Page 109 of Someone to Tempt
I take the rock from him, amazed that it’s the perfect size and shape for skipping. The sun has slipped behind the distant peaks, but the stone is warm in my palm, still holding onto the afternoon light.
“When we give the past too much power, it becomes bigger than we can handle,” Grandpa says, running a hand through his white hair. “It overtakes not only the future but the present, too. Everything.”
“I get it, Grandpa. If you don’t learn from those lessons, you’re bound to repeat them.”
“But if you stay stuck without learning, you’ll stay stuck.”
“You should embroider that on a pillow.”
“You should stop hiding behind the kid you used to be.”
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me you’re putting Dad in charge of the foundation? Because I can’t be trusted?”
“Who said anything about you not being able to be trusted? No. You’re so deep in your head, pretending it’s my voice or your father’s voice or your brother’s voice talking all this shit—” He jabs me in the bicep with one gnarled finger. “It’s you. You’re the one telling yourself you can’t do this.”
“Or I’m repeating what I’ve heard my whole damn life.”
“Then change the channel if you don’t like what’s playing. You’re not a T-Rex with tiny little arms.”
I laugh at that comparison. “Scientists now think the T-Rex had a bigger brain than they used to believe.”
“Then you have that in common,” Grandpa says, smirking. “For the record, a brain works better if you use it.”
“Duly noted. Back to the foundation’s future…”
“Jake, you are Spencer Charles. Or he’s you. You have a natural, God-given talent. Do you really want to give up being a writer in order to run the foundation?”
“I want to do right by Mikey’s memory.”
“Stop. Do you know how pissed your brother would be to know you were using him and his memory as an excuse to play small? You and Mike came up with those first stories together—but you are the writer. Everything else aside, do you love writing books?”
I swallow when emotions try to clog my throat. “Fuck yeah,” I whisper.
“Finally some truth. Do you want to keep doing it?”
“I don’t want Dad to get his hands on the foundation, Grandpa. Not just because of my shitty relationship with him. I might have only been involved from the periphery, but I know what you do is important. The values, our family’s name, your legacy…it means something to me.”
Grandpa swipes a hand across his cheek. “You mean the world to me.”
He watches the water for a long time before speaking. “I’m naming Daniel Pearson Executive Director of the foundation,” he says. “He’s got the experience to run the whole thing day to day. But I want you to take on a piece of it—your own program area. Something that reflects your values. Maybe you bring this camp back to life, turn it into a retreat center, a space for healing.”
I stare at him, wondering if he’s serious. “You want me to run part of the foundation? And keep writing?”
He nods, grinning. “That’s the idea. You’ve got a good head and a bigger heart than you let on. Use both. Build something that lasts, Jake. Not just for yourself.”
My breath whooshes out of my lungs as I think about what I want to make last in my life. Who I want to build it with. “I don’t know if I’m the right guy for?—”
“You are,” he says, like it’s already been decided. “You’re the right guy for Iris, too. I see the way you look at her. Don’t let fear rule the day. Be a man who’s willing to fight, Jake.”
I stare out at the lake stretching wide in front of us and feel a spark catching fire inside me. Like I finally know what’s worth fighting for—my future, this place, and Iris.
40
IRIS
My first thoughtwhen I wake up Saturday morning to the sound of muffled voices is that I’m being burgled. Nick had an early shift at the diner, so I should be alone in the house.
But just as my pulse starts pounding in my ear, Sloane’s distinctive cackle rings out, followed by Molly shushing her like only a mother can.
