Page 13 of Her Final Hours
“What is my father’s involvement with the LLC?”
“He is a co-owner. A long time ago, my father saw an opportunity. As much as we have established ourselves, it hasn’t come without some help from key individuals. Your father is one of them. The Sutherlands have strong ties to this community, trust, and respect that few outsiders rarely see. You could say it’s a mutual agreement to help one another.”
“In return for what? Ensuring Hugh’s family has a place to stay when they’re looking?” Noah asked.
“No, Noah, that was all me. Listen, I understand you must have some reservations about my family, especially in light of what happened with Ray, but everything my father does is above-board.”
“You sure about that? I used to think the same about my father. Maybe you and I don’t know them as much as we thought,” he said. He downed the remainder of his drink faster than he would have had he been keen on the company. A pretty face was one thing, someone who might have known aboutLuther Ashford’s dealings was another. Discerning lies from the truth was complicated when most didn’t know what either looked like. “It was good to meet you, Natalie. I must go.”
“But we just got here, and…”
He took out his wallet and tossed several dollars on the table.
She lifted a hand. “I can get that.”
“So can I.” As he slid out of the booth, Noah looked at her and hesitated before saying, “Don’t take this the wrong way. I appreciate what you did by allowing us to use the house, but… I will be out of the property by the end of the month.” With that said, he exited, leaving her speechless.
5
Sunday, March 18, 10:24 p.m.
The Bronco idled in the driveway, humming steadily as his tired eyes fixed on the illuminated house. If he was honest, he would miss the waterfront property, nestled by the serene lake. It exuded an aura of tranquility, especially at night when the soft glow of lights spilled out from the windows, casting warm hues against the surrounding darkness. A wave of regret washed over him as he sat there contemplating his conversation with Natalie and reflecting on the tumultuous months since Lena’s passing.
His gaze lifted to an upstairs window where Noah saw Mia moving past the pane. A pang of remorse coursed through him, wondering if he had been too hard on her. The sight of her stirred a memory of the young girl at the hospital and the missing poster of Payton Scott. Her haunted eyes lingered in his mind, a reminder of the fragile nature and complexities of the world.
With a sigh, Noah finally stepped out of his vehicle and entered the house. “Hello,” he called out, his voice filled with weariness and longing. The sound of Aunt Gretchen chatting with Ethan emanated from the kitchen. He kicked off his shoes and headed in.
“Still up?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Gretchen smiled. Ethan was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping a drink.
“He couldn’t sleep. I made him a warm drink,” Gretchen said, her voice warm and comforting.
“How has she been?” he asked, referring to Mia.
“Oh, you know,” Gretchen replied, wiping down the granite countertop.
Noah set down a bag of groceries he had bought on the way home and expressed his gratitude. “Thanks, Gretchen. I can take it from here.”
She kissed Ethan on the cheek, and he chuckled before she strode over and embraced Noah, reminding him to reach out if he needed anything. Noah guided Ethan upstairs to his room as she bid farewell and departed.
Noah passed Mia’s room, only to see her swiftly close the door before he could speak. Ethan, ever observant, remarked, “She’s just annoyed because you took her phone.”
He acknowledged the comment, assuring Ethan that Mia would get her phone back. Together they entered his room, where Ethan climbed into a comfortable bed adorned with a plaid comforter. Since moving in, Ethan had quickly added his touch to the space. It reflected everything about his once vibrant energy and evolving interests. The walls were adorned with colorful posters showcasing his musical inclinations and personal movie heroes. Among them, bands and musicians ranging from rock legends to ’80s celebrities captured his eclectic taste. The room had a well-loved Fender guitar proppedup against an amplifier, hinting at Ethan’s newfound interest in music.
A stack of books, precariously balanced on a small nightstand, was a testament to his curiosity about the world and stories. The shelf’s surface revealed a clutter of knick-knacks: a Rubik’s Cube half-solved, a collection of colorful guitar picks, and a few worn-out playing cards peeking out from beneath a pile of handwritten song lyrics. Noah would tell him to keep them in case he became a household name. He could auction them off for charity.
Noah’s gaze fell upon a few stray clothes scattered across the floor, a reminder of the untidiness that had slowly taken over. Gathering them up, he readied himself to take them to the laundry, but not before urging Ethan to tidy his room the following day. He glanced at a study desk cluttered with school books, notebooks, and loose sheets of paper, dominating another corner of the room. A Mac computer stood at the ready, accompanied by a mishmash of cables and headphones. Post-it notes with reminders and inspirational quotes were scattered across the monitor, reflecting Ethan’s attempts to stay positive amidst the chaos of adolescence and the death of his mother.
They were each dealing with it in their way. Ethan retreating into his room, jotting notes, making music; Mia acting out, drinking, and lying.
Noah pulled over an armchair near the window, providing a cozy spot for Ethan to retreat with a book or strum his guitar. Tattered concert tickets that hadn’t been used because of the funeral were carefully taped to the wall, serving as a memento of an experience missed. Lena was supposed to take them. Soft ambient lighting emanated from a desk lamp, casting a warm glow over the room.
Settling into the chair, Noah tried to connect with his son ona deeper level. “How are you doing, kid?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” Ethan replied, though the shadows of uncertainty danced in his eyes. Noah pressed further, his paternal instincts yearning for openness.
“You’d tell me if you’re not, right?”
