Chapter 7 - THE HOUSE WITH THE BLUE DOOR
June drove directly to the police station and took photographs of the SUV's license plate. The driver sped away before an officer came outside.
“Maybe it's a coincidence,” I said.
“Then the coincidence can explain itself,” June answered.
At my house, the blue front door had the same chipped paint Thomas never got around to fixing. He died when Ryan was thirteen. I had worked two jobs so that boy could have braces, baseball cleats, and someone in the stands.
Paige called that history “a little intense.”
I remembered the first Christmas after Thomas died. Ryan had tried to build me a bookshelf from scrap wood because he knew we couldn't afford gifts. Every shelf tilted. Every screw showed. I still kept it in the hallway. When Paige first saw it, she asked why I hadn't replaced it with something nicer.
Because he built it, I wanted to tell her. Because he stayed when his whole world fell apart.
June made soup while Ryan searched for the old deed. In a tin beside Thomas's fishing lures, I found a photograph of him and Ryan standing on the Cedar Point dock. On the back he had written: SOME THINGS ARE WORTH MORE UNSOLD.
Ryan read it twice.
“Dad turned down Graham Weller years ago,” he said. “I remember them arguing by the boat ramp.”
“He did. Graham wanted the whole shoreline.”
That evening Graham himself appeared on my porch, carrying no flowers and offering no apology.
“I heard you engaged a lawyer,” he said.
“I did.”
“An unfortunate misunderstanding is becoming a public fight. Paige is devastated.”
“My shoulder is torn.”
“Your son could lose a very promising future over this.”
Ryan stepped beside me. “Is that a threat?”
Graham smiled. “It's advice.”
As he turned to leave, he noticed Thomas's photograph in my hand.
May you like
“The old man didn't know when to let go,” he said.
Then he added quietly, “Ask your mother what happened the last time somebody refused my offer.”
