This is a long way from LA but the case of Brayden Abrams missing, found murdered, then his killer’s arrest—all of that was at least regionally famous. And my ex-wife is still nationally known as an activist in child advocacy. She is still called Sheila Abrams even though she’s remarried. Not for me but for him. For Brayden. The short answer is—I don’t know who knows. I haven’t told anyone around here. For the reasons I explained. It changes the landscape of the friendship. Things become so awkward. Not for me—I live with that awkwardness every day.”

“Is that why you took to Noah?” she asked.

“No. I can honestly say no. I like children in general. I used to take pictures of kids—portraits, family pictures, school pictures, all that. From babies to graduating seniors. I’ve always gotten along better with kids and dogs than adult humans. Sheila said it was because I’m immature and hard to train. I hope she was kidding, but it’s possible... Ah, well, I think you know—Noah is special. Your friend must have been the most wonderful parent. And you’re wonderful, too.”

“I guess that’s why your marriage didn’t survive,” she said. “Whose could?”

“That’s a little more complicated,” he said. “We approached our loss in different ways, opposite ways. We were both devastated and, until he was found, terrified. I withdrew into myself. I hounded the police, studied other kidnappings and searched. I looked everywhere—on playgrounds, malls, diners, alleys, in dumpsters. I didn’t work, I roamed. Sheila went public, spiking awareness, bringing attention to the danger, the problem, the vulnerability of innocent children and she was brilliant at it. To be fair, she’d always been brilliant in front of an audience and I’ve always hidden behind the camera, an observer. Sheila is a lawyer and she’s incredible. And I’ve always been... I’ve always been like I am—someone who watches.

“She wanted me to join her in her crusade to bring awareness to the problem so that something positive could come of it, even if it saved only one child. But that wasn’t my path. Grief is a poison and every human being has a unique approach to purging that poison. I wanted to feel that same fire Sheila felt but all I felt was despair. Sheila is now one of the most well-known advocates for lost and stolen children in the country. She’s a highly paid speaker, a media personality, a lobbyist. She’s testified in front of Congress and written laws. I can’t describe how much I admire her.”

“You still love her,” Hannah said.

“I will always love Sheila,” he said. “But I’m not in love with her. I’m in love with you.”

She held her breath for a moment. “You can’t be sure of that.”