Page 111 of Say You Will

Too late. He’s inside the cabin before my feet have hit the porch, then the little Machiavelli shoves the doorstop aside and pushes the door shut behind him just as my fingertips graze the wood. I blink in consternation.

I’ve been locked out. By the dog.

thirty-five

Henry

Brother | NEEDTOBREATHE

“Do you think Idon’t know you did this on purpose?” I rattle the knob. “Oliver, this is petty as fuck. You’re a bigger dog than this.”

He doesn’t bark when I rattle the door. Proof, in my estimation, of his perfidy. Normally, he’d be barking his head off that someone was on the porch, let alone making noise. Then, Franki would come investigate and let me in. Not tonight. No. Tonight he doesn’t make a sound.

The sun set half an hour ago, and a frigid November wind cuts through my white T-shirt and navy cardigan with vicious glee.

Inside, Oliver sticks his nose through the opening in the curtains, smudging the window glass as he sits on the back of the sofa, inside the warm, cozy cabin and watches me shiver on the porch.

I point a finger at him. “You’re not allowed to climb on the furniture without a ramp or Franki or me lifting you up. Bad dog.”

He jumps off the back of the sofa, and I flinch. I should have let him stay there until I got back inside and lifted him down. Pressing my face to the window, I prop my hands over my eyes and peer through the space in the curtains to see if he hurt himself, just in time to watch him trot his little ass across the living room, into the bedroom, and nudge that door shut behind him too.

I run both my hands through my hair and move back to the front door. This cabin is built to provide maximum security, and the doors lock automatically as a safety precaution.

I knock and call out, “Franki?!”

I’m not surprised when there’s no response. She’s in the one room in the place that doesn’t have a window to the exterior, and there are two solidly built closed doors between us. It’s quiet inside the cabin because it’s built to be a fortress. Franki probably also has the water running, and she likes to turn on music when she takes a bath.

There’s no doorbell. It’s a one-bedroom cabin in the woods. Getting into the place through the usual means a person might use to break in, is out. It’s fortified against that. It doesn’t mean I can’t get in, but that it will be a pain in my ass. It’s already dark outside, and the temperatures have dropped until my breath fogs the air. At least I have on shoes.

I walk around back to the bedroom window. It’ll get me closer to where Franki is, and if I’m loud enough, she may hear me and come let me in. I drag over a log, prop it under the window, and climb on top of it to get a look inside. The bedside lamp is on. The bathroom door is shut. Oliver is lying on his back on my side of the bedonmypillow. I don’t knock on the glass because that would set off the alarms, and I don’t want to scare Franki. So, I stand here like an idiot and shout.

Oliver gives me side-eye, and I don’t care what people say, dogs can smile, because he is absolutely laughing at me.

I call again. “Franki?!”

Normally, someone shouting outside of a window would send Oliver into a barking fit. A squirrel scurried across the front porch yesterday, and he barked at the door for ten solid minutes. Not tonight. Tonight, he watches me with petty satisfaction and doesn’t make a sound.

Approximately five minutes of hollering yields no results. I could stay here for an hour until she’s done with her bath, but it’s getting cold enough that my nose is running, and my fingers are going numb.

Both of Franki’s phones sit on the nightstand. They’re always on vibrate, or I could call her.

Dad has told us all over and over“Never get comfortable.”This is what he meant. Franki and I could be separated from each other. She needs a way to communicate besides the built-in systems in the cabin that send alerts to my father and brother. What if Franki were the one who was locked out? I’m putting in new systems tomorrow.

I know a number of ways to get into this cabin, but only one of them won’t involve potentially traumatizing Franki by having her think the cabin is under attack. I jump off the log, put it back where it belongs near the shed, and set out through the field on the half-mile trek to the airplane hangar.

I already spoke to Spencer before I came in from the woodpile. I’d like to put some blame on him, but, aside from a case of overly enthusiastic-itis and not understanding that when I said,“no other names”I’d meant“no matter what,”he hasn’t done anything wrong. The wording he used was the wordingIused when I decided to go through with finding a wife. I never explicitly told Spencer that Franki was different or that my feelings for her were real. I’ve barely seen or spoken to him, in fact, since any of this started. The pain I’ve caused Franki is my own fault.

I need advice on how to proceed, and I may as well use this time as I walk to the hangar to get it. I can’t call Gabriel. He’s still in rehab. Dante and Spencer are both married to their jobs. I’m 47.3 percent convinced they’re each fighting a thing for the other, but for once I’m minding my own business. At least until such time as I am 90 percent certain. Either way, neither of them is a relationship guru.

If I call Dad, he’ll already be in bed with Mom. He’ll answer my call. They’ll both get on speakerphone, and Mom will give me a well-earned tongue lashing when she finds out what I did. I deserve it, but I don’t have time to submit myself for flagellation. Not from anyone but Franki, anyway.

My cousin Jack is probably working at his bar. My cousin Marie will react every bit as badly as Mom. Bronwyn is still recovering and needs her rest.

I pinch my temples between my fingers and my thumb. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I hit Call.

The phone rings, then a gruff voice with a light Virginia accent says, “Henry.”

I make my way through the dark woods, using the flashlight from my phone to illuminate the path ahead. “Dean. I have need of your assistance.”

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