Part 8
Julian seemed less certain carrying one envelope than he had carrying the federal case against Everett.
He placed it in the center of Nico’s desk three days later.
“Thomas left instructions with his bank,” he said. “He deposited this a week before his death. It was to reach you once the danger to his family had ended.”
Nico recognized the blue ink on the front.
“The bank needed confirmation from the lawyer named in the instructions,” Julian continued. “I provided it this morning.”
He left without taking a chair.
Nico carried the envelope down the hall.
Hannah sat near the sitting-room window with a book open in one hand. Rosie slept across her lap. When Nico showed her what he held, she closed the book and moved it to the sill.
He opened the letter at the little table beside her.
“Nico,
“I’m trusting that this reaches you after my girls are safe. You were always the man I expected to keep them that way.
“Rosie has the box. What you need to know is hidden there.
“I’ve spent too long letting silence speak for me. Somewhere along the way, we decided what sort of men we’d each become and stopped asking whether we were right. I don’t think either of us was. I should have found a way to tell you while I still could.
“Look after Hannah. She hasn’t discovered all her courage yet. And look after our little girl. Give her the smallest opening and she’ll love you with everything she has.
“My thanks, brother.
“Thomas.”
Nico laid the page down slowly.
At eighteen, he and Thomas had worked in a cramped back office near the freight yards, laughing over bad coffee while they tried to make a failing business look solvent. They had stayed long after everyone else went home. Thomas kept the figures straight; Nico dealt with the men who thought figures were optional.
As the organization grew, their offices moved farther apart. During the six years before Thomas’s death, they had spoken often about work and almost never about anything else.
Nico bent his head.
Hannah reached for the letter and read it herself. A tear dropped near the signature. She blotted it with her thumb before it could spread.
That evening, Walter set three places at the long dining table.
There was roast chicken, bread, and a dish of vegetables nobody had cut into decorative shapes. Halfway through the meal, Rosie left her own chair and climbed into Nico’s lap.
He awkwardly moved his glass out of reach, then made room for her.
She had brought the music box. With both hands, she set it between the candles and wound the key.
Clair de Lune began.
Rosie leaned close to his ear.
“Daddy says nobody’s hurt the stars, Uncle Nico.”
Nico closed his eyes.
Beneath the table, Rook made his slow way across the floor. Three legs worked; the fourth followed stiffly inside its brace. He reached Nico’s chair and rested his chin across one shoe.
Nico lowered a hand beneath the linen and left it against the dog’s neck.
Ten days after that supper, Walter carried the silver service outside.
He refused help from the kitchen staff. The cloth had been pressed, the china checked for chips, and the small table moved to a patch of terrace sheltered from the lake wind. He arranged three cups, then added a broad, shallow one at the fourth place.
A plate of warm biscuits waited beneath a glass cover. Beside it stood strawberry preserves, cream, and Rosie’s small toy teapot.
The repaired gates shone through the trees. New leaves had begun to soften the branches, and the white roses along the wall were fully open.
Rosie emerged wearing a coral dress and two carefully braided pigtails. In one hand she carried the blue hat. In the other she held Rook’s lead.
He followed slowly, with Hannah supporting his hindquarters in a recovery sling. His leg would never move freely again, but he could put a little weight on it now. A padded brace protected it, and his blue bow tie sat above the remaining shoulder dressing.
Nico came out through the library doors in shirtsleeves.
He had left his jacket inside. The pistol that usually rested against his back was locked away with the others.
Walter and Hannah helped Rook onto the broad wicker seat, lifting rather than asking him to climb. He settled with an enormous sigh.
Rosie placed the hat between his ears.
“Right. Now we can start.”
Nico sat opposite the dog. Hannah took the chair beside him, and Rosie stood on her seat to reach the cups.
She poured imaginary tea for Nico, a little for herself, then considered Rook’s place. His broad cup already held plain water. She tipped her empty toy pot above it anyway.
“Nobody gets left out this time,” she announced.
Nico looked at Hannah.
Her eyes were damp, but she was smiling.
Rook leaned forward until his nose touched Nico’s open hand. There had been no command, no beckoning fingers. Nico turned his palm against the scarred cheek and stroked gently beneath the hat.
They stayed outside as the light moved across the terrace.
Rosie refilled Nico’s cup whenever she thought he had finished. The biscuits cooled beneath their cover. Rook dozed, his hat slipping until the brim shaded one eye. Eventually Walter helped him down onto a thick cushion beside Nico’s chair.
Hannah tucked one foot beneath herself and listened while Rosie explained the rules for tomorrow’s party.
By the time the child ran out of rules, she had leaned sideways against Nico. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, one braid beginning to loosen.
Hannah went inside for a blanket. When she returned, Nico hadn’t moved.
She covered Rosie and tucked the edge around her knees.
For a while, they listened to Rook breathe.
“I spent years making men swear to me,” Nico said quietly. “I thought that was how loyalty worked.”
Hannah sat down again.
“You can make somebody stay,” she said. “You can’t make them care.”
He watched her smooth the blanket over Rosie’s hand.
Everett was in federal custody, facing the long sentence Julian expected. Thomas’s records had been secured. The gate stood straight again. Nico could see a guard making his circuit beyond the roses, pausing at each point Paul had once checked.
He lowered his hand to Rook’s head.
The dog slept through the touch.
Rosie stirred against him, still mostly asleep. Her fingers found the brass key of the music box in her lap and gave it a clumsy turn.
A few notes sounded, paused, then continued.
Hannah reached across the table and opened the lid for her.
At their feet, Rook’s tail tapped the cushion twice.