She stopped and looked at me, her expression dead serious. “Count yourself blessed, Tish, that you’ve never been abused at the hands of someone you love. There’s nothing harder than opening your eyes when you want only to keep them closed. There’s nothing like finally admitting to yourself that you’re ‘one of those women’—the kind of woman you always despised for having no backbone, for not having the good sense to leave a situation that’s killing you.”

“I’m sorry, Candice, I didn’t mean to—”

She rolled over my words as if I’d never spoken. “If Sam’s ex is anything like mine was, he’s going to come after her. It’s as if he can’t help himself. He’s going to make her pay for putting him in prison, because, naturally, all his problems are her fault. And if she doesn’t grovel just right and beg his forgiveness, then he’s going to hurt her. He’d rather see her dead than free.”

I stared in speechless horror. “Is that what happened to you?”

She nodded. “Thank God Paul died in that fire before he could hurt me one last time.”

I swallowed. “Then maybe my grandfather did you a big favor and you should thank him too.”

She turned and walked ahead. “Let it lie, Tish. It’s a place you don’t want to go.”

I reached for her arm and yanked her to a halt. “I’m sick of people telling me that. I’m sick of everyone trying to protect me from the past. I just want the truth. I want to know what really happened to my mother. How can a woman who was fearless on horseback just give up on life? And I want the truth about my grandfather. Did he have anything to do with my mother’s death and your fire or didn’t he?” My teeth ground together in exasperation. I jabbed a finger toward her. “I know you’re the one who wrote ‘Don’t ask why’ on my mother’s picture and left it ripped in half on my pillow. I don’t care what you say. I’m going to ask and ask and ask until I get my answers.”

Her eyes were giant circles as she listened to me rant.

She pawed at me as if pleading for me to stop. “Tish, I didn’t rip your mother’s picture. I would never do that.” She looked away. “I did write on her photo. But it was in grease pencil, easily wiped off. I wanted to warn you not to be so curious. So you wouldn’t get hurt like she did.”

“What do you mean, get hurt like she did? My mom killed herself.”

Candice shook her head. “Perhaps. But I suspect someone helped her into that quarry.”

My knees felt weak. I tried to breathe. “Why do you say that? What makes you think so?”

“There were rumors. Stories, going around at the time of her death. She’d been at the bar but had no alcohol in her system, so the crash couldn’t be blamed on drunk driving. But witnesses said she drove straight through the guardrail as if she’d done it on purpose. The police took pictures and asked the usual questions. Then they tagged it a suicide and wrapped up the investigation.”

“But you think there’s more to it?”

“There’s always more to everything.”

“Oh, that’s right. You think my grandfather had something to do with it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I have no doubt.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He loved my mother. Why would he do anything to hurt her?”

“She was meeting up with your father.”

“My dad?”

“To warn him.”

“Warn him about what?”

“There’s so much to the story.” She took a deep breath and fanned herself. “I’m feeling worn out after our sprint in the field. How about if I give you all the details another day?”

My jaw dropped. How could she even suggest putting the rest of the story on hold? But her face did look pale. Her breath did seem short. I sure didn’t want her dropping dead of heart failure before I could get the whole picture.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll help you in.”

I settled her in the parlor with a glass of water, cleaned up the tea things in the kitchen, then left for my own cottage . . . somewhat reluctant to face my new tenant.

22

On the drive home, I mulled over Candice’s denial. She admitted to writing on my mom’s photo but swore she hadn’t ripped it in half. I believed her, mostly. But that meant someone else had been at the lodge after she’d gussied up my bedroom. The whole idea gave me a crick in the neck.

I pulled down my driveway slow as a turtle with a bum leg, praying I wouldn’t find some Woodstock revival on my front lawn. I turned the final corner and breathed a sigh of relief. The only vehicle in the yard was Sam’s VW. Blankets, bags, and boxes appeared to have exploded out the back of the van. Sam’s long black hair hung across her shoulders as she sifted through her months of supplies.

At my approach, she lifted her head and fluttered her hand. I parked and waded to the epicenter of my most recent disaster.

“Anything I can help with?” I asked.

She picked a box off the ground and stuffed it into my unsuspecting arms. “This can go in the closet for now,” she said.

I started toward the house.

“Hurry back. There’s more where that came from!”

It may have been my imagination, but it sounded like Sam’s voice held a hint of evil satisfaction. I dumped the box in the bedroom closet and went outside for more.

Three hours and at least thirty boxes later, we stood at the entrance to my mother’s old bedroom and surveyed our work.

“It’s definitely bright,” I said. An orange bedspread that looked more like a shag carpet gave the sagging mattress a much-needed boost. Neon blue and green flowers sprinkled the surface. The overall effect was of a garden experiment gone awry. At the bedside, a lava lamp bubbled, fighting with the sunshine-yellow braided rug for the room’s focal point.

“Thanks.” Sam leaned against the doorframe in apparent satisfaction. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you letting me stay. You’re a great friend.” She reached one long arm in my direction and squeezed my shoulder.

“No problem. We’re going to have fun.” I repeated Brad’s words, hoping if I said them enough they might come true.

“I’ll look for a job tomorrow.” Her voice sounded tired.

“I forgot about that. I guess you’ll need one of those.” We stood silent, letting our joint circumstances sink in.

I clapped my hands to break the suddenly glum atmosphere. “Let’s get some food. I’m starving.”

A look through the fridge revealed a stick of butter, three eggs, and about a quarter cup of expired milk. The cupboards offered a can of corned beef hash and some baked beans.

“We could do scrambled eggs with hash and beans,” I offered.

Sam scrunched her nose. “Let’s go out. Is there a good restaurant in town?”

I looked at her, realizing I had no clue as to the quality of the local eateries, since I’d never tried any of them. “I have a better idea.” Though I was reluctant to leave my house alone for even a short time, a lightbulb flashed across my brain. “We’ll drop by my grandfather’s house. My cousin Joel is the best cook in the world. You won’t believe his stir-fry.”

Sam seemed hesitant. “Are they expecting us?”

I gave a shrug. “No. But it’s family. They won’t mind. Besides, I haven’t been down there in a while. I owe them a visit.”

We drove down the peninsula in my Explorer. I gave Sam what limited knowledge I had of the homes we passed. She oohed and aahed over groves of lilacs bursting into bloom along the edges of farmers’ fields.

“Look at that place. It’s gorgeous.” She spotted my grandfather’s white fences, stark and straight against the vivid green grass. The white trim of the lake house stood out from the brilliant blue of Silvan Bay. I turned down the drive.

“This is it? Your family lives in the coolest houses.” She perched like a cocker spaniel on the passenger seat, hands pressed against the dash.

“Thanks.” I wondered what Sam would think when she learned the sordid details of my family history. Cool houses couldn’t stamp out generations of poor decisions.

I pulled onto the circle drive. Over by the detached garage, the tan car Joel drove was parked alongside my cousin Gerard’s black truck.

“Looks like everyone is here. Hopefully they’ll have extra food.” I walked up the steps and rang the bell. Sam followed.

Joel opened the door. He looked at me, then shifted his gaze to Sam. His eyes blinked and his head jerked back as if he’d just looked upon a dazzling pile of gold.

“Hi,” he said, one arm on the doorframe, blocking our way.

“Hey.” I shifted my feet, waiting for him to look back in my direction. I cleared my throat. “We’re wondering if it’s too late to invite ourselves to supper.”

Joel shrugged. I wondered if he’d even heard me.

I spoke again. “This is Sam, my friend from downstate. Sam, this is Joel.”

Their hands met in a slow shake. Sam’s eyes gleamed on top of her big smile.

I took a step closer to the door. “So anyway, Sam just arrived today and we were working so hard to get her moved in that we didn’t have time to cook supper. Would you have enough for two more?”

Without taking his eyes off Samantha, Joel motioned for us to come in. We followed him to the dining table. Steam rose from a platter of roast beef and vegetables in the center. The scent of basil and pepper filled the air. My grandfather grinned from his place at the head of the table as we entered. Next to him, Olivia’s hunched frame turned in our direction. I could sense her perusal of my new roommate.

On Puppa’s other side, Gerard rose from his chair like a sergeant coming to attention. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“To Joel’s great cooking,” I said. “Grandma Olivia, you look well tonight.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. I moved toward my grandfather and squeezed his arm. “Puppa, this is my good friend Samantha Walters. She’s staying with me for the summer. Sam, this is my grandfather Bernard Russo, my great-grandmother Olivia Russo, and my second-cousins Joel and Gerard Russo.”