Chapter 5: Three Weeks Early

My uncle Bradford arrived at one o'clock sharp with a bouquet of white hydrangeas in each hand.

He is fifty-seven, with a full head of hair that went white in his forties, and a tan he keeps up all year.

When I was little he let me steer his sailboat out of the harbor.

Every birthday since, he has given me a new boat, with a bow of blue ribbon on the tiller.

"Cory," he said. "Come here."

He wrapped me up against his navy blazer, and he smelled of cedar and salt.

"I saw the video," he said into my hair. "I could kill that boy."

"Thank you for coming, Uncle Bradford."

"Where else would I be?"

He let go and held me at arm's length.

His eyes were wet.

My mother took the flowers and handed them to a maid without a word.

We sat in the sunroom at the long table, and Derrick stood by the door with his hands folded in front of him.

Bradford noticed him and nodded once.

"Still the shadow, Carrigan."

"Yes, sir," Derrick said.

The maid served a cold lobster salad.

Bradford ate three bites and put his fork down.

"I won't pretend I'm not furious," he said. "Six years that man took from you. Six years."

"Six," I said.

"Six." He shook his head. "I knew he was a climber. I even seconded his hire at the board, God forgive me, because you asked."

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