All They Need(3)

But his father was only fifty-eight. Way too early to be hitting the panic button over a few memory lapses.

Flynn stared into his empty champagne flute, brooding. He made a snap decision. He’d put in an appearance, done his duty. Now he was going home. Life was too short to waste time at parties talking to the same people about the same things, over and over. And he had a garden to view tomorrow with an eye to developing a design. If he was successful, it would be yet another win for Verdant Design, the landscaping firm he’d founded nearly three years ago.

He set his glass on the nearest flat surface and wove through the crowd. It took him five minutes to find his hosts to say goodbye, then he made his way to the foyer and out through the open double doors into the portico. He was about to start down the drive when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye.

It was Mel, standing in the shadows beneath the carefully manicured hedge that bordered the driveway. She was facing the street, her husband’s tuxedo jacket draped over her shoulders. Gravel crunched beneath his shoe and her head swung toward him. They locked gazes across twelve feet of driveway.

There was no mistaking the unadulterated misery in the depths of her gray eyes. After a few short seconds she looked away.

He opened his mouth to say something—what, he had no idea—as his phone rang. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and saw that it was his father. He glanced at Melanie again. Her focus was once more on the driveway. Waiting for her husband to bring the car around, he guessed.

He hit the button to take the call. He kept his gaze on her tall, straight back as he spoke. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“Flynn. Thank God. You have to help me. I’ve tried to get home but none of it makes sense. The roads have all changed…?.”

Flynn’s grip tightened on the phone as he heard the panic in his father’s voice. “Sorry, Dad. I don’t understand. Where are you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I was driving home. But the roads are all changed. Nothing’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

Dread thudded low in his gut. This man did not sound like the assured, confident father he knew. This man sounded scared and confused and utterly lost.

But he was only fifty-eight.

Flynn pushed his own panic from his mind. There would be time for that later.

“Okay, Dad. Listen to me. We’re going to work this out, okay?” Flynn said, keeping his voice calm and clear.

“Why can’t I recognize anything? Why has it all changed?”



“We’ll sort this out, I promise. I want you to look around. Are you on a highway or in a residential area? Are there houses around you?”

“Yes. Lots of houses.”

“Good. I want you to pull the car over. Turn off the engine, and walk to the nearest corner to find the street sign and tell me what it says.”

He could hear his father’s panicked breathing. He dug in his pocket for his car keys and started down the long driveway at a jog.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, Dad. We’ll do it together, and I will be with you as soon as I can. No matter what happens, I will find you. So take a deep breath, pull over and find me that street sign.”





CHAPTER ONE



Eighteen months later


MEL PORTER GLANCED UP as she exited her house. A smile spread across her face as she took in the clear blue sky.

Despite the fact that it was barely June, Melbourne had been in the grip of winter for over a month—including overcast skies, rain, bitterly cold wind, overnight frosts—and it had been particularly bad here on the Mornington Peninsula, where her turn-of-the-century farmhouse was located. Today, however, the weather gods had granted the huddled masses a reprieve. The winter-bare liquid-amber tree in Mel’s front yard stretched its branches toward the sky as though worshipping the unexpected warmth. She wondered what the neighbors would say if she did the same.

She settled for turning her face to the sun and closing her eyes.

She’d never been a winter person. Summer was what it was all about as far as she was concerned. Long days at the beach, barbecues, zinc on noses and the smell of coconut-scented sunscreen… She couldn’t wait for the warmer weather.

Rubbing her hands together, she walked down the porch steps and across the driveway to the letterbox to collect the morning’s mail. She pulled out a number of smaller envelopes with transparent windows—bills, hip hip hooray—and one larger, thicker envelope. Curious, she turned it over.