Page 39 of Second Story

I drive away from Glynn Harber with Isaac in my rearview mirror, but I don’t head home to the city.

I don’t even make it as far as that harbourside pub to book a room for a third night in a row. I only get as far as the nearest village shop, where I purchase something I present at what I hope is my final stop of the evening.

The Rectory front door swings open, and I hold out a bottle of gin. “You said there might be room at your inn?”

Charles is delighted. More about the company than the alcohol, I think, which he confirms. “I can’t actually be drunk in charge of minors while Hugo is on parish business, but you can. Come on. I’m pretty sure I can chip some ice out of the freezer. Maybe even find a lemon.” He tiptoes down a toy-strewn hallway, then checks the baby monitor in the kitchen. “They’re all out for the count, thank goodness.” The same dishes from our shared supper are still by the sink, the same chaos of food plastered to a pair of highchairs. I turn down gin and accept tea, which Charles makes while I get busy loading the dishwasher.

“Oh, you can come again, Mr. Helpful.”

Right now, I want to, even before I’ve made it home from Cornwall.

But without Noah’s cooperation, I won’t have a reason to revisit.

I’m pretty sure he’s figured out who I am after that storytelling session. But him meeting with me has to be his decision. I can’t make that happen, especially if stress leads to shutdowns on his learning like several of his teachers have told me, so I rinse dishes at a kitchen sink with a view over a night-dark garden while Charles gets busy restoring order out of chaos. I have no idea that he’s stopped until his reflection joins mine in the kitchen window. “What can you see?”

Not much from this perspective. Just myself, frowning hard enough to be mistaken for my brother. Or my father.

What I actually want to see is more of Isaac.

Charles peers, searching this view of a nighttime garden. “Must be something pretty compelling.”

Isaac is. Always has been. From the very first night I told him that he’d have to press pause on life as he knew it to now.

He stopped pressing pause long ago without me, and I wish I’d been around to see that progress. It’s…

Impressive.

It’s that plain and simple. I’m so fucking impressed with everything about him. With what he shared in a school library to what he’s done for other families back in London. He’s kept himself busy, all while I was doing the same to piece together a new role, but I don’t actually need to give an answer. Charles fills the silence with a list of wildlife I might see through this window if I stayed for longer. “You’d be welcome.”

Hugo repeats that invitation when he gets back, limping harder than when I first met him, tired after a day of double duty for students and a village parish, but he’s still ready to pick up from where we left off.

I didn’t know how much I’d missed this kind of exchange, this to-and-fro of stories that leads to professional suggestions, until he makes a final one outside a guest bedroom. “Let me talk with our Forest School teacher. Hayden is close friends with the Luxtons. If he vouches for you, I’m sure they’d be more amenable to encouraging Noah to accept your help.”

My brother is the opposite of amenable once I’m settled in this Rectory bedroom. Less than a minute after I press Send on a text message postponing the return of the car, he’s a wasp buzzing in my ear.

“You’re staying down there?” I don’t need to see his face on my phone screen to picture his suspicion. “Why?” He jumps to the wrong conclusion faster than I can tell him my motivator. Not that I’d share why my blood still hums in my veins, my chest aching—in a good way for once—every time I replay Isaac asking me to stick around for longer. To be his guest at a celebration where he won’t have a single friend but me or any family members but Lenny.

Josh wouldn’t want to hear what Isaac did for me with that invitation, even if I told him. He’s in one-track mode like usual. “Because you talked the Emerson kid into giving up the goods before a judge orders him back here to do it?”

If that red-haired farmer I met is right, there are no goods for Noah to give up, no additional evidence to help the case for the prosecution. Plus, a judge isn’t going to compel him to revisit London in person once they take my reports and Noah’s potential diagnosis into consideration. My laptop is full of accounts Hugo gathered for me that paint a picture of more harm if Noah has to face who hurt him, so I draw a firm line. “I’m invoking rule one. Not talking to you about work now or ever. Besides, knife crime isn’t even in your wheelhouse, is it? Thought digital forensics was all about money laundering?About tracking down cash.” I frown so hard I bet I look just like him. “How did you even come across his case?”

Josh snorts. “So much for rule one.” He does mutter, “Wintergreen, innit?” and I get it. Like him, I can’t help paying attention whenever I hear bad news from our old doorstep. “But that’s really why you’re staying down there for longer? To meet with him?”

“With Noah? That’s doubtful.” All he’s shown me so far is mistrust. Even mistook me for being a cop. And he’s shown that he’s conflicted. I saw plenty of that across a library table each time Isaac said I was a good guy instead of bad news.

I hear the same conflict now from Josh. “Then why the fuck do you want to stay in Cornwall? There’s nothing for you down there.”

Josh can’t see what I can from the second storey of this building, starting with stars that sparkle over moorland. The moon gets in on the action, hanging low over distant glinting water. It’s so fucking pretty I’m tempted to tell Josh to head down here in a hurry.

We could have a night swim together, like we used to.

Thank fuck I didn’t voice that suggestion. He’s as abrupt as ever.

“When will you be back?”

“When I’m done.” Something about his insistence registers. “Why?” I aim for joking. “Anyone would think you’re desperate to catch up with m?—”

“I need the car.”

---