Chapter 24: Day Six

Thatcher booked the house in August, and he told me about it over breakfast with a straight face.

"It's the second week of October," he said. "Four bedrooms, a pool, a patio, walking distance to the water. It's in Florida."

I put down my spoon.

"Thatcher."

"I know. I looked at the map. It's four streets over from the one in the video."

"You want to take a four-month-old to the beach house."

"I want to take everyone." He slid a piece of paper across the table. "I made a list."

It was a short list, and it was in his square architect's handwriting.

Megan. Amber and the baby. Heath's wife, if she'd come.

At the bottom, he had written: Partners, all of them. Nobody stays home.

I read it twice.

Then I got up and put my arms around his neck, and the baby made a loud, wet noise from her bouncer on the floor, which meant she approved.

We landed on a Friday.

The house was white, with a long front porch and blue shutters, and the pool was a bright rectangle behind it.

Megan got out of the rental car first and stood in the driveway with her hands on her hips.

"This is a lot of house," she said.

"It has a grill," Thatcher said.

"Say no more."

Amber came up the walk behind us with her son on her hip.

He was five months old, round and serious, with a thatch of dark hair.

He had taken one look at Thatcher in the airport and refused to be held by anyone else.