How to Keep a Secret

“In some ways. He was very smart, like you. He loved the sea—”

“I love the sea.”

“I know.” Lauren remembered Ed’s mouth tightening slightly when she’d told him that Mack wanted a bedroom like a ship’s cabin. It had been an uncomfortable reminder that Mack had DNA that didn’t originate from him. On impulse she reached out and pulled Mack’s battered copy of Moby-Dick from the shelf. “This belonged to him.”

“My real father?” Mack took it from her and leafed through the pages, searching. “His name isn’t in it.”

“He gave it to me at the beginning of our relationship. It was his favorite book.”

“It’s my favorite book, too.”

“I know.” Lauren saw the way Mack held on to the book with both hands. “Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“Yeah—” Mack scrubbed her cheek with the palm of her hand. “The man you loved. My real dad. What was his name?”

There was a tap on the door and Jenna put her head round. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a friend here to see you. James? He says it’s urgent. Said he’s your lawyer and the executor of Ed’s will.”

Lauren sat still for a moment. There was a buzzing in her ears.

She’s not the problem.

She rose to her feet, her stomach churning and her instincts telling her that she was about to find out what the problem was.

Had Ed committed fraud? Had he left all his money to a cat’s home? Was this something to do with Mack?

Whatever it was, she had a feeling that the worst day of her life wasn’t over yet.

Part Two

11

Nancy

Dilemma: a difficult situation in which you have to choose between two

or more alternatives

“People have noticed your car parked outside the house. There’s been gossip. I hope it doesn’t bother you.” She handed him a mug of coffee. Far too strong for her tastes, but it was the way he liked it. It struck her that she knew any number of small things about him—that he liked his coffee black, his beer cold, that he hated mushrooms, rarely bothered wearing a sweater no matter how hard the wind blew, preferred to work with the windows open—but none of the big things.

“Why would it bother me?”

“Most people care what others think.”

He took a mouthful of coffee and slowly lowered the mug. It was obvious from his expression that he didn’t give a damn.

It was one of the many things she liked and admired about him. “You don’t care. I realized that five years ago.” At the time she’d thought it strange that he’d been the one to come to her rescue. She’d never been the type to dream about a hero riding to the aid of a damsel in distress, but even if she had, she never would have cast Scott Rhodes in the key role. It seemed more likely that he would have been the one to put the damsel in a state of distress in the first place.

And yet—

“I’ve never mentioned it to anyone. You’re the only one who knows. Unbelievable really that you, a stranger, know my most intimate secret. I protected my family from all of it.” She’d always protected them. It was the one thing she’d done right as a mother.

He put the mug down and turned back to the job in hand, restoring her window frames.

There were people on the island who talked so much you wondered if death might come before the end of the conversation. And then there was Scott.

He’d always been more of a listener than a talker.

She’d watched in fascination over the weeks as he’d taken apart the sash frames and put them back together. He’d dug out paint and caulk, oiled wood, and secured the glass in the sash. A surgeon operating on a child couldn’t have taken more care.