Part 59 (1/2)

It made him wonder what life would be like if all that were true. If he made his home here, did his work here, reclaimed his roots here without the nagging weight still chained around his waist.

Abra flitting in and out of the house, filling it with flowers, candles, smiles. With heat and light and a promise he didn't know he could ever make, ever keep.

Thoughts and feelings on the table, he remembered. But he didn't know how to describe what he felt with her or for her. Wasn't at all sure what to do with those feelings.

But he did know he was happier with her than he'd ever been without her. Happier than he'd ever believed he could be, despite everything.

He thought of her-high heels, short black skirt, snug white s.h.i.+rt, gliding around the noisy bar with her tray.

He wouldn't mind a beer, some noise, or seeing her quick smile when he walked in.

Then he reminded himself he'd neglected the research over the last couple of days, and buckled down to it.

Not that he saw what possible use it could be, reading stories-for what else were they but stories?-of pirates and treasure, of ill-fated lovers and violent death.

But the h.e.l.l of it was, it was the only clear channel he had to real death, and maybe, just maybe, some remote chance of clearing his name.

He read for an hour before the light started to go. He rose, wandered to the edge of the terrace to watch the sea and sky blur together, watched a young family-man, woman, two small boys-walk along the surf, with the boys, legs pumping in shorts, das.h.i.+ng into the shallows and out again, quick as crabs.

Maybe he'd have that beer after all, take a short break, then put in another hour on the notes he'd taken, both on the legend and on his twisty reality.

Gathering everything, he stepped back into the house, then dumped everything to answer the phone. He saw his parents' home number on the readout, and as it always did these days, his heart jumped at the fear his grandmother had fallen again. Or worse.

Still, he put as much cheer into his voice as possible. ”Hi.”

”Hi yourself.” He relaxed again at the easy tone of his mother's voice. ”I know it's a little late.”

”It's not even nine, Mom. And not a school night.”

He heard the smile in her voice. ”Don't put off your homework till Sunday night. How are you, Eli?”

”Good. I was just reading a book on Esmeralda's Dowry.”

”Yo ho!”

”How's Gran? And Dad? Tricia?”

”Everyone's fine. Your gran's looking more like herself every day. She still tires quicker than I'd like, and I know she has some discomfort, especially after her therapy, but we should all be so tough at her age.”

”Amen.”

”She's really looking forward to seeing you for Easter.”

He winced. ”Mom, I don't think I can make it.”

”Oh, Eli.”

”I don't like leaving the house empty for that long.”

”You haven't had any more trouble?”