Chapter 8: The Lake House

The lake house had a dock, a boathouse and a dozen bedrooms.

My mother loved it at once.

"Look at this view," she said from a porch chair, with a blanket over her knees.

She nodded at the water.

"Frank would have fished here until he fell in."

She laughed, and it was the first real laugh I'd heard from her in a month.

I stood behind her chair and wanted to cry.

The nurse who watched Gus came with him.

She was a thin woman in blue scrubs with a gray braid and a clipboard.

She wheeled him into the sunroom at the back of the house and parked him facing the water.

Warner's phone rang, and he took it out on the lawn.

Marguerite said she had a headache and went upstairs.

For about two minutes, nobody was watching me.

I walked to the sunroom as slowly as I could.

Gus sat in the white light with his good hand resting on the arm of the chair.

He turned his head when I came in.

"Frank's girl," he said again.

"Mr. Thayer."

I knelt in front of him so his eyes were level with mine.

"I went to the family office. I saw the note."

The nurse looked up from her clipboard.

"Mr. Thayer needs his afternoon rest," she said. "Miss Marrin, if you'll let him be."

"Of course."

I didn't move.

"Stevie!"

My mother's voice carried from the porch, sharp and loud.

"Stevie, this arm is killing me! The one with the fistula. Something's wrong with the line!"

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