The Summer of Us (Mission Cove 1)

“I think so.”

“Did you know the man?”

Sunny nodded, her voice quiet. “It was your father, Linc.”15LincHours later, I was still reeling from what Sunny had told me. Mrs. Tremont and my father had an affair. I had no idea how long it lasted, but obviously, she must have had strong feelings about him, given her actions and the words she had flung at me this morning.

So many things made sense now. How my father always seemed to be one step ahead of the mayor in so many things. His wife must have been feeding my father information. I wondered how often they met and how they kept it a secret for so long.

I wondered if perhaps that was why she hated me. Had she thought she would be a beneficiary in my father’s will? Had he made her promises while I was younger about them being together once I was gone?

He must have been an even better actor than I gave him credit for.

The man I knew had no emotions. At least no positive ones. Once my mother died, any sort of decency in him had gone to the grave with her. He used people, then discarded them when they no longer had a use. I was sure he knew exactly how to manipulate the mayor’s wife—string her along with false promises, use my presence as an excuse for whatever was needed at the time. I could imagine vague assurances, untrue murmurs of the future, declarations of feelings that were false, since he was incapable of any.

The mayor had always been easily led. My father made fun of him behind his back, often stating he was the one pulling the strings. He had them both duped—in fact, he still did. She felt wronged, not by the affair they had, but the promises he had never fulfilled, and she was blaming me—the way he had all those years. The mayor still thought my father was a great man, proving he was the idiot my father always said he was. I would give him that much.

I was so lost in my musings that a hand on my shoulder caused me to jump. Sunny smiled in apology and sat across from me, sliding a plate in my direction.

“You’ve been in here for hours, Linc. You must be hungry.”

I looked at the plate, my appetite strangely absent. I pushed it away. “Maybe in a while.”

I rested my elbows on the table. “You never said anything to me—years ago—about this.”

Sunny frowned. “I never had any proof, and I only saw them the one time, so I couldn’t be certain. I thought at the time it was possible for it simply to be a coincidence.”

“But you don’t think that now.”

She shook her head. “My mom and I talked once, years later. I told her what I saw. She said your father had a permanent room at the resort. One on the main floor, at the back. He also had keycards to get in any door. It wasn’t common knowledge, although there were rumors.” Sunny sighed. “She saw the mayor’s wife leave his room more than once.”

“Nobody talked about it? No gossip?”

“I’m sure there was behind the scenes. But your father owned the resort, Linc. No one was going to speak up and risk their jobs.”

“Too scared of repercussions.”

“Exactly.”

“It makes a lot of sense, when I think about it. He was using her, and I’m sure, in some fashion she was using him, but I think, somehow, it changed for her. She was certainly passionate about his ‘memory’ this morning. I’m sure in order to dissuade her, he used me and my presence as an excuse for years. No wonder she hates me.”

“Does it matter?” Sunny questioned. “Her feelings, I mean?”

“Not really. It explains a lot, though.” I pulled the plate toward me, the tempting pile of biscuits too much to ignore anymore. “I am grateful all the business dealings I have in this town are hidden in numbered companies. If she knew I had anything to do with them, I’d have roadblocks going up left, right, and center.”

“I think you’re right.”

I bit into a biscuit, the texture light and airy. I chewed in appreciation and swallowed. “Where is Abby?”

She chuckled. “Downstairs with Shannon. Preparing the dough for some of the cookies for tomorrow. We often make it the night before and then bake as needed. We’ll be busy this weekend.”

“Tourist season starts.”

“Yes.”

“I had no idea she liked to bake. She certainly never shared anything at the office.”

“I think maybe she keeps a few things to herself, Linc. Some private parts of her life that are only for her.”

I finished the biscuit, wiping my fingers on a napkin. “But she shared with you.”

Sunny looked past my shoulder. “You see Abby as strong, capable, and a force to be reckoned with. Your right-hand. I think she associates baking with a—” she paused as if searching for the right word “—softer side of herself. Something she doesn’t show many people—including you. She hates to be vulnerable.”