The Summer of Us (Mission Cove 1)

I stared out the window. Part of me wanted to watch this house implode on itself. The roof and walls collapsing like the house of cards my father had built around his life. I wanted to walk among the rubble, nothing left but dust and bricks that would be hauled away, until all that remained was empty ground. Another part of me didn’t want to wait—instead, empty out the house tomorrow and let bulldozers pull it down.

But Ned was right, and I had to handle this properly. Make sure it was done correctly—all of it. The contents and the building itself.

I nodded in agreement. “Make it happen.”

Abby spoke up. “I can be here while the appraisers are in the house.”

“That would be great.”

“Since you’re staying, we can set up a temporary office. I can help you and take care of this at the same time,” she offered.

“Great idea. Book yourself a room in the same place I’m staying. Come up on Monday, and we’ll figure out a schedule.”

“We can work from here?” she asked.

I glanced around, wondering how it would feel to work here. To conduct my business in this house where my father handled his affairs. I cleared my throat. “Maybe in the dining room.” I could handle that much. Once my mother had passed, we never used it. I ate alone most of the time, and the few occasions my father and I had eaten a meal together, we’d sat in the kitchen.

She nodded in understanding. “I’ll set it up.”

Ned went through some more particulars, Abby busy making notes on her tablet. Then he stood. “I’ll be back next week once the appraisals are finished. We’ll review all the items and go from there.” He shook my hand. “Be patient, Linc. I know you want this place gone, and it will be. I hope it brings you the closure you seek.”

I frowned as he walked away. Of course it would bring me closure. Knowing this place no longer existed would help ease the hold my past still had on me. Destroying all the landmarks and decisions of Franklin Thomas from this town would help everyone. I wanted his memory, his entire history, erased.

“Did your father design this house?” Abby asked.

I shook my head. “No. It was being built, and the owner went bankrupt. My father swooped in and bought it for a song, completed construction, and laughed privately at the fact that every day the man who was building it had to look up and see it, knowing he would never have it. Knowing the house he planned on living in with his family was being enjoyed by someone ‘more deserving,’ as my father claimed.”

“Wow,” Abby breathed out. “That’s fucking harsh.”

I barked out a laugh. “The truth of it is that my father was already playing games in this town. He drove the man to bankruptcy. Then he had the audacity to act innocent while rubbing it in his face.”

“What a two-faced bastard.”

“That he was. Offered him a job at one of his businesses. Clapped him on his shoulder and assured him things would improve. All the while making sure his life never got better. I went to school with his son. They moved the next year. I remember my mother saying they were looking for a fresh start.”

“Your mother had no idea about your father? The horrible things he did?”

I shook my head. “She knew he wasn’t the man she thought she’d married, I think. But she had no idea of his twisted ego. He hid it well, but once she died, he let it out full strength. He liked me knowing what he did. What he was capable of. She did what he told her to do, aside from loving me. That was the rule she broke of his that he never forgave. Me before him. Then she had the gall to die and stick him with my care.” I sighed. “I think, to be honest, she was better off dead.”

“What about you, though? Were you better off without her?”

“No,” I snapped. “You know that.” I leaned forward. “I know what you’re trying to do, Abby, and it isn’t going to work. We’re not talking about me anymore. Tell me what’s going on.”

Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable. She was silent for a moment, twisting the end of her pink streak over and again, tugging on her hair just hard enough to feel pain, so she could concentrate on something other than the horrific moment she was living through. She had done that for all the years I’d known her. She told me once at times it was the only way she could keep herself from screaming when she was younger. I let her gather her thoughts, knowing she would tell me the truth. She always did.