Chapter 53
That Sunday afternoon, Walter and Lee Cole arrived from Vermont to spend the night with me at the house.
The Coles’ older daughter, Ellen, currently lived with her husband in Burlington, where they’d just had their second child, another girl.
Walter Cole had been my partner and mentor during my unhappy years with the NYPD.
After his retirement, Ellen went missing, abducted by a man many believed to be a myth, and together, Walter and I had found her.
Now, Walter informed me, Ellen had named her daughter Parker.
“Personally, I think it’s a dumb name,” said Walter, as we sat on my porch while Lee took a nap upstairs.
“You’re only saying that because we named a dog after you,” I replied. “Even if he was a very good dog.”
We were keeping very still. In an area of grass at the edge of my property stood a little snow bunting, the first I’d sighted that season.
Where one went, more would follow, and soon it would not be uncommon to see them swirling over the marshes, their color causing them to resemble snowflakes tumbling to earth.
With the coming of spring they would be gone again, back to northern Canada and Greenland.
They are cold-weather creatures. If I had a spirit bird, it was the snow bunting.
“Ellen would like you to say hello to the kid, when you have time,” said Walter. “It may be a while before they’re willing to travel with her. Leaving the house for a bite of lunch is like a military mission for them.”
I told him I’d be happy to make the trip.
I might even have Sam for company, if she wanted a ride home from college.
Rachel, her mother, also lived in Burlington, and Sam had grown up there.
Walter asked after them both, and mentioned that Ellen sometimes spotted Rachel around town, most recently in the company of Jefferson Reid, her on-again, off-again, now on-again boyfriend.
I didn’t like Jefferson Reid. He was all money and mouth, but no manners.
I also found it hard to accept that he could be as wealthy as he was and as dumb as he seemed.
If so, Rachel would not have wanted to be with him, not unless she was very lonely, and nobody was that lonely, not even God.
“How are you and Rachel getting along?” Walter asked.
“Up and down,” I said. “She’s unhappy that Sam is studying law enforcement and talking about working as a private investigator after graduation.”
“Does Rachel blame you?”
“Only for providing our daughter with an inappropriate role model,” I said. “I’m not sure I could have been any other kind, but it wasn’t like I encouraged Sam to consider a career in the sector.”
“Has Rachel met your new girlfriend?”
“Not yet.”
“Has Sam?”
“They get along like a house on fire. They may even be kindred spirits.”
“So a more appropriate role model for Sam, then.”
“Certainly better than me, but I’m not going to share that fact with Macy or else she’ll have it printed on a T-shirt to wear around the house.”
“Sam could do worse than inherit your conscience,” said Walter. “Be good if she could avoid your habit of getting hurt, though.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
Walter drank his Rising Tide copper ale, and I my wine. Lee came downstairs, poured herself a glass of wine, and joined us.
“What are you working on?” she asked me.
I told them about Scott Theriault, Spero, and Mallory Norton.
“That sounds like a full complement of hurt,” said Lee, when I was done.
“If it’s not,” I said, “it’ll do until the rest of the hurt catches up.”
I left them to enjoy the view together while I made a start on an early dinner.
The first snow bunting had now been joined by a second, perhaps its mate.
Out on the marsh, reflected clouds floated in dark blue water, and the afternoon was hushed.
Walter took his wife’s hand, and she rested her head on his shoulder while I stood by the window and willed the world not to come apart.