The Country Guesthouse (Sullivan's Crossing #5)(37)

For the first few weeks Hannah was on leave, there had been a never-ending stream of emails asking her questions about accounts and business associates, but that had dwindled considerably since. She kept in touch with her boss, though just a bit and only because she wasn’t ready to burn that bridge. She sent pictures of Noah, Romeo and even Owen to her girlfriends back home, corresponded with her lawyer and Erin’s former boss, who had helped Erin with her will.

And when she had a little time alone with her laptop, she looked up Owen. Of course he was very well-known in both photography and book circles and there were a couple of brief references to the fact that he’d had one son who died at the age of seven.

But it was Sheila Abrams whose internet references were too many to read. Her advocacy work was global. Sheila Abrams was stunning and widely respected. She spoke not only at rallies and advocacy gatherings but also graduations and conventions. Hannah watched interviews she did on Oprah and on Ellen—she was so well-spoken, powerful and so brave.

There were pictures of Brayden as well and even a little bit about his killer, who traded information about other victims to take the death sentence off the table, not that it did him any good. He confessed to killing four children, was sentenced to 142 years in prison without parole and was killed in prison before he could file his first appeal. There were two pictures—a mug shot at his arrest in which he looked like pure evil and a picture taken just outside the courtroom in which he looked like a perfectly safe guy from church.

It was strange, she could see Owen and Sheila together—yin and yang—the quiet and stoic observer and the lion queen. The thing that made Hannah happiest was knowing how much Owen respected the choice Sheila had made. It was perfectly understandable. Some people were born to lead with a strong voice. Owen was born to capture the world and its people in all its beauty and unpleasantness, subtle and bold. Their hurt was probably equal but, as he had said, they took different paths.

  They worked and played through the first couple of weeks in June, seeing the doctors and therapist, making progress. The combination of playing with that rambunctious dog and swimming almost every day was telling on Noah—he was nearly running! The days would start out energetically and end with Noah exhausted, sweaty and smelling gamey. Owen put a rubber mat on the shower floor and installed a grab bar on the wall so Noah could shower. “Like a guy,” Noah said, ecstatic. “Now Hannah doesn’t have to wash me!”

“I will still check behind your ears.”

Of course, the first solo shower he fell and Hannah ran for the bathroom door. Owen grabbed her arm, stopping her. “You okay in there, Noah?” Owen yelled.

“Okay!” he yelled.

“Need help?” Owen asked.

“I got it!” Noah yelled.

“What if he hurt himself? What if he’s bruised?” she asked.

“Ask him if he checked to see if he has a bruise or is sore anywhere,” Owen said. “Hannah, he falls a lot. It’s one of the complications. But he’s getting stronger by the day.”

“I know, but I like to check,” she said.

“Check behind his ears for dirt and check his teeth to see if he’s brushing. And let him be independent.”

She looked up into Owen’s warm and smiling eyes. “He has a loose tooth, you know,” she said.

“Hey, that’s great! What does the tooth fairy pay these days?”

“I have no idea! Call Sheila! Ask her!”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms. “I haven’t exactly told her you stayed.”

“Are you keeping me a secret?” she asked.

“Actually, I can’t wait to tell her. But there’s something we have to talk about. Noah says he doesn’t have a father. That his mother got him at the store.”

“Oh, crap,” she said. “This might be above my pay grade.”

“Hannah, even though it’s hard, you have to tell him the truth. We can talk about it and I’ll help if I can. But he needs to know—”

“That is the truth,” she said. “She got him at the store. Sort of.”

He just looked at her for a long moment, holding his lips in a straight line. Then he slowly shook his head. “Tonight’s fireside chat is going to be so revealing.”

The bathroom door opened. Noah was hanging on to the door handle for balance and assistance, the towel wrapped around him, a big grin on his face.

“Look at you, standing all on your own,” Hannah said.

“I’m just about done doing that, too,” he said.

“I’ve got this,” Hannah said, scooping him up. “You can sit down on the bed to get into your pajamas. I can help if you want me to.”

“I can do this,” he said. “But I’ll take a ride. Romeo and Owen just about wrecked me today!”

“Are you too tired to read for a while?” she asked.

He yawned. “Maybe. But I have a little listening left.”

She snuggled him close and carried him the rest of the way.

When she got to the porch, Owen had lit a couple of fat candles and was comfortable in his favorite chair.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“I think tonight deserves something a little strong,” she said. “How about a Crown, if you have it.”