In the House On Lakeside Drive (31 page)

“I…I think I'll be okay, Dad. I've got a real family to help me, if it comes to that. The funny thing? Moving me into this house was the best thing you've ever done for me, and I'll bet you weren't thinking about that when you came up with the idea.” Sam sat back on the stair, curling his long legs in front of him. “Good-bye.”

With that, Sam heard his father turn and head toward the door. “This is your doing, Dyer,” he said. “Turning my son into an ungrateful, disobedient wretch.”

“You're welcome.” A hand patted Sam on the knee, and Sam smiled a little. The door slammed shut, and there was a hushed murmur that floated through the first floor of the house. “Well, Sam,” Evan said, keeping his voice down. “Look at you, taking charge. I didn't think you'd do
that
.”

“I'm finding I'm full of surprises,” the younger man replied. “Now, I smell ham. Rachel insisted on making one, seeing as it was Josh's favorite.”

“Ham and cheesy potatoes. And ice cream. I remember.” Evan rose, his creaking joints signaling his movements. “If only we could have gotten him into vegetables…”

Chapter 45

Evan sipped at his coffee that Tuesday after Josh's memorial gathering, rolling the taste of French Roast across his tongue. There hadn't been a lot of project work, and the school had given both Rachel and the boys another two weeks grace from coming in.
“They need time,”
Rosa had said when the couple had come to the front door of the school Monday morning expecting to work.
“You need time. Don't worry about things here. We've found a few more subs, so we'll get by there, Evan, and I know for a fact you've banked enough time, Rachel. Remy and Sam will be better served with you two at home than here right now.”

The thin man now sat at the bar table, looking out the newly glassed windows in the kitchen. The white sparkling snow outside had turned to a muddy slush thanks to a sudden warm spell, and the result was a half-frozen combination of dirt, water, and crystallized ice. He swirled the brown liquid in his cup, trying to mix the generous amount of powdered creamer left at the bottom into it.

Footsteps padded across the wooden floorboards, and soon a stool pulled up next to him. A long shock of dirty blond hair pulled into a ponytail waved in his line of sight, and Evan turned to see Remy laying his head on the bar table, buried deep into his crossed arms. “If you're still tired, go back to bed,” he told his tenant. “No call to be sleeping on the table.”

“Can't sleep.” The words came out as murmurs, thick and slow.

“You've been taking your meds?”

The mass of thick hair nodded. “Not working.”

“You were off them for a while. It's gonna take some time for you to reacclimate to them.”

“Re…what?” Remy shifted his head up just enough to lock eyes with the man.

“Basically, to get used to having the medicine in your system again. It feels like it's not working, but really, it's just taking some time to get re-used to it again. Give it time.”

Remy snorted. “Time. Everyone's telling me that's the answer to my problems.”

Evan shrugged and took another sip of coffee. “Free medicine. Can have all you want, non-habit-forming.”

The younger man sighed. Then he picked his head up. “Why'd you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Take all those pills. You know, before. Why'd you do it?”

The coffee cup sat firmly against the wooden bar table. “You really want to know?”

Remy nodded.

“I hated my life. Plain and simple. Back then, I really hated my life. I wasn't making my own decisions. People were making them for me. No one cared what I thought about it. And I was a coward.” Evan sighed. “I wasn't brave, Remy. Not like you. Or Sam. I sure wasn't as brave as Josh. I let people do it because I thought going along was the best answer—sometimes it seemed like the
only
answer. It took all of that other stuff, and me moving here, to realize that I could just step up and say no.”

“Oh.” Remy reached for an empty coffee cup and walked over to the bubbling pot, hoping to sneak a cup while it percolated. The “pause and serve” feature on the coffeepot had been acting up of late, and Remy didn't want a repeat of scalding hot coffee pouring out of the machine as he poured a cup from the pot. “I'm not brave.”

“What makes you think that?”

Remy shrugged. He poured his coffee, thankful the ‘pause and serve' feature was working properly at the moment, and replaced the pot. Remy then added three teaspoons of sugar and some of the French Vanilla creamer that he had to hide from Sam in order to get anything out of the bottle. Sam had a penchant for liquid-flavored creamer in his coffee, and he often ended up draining Remy's supply before anyone realized it. “I couldn't stop those people from…well, you know.” He looked up toward the back door. “They came through that door first,” he said. “Couldn't even get it together enough to run my ass out the door. By the time I got it together, one of those assholes has his arms wrapped around me and I see that Southern guy with a knife to Sam's throat.” He swallowed hard, the coffee forming a lump near his Adam's apple. “I…I couldn't let Sam get hurt.”

“I heard what you did for Sam, in that basement.” Evan reached over the table where Remy had moved his seat and brushed his thumb against the still-healing bruise on the young man's forearm. “He told me you took that beating for him.”

“He got picked on enough. Even worse, that bastard was there.” Remy pulled a dark grimace. “That's another thing.”

“Your uncle?”

Remy nodded. “Every time he's around, I freeze up, go into a spell.” He lowered his head a little, and Evan had to strain to hear his next words. “I'm terrified of him.”

The older man clapped a hand on Remy's shoulder, mindful that he didn't linger too long. He knew that Remy didn't liked to be touched much. “It's okay to be afraid. Truth is, that was one of the reasons I took the pills. I was afraid of my father.”

“He a bastard, too?”

“More or less. He's a lot like Sam's dad. Hasn't ever really been told ‘no' before. Mostly, people are afraid to. He's an intimidating guy.”

“You're not.”

Evan took another sip of coffee. “Try not to be.” He got up and plucked a large white cup out of the rack, and then turned on the teakettle to boil. “Think Rachel's got any more of that Mandarin Orange tea she likes in the cupboard?”

“Um, she bought a new box a couple days ago. Sam had trouble spelling Mandarin on his Brailler.”

“Someone call my name?” The shuffle of socks against tile greeted Evan's ears, and soon another seat was pulled out. Sam perched himself on it, fighting a giant yawn.

“Not you too?”

“Me too what?” the blind man replied. “I just got up.”

“First Remy's trying to sleep on the table, and then you're yawning wide enough to eat an orca whale whole. Maybe we need to be going to bed earlier.”

“Evan, we're not twelve.” Remy stirred his coffee again. “Needs more creamer.”

“Could you get me one?” Sam asked. “Two parts creamer, one part coffee?”

“Or, you could get your
own
coffee,” Evan pointed out.

“But, I'm so sleepy.” Another giant yawn threatened to take over Sam's long face. A hint of a grin ghosted on his thin lips.

“Remy, you pour that coffee and I'll toss both of them down the drain.”

The older tenant paused, his hands about to pour the extra cup. “You're on your own, Sam,” he said. “That creamer's expensive. And you still owe me a bottle from last time.”

“I did not drink it all.”

“The way you take your coffee?” Remy said, chuckling. “We might as well add coffee to the bottle and pass it over.”

“Still,” Sam grumbled as he made his way to the coffee pot. “Could be worse.” He poured the coffee and then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. He unscrewed the cap and poured some liquid into it, and then took a sip. “Ugh!!” he cried, spitting the concoction into the sink. “What the hell?”

“You didn't get creamer?” Evan got up, concern washing over his face.

“I grabbed a plastic bottle. It was in the spot where the creamer usually is.” Sam grabbed a glass and filled it with water, rinsing his mouth to take the horrid acidic taste away. “It tastes like orange juice!”

“It
is
orange juice,” Remy said, picking up the bottle and putting it in his friend's hand. “Did it feel like this?”

“Yeah.”

“The creamer was out on the counter.” Remy's face turned a shade of pink. “Oops.”

“Well, didn't we label it?”

“Guess not.” Evan looked around. “Rachel drinks orange juice, but she hasn't bought any in a while. Unless…”

“No, she did. I was with her when we bought it.” Sam made a face. “Disgusting.”

“And
that's
what you all get for drinking coffee,” Rachel said, sweeping into the room on dainty feet. The teakettle was singing, and she moved it off the stove to pour herself a cup. “Thanks, hon.” She didn't bother to cover a yawn of her own. “The next two weeks better go by soon,” she said. “I could get used to sleeping in.”

“Me too,” both tenants chimed.

“I'd get the paper, but I have a feeling I know what's going to be on the front page again,” Evan said. “I swear…”

“At least the news cameras didn't show up. I'll take print over video any day.” Rachel poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat down. “I'm thinking eggs for lunch. What do you say?”

Remy and Sam stared, their faces a mirror to their thoughts. “What?” the landlady said. “You guys usually like eggs.”

“Yeah, we do,” Remy said. “But…I was making omelets.”

“When?”

“That night.” The young men looked downcast, and Remy turned to look at the extra chair in the corner that had been occupied
before
. “I don't think I can eat eggs for a while.”

“Sam?”

“Not an omelet, that's for sure.” Sam remembered something else. “But scrambled eggs, like those ones at Christmas, those might be okay.”

Remy laughed. “I thought for sure Josh was gonna burn the place down, baking the sausage in the oven!” he said, looking at his left hand. There was still a little burn mark from that incident, but it was very faint. “Hadn't thought of him not knowing how to use the microwave, really.”

“I think I'll always remember that,” Rachel said. “Josh baking sausage, Remy with burnt hands, Sam beating the crap out of the smoke alarm.” The redhead burst into a fit of laughter, and the reaction was infectious. Soon Remy was in tears, Sam's normally quiet voice was heartily chuckling, and Evan was holding his sides in near-voiceless laughter.

“Oh, God, yes,” Evan said. “Beats the iPod in the refrigerator, that's for sure.”

A knock on the door stilled the merriment. Evan got up and went to the door. “No interviews,” he said as he pulled the barrier open.

“Don't plan on one,” the voice of Frank Parker said. “May I come in?”

Chapter 46

“You're sure?”

“I'm positive,” Frank said, looking into his young friend's eyes. He nestled himself into the overstuffed recliner in the living room, taking in the faces full of surprise. “Seems Vendell is worth his salt, at least as a lawyer.”

“So, Remy's rich?” Sam asked, his face masking his utter bewilderment.

“I believe the current term is ‘loaded.' Frank looked at the young man in question, who was just staring into space with deep blue eyes. “Do you remember your grandparents, Remy?”

It took a moment for Remy to find his voice. “A…a little. I think they died when I was like, six or seven. Plus they lived in Louisiana. We'd moved here when I was, like, four.” He rose, the need to walk humming through his being. “Mom and Dad never said
anything.
”

“I got a look at parts of the will. Your grandparents were pretty eloquent. Apparently, your grandfather was a self-made millionaire. Your grandmother was active in charity work. From what I read, they valued hard work and keeping a level head about money.”

Rachel was working hard to stay quiet, but the effort was failing. “That sounds like Peyton Lavelle. I knew him from around—you know, what with it being a small town and all. I'm floored. I never…not in my wildest dreams would I have pegged him for being wealthy. Becka Ingham was friends with Emily Lavelle. God, she would have a coronary if she knew.”

“I think that was the point, Rachel,” Frank said. “Prior to Remy's grandparents' deaths, which were from natural causes, I might add, Peyton was supporting both his wife and Remy and was working the job up in North Kingston for the design firm. Cooper, on the other hand, was fast on his way to being the less-than-upstanding citizen we know and loathe.” He grimaced. “Which one would you want to inherit that kind of money?”