Chapter Four
At one time, a section of the Boone estate had been open to the public with several cottages for rent.
Built in the forties by Gus’s great-great-great grandfather, they were initially available to employees of the family’s investment firm in the city — those men with families who deserved a bonus or reward for helping to increase the Boone’s coffers.
A few decades later, they were allowed to be rented to the public by another generation of the family who wanted to take advantage of the booming tourist business in the area — the Catskills had become a popular vacation destination for city folk.
The locals blamed it on the new Boone bride; she wasn’t from old money, after all.
But, by the early eighties Gus’s grandfather had stopped the practice — he didn’t like sharing this bit of heaven with folks he didn’t know — and the cottages had eventually fallen into disrepair.
There were seven in total. Gus eyed cottage number one as he walked the path through the trees and entered a clearing.
From what he remembered, all were the same with two bedrooms, one bathroom, and an open space that served as a kitchen and living room.
He eyed the small porch that no longer had a railing, though surprisingly, the flower boxes still stood like soldiers on either side of the front door.
The blue paint was brighter than he’d thought it would be, but he figured it was due to the shade afforded it by the stand of pines the cottage sat in.
The name Dry Run engraved above the door brought a smile to his face.
As a child, he remembered running through the empty cottages, playing with his friends, or — he frowned — escaping the darkness that permeated the main house.
Gus set down his work bag and grabbed his tablet.
He’d been asked to make a report on the cost of restoring the buildings, and Ronald had been adamant that he needed it by end-of-day.
So far, the estate manager hadn’t impressed Gus all that much and he figured the man had forgotten about this project altogether, which was why he’d been riding Gus’s ass.
He tucked away his aviators and walked up the two steps that led to the porch. Boards were loose, and a couple were missing. The entire thing would have to be redone. There was no doorknob, and he pushed open the door and then walked inside.
Light fell through a small hole in the roof, casting beams of sunlight that danced among the shadows, and a squirrel blazed past him, disappearing through the doorway.
There was a ratty sofa and nothing else.
He kicked at it as he walked by, half expecting a rodent to fall out of the thing, but nothing stirred except more dust.
The only appliance left in the kitchen was the oven, and while there was no door, there was evidence that it had been recently occupied by some animal.
The cupboards were good quality oak and could likely be saved, but the vinyl flooring would need to be ripped up.
He knew there was hardwood underneath and knelt so that he could pull up a piece.
It looked good. A glance back toward the living area told another story.
There would be rain damage from the hole in the roof.
Gus checked out the bedrooms and the small bathroom and then headed back outside.
He scooped up his bag and continued along the path.
He spent the next four hours going over all seven cottages and making extensive notes on repairs.
It was a lot. All of them needed new roofs, windows, and porches, but the bones of the structures were solid.
“They don’t make them like this anymore,” he murmured to himself as he stopped by one of the docks.
Carefully, he made his way to the edge of it.
Fire Lake glistened like glass, a beautiful jewel plopped in the middle of a forest so thick, sound seemed to disappear.
Melancholy swept over Gus, and he closed his eyes as a host of memories washed over him.
His younger brothers, Oliver and Harrison playing with their trucks by the water’s edge.
The twins, Ford and Sunday, skipping rocks off the dock. Ford’s aim was true, while Sunday laughed along and tried to keep up.
His youngest sister, Iris, sprawled out, asleep on the dock, a doll tucked into her embrace.
His father watching silently, his blue eyes shrouded, his mouth tight.
His mother . . .
Gus frowned. Weird. For some reason, he couldn’t picture her here.
“Who are you?”
The voice startled him, and he swore, turning around to find a young boy watching him from the edge of the dock.
The kid looked about six or so, with skinny legs and arms poking out from a simple blue T-shirt and jean shorts that were barely hanging on.
His blond hair was thick, with curls that hung down over his eyes and ears.
The boy pushed at one impatiently and took a step onto the dock.
“Don’t,” Gus warned, moving toward him. “Some of those boards are rotting. I don’t want you to fall through.”
The boy stepped back and waited while Gus made his way to him. Once he was close enough, he realized who the kid was. Who the kid belonged to.
“I’m Gus,” he said slowly, offering his hand.
The boy stared at his hand and then, with a small shrug, accepted it. “I’m Benjamin.” The little guy’s eyes were blue and familiar. “Why are you in the special forest?”
“Is that what they call this place?”
Benjamin nodded, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s haunted.”
“You don’t say.”
The kid nodded. “I’m not scared of a stupid ghost. This is my fortress.”
“Does anyone know you’re out here?”
Benjamin’s face fell, and he got real interested in his shoes, scuffing them in the dirt. “Papa does.”
“Is that true?”
Freckles sprinkled across his nose as it twitched, and Gus knew the boy had a bit of the devil in him. He was a Boone through and through.
“Well, I told him I was going to play in the bunkie, and I promised that I wouldn’t go near the water.” Benjamin’s eyes widened. “Last year this kid drowned on the other side of the lake because he fell in, and the Green Hand got him.”
Gus chuckled. “They’re still telling that story?”
Benjamin frowned. “It’s true. The Green Hand waits in the water and gets you when you’re alone. He drags you to the bottom and then you drown, and the fishes eat you. My dad told me that and he doesn’t lie.”
It was hard not to smile at that. “Okay, bud. If your dad said it’s true, I believe you.” He paused and kept his voice casual. “Is he here with you? Your dad?”
Benjamin nodded.
Gus exhaled slowly at the news. It was Thursday, and the fourth week he’d been working at the Boone estate.
Other than the chance meeting he’d had with Sunday the weekend before, he’d had zero contact with his family.
Would today be the day he finally laid eyes on his father?
His brother? Would they know him? Would they care?
The more important question being: was he ready?
“We should go find him,” Gus said.
Almost immediately, the young boy began to run down the path that led past the bunkie and on to the main house. With no choice but to follow, Gus hiked his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his mirrored aviators. He pulled them on over his eyes and followed in Benjamin’s footsteps.
It took less than five minutes for them to break free of the treeline, and almost immediately, Gus spied two men on the top tier of a multi-level deck at the back of the main house.
His father, Porter, was easy to identify and not because he was obviously the older male with silver hair.
It was the wheelchair that gave him away.
A man stood a few feet from him, hands in the pockets of his light gray slacks, shoulders squared.
He was tall and fit; the white dress shirt did nothing to hide his muscular arms and wide shoulders.
His hair was a darker blond than Gus remembered, and as he and Benjamin approached the men, his gut churned, and sweat broke out on his forehead.
What the fuck? He’d been a trained Navy SEAL, for Christ’s sake. He’d faced situations in combat that would make a normal man shit his pants and keel over from fear.
This frail man in a wheelchair, and a long-lost brother, would not defeat him.
“Daddy!” Benjamin shouted as he made a beeline for the stairs. With the focus of both men now on him, Gus had no choice but to follow suit. By the time he reached the top deck, Benjamin was leaning against his grandfather’s wheelchair, his voice excited as he chatted away.
“I told him about the Green Hand.”
Both men turned, and for a strange moment, time stood still. Though the birds still sang. The wind still blew. The earth still turned. But in Fire Lake, it seemed to happen in slow motion.
Benjamin’s father cleared his throat as if under the same spell and stepped forward.
“You must be the new carpenter. Great job on the gazebo. I’m not surprised they kept you to work on the cottage restorations.
I’m Ford by the way. Haven’t been around the place much.
” He flashed a smile. “I tend to stay in the city but with summer break in full swing I’m going to be in Fire Lake for the next month or so. ”
The men shook hands.
“Gus.”
It wasn’t until that very moment Gus realized he and Ford were the exact same height. The last time he’d set eyes on his older brother, he’d been a boy of seven whose nuts had barely fallen, and Ford had been a tall, gangly kid toying with early teenage peach fuzz.
“You’re not from around here.”
He shook his head, a well-practiced story already falling from his lips.
“I’m from California by way of Boston. Served in the forces and found myself at loose ends when I didn’t re-up.
Decided to do a bit of traveling, took a wrong turn off the interstate and kept going.
Eventually it led to Fire Lake. Saw the job posting downtown and here we are. ”