She didn’t often feel short around men, but he was several inches taller than she was. 6’2, maybe? His muscular body moved with both defensiveness and the smoothness of an athlete. Had she not already known him to be thirty-three, she’d have guessed him to be slightly older.
Luke reminded her of slabs of slate. Craggy. Unyielding.
Typically, she surrounded herself with calming music, calming herbal teas, calming smells, calming poetry. He was not calming. He was quiet, but in the way that a volcano is quiet while magma rises dangerously below the surface.
Fortunately, silence didn’t make Finley uncomfortable. She’d spent a lifetime talking to pets who couldn’t talk back. In fact, few things—other than the killing of animals, nuclear weapons, injustice, war, the destruction of natural habitats, and the banning of books—made her uncomfortable.
“When did you get out on parole?” she asked.
“November.”
“Oh?” The sound communicated her surprise. “I told Dad months ago that I’d hire you as soon as you got out. Why did you wait until last week to contact me?”
“Because the promise I made to your dad doesn’t go into effect until this weekend.”
If her brain had been a runner, the runner had just hit a brick wall. “Hmm?”
“What did they tell you about your dad’s death?”
She scrambled to understand. He’d made a promise to her dad? Connected in some way to his death? “Everything I know about my dad’s death came from the report the prison gave me. It said that Dad was in the common area, playing checkers. He stood up, swayed, and collapsed. His friends called for help, and he received treatment quickly. But there was nothing that could be done. He’d suffered sudden cardiac arrest. Within just a few minutes, he was gone.”
He’d died on an especially golden October day. She’d been driving back to work after lunch out with donors, windows down to let in the beautiful weather, when she’d received a call from the prison. “Both Sides, Now” by Joni Mitchell had been playing. Immediately, she’d pulled to the shoulder of the road, rolled up her windows, and turned down the sound system so she could concentrate on the conversation. Thus, she’d heard loud and clear the news that her father—the one who’d loved her, defended her, believed in her, and placed her at the top of his priorities—was gone.
Every time she thought back on that moment, she heard the strains of the song she’d been listening to when the call came in. “So many things I would have done. But clouds got in my way.”
“I was the one playing checkers with him before his cardiac arrest,” Luke told her. “Everything happened just like you were told.”
“You were with him when he died?”
He dipped his chin.
“Was he in pain?”
“Some pain, yes.”
Grief stabbed her, clean and deep.
“But he wasn’t panicking,” he added. “He was speaking clearly—”
“Wait. Can you tell me exactly, word for word, what was said? I really . . . I just—It would help me to know every detail.” Luke had been beside her father—where she wished she’d been—during his final moments. She needed the details.
“After he collapsed, I bent down and asked him what was the matter. He said that it was his chest.”
“Okay.”
“I yelled for help, but I could see that the other guys and the guards were already on it. I tried to tell Ed to take it easy, but he interrupted me. He said that if he didn’t make it, he needed me to do something for him.”
Foreboding circled her ribs and squeezed.
“He was short of breath,” Luke continued, “but he managed to tell me that he’d set up a birthday treasure hunt for you. He said you’d open the first clue on January ninth. He said that he needed me to start work here before that date, then keep you safe during the treasure hunt because it might put you in danger.”
“Danger?”
“That’s what he said.”
She slid the ring on her middle finger up a few millimeters, then back down to meet the ring below it. Click. Up and down. Click click click. Dad had confided in Luke about the treasure hunt. He’d done so before she’d known of its existence, and he’d added a detail she hadn’t received: potential danger. “So, you told Dad that you’d work here and . . . keep me safe?”
“Not at first. I had—have things I want to do. But he pleaded with me. I didn’t know if he was dying, but I could tell it was bad. So I agreed. He made me promise him. After that, it was like he had permission to go. He closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he was unconscious.”
She pulled her mug of peppermint tea in front of her, wrapping her hands around it as if it could offer comforting warmth. It couldn’t. It had long since grown cold. “Thank you. For being with him. For making that promise. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you eased my dad’s final moments.”
After she’d told her dad she’d be willing to hire Luke, Finley had educated herself on prisoner reentry and acclimation. With every page she’d read, her enthusiasm had grown. Following incarceration, men and women often had a hard time finding employment. She’d wanted to fill that need and, in doing so, benefit a man like her father. Plus, animals were therapy. What could be more ideal than parolees helping animals and animals helping parolees? She’d viewed Luke’s new job here as his lifeline.
Now she saw it might be his albatross.
“Please know that I won’t hold you to your promise,” she said. “You don’t have to work here. You don’t have to help me with the treasure hunt. You can go.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You said you have things you want to do. Feel free to go and do them, with my blessing.”
He was not a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, but she saw a subtle flash of longing on his hard features.
“You’re free,” she told him. “I’ll hire someone else to redesign the website.”
“The promise wasn’t between you and me, so you can’t free me from it. It was between me and your dad.” His body language communicated stubborn resolve. “I’m going to keep my promise.”
She considered him, lining up what she saw before her with what she knew of his past.
Once upon a time, a group of middle school kids had survived more than a week buried in the rubble of an earthquake that had struck while they were on a mission trip in South America. They’d become known as the Miracle Five, and they were Misty River’s best-known and best-loved sons and daughters.
Luke was one of the five.
Almost twenty years had come and gone since that fateful earthquake. They were all adults now, yet two things remained the same. One, every resident of Misty River had heard their story. Two, Luke Dempsey had always been the most reclusive of the five. After their rescue, he’d immediately retreated from the spotlight and never consented to interviews or public appearances.
The other four had gone on to become successful. Natasha MacKenzie, an attorney and mother. Genevieve Woodward, Natasha’s sister, a Bible study author. Ben Coleman, high school teacher. Sebastian Grant, pediatric heart surgeon.