Page 30 of Forever Endeavor

Was?“Oh. I’m sorry, Sonny. I didn’t know.”

He nodded and Billie didn’t want to press him any further. While her mission was still to find Cal’s photo, she now found herself hunting for more pictures of Sonny. She pointed to one showing him and another boy standing proudly in front of an elaborate lean-to hideaway that would make Robinson Crusoe envious. “Where was this one taken?”

“Me and my buddy Chad built that clubhouse out on an island we called Dead Man’s Rock. You have to get there by boat, so it took us that whole summer to transport enough scrap lumber to build the damn thing. We worked day and night on it, determined that it would be strong enough to weather any storm.”

“Sweet! Is the clubhouse still there?”

His smile hitched in one corner of his mouth. “Should be, but I honestly don’t know. I haven’t been out that way in years. Might have to head over there sometime and take a look.”

Slumped together shoulder to shoulder, they stopped between pages when he spotted an old photo that sparked fond recollections. Camping, fishing, goofing on Halloween, opening Christmas presents, and, of course, posing proudly next to the cars he’d modified, affectionately recounting the finer details of each one like they were old girlfriends. Sonny narrated a happy memory from when each photo was taken, and Billie enjoyed the glimpse into his life story.

She flipped the page to a spread filled with wedding pictures, immediately zeroing in on a younger, clean-shaven Sonny in a three-piece suit next to a petite brunette wearing a veil. They held up champagne flutes under a banner reading “Congratulations Sonny & Melissa.”

Shit.

Billie slammed the cover and chucked the album back on the table. “Nope, no picture of Cal in here. We’ll have to try a different one after dinner.”

“Hey,” he said, “it’s no big deal. You knew I was married before.”

“Yeah, but that photo is ancient history you don’t need to relive tonight.”

“It’s fine. I’m totally fine,” he assured.

“If you like, I can shove it in my purse and set fire to it later. Aunt Bernice will be none the wiser.”

The corner of his mouth turned up into a half-smile. “Tempting, but best to leave it where we found it.”

After dinner, Sonny and Uncle Stan settled into a ball game on TV while Bernice joined Billie in her search for Cal’s picture. Strange that it, or any photos of Cal for that matter, hadn’t turned up in the family albums. But Bernice persisted, believing that the picture was somewhere in the house even if she had to turn the whole thing upside down to find it. Finally, she brought down a big, round hat box brimming with an assortment of old snapshots and began to dig.

“Aha, I knew his academy photo had to be here somewhere,” she said, waggling it between her fingers. It was Cal, all right, young, fresh faced and bushy beard-free. Back then, he’d been much less Hemingway and much more Hemsworth. Billie admired Officer Calvin Hayes’ pristine uniform, from his peaked cap down to his dress blues, each line crisp, and every brass button impeccably polished.

“This is perfect Miss Bernice, thank you. I’ll return it to your care in a couple of days.”

“Take all the time you need,” she said. “When you’re done, you just let me know because I want to have my favorite author over for dinner again.”

“I’d love that too,” Billie replied. “And I’ll see to it that Amethyst Jayde personally thanks you for your help and hospitality in the dedication of her next book.”

After saying goodnight, Billie and Sonny walked back to the tow truck. He jammed the key into the ignition and turned to her before starting it up. “Now that we’re alone, tell me the truth. What are you really doing with Cal’s picture?”

She immediately took offense. “What makes you think I’m not telling the truth?”

“Something isn’t sitting right with me. How would a photo help you to write a book?”

“I told you, it’s for my research. I have zero reason to lie to you or to anyone else.”

Sonny shook his head as the motor rumbled and smelly vapors seeped into the cab. “I don’t know what kind of yarn Cal told you, but he’s no hero. Certainly not the kind in your romance books.”

“I guess that all depends on your definition of hero.” She watched the farmyard shrink in the mirror as they drove off. “And what’s up with this sudden axe to grind with Cal anyway?”

“I don’t want to see you end up hurt or disappointed, that’s all. The old man has a way of letting people down. Take his dead partner, for instance.”

Chilled by his sudden blast of coldness, Billie strained to speak. “That’s a low blow, and you know it. You weren’t there. You have no idea what really happened that night.”

“Oh, and you do? Ah, of course, you’ve been in town for two whole days and already you’ve got it all figured out,” he said snidely. “Trust me, sweetie, whatever Cal told you, take it with a grain of salt and two giant bullshit tablets.”

Her fingernails dug into the upholstery. “You really can be such an asshole.”

“Guess that all depends on your definition of asshole. Mine is the guy who puts himself before everyone who’s counting on him. His partner, his wife, hell, even his own flesh and blood. He abandons them as soon as the shit hits the fan.”

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