“You know, I think there’s going to be a family wedding soon.”
“So I gathered.”
“Do you think you could manage to make this one?”
Evan had missed his sister Samantha’s wedding. “I’ll try,” he said halfheartedly.
“Maybe we should just hold it on your little island. Then you’d have to come.”
“Planning Michael’s wedding for him, Dad? That’s a bizarre piece of male bonding.”
“No, of course not. I was kidding.”
“Oh.”
His father shuffled papers on his desk and muttered, “I don’t actually have anything to do. I’m just…antsy, I guess. I know Michael’s going to be all right, but…” He looked up and Evan thought he might have even detected a little moisture in the usually clear blue eyes. “Well, when you almost lose a child…again…it’s frightening.”
“Yeah, and your two best ones too. The favored son and the baby girl.” He finished the scotch.
“I love all my children, Evan. When you have children someday, you’ll understand that.”
He stood up. “I don’t plan on having any. That’s another good thing about paying for it.”
“Life can deal you some funny curves, Evan,” his father said as he came over to shake his hand.
When Evan would have turned away, Damien unexpectedly went to hug him, hard, and Evan let him.
“Bye, Dad.” He pulled away and went to the door, intending to breeze past Miss Prentiss—and come back later in the day—but she wasn’t at her desk.
The other girl leapt to her feet. “Miss Prentiss went out on some errands.”
Evan nodded and left as if it didn’t matter. It wasn’t until he came back later in the day that he realized Andrea hadn’t come back to the office.
That in fact she was gone.
And it mattered quite a bit.
Chapter Four
Six Months Later
The first time Evan saw his lighthouse it was love. Pure, true love, blind to surface imperfections. Such as no electricity, running water or functioning toilet. Not to mention windows or stairways that weren’t rotten through to the core. The lighthouse loomed, weathered and discarded, on a cliff overlooking the pounding cold surf a half mile from the northern coast of Maine. The island it had rested on for more than a hundred years was no bigger than one of his father’s numerous estates. Just a rock in the ocean with a beacon too old and outmoded to be of use in the modern age of sonar and satellite feeds.
But Evan had never seen anything more beautiful. When he stumbled upon it, he tied his sailboat up to the rickety dock, only half caring whether it was swept away by the fierce tide, and camped on the island. Pitching his sleeping bag in the room with, or rather without, the top light, which had long since been shattered and blown away, he decided after a few days to buy the lighthouse and the island that went with it. It was a year and a half before it was renovated to his satisfaction, though.
“You could buy up half of Hawaii with what you’re spending on that godforsaken hulk,” his mother chided. An exaggeration. It was more like a few expensive beaches in Hawaii maybe. Most of the cost was in the materials and getting them to the island. He did the work himself, self-taught in everything from woodwork to plumbing, although no one in the past five generations of either of his parents’ families had ever lifted a wrench or hammer. But the manual labor was satisfying to Evan, enjoyable, and when he was done and his lighthouse was to his personal specifications, there was nowhere he would rather be. His mother was one of the few who had even ventured out to see him there, which was fine with him. Maybe no man was an island. But some men didn’t mind living on one.
He had his books. He had his music. He had his projects. He was content.
So what the hell was wrong with him lately?
He moodily watched the storm outside his window from his favorite stuffed chair in what he liked to think of as the “lighthouse room” of his lighthouse. It was the top of the structure where the actual light should have been. He had gutted the space and transformed it into a circular living room with 360 degrees of windows, hardwood floors, liberal throw rugs and comfortable furniture. He’d even installed a wood-burning fireplace in the center to warm the room on nights like these.
But he was still feeling distinctly cold.
A loud snore at his feet reminded him that he’d also resorted to the ultimate cliché of getting a dog to combat the blues he couldn’t shake. The golden retriever puppy seemed happy with the arrangement, although Evan hadn’t noticed that the presence of the dog—who he had yet to name despite that the puppy had been performing his “man’s best friend” duties for a month now—lifted his own spirits any. At least the little guy, well actually big guy by now, didn’t bark. He leaned down to pet him absently.