Page 107 of The Summer that Changed Everything
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She had to rally, get back on her feet. Lucy had been telling herself that for four days—the exact length of time Ford had been gone. But if the police wouldn’t respect anything she found regarding the murders, wouldn’t so much as look at it, what was the point? She’d been crazy to think she’d be able to make a difference here. She was just one person, and she didn’t have any power—certainly not enough to overcome all the forces against her. And letting herself fall in love with Ford again had beensofoolish.
She kept checking her phone, hoping he’d call or text her—if only to check in. But she knew he wouldn’t. Hecouldn’t. He’d gone back to Christina, had to be true to her—and he would be, despite anythinghemight want.
Lucy hoped going back to his former life would be worth it to him; she also hoped that his child would one day realize he’d made an incredible sacrifice—one that’d cost her a great deal, too. But, of course, that was just her broken heart talking. Ford’s son or daughter would never know, and that was how it should be.
She finally managed to get out of bed, but it took great effort. She dressed—something else to be proud of. Then she walked to the beach. Taken together, those three things were far more than she’d been able to accomplish since Ford had walked out the door. She thought she was going to be able to bounce back. But as she stood there, staring out at the roiling waves, what she saw was Ford laughing as they wrestled in the water, swam or shared their body heat while he held her in his arms.
Turning, she glanced back at Coastal Comfort and thought she saw someone standing on the deck looking back at her. Her heart leaped in her chest—but then she realized it wasn’t Ford. It was Houston. For some reason, he was still in town. Maybe he was gloating.
He’d won, and he knew it.
The next day, a knock on the door woke Lucy. It shouldn’t have; it was nearly two in the afternoon and most people had been up for hours. But she’d received a message from Friedman after she got back from the beach yesterday, indicating that he hadn’t been able to get a hit via CODIS so he still didn’t have any idea whose DNA was discovered in the sink at the Matteos’. His news, together with that sighting of Houston, had sent her back to bed.
She hadn’t eaten much in the past few days, but she didn’t seem to be hungry. All she wanted to do was sleep—although she woke up every now and then and cried until she fell asleep again. She told herself she was being a big baby. She had no doubt that was true. But it was hard to care. Suddenly, she didn’t care aboutanything.
Missy would be horrified, she thought distantly as she roused herself. If Missy knew, she’d probably take time off work to come to North Hampton Beach and drag Lucy out of bed, make her start living again. Lucy’d had to do that for Missy when her mother died, but—
The knock came again, loud enough to be heard over the fan churning in the corner of the room. Was Missy at the door? Had she traveled all the way from Vegas?
Lucy forced herself to get out of bed, then had to steady herself by putting one hand to the wall. She hadn’t checked her phone since she’d gotten Friedman’s message yesterday afternoon—had given up hope of hearing from Ford—but there were a few, possiblyseveral, texts from Missy she hadn’t answered since Ford left. Her friend could easily be worried about her.
Whoever was at the door didn’t seem to be going away. He or she knocked again and again—determined, insistent enough to force Lucy to action.
Lucy took one look in the mirror and groaned when she saw her wild hair, which hadn’t been washed recently, and the lines on her face from being pressed into the pillow. Maybe she should ignore whoever it was, regardless.
Except... if it was Missy, she couldn’t. Missy would just keep knocking or find a way to get in, which wouldn’t be hard with all the windows open.
But if it was someone else...
She didn’t want to talk to anyone else.
Lucy almost allowed herself to fall back onto the bed. But a niggle of curiosity made her change her mind.
Shoving the hair out of her face, she straightened her wrinkled tank top and pulled on the shorts she’d left on the rug before trudging to the door. “Who is it?” she called out when she got there.
“Dahlia.”
Her landlord. She glanced behind her to assess the state of the house. But since Ford left, she hadn’t been in the kitchen or living room to make much of a mess. It was probably fine to let her in.
Mustering what she could of her resolve—she felt so weak it took an effort just to move—she opened the door. “Hey.”
Dahlia wrinkled her nose at the sight of her. “It’s that bad, huh?”
Lucy wiped the sweat already beading on her upper lip. “I—I haven’t been feeling well. I must’ve picked up a bug or something.”
“Orsomething,” she said emphatically. “When I heard Houston laughing with Kevin Claxton a few days ago while I was working at the bar, saying something about Ford going back to DC and leaving you on your own—and how that meant you wouldn’t get anywhere—I had a feeling you might not be in the best headspace.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, making an attempt to untangle her hair with her fingers. “I expected Ford to leave. Eventually,” she added.
Dahlia gestured at the yard. “Lucy, a man doesn’t do all this—to a place he doesn’t even own—for just anyone.”
Tears suddenly moistened Lucy’s eyes. She cursed herself for being unable to hide her pain. The emotion embarrassed her, but there was no hiding it. All she could do was try to blink them back.
A compassionate smile curved Dahlia’s lips. “He cares about you.”
“He cares about his wife and baby,” she said. “As he should.”
