* * *
TEN MINUTES A DAY, that’s all he asked. Wearing damp jeans, Griffin Lattimer padded across the gray carpet into his living room. He sported a temporary Batman tattoo, which he’d won after tonight’s bath time water fight with his son. With both his children tucked into bed, Griffin checked his messages, steeling himself for trouble.
Beep.
This is Mrs. Moriarty, 27B. I called yesterday about those bathroom faucet washers, but you haven’t replaced them. My water’s dripping all over the place.
Beep.
Lattimer, my lease says I get painted every three years. I’m not paying the rent until you redo my kitchen. That wet-behind-the-ears kid you sent over should be fired. He just slapped that paint on...looks like—
Griffin hit delete. The usual complaints. Nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Besides, their words were already carved into his brain. His job as manager of the Palm Breeze Court Apartments complex could be a thankless one, but he’d made his choice. Boston, and his short stint as a TV news anchor, was a million miles away now. Like Rachel.
But Griffin wasn’t going anywhere. He’d grown up without a father, and his kids wouldn’t have to do the same.
In the nighttime silence, he thought back to that rainy afternoon. Ten years old and wearing his first black suit, standing at his father’s graveside. His uncle stood beside him. His mother, on Griffin’s other side, clutched his hand and wept into her handkerchief.
You’re the man of the family now, she’d said. Make Daddy proud.
She was gone now, too. More than ever, it was all up to him.
Griffin headed for the refrigerator. With a cold bottle of water, he settled in front of the big-screen television he’d bought last Christmas, his second without Rachel.
The first year after she’d left, which seemed to be the way he measured time these days, he’d actually forgotten to put out milk and cookies for Santa.
“They’re not homemade cookies anyway,” his daughter had told her younger brother, not making Griffin feel better at all.
It was only September, but already he dreaded the season again. There would be no Christmas Eve with Rachel, the two of them installing batteries in toys or laying train tracks under the tree. Making memories together.
He sat and listened to the silence. The kids had stopped calling to each other across the hall. He didn’t hear Amanda’s stereo or Josh’s small but noisy feet stomping to the bathroom for the tenth time. Each night Griffin anticipated this moment when their new home finally grew quiet, and he could stop worrying for a while about lost homework, stomachaches, neighborhood bullies, loose baby teeth and how the tooth fairy would come up with another five bucks.
Headlights arced across the windows, and his brother-in-law’s truck drew up out front, a more than welcome sight. His smile usually lightened Griffin’s mood.
Tonight, his eyebrows tucked low in a scowl, Chris Cabot stalked into the living room. He dropped onto the sofa. He still wore his khaki work clothes, and the pungent aroma of fish stung Griffin’s nostrils. He fought a grin. The problem had to be Griffin’s sister, who could drive a man to thoughts of mayhem.
“What’s Bronwyn done now? Overloaded all the credit cards? Replaced the living room furniture? No,” he answered himself, “she did that a few months ago. This is too soon, even for Bron.”
Griffin sprawled on the sofa beside Chris. His hair—lightened from days spent on his charter boat—was tangled, and his blue eyes seemed darker than normal.
“I’m just fried,” Chris said. “I spent all day out with a bunch of neurosurgeons from the Mayo clinic, and their catch was ‘unacceptable.’ They’ll probably never come back. Ever since the hurricane that tore off Mom and Dad’s roof, my business has been off.” He paused. “Then I get home and no one’s there. You seen Bron tonight?”
Griffin shook his head. “She probably met up with one of her friends. You know, her life didn’t start the day she met you.”
Chris didn’t respond. Griffin had never seen him like this, but since Rachel had disappeared he’d soothed Amanda’s and Josh’s feelings often enough. He peered into Chris’s worried eyes.
“Yep,” he said, “they look green to me. For no good reason.”
Chris’s mouth twitched. “Shut up. Let me miss my wife—and feel miserable.” The smell of fish wafted through the air between them. “What would you know? It’s not like you’ve been around anyone over the age of thirteen since—”
“Thanks.” Pain coiled inside Griffin like a rattler. But Chris was right. Who was he to talk? In his experience, happiness didn’t last, and he wasn’t looking for another chance. All he cared about was finding Rachel. Protecting his kids.
Chris grimaced. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean...”
“Look, save it. I’ve heard your speech a hundred times since last New Year’s, and nothing’s changed.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. It’s more than time for you to—”
“Back off, Chris,” he said, but it was Griffin who moved a foot away. “I’m not exactly free to socialize. I have two kids to raise.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to be a martyr. Don’t you ever get lonely?”
Griffin didn’t answer. For a long time after Rachel had left, he would have been able to say no. He hadn’t felt a thing then. He didn’t want to, even now.
Chris tried again. “My sister’s home. You remember Sunny? She’s feeling sort of unhinged, my mother says.”
“Unhinged? And that’s a recommendation?” Griffin remembered her from Chris and Bron’s wedding. He’d been best man, and Sunny Donovan had been matron of honor. Tall, blond hair, gray-blue eyes...similar coloring to Rachel’s. She wasn’t his type now. No one was, really. “A hotshot lawyer, isn’t she? Driven?” Which was about as far as possible from Griffin’s present life.
Chris laughed. “I know she comes across that way sometimes, but Sunny’s all right. She has a big heart. She’s just having a rough time. Maybe the four of us could get together some night. No obligation. Just a fun evening out. With adults.”
Griffin tried to switch topics as if he were changing channels on the TV. “Your sister’s married. So am I.”
“After two years?” Chris wouldn’t give up. “Rachel isn’t coming back, Griff.”
“Maybe not, but I have my standards.”
“You don’t even know where she is.”
“I’m still looking,” he said.
“Know what I think? You should file for divorce.” He paused. “Sunny’s already divorced. As of a few days ago, it’s a done deal. Then, after that—”
“No, thanks.”
Not quite to his relief, he heard Amanda in the hall. He and Chris turned as she came into the room, and Griffin’s heart rolled over. He couldn’t believe she was already a teenager, though barely.
“It’s late,” he said. “Why are you still up?”
“I’m hungry.” Her shy smile blossomed, but not for him. “Hi, Uncle Chris.”
“You knew I was here.”
She nodded. Her dark blond hair hung to her waist and shimmered in the light. Her hazel eyes warmed.
“Josh