Page 30 of Bay of Plenty

“I like it if Isla likes it and feels comfortable in it,” he said.Hmm.Diplomatic. After all, he was playing the role of a man with two sisters. But my shoulders dropped, disappointed.

He seemed to notice that Mum and CeeCee looked deflated too. Decision sparked in his face.

“You look gorgeous in it,” he said forcefully. “If your mother doesn’t get it for you, I want to.” He closed the gap between us and swept me into his arms. His lips grazed my neck. My nerves there stirred and tingled. Without thinking, I raked my fingers through his hair.

“Is the correct answer,” said CeeCee in the voice of a game show host. She and Mum sighed with contentment.

“Well played, sir,” I murmured into his armpit.

I decided to wear the dress home, which pleased Mum.

While we helped Declan select candles as gifts for his sisters, CeeCee worked at the sink, deftly arranging proteas, orchids, and ferns. She added another plant, which I’d thought was a weed.

“Where do you get the Queen Anne’s lace?” Mum asked, leaning on the counter.

“Along the roadside.” CeeCee smiled.

“How clever. I’d never put those plants together,” I said. “But they look so right. Do you think about what goes with what, or is it instinct?”

“See this Queen Anne’s lace?” CeeCee showed us the dotted plant. “Just because everyone thinks it’s a weed doesn’t mean it’s not lovely. You have to put the flowers together in a different way.”

“But how do youfindthe different way, CeeCee?” I asked.

“It’s ridiculously unscientific, so you might laugh,” she said. “After I make up a bunch, I step back and squint my eyes to blur the details, and that shows me if something’s wrong with the shape of it.”

I recognized that pattern.

“Ha. That’s what we journos learned too.” I grinned. “Our editor always said that you can tell if an article is well written before you’ve even read a word—it has a pleasing shape on the page.”

Declan gave me the side-eye. I was drawing attention to the fact I was a journalist.What? It isn’t as if they don’t know that is my career.

CeeCee set the bunch of flowers on the counter. She took a clear rubber bag, filled it with water from the sink, placed the flowers in it, and tied the whole lot with a piece of white plastic wire. She tipped the flowers upside down in the sink, like,ta-da!Not a drop of water spilled.

As Declan came over to pay for the candles, I thought about what CeeCee had said.Put them together in a different way.Was there another way of arranging the facts of this story that made everything clear? I reviewed my questions so far. Where was Snow hiding the heroin? How did Snow run the winery from his surfboard? Was CeeCee frightened of Snow? Was the campground relevant?

I questioned myself, too, because I didn’t trust my own instincts after the Fontaine case. I’d lost some of my old confidence, and it frustrated and depressed me.

On the way home, Declan took my hand, smiled, and winked at me. It felt like an old-fashionedwe’re in this together, kidwink, and my feet decided to add a little bounce. His large, firm hand claimed mine, which felt nice… I usually wasn’t much of a hand-holder.

I glanced over to the side of the road, CeeCee’s words still on my mind. Before I’d only observed weeds, but now I understood their possibilities. I pushed my line of thinking deeper—Is there something obvious about this story that I’m not allowing myself to see?

Chapter Nineteen

“How are youfeeling about the operation, Dad?”

Remorse hit me as soon as I asked. I’d hauled the obvious into the hospital room. As usual. And this was the last time we’d see him until after the operation tomorrow morning. Beside Declan, Mum drew a deep breath, and the shaky uneasiness in the air turned into a tense pounding I could almost hear.

“I’ve had a brush with death, and I count myself lucky at my narrow escape,” Dad said. “And I think my luck’s going to last.”

He’d put a positive spin on it, but still, this was too close to the bone for Mum, who always seemed uncomfortable when a conversation turned searching or introspective. Arms crossed, she headed out to the cafeteria to fetch some teas.

“I wonder,” Declan said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Has this made you realize what’s important in life?”

Was he trying to rescue this conversation for my sake? The old me would have bristled at how unnecessary this was, but now I appreciated it.

“Oh, of course.” Dad paused and smiled. “When I left high school, the old butcher’s had closed down. It’s now RubyDunes—you know, CeeCee’s boutique. Anyway, that space was up for rent for the first time in decades. I wanted to set up a bookstore full of maps, biographies, travel books, and novels. My father wouldn’t loan me the money to stock it. Too frivolous, he said. Instead, he arranged an apprenticeship at the mill so I could pay my way and help out at home.”

All his dreams gone. I clutched my chest with surprise. Why hadn’t I taken enough interest in him to ask? I thought I’d been a curious child, but I hadn’t found out this meaningful thing about my dad. “I didn’t know, Dad.”

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