Maggie looked at him, her face blank. “So?”
“Nobody called him Danny,” he said.
Maggie set her cup down on the table. She leaned back in her chair and rested her hands on her stomach, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Sure they did.”
“They really didn’t.”
“I remember hearing people call him Danny,” she said.
“Who?”
Maggie frowned as she struggled to locate a bank of memories she likely hadn’t considered in years. “I’m not sure. Joey?”
Joey. JoEllen. Cody tried to keep his face from giving away what he was thinking.
He failed. Maggie straightened and narrowed her gaze. “You got your father’s poker face too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you don’t have one.”
Cody sighed. “I’m not trying to point any fingers or anything. It’s just that I don’t know anyone else who ever called him Danny.”
The old lady’s brows pulled into a straight, bushy line. “Warren called him Danny sometimes. Even I called him that once in a while.”
It sounded like she was reaching.
“Look, Maggie, do you think there might’ve been something going on between my dad and Lou’s mom?”
“What?”
Cody spun in the direction of Louisa’s voice and found her standing in the doorway holding a grocery bag, a horrified look on her face.
“Louisa?” Cody stood.
“What are you talking about?”
Great. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid. He rubbed his temples.
“I knew you weren’t dropping this.” She stormed into the room and set the bag on the coffee table with a thud. “You said you were going to drop it, but I knew you wouldn’t. You just didn’t want my help.”
“Well, can you blame me, Lou?” His words came out a little louder than he wanted them to, but this woman was maddening. Didn’t she realize he was trying to spare her from whatever he might find?
“I’m a big girl, Cody. I can handle it.”
He stuck his hands on his hips and studied her. For several minutes they stood there, engaged in a standoff he knew he would lose. Louisa might’ve changed over the years, but she was still as stubborn as ever.
“Stop it, you two,” Maggie said. “Cody, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I’ll say.” Louisa huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
Cody turned a circle, wishing he had dropped it.
“Why would you even ask a question like that?” Louisa asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cody said.
“Obviously it does.” She glared at him.
He drew in a breath. No way he was getting out of here without telling her what thought kept troubling him. Might as well get it over with. Might as well pour salt in the wound.
“Your mom is the only person I know of who ever called my dad Danny.”
“Your mom called him that,” Louisa said.
He shook his head. “She didn’t. I know because every once in a while, she’d say something under her breath that made me think she didn’t love that JoEllen had a nickname for my dad. I think that’s why she refused to use it. That was what your mom called him when they dated, so my mom never called him anything other than Daniel.”
Slowly Louisa sat down in the armchair next to Maggie.
Cody sat across from her. “We don’t know anything, Lou.”
“But you think they were fooling around.”
Cody shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“They weren’t fooling around,” Maggie said. “They would never.”
“People do dumb things sometimes,” Cody said.
Louisa didn’t respond.
“No, Daniel loved your mom.” Maggie turned to Louisa. “And your mom loves Warren.”
“Cody’s right,” Lou said. “You can love someone and still do stupid things.” She met his eyes for a split second.
His pulse raced.
“I need a nap.” Maggie stood and toddled out of the room, disappearing as if it were perfectly normal to do so. She’d left Cody and Louisa alone, and he wasn’t sure whether to thank her or call for her to hurry up and come back.
Louisa found his eyes. “If I could do it over, I would.”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about this.
“I mean it, Cody. If I hadn’t upset you, you never would’ve gotten in the water that night, and your dad never would’ve drowned.”
It was what he’d said to her after the accident—that it was her fault. Of course she still believed it was. If only she knew; if only he could take it back.
He stilled. He could go on blaming Louisa, but at night, when the lights were out and the demons were tormenting, it wasn’t her he was angry at.
“It was my fault,” he finally said, though he wondered if he’d spoken loudly enough for her to hear. He stared at his shoes, the rug underneath them, anything except Louisa’s eyes, which he could feel were focused on him.
“He told me not to go in. Did you know that?” He nearly choked on the words. He drew in a breath and glanced at her.
She shook her head quietly.
“He told me the water was choppy. The last thing he said to me was the very thing I disobeyed.” This all felt brand-new. How did he stop the pain?
She inched forward as if she wanted to touch him but wasn’t sure if she should. “It wasn’t your fault.”
But she didn’t know. She didn’t know that his father’s words had nearly kept him out of the water, but he’d made a purposefully rebellious decision, one he would change a thousand times over if he could.
He stood. “I should go.”
“No.” She stood and faced him. For a few long beats, neither of them spoke. It was as if, in that space of time, there were no words—not a single thought forming in his mind.
The past drifted away, and all that was left was Louisa. Her soft skin. Her red hair. Her barely noticeable freckles that would surely pop once she got more sun.
The air sizzled between them, and the only thing he could think of was her lips, full and pink, and the way they might taste.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered again. “And I know your dad would do the same thing again if given the choice.”
He didn’t want to think about that right now. He’d been trying not to think about it for days.
“I have to go.” He didn’t like the way she made him feel, unsteady on his own two feet. Like he could fall at any moment, like she might even be there to catch him. He didn’t wait for her to respond. He walked around her toward the door, aware that she followed close behind.
Of course she did. This was Louisa. They’d almost shared a moment—she was going to see it through.
“Do you really think my mom and your dad were having an affair?” she said to his back.
“Forget it, Lou. Pretend you never heard me say that.” He’d almost reached his Jeep when she grabbed his arm. He forced himself not to think about how it felt to be touched. In recent years, he’d rarely allowed that from anyone other than the people he was rescuing. When they clung to him, it was out of sheer terror. What would it feel like to have someone cling to him simply because they wanted him?