The Perfect Summer (Hubbard's Point) by Luanne Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

deal.”
    “Thanks,” Annie said, not even slightly smiling. “What's she doing up there? Why aren't we looking for Dad?”
    Tara took a deep, steady breath, concentrating as she applied a dab of shell-pink polish to Annie's baby toe—as if there was nothing more pressing in this world than getting the lacquer on right.
    “Well, we are. Or, by that I mean, your mother is on top of it. She's in constant contact with the police, as you know, and I'm sure she's talking to your father's friends, asking where he might have gone. You know your father . . .” Tara said, and then stopped herself, because she was veering into dangerous territory.
    “What do you mean, ‘know' him?” Annie asked, picking up on it.
    “Oh, I mean, he's such a fun-lover. Always up for an adventure, right?” Tara asked mildly. Like philandering, breaking your mother's heart, running out on his family, blowing the money for your tuition at the casinos . . .
    “You mean, fishing? And camping?”
    “Exactly,” Tara said.
    “But what about all that blood?” Annie asked.
    “Darling, I know,” Tara said. She stroked Annie's foot gently, staring into her godchild's worried eyes. There was nothing she could say to explain the blood. If only she could be blithe, like her own mother, and come up with reassuring but slightly askew pearls of wisdom . . . or, as her mother used to say, “pears of wisdom.”
    “Stop, Tara,” Annie said, staring at her toes. “I can't just sit here, letting you give me a pedicure. I should be out looking for him—”
    “No, you should stay right here, Annie,” Tara said. “It's getting dark out, and you can't just go—”
    “No, I have to,” Annie said, almost apologetically, getting up from the wicker couch, hobbling toward the door with her toes arched skyward. “He might need me!”
    “Annie, it's getting dark,” Tara called after her, but Annie walked out of the room, out of the house. She opened the back door, and the smell of sweet tidal decay blew in on the summer breeze. The sky was still light, the trees luminous; they were still in longest-day-of-the-year territory.
    Time to call in the mother. Tara walked upstairs and stood before Bay's closed door. She knocked once, and then walked in. Her best friend sat on the end of the bed, staring into her open hope chest, holding a bunch of letters in her hands. Tara sat beside her, slid her arm around her shoulders.
    “Your daughter is on a mission.”
    “She's gone out to find Sean.”
    “Of course. With seven toes painted pink. I suppose it will make her feel better, to be doing something, but it'll be dark soon.”
    “Okay, let's go get her,” Bay said, standing up.
    “What have you got there?”
    “Danny Connolly.”
    “What?” Tara asked, shocked by the old name.
    Tara sensed that the letters were somehow holding Bay together.
    “I kept our old letters,” Bay said. “And I found one of them on Sean's boat today.”
    “You're kidding—what would he be doing with it?”
    “I have no idea, but I also found a fax from Danny. Seems Sean got in touch with him, about having a boat built. I guess Danny's become a boatbuilder.”
    “That works.” Tara nodded. “That makes sense.”
    “It all seems so far-fetched, Sean going to Danny for anything. With all the troubles in our marriage, what good does he think can come from dredging up that part of the past?”
    “I'd say Sean isn't thinking clearly,” Tara said. “Because he sure doesn't come up looking good next to Dan Connolly—at least the Danny we all knew. That Danny would hate him for what he's put you through. Are you going to call him?”
    “I thought about it just now,” Bay said. “But I don't think so. I don't feel like dropping out of the blue after all these years and saying, ‘Oh, I hear my husband wants to buy a boat from you, and by the way—he's disappeared.' ”
    She took a long breath, as if to continue, when the front door knocker sounded downstairs. Without a