“I don’t want to—”
Think about you dying. Because it sent a sort of panic through him, even as he felt a comforting glow at the notion that Beau had thought enough of him to consider it. He was glad Georgie had the house instead—and maybe a little annoyed that her brothers and sister were on the title too—because as difficult as all of this was, he still wanted her here. Still wanted her close.
She smiled softly at him. “Beau gave you this watch for a reason, River. Not many people know this, but he wasn’t the biological son of Prescott Senior. His mother was pregnant with him when they met, and they married quickly. But Prescott never treated him as any less of a son for it. The split between Beau and his son was painful for him, but when you came to live with me, he felt like he had another chance to be the kind of man his father had been.”
River’s hand tightened around the box, his throat feeling clogged with emotion. He hadn’t known any of that. And he had a feeling the Buchanans didn’t know either. Prescott would probably have an existential crisis if he found out. Part of him wished Beau had sat him down to talk about this, but the most Beau thing of all was to arrange for Aunt Dottie to convey the message instead. Well, he’d come here for some sort of grounding, and he’d gotten it. It would have to do.
“Thank you, Aunt Dottie. It’s big of you to say so.” He pushed his plate back, no longer feeling so hungry.
“What happened today?” she asked.
And here he’d thought he might be able to get away without talking about it.
“I went to see Beau”—he could see her practically glowing as he said it, thinking about things like kismet, him going to the grave, her knowing to give him the watch, but he kept on talking—“and Georgie showed up while I was there.”
“Beau sent her,” Aunt Dottie said, repeating his errant thought as if it were an absolute, ironclad fact.
“Well, if he did, he enjoys messing with my head,” he snapped. “She pushed me away again. She’s not going to change her mind. It’s time for me to just accept that.”
But his aunt was already shaking her head. “The Buchanans are nothing if not stubborn—you should know that from Beau—but I see the way that girl lights up every time you’re in the room, River. You just have to be patient. The pink crystal will work its magic.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, wanting to believe it but not so sure he did anymore. “She was upset about her sister, by the way. Sounds like Adalia isn’t coming this weekend.”
Aunt Dottie frowned. “I was sure she would. I’m worried about that girl, River. She may need our help more than any of them.”
Our help? Was that what this was about for Aunt Dottie? Helping Beau’s grandchildren? If so, she might have her work cut out for her with the other three. He somehow couldn’t imagine Junior allowing Aunt Dottie to read his tea leaves.
“I don’t know any details,” he said. “Just that she was crying when Georgie called this morning. Georgie was really upset to find out she wasn’t coming this weekend.” And that had cracked something inside of him. Because the look on her face, the loss, the loneliness, the feeling of being left—he knew all of those things and didn’t want her to suffer them.
“Thanks for this,” he said, shaking the watch container. “I should get back to the loft before Hops destroys everything.”
“You don’t want to help with the after-party planning?” She looked a little crestfallen.
“No, I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” he said. “Plausible deniability, and all that.”
They left the kitchen together, River holding the watch box as if it were a lifeline.
“What about a trampoline?” one of the employees said. “I know a place where we can rent one at a discount. There’s plenty of room for it out back.”
And even though he’d said he wouldn’t get involved, River found himself channeling Georgie.
“In the dark? When people are tipsy or drunk? Let’s table that one.”
His aunt just patted him on the back and sent him on his way.
By the time he got home, Hops had, indeed, escaped his kennel. But he hadn’t destroyed anything this time—he’d just dragged his favorite sandal to the front door and cuddled up on it, as if waiting for River to come home. It was almost like he’d sensed it had been a bad day, and that cleaning up detritus from the apartment would only make it worse.
River spent the rest of the evening walking the dog, watching mindless TV, and steadfastly ignoring his phone. One look had been enough. In addition to his aunt’s message, there’d been a paragraph-long text from a woman who was certain Jezebel was poaching birds and leaving them on her porch as a threat.
He fell asleep on the couch, and he dreamed of Beau. In the dream, River found himself in Beau’s house. He walked out onto the back porch and found Beau in his usual chair, Jezebel curled up next to him, showing rare contentment in a patch of sunlight.
“Mighty fine watch you have there, son,” Beau said, grinning at him. And, indeed, River looked down to find he was wearing it.
“A pretty okay old man gave it to me.”
“Care to raise a glass with me?”
He sat down beside him, and suddenly, in the way of dreams, they both had pint glasses of beer.
“I miss you, Beau,” he said, because he did. “Things have gotten strange without you.”
“Yes, I suppose they have. You’ve fallen in love with my granddaughter.”
And although River was distantly aware of it being a dream, he glanced around to make sure no one else had heard them. Jezebel just looked at him as if to say she knew everything.
“Yeah, I have,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure nothing’s going to happen on that front.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Beau paused, looking him in the eye. “You know, I had a feeling about you two, River. Maybe it was Dottie rubbing off on me after so many years together, but when I met her, I knew.”
Shock rippled through him. Had Beau really thought he was good enough for his granddaughter? Or was his subconscious just messing with him too?
It was then a knock on the door woke him up. He roused to a dark room, lit only by the TV screen saver. Hops jumped up from his position at River’s feet and scampered toward the door. River followed him, still feeling strange from the dream, and opened the door without bothering to ask who it was.
Georgie Buchanan rushed into his arms.
Chapter Thirty-One
Georgie woke in her hotel room to her ringing phone, instantly alert when she read the time on the digital radio next to her bed—1:13.
The number on her cell phone screen had a New York City area code, but she didn’t recognize it. She was apprehensive when she answered. “Hello?”
“Georgie?” Adalia asked with a sob.
Panic made Georgie light-headed, and she pressed the heel of her hand to her temple to ground herself. Her sister hadn’t talked to her in that tone—so unguarded, so scared—since their mother had died. “Adalia? What happened?”
“Georgie, I really screwed up.”