Page 120 of The Oscar Escape
He might as well rip off the bandage and ask.
“I hate to be rude, but why are you here, Judge Harpswell? This is a long way from Havenmatch Island, and your arrival can’t be a coincidence.”
“Interesting question and supposition, Mr. Elliott,” the judge replied, keeping his intentions close to the vest.
That was no help!
His father took Ivy’s hand. “How about we walk down to the stream and see which of us can toss a rock to the other side? How does that sound, honey?”
Ivy flexed like a mini bodybuilder. “I’ve hauled inlob-stahtraps and worked the seas,” she said, mimicking Del’s accent. “I bet I can throw a rock way past the other side.”
His dad and Ivy were leaving? The situation was getting stranger by the second.
Here’s what he knew. His dad didn’t look angry, and the man hadn’t brought up Aria or the melee of the fake marriage. The judge must not have mentioned it.
“We won’t be gone for long. It’ll give you two some time to catch up.” His father peered at the cabin. “This is a good place to figure out what matters most. Many moons ago, it sure was for me.”
What had the judge shared with his dad?
“Hold on to my backpack and Clawdia Junior for me, Oscar,” Ivy said, handing over her things.
And just like that, the pair headed down the trail.
He could feel the judge watching him. “How do you know my father?”
“Sit, sit, sit,” the judge said. He gestured toward two Adirondack chairs on the porch.
Those were new. They’d cleared out the furniture and his mom’s personal effects the summer before he went to college. Inez must have had someone stage the place, or maybe they belonged to the new buyer. Regardless of who owned the chairs, Oscar followed the man. Despite feeling like he’d been transported to an alternate reality, he chuckled, recalling the last time the judge uttered those words and ordered him and Aria into their seats.
Aria. Christ, he missed her.
M. Gibson Harpswell settled into a chair. “What’s so funny?”
“You said the same ‘sit, sit, sit,’ line the first time we met at Aria’s hearing.”
Emotion welled in his chest. It was hard to say her name without it hurting.
“You’re mistaken,” the man replied with a twitch of a jowly grin.
Oscar observed the judge closely, then noticed a tattered box on a small table between the new porch chairs. “Is that yours?”
“It is.” He picked up the box and set it on his lap. “Have you spoken with your wife?”
Here it comes.
Oscar sank into his chair and put Ivy’s bag next to his feet. “Is that why you’re here?” He raised his left hand. “I’m still wearing the wedding ring because I haven’t mentioned what happened to my family. As far as they know, Ivy and I took a brother-sister trip across the country to get my truck back to Colorado while Aria returned to prepare for her concert. Did you tell my dad what really happened?” he asked, his words coming out in a tumble of flustered sound.
“Your dad knows that something is off.”
Oscar eyed the ring, then rested his hands on his lap. “And he’s not upset? He was crying like a baby when Aria and I shared the news about being married. My family loves her, and I hurt her. I broke her heart, Judge.” The muscles in his chest tightened. There it was—the familiar pain of letting down the person he loved the most.
The judge narrowed his gaze. “Your father loves you and your wife.”
Oscar huffed an exasperated breath. “You know she’s not my wife.”
“You’re going to let eight dollars keep you from her?”
How did this man not understand?
