Chapter Twelve
“It’s not a creepy abandoned mansion, is it?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the van. The surrounding landscape flattened into farmland as Connor drove out of Oakdale.
“No, it’s not a creepy mansion,” he replied. “I know you well enough to figure that wouldn’t fly.”
He was due to complete the final inspection on a brand-new house he’d done the rough-in for several months ago.
He’d just finished up the second fix. The place had been custom designed by the owners and overlooked a beautiful stretch of countryside a few miles outside of town.
Connor thought it would be fun to invite Sam along to see the completed project.
“And you would be right.” Sam grinned. “Well, wherever we’re going on this mystery field trip, I appreciate the excuse to get out of the office. The month-end reports are making my eyes swim.”
“The numbers aren’t exactly mind-blowing,” Connor said. “You’re probably used to spending that much on incidentals.”
“Hey,” Sam protested. “I’ve been meaning to ask, who’s the other person on the payroll? You distribute, like, a third of your salary to a Citibank account on payday.” He shot Connor a sly look. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys with a secret family.”
The question caught Connor off guard. He hadn’t mentioned the account to Sam because he hadn’t wanted to get into it.
“That’s my mom’s,” he said with a sigh. “My dad planned to keep working, but now he’s on disability, and with everything that goes into taking care of him, she can’t really hold down a job.
Anyway, he doesn’t know about the money. It would be a huge pride thing.”
“You give part of your salary to your mom?”
Connor shrugged. “It’s just a practicality at the moment. A way for me to help.”
Sam stared at him, his eyebrows knitted together. “Connor...”
Connor felt the heat rise along his neck. “Don’t give me that look.”
“I had no idea. How’s she handling the whole thing? Being a caretaker is tough.”
About to speak, Connor discovered his throat had closed up.
He remembered when she had joked more, when they had spent time together without the specter of his dad’s illness looming over them.
“She does her best, which is a hell of a lot better than mine,” he said finally, slowing the van as they approached the upcoming turn.
He signaled left and steered them onto a newly sealed private road. “Almost there.”
The road was flanked by old trees—spruce, redwood, oak—and at the end stood an enormous two-story house on the edge of a rolling field. Connor parked in front of the garage, and they both got out of the van.
“I finished up the installation last Friday, and the family’s moving in next week.” He took the key from his pocket and let them in the front door. “I like to do one last check to make sure all works as it should.”
They stepped into the cavernous entranceway, which was laid with white marble tile. Sam looked up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “Quaint.”
“I thought you’d like the view,” Connor said as they walked through to the open-plan living area that spread across the front of the house.
The outside-facing wall was made of frameless glass panes that stretched from floor to ceiling, giving the illusion there was no wall at all.
Before them, the land sloped downward, revealing a sweeping panorama of the fields below.
All that green, the way it stretched into the distance to meet the horizon, made Connor feel a strange sense of peace.
“Wow,” Sam murmured beside him, gazing out at the patchwork of green. “It’s stunning.”
“Isn’t it?” They stood together for a moment, drinking in the view.
Then Connor put down his tool bag and took out his multimeter. He began moving around the room, testing each outlet, while Sam inspected the wall of built-in shelving. Once Connor was done with the living area, he continued to the adjoining kitchen.
Sam followed him, admiring the high-end appliances and opening and closing cabinets. “I wonder who these people are,” he mused. “What’s their story?”
“Nice enough couple. One kid.” Connor reached over to flick the switch on the garbage disposal. It let out a satisfactory growl.
“With all these rooms?”
“I guess some people need a lot of space.”
Connor turned on the oven and noticed the interior light didn’t come on. He opened the door to peer inside and wiggled the bulb to find it wasn’t screwed in all the way. As it leapt to life in his hand, he heard the click of Sam’s camera. He straightened to see Sam checking his phone with a smile.
“What?” Sam said when he caught Connor’s feigned scowl. “It’s a good photo. You look very handy.”
“Screwing in a lightbulb? Not exactly my best work.”
The corners of Sam’s mouth tweaked. “I need to feed the beast. Our socials are on fire.”
“Whatever you say, college boy.”
Once Connor had finished inside, they stepped out onto the patio so he could test the exterior receptacles. Sam sat on the stone steps that led to the lawn and watched him. “Can you imagine living in a place like this?”
Connor considered it. He liked the scenery and the illusion of being out in the middle of nowhere, but the house was too vast, too opulent. “Honestly, no.”
“Me neither,” Sam said.
Connor flipped the cover closed on the last outlet and went to join Sam on the top step. “I don’t want to be stuck here the rest of my life.”
Sam frowned as though surprised. “Oakdale?”
“You don’t think I’ve been planning my escape all these years? Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to up and disappear?”
“Where would you go?”
“Abroad, most likely. Maybe backpack through Europe for a bit, camp out in South America. Get one of those working holiday visas, you know. The trades seem to travel well. I’m sure I could find work.”
A stab of fear struck Connor. He’d been mulling over a version of this fantasy for as long as he could remember but had never spoken it out loud.
And here he was, spilling his guts. He glanced over at Sam and waited for him to laugh or tell Connor he was crazy, but the man nodded as if the idea made perfect sense.
“What would you do about the business?” Sam asked. “Contract someone to run it while you’re gone?”
Connor stared out at the line of trees. This was the part where it got messy. Where his flesh and blood got tangled up in the matter, complicating things.
“There’s actually someone in Henderson who might be interested in buying it.
The business wouldn’t be family-owned anymore, but he said he would keep the name.
That’s some sort of legacy, right? It’s going to die with me anyway.
” Connor scuffed the heel of his boot against the lower step.
“Doesn’t matter—it’s a moot point. I can’t go anywhere with my dad like this.
Flit off to Europe and leave my mom to deal with it all?
” He gave a short laugh. “After everything I’ve done, I owe it to him. ”
He hadn’t expected the anger when he met Sam’s gaze.
“When are you going to stop beating yourself up for things that happened years ago?” Sam demanded. “So you were a little difficult growing up—who wasn’t? You can’t keep punishing yourself for not being the perfect son.”
Connor looked down at his hands. “My dad convinced Krazinski not to press charges. But without a police report, he couldn’t claim insurance, so my dad paid for the damage to the shed out of his own pocket.
He had to use most of the business savings.
A couple years later, he got the diagnosis and had to scale back his hours at work.
Financially, I don’t think he ever recovered. ”
Sam’s face fell. “Oh.”
“Yeah, so I feel pretty fucking responsible.”
Sam bumped Connor with his shoulder. “I get it,” he said quietly. “But I’m willing to bet spending the rest of your life trying to make up for something you did as an angry teenager isn’t good for either of you—you or your father.”
Connor said nothing. Sam’s words circled in his head, unearthing a buried hope.
“You were right,” Sam announced into the silence. “The view was worth it.”
Connor allowed himself a smile. “I thought so.”
“Brian asked me to join him and the kids at the fall festival tonight,” Sam said. “Want to come with?”
Connor made a face. “I don’t usually go to stuff like that.”
“I don’t usually go to football games.”
Connor ducked his head and let out a soft laugh. “Fair point.”
“Truthfully,” Sam said with a squirm of discomfort. “I’m not good with kids.”
“No?”
“They make me nervous.”
“You know they can smell fear.”
“Exactly.” Sam held a palm to his chest and batted his eyes like a fifties starlet. “I’m done for.” Even though Connor knew he was hamming it up, Sam’s damsel-in-distress impression had the intended effect.
“Well?” Sam nudged. “Will you help me?”
Connor hated town events. If he hadn’t already felt like an outsider, watching smiling families pose for photos and couples holding hands and feeding each other cotton candy certainly would have done the trick.
In the past, he’d made every effort to avoid them.
But that was before someone in town could get him to go anywhere with the slightest flutter of his eyelashes.
For Sam, Connor would endure an endless parade of grinning families and lovesick couples.
He stopped by his apartment after work to shower and change before making his way to the festival.
Oakdale’s town square had been transformed into an autumnal wonderland of string lights and bushel baskets.
There were booths selling hot cider and homemade baked goods and others manned by residents hawking artisanal candles and knitted potholders.
Interspersed among the stalls was a selection of carnival games where punters could bob for apples or try their hand at outdoor Skee-Ball.
As Connor approached the bustling square, he felt a familiar sense of unease.
He scanned the crowd, hoping no one would notice him or remark on how unusual it was to see him there.
He couldn’t spot Brian or the kids, so he pulled out his phone and was about to text Sam when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned to find Sam standing behind him, a wide smile on his face.
“Hello, stranger.”
Connor was midway through returning the smile when his eyes dropped to Matty, at Sam’s side, who was pulling on his hand with unbridled enthusiasm. Seconds later, Brian and Jules were upon them, a sleeping Ellie tucked into the carrier strapped to Jules’s chest.
“There he is.” Brian gave Connor a slap on the back. “Sam told us he’d called in backup.”
“And for a moment there, I thought I was home free.” Connor reached over to give Jules a hug, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby. “Long time no see, Jules.”
“Ditto. Heard work’s been busy. But it looks like you’ve picked up an extra set of hands.” She angled her head toward Sam, who was being pulled toward the ring toss by a very eager four-year-old.
“Come on. We don’t want them to have all the fun,” Brian said and ambled after his son.
The ring toss turned competitive, as did the Nerf-shooting gallery, where Sam emerged the clear winner.
“You’re a decent shot, Bryant,” Connor remarked as Sam collected his prize from the vendor—a plush pink giraffe, which he gifted to Matty.
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Wouldn’t have picked it, is all.”
“I know my way around a loaded gun,” Sam said with a smirk, and Connor almost choked on his laugh.
Matty was getting hungry, so they headed over to a stand selling hot dogs and curly fries.
As they walked, Connor and Sam hung back from the group.
“It’s weird how great he is at this, right?
” Sam murmured as Brian lifted a pouting Matty onto his shoulders.
“I mean, the Brian I remember was always barefoot and hungover.”
“I know,” Connor said. “You should have seen him when Matty was born. He kept this hourly schedule of his feedings and tracked every diaper change. He’d plot it all on this giant graph and show me whenever I came over. I was like, ‘Dude, that’s a little intense.’”
Sam gave an appreciative murmur. “But cute.”
“Fucking adorable.”
After eating, Brian and Jules went to take Matty for a pony ride while Connor tried his hand at the high striker. He was secretly pleased to hit a ninety-one on his first try. He heard a click behind him as Sam took a photo and lowered the mallet in defense.
“Hey, I’m off duty.”
“Work hard, play hard, right?” Sam said.
“All right,” Connor said, pulling out his own phone and tapping through to the camera. “Let’s see how you like it.”
Sam laughed and raised a hand to shield his face. “I’ve got a better idea.” He grabbed Connor’s arm and tugged him toward a narrow red box by the popcorn stand.
“What’s this?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your photo.”
They slipped through the velvet curtain hanging across one side of the box, and Connor found himself in an old-fashioned photo booth.
It was so small Sam had to half perch on Connor’s knee for them both to fit.
Sam fed some money into the machine, and a tiny screen leapt to life before them.
A woman’s voice narrated instructions and then began a five-second countdown.
“Try to act natural, poster boy,” Sam teased.
They took a standard smiling shot then a goofy one pulling faces.
Just before the last photo, Sam caught his eye.
For a moment, the sounds of the festival around them faded, and all Connor was aware of was Sam’s body, warm and firm where it pressed against him.
There was an elaborate shutter-click sound effect, and then the screen went blank.
Sam let out a short laugh, suddenly shy despite his earlier bravado. “Whoops. I guess we missed that last one. Let’s see how they turned out.”
They extracted themselves from the booth and waited outside as the machine whirred loudly.
A black and white strip of photos dropped into the dispenser, and Sam held it up to look.
There, right at the bottom, was the one of them turned toward each other.
Connor was embarrassed to see how captivated he looked. He glanced away, feeling exposed.
“You keep it.” Sam pushed the strip of photos into his hand.
Connor gave a casual shrug as though it was nothing more than a silly souvenir then took out his wallet and carefully slipped the photo inside.