The Widow - Carla Neggers [83]
She ripped open the screen door and pounded down the stone steps, picking up her pace as she ran across the lawn to the water’s edge. Sprawling beach roses formed a thick border between the yard and the shoreline, the morning dew glistening on their pink blossoms.
As she calmed herself, she watched a lone kayaker out on the water. How long had it been since she’d kayaked? She’d been so wrapped up in her work for so long. She’d hoped some time in Maine with her family would be a good break, that she’d have a chance, finally, to do things just for fun—never mind the damn background check.
She became aware of her uncle behind her. “I know what you and my father are doing,” she said. “You’re not worried about Linc. I’m not even sure you’re worried about me. You’re worried about Abigail Browning. Bad enough for the FBI to be right here on the island, digging into our lives. But Abigail—having her know our dirty little secrets…”
“Grace, Grace.” Ellis stood next to her, leaning on his walking stick. He didn’t look at his niece but out at the sound, the kayaker, the seagulls, the mountains, as if he were trying to absorb their beauty through his skin. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t care about Abigail or the FBI. Neither does your father. We’re worried about you. About what’s best for you.”
She blinked back tears. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Listen to me.” He touched her elbow through her heavy cable sweater, too warm for the conditions. “Please, Grace. Listen carefully.”
He waited for her reaction. She nodded. “All right. I’m listening.”
“Abigail only cares about finding her husband’s killer. Her only interest in any of us is related to that desire—that commitment. She wants closure.”
“And justice. Don’t you think she also wants justice?”
Ellis seemed untroubled by her sharp tone. “Right now, I would say justice isn’t on the top of her list of concerns. I’ve no doubt she tells herself it is. Do you believe it’s any coincidence this drama with Mattie is going on this week? It’s the seventh anniversary—”
“I know what week it is.”
“Yes,” he said, without inflection. “I know you do. Grace, Abigail is stirring up people, and she’s doing it on purpose. You saw her last night at the house, when she realized Mattie had been in my garden shed. She has no boundaries.”
“She’s a detective, for heaven’s sake.”
“And that makes what difference?” This time, he didn’t wait for an answer. “I like Abigail. We all do. That doesn’t mean I can’t see the dangers her obsession poses.”
“What if she finds Chris’s killer?” Grace turned into a sudden gust of wind that burst up the sound and hoped Ellis would blame it if he saw any tears. “As far as I’m concerned, then all her pushing will have been worth the aggravation.”
“Even if you suffer needlessly?”
“I don’t think any suffering of mine matters—or is needless.”
“Grace,” her uncle said, and now she could feel his eyes on her, probing, knowing. His style was different than his much older half brother’s, but he could be as ruthless when he wanted to be. “It’s time to get over Chris.”
She gulped in a breath. “Don’t.”
“Someone has to say to you what you already know in your heart. Chris was never real to you. He was always a fantasy. It’s time to break free of him.”
“He’s dead. Don’t you think I know that?”
“Intellectually, yes. Emotionally…I don’t know, Grace.” He didn’t relent. “Do you? In a way, his death makes it easier for you to hold on to him.”
She dropped her arms to her sides and spun around at him, the wind blowing at the back of her head, sending her hair every which way. “Ellis. Stop. I’m not some weak-kneed, lovesick nitwit. I refuse—”
“You refuse what, Grace? To face the reality that you’re thirty-eight years old—seven years older than Chris was when he died—and unmarried? To face the reality that with him gone, you don’t have to deal with the fact that he was in love with another woman?”
“He married that other woman.”
“You can pretend he didn