Great Restorations - 15. Chapter 15

THE law offices of Strobler and Strobler occupied a corner building in downtown Edgewood, just two blocks from Rachel‘s diner. Yet another historic landmark in a town that already claimed too many, it towered above the other structures on Main Street. Sawyer bet the symbolism appealed to the tenants. Pretentious was the word that came to mind when he walked with Marc into the main reception area. A marble statue of Lady Justice adorned the center of the space, complete with sword and scales. Bushy ferns surrounded her, so that she appeared to be emerging from a primeval forest. Richly carved wooden chairs lined the perimeter of the room. Sawyer eyed the statue as Marc spoke quietly with the receptionist.

“Your parents aren‘t here yet. That‘s good,” Sawyer said as they sat, choosing two chairs tucked under a tall window.

“Yeah, well, I‘m sure they won‘t be late.” Marc leaned over his knees, scratching his chin as he stared into space.

Sawyer spoke to fill the silence. “This doesn‘t seem like the type of place May preferred.”

“No, you‘re right,” Marc said. “She thought it was way too stuffy. But the bottom line is that there aren‘t that many lawyers around here, unless you go all the way into the city. I think she probably hated the thought of that more.”

Somewhere down the thickly carpeted hallway that led into the bowels of the building, a phone rang. Other than that, everything was silent. “Not exactly bustling,” Sawyer muttered. “They‘ll probably still make us wait an eternity.”

“Hmmm.” Marc‘s eyes continued to scan the room. Blowing out a breath, Sawyer slouched back in his chair and crossed his legs. The minutes stretched, and to pass the time, he took to studying the stone sculptures carved into the walls and ceiling. The place reminded him of a church.

“You know,” he said, eyes straying to a pair of gargoyles high above the window, “I realize it was short notice, but you really should‘ve tried to get your own lawyer for this meeting.”

“Who says I didn‘t?”

Surprised, Sawyer tilted his head forward, and Marc shrugged. “I made some calls while you were in the shower last night.”

Sawyer blinked. “And managed to get somebody for this afternoon? That‘s amazing.”

Marc twitched. He shifted in his seat and fussed with his tie. “Yeah.”

“Who‘d you call?”

“I actually called—” Something near the door caught Marc‘s eye. He cut off mid-sentence and stood. “Don‘t go crazy, okay?”

The bad feeling churning in the pit of Sawyer‘s stomach coalesced into full blown indigestion when he saw who was striding across the room toward them. He stood on unsteady legs, hoping he was mistaken, but realizing the chances were slim.

His brother looked like he belonged at Strobler and Strobler. Sawyer bet his suit cost what most people made in a month, but it was more than his clothes and supple leather briefcase that gave that impression. Finn defined pretension. It bled from his pores. Every word that spilled from his mouth was pitched to make whoever he was talking to feel twelve inches tall. Sawyer grunted under his breath. Come to think of it, he was probably the perfect choice for the confrontation to come.

“Are you freaking out yet?” Marc asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Nope,” Sawyer said. “I‘m fine.”

Something in his tone must have been off. Marc shot him a panicked look.

“Seriously, I‘m fine,” Sawyer assured him. “Finn,” he said as his brother stopped in front of them. He stuck out his hand. “Long time no see.”

Finn‘s eyes played over Sawyer before settling on Marc. “You didn‘t tell him I was coming.”

“It‘s that obvious?”

“He looks ready to combust. But….” Finn sighed and finally took Sawyer‘s outstretched hand. They broke the contact immediately. “That‘s about par for the course when I‘m around.”

A hundred biting replies flew to Sawyer‘s lips. Swallowing them back took physical effort. As if privy to his brother‘s struggle, Finn got right down to business. “We don‘t have a lot of time. Marc told me what was going on when we spoke yesterday, but I have some questions, if that‘s all right?”

“Perfectly all right.” Sawyer put a hand on Marc‘s shoulder and pushed. Obediently, Marc sank into his seat. “Shall we?” Sawyer gestured for Finn to take one of the adjacent chairs, and, eyeing Sawyer with a narrowed gaze, he did.

Sawyer collapsed into his own chair and forced a smile onto his face. “So, this is cozy. What made you rush to Marc‘s rescue? Having a slow week?”

“Sawyer.”

Sawyer winced at Marc‘s warning tone, but couldn‘t help himself. Finn brought out the worst in him. “Couldn‘t find anyone to sue? Now I find that hard to believe. You‘re usually so resourceful.”

It irked to see that his barbs did little to alter Finn’s passive expression. He geared himself up for Finn’s retort and was surprised when all his brother did was give a soft sigh and drop his eyes. “If there‘s one constant in the universe,” he said, “it‘s your schoolboy insults.”

Barking a laugh, Sawyer squared his shoulders, ready to deliver a few more schoolboy insults, just for good measure. But Marc leaned forward, filling his vision. “Sawyer,” he said, and this time Sawyer held his tongue, because there was nothing of Marc‘s usual gentle tone in that one word. His voice trembled, and not with uncertainty. Gulping, Sawyer eased back against the wall.

Finn took in the exchange silently. “Thanks, Marc,” he said with a tilt of his head. “Now that you‘ve muzzled your dog, maybe we can get somewhere.”

Gleeful, Sawyer watched Marc turn his anger on Finn. He didn‘t need to speak. His glare was enough. Finn accepted the chastisement in silence. He cleared his throat and thumbed open his briefcase. “Tell me everything that‘s happened. Even if you think you covered it yesterday.”

“Everything?” Marc asked.

Finn nodded. “Take it from the top.”

“It‘s pretty straightforward,” Sawyer blurted. He pointed at Marc. “Marc‘s aunt passed away last week. She left everything to Marc in a new will that she drafted when he turned eighteen. The two bloodsucking leeches that call themselves his parents think the estate‘s theirs.”

Finn‘s pen never moved. Stroking a finger over his mustache, he swiveled to Marc. “Can we take it from the top… with a little more objectivity.”

Marc scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sure.”

They never got the chance. The great glass doors swung open, catching Finn‘s attention, and Sawyer followed his gaze. Jonathon entered the building first, the sight of him bringing Sawyer‘s anger to the surface. He took Marc‘s hand.

They‘d held off from any intimacy the night before. One look at Marc‘s haggard face and Sawyer had put his foot down. But just before they‘d fallen asleep, in the dark with Sawyer‘s arms around him, Marc had made a quiet admission. “The thing is,” he said, voice heavy with sleep and sadness, “I still feel like I should love them. They‘re my parents. Shouldn‘t that count for something?”

All Sawyer had offered in return was a noncommittal grunt. By his reckoning, they didn‘t deserve any of Marc‘s love.

Jonathon was dressed head to toe in white linen and sporting the same hat he‘d been wearing the previous morning. Behind him, trapped in her own fashion time warp—another print skirt and peasant blouse—Marc‘s mother hovered, flitting like a bird, hands twisting in the crocheted wrap she held shield-like in front of her.

Marc wasn‘t up to this. May‘s loss still hung on him, a heavy blanket of despair, and Sawyer hated that he couldn‘t ease his pain. As though he felt Sawyer‘s frustration, Jonathon‘s gaze alighted on them, his eyes twin shards of blue ice. The set of his jaw and pursed lips said it all: let the battle begin.

Beside Sawyer, Marc nodded, interpreting the message exactly as Sawyer had. He took a deep breath and stood. Like a sentry, Sawyer rose to his feet beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Finn join them, and flanking Marc, they crossed the lobby in a line. “Keep your mouth shut, Sawyer,” Finn said out of the corner of his mouth.

Now that was rich. “Why?”

“Could you just trust me for once instead of questioning my advice? For Marc,” Finn added before Sawyer could push a reply past his lips.

“That was low, brother.”

“Whatever works,” Finn shot back, and then they were there, face to face with the devil and his wife. Sawyer bit his tongue before he could give Finn a reason to scold him.

Maggie stepped forward as they approached, hand fluttering at her mouth. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said softly to Marc.

Sawyer‘s stomach flipped unpleasantly. Even Marc flinched. He gave her a crisp nod, but nothing more.

Jonathon ignored Marc and stared at Sawyer with open disdain. He opened his mouth to speak—Sawyer sensed a tirade in the works—but they were all saved an unpleasant scene by someone clearing their throat. Where the carpeted hall led away from the lobby, a petite middle-aged woman in a dark blue suit and matching pumps stood waiting. Wire-rimmed glasses framed a sharp face with large, shrewd eyes. “Mr. and Mrs. Wynn?” she called. She stepped onto the marble floor, clickety-clacking her way toward them. “I‘m Heidi Strobler.” She shook Jonathon‘s hand, then took Maggie‘s limp one briefly before turning to Marc. “And Marc. Thank you for coming.”

Sawyer felt a pang of nervousness at the pity in her voice.

“Hi Heidi,’ Marc said.

“And this must be Mr. Calhoun,” she said, turning to Finn.

“One of them,” Finn said, darting a glance at his brother.

“But undoubtedly the one who talked my ear off this morning on the phone regarding a disputed will.” She winked. “You look like I imagined. Good morning to you all. Please follow me.”

She led them down the hall. Marc‘s parents took the lead, Jonathon striding impatiently behind Heidi while Maggie tagged along, nibbling on her lower lip, just as Marc did when he was troubled. It lent her a vulnerable look, and it was no stretch to imagine she was fragile, not that her weakness gained her any of Sawyer‘s sympathy.

Marc, silent as Maggie and stoic as Jonathon, gave off a different vibe altogether: quiet confidence, unfettered by their dramatic air. Sawyer was impressed, and Finn‘s dancing eyes meant he also approved.

Keep his mouth shut. Sawyer cracked his knuckles and burned a hole in Jonathon‘s back with his eyes. He could do that. Unless the bastard gave him a reason to speak up.

They entered a cozy conference room. “Please have a seat,” Heidi said, gesturing to the long table. Sawyer followed Finn and Marc around to the opposite side, as far from Jonathon and Maggie as possible. Finn took his seat like he owned the place, placed his briefcase on the table, and snapped it open.

“What,” Jonathon barked, pointing at Sawyer, “is he doing here?”

“Don‘t feel the need to answer that, Sawyer,” Finn said, retrieving a pad of paper and pen.

“Please,” Heidi said in a cool voice. “Let‘s keep this calm.” She caught Finn‘s eye. “It‘s a reasonable question.”

“What is he doing here?” Maggie‘s trembling voice cut into the silence. She pointed at Finn.

Heidi cleared her throat. “Mr. Calhoun contacted me this morning. Apparently there is some question about Ms. Schaeffer‘s will. Finn is here to represent Marc while we try to get our facts straight.”

Jonathon huffed, then narrowed his eyes at Heidi. “Do you know my son?”

Heidi nodded. “I‘ve known him since he was a child.”

“So much for getting a fair shake,” Jonathon grumbled. He tossed his hat onto the table.

Unable to take measure of Heidi‘s expression, Sawyer darted a glance at his brother. Finn was hiding a smile behind his hand.

“Mr. Wynn.” Heidi‘s clipped reply had all heads snapping to attention. “Are you questioning my objectivity and integrity?”

Sawyer felt his knees go watery at her tone. Heidi Strobler would have made an excellent high school principal.

“No,” Jonathon said after a long moment. “Of course not.”

Heidi accepted his reply in silence. She opened the leather bound notebook she‘d been carrying under her arm and took up her own gold pen. It looked remarkably like Finn‘s, Sawyer thought. “Now,” she said, straightening her glasses. “Is there some burning reason why this gentleman can‘t reveal the reason for his presence?”

“No,” Marc said when Finn hesitated, clearly concerned for his privacy. “There‘s not.” He met Sawyer‘s eyes. “This is Sawyer Calhoun. He‘s here for moral support.”

“So he‘s a friend,” Heidi said, making a note.

“More than a friend,” Marc qualified, voice steady, speaking over Finn‘s objection.

Heidi‘s pen stalled for a moment, then took up its quiet scratch across the page. Her lips turned up in a small smile, but it was gone when she lifted her head. She ignored Jonathon‘s grunt of disgust. “Let‘s get on with it, then, shall we?” She arched an eyebrow at Finn, and he acquiesced with a nod. “I‘ll try to keep it as straightforward as possible. Our client, May Schaeffer, had this office prepare her last will and testament eighteen years ago. At that time” — she flipped a page in her notebook— “her niece, Margaret Wynn, was named as sole beneficiary of the estate. At no time before her death did Ms. Schaeffer make us aware that she had drafted a new will that would have revoked her original will and its codicils. I‘m sorry, Marc,” she said, regret filling her voice. “In the absence of any other evidence, the original will stands.”

“No,” Marc said, banging his fist on the table, his first open display of emotion since entering the room.

“Marc.” Finn pressed a hand to his arm, a warning. Marc slumped back in his chair, and Finn leaned forward. “As I said on the phone this morning, Marc is positive that his aunt made a new will when he reached his majority, revoking the will that was made when he was ten years old.”

Jonathon shook his head. Prove it, he mouthed across the table.

Sawyer watched Heidi purse her lips into a thin line and tap her pen against her notes. “But you can‘t produce this document?”

“Not at this time.”

“Do you know who drafted it?”

“No. Marc can’t recall. Please understand that we‘re just as confused as you are by this. In Marc‘s mind, there is no question that this newer will exists. He‘s seen it.”

“But not recently, obviously,” Heidi said with a tired sigh.

“No,” Marc admitted.

“And I‘m guessing you‘re the primary beneficiary of this alleged will?” Heidi asked Marc.

“He‘s the sole beneficiary,” Finn said. He and Heidi shared a pointed look.

“This is quite the mess, isn‘t it?” Heidi reached under her glasses to rub her eyes. “That was a rhetorical question, Mr. Wynn,” she cut in when Jonathon flushed with anger. She spread her hands, palms up. “How would you like to proceed, Mr. Calhoun?”

Finn shrugged. “I‘d like Mr. and Mrs. Wynn to give Marc some time to track this thing down. I think everyone will agree it‘s extremely unlikely Ms. Schaeffer would have failed to amend the details of her will when Marc turned eighteen. We simply have to locate the current document.”

“Absolutely not,” Jonathon cut in. Next to him, Maggie sniffed into a hankie.

“Afraid he might find it?” Finn pressed.

“Are you questioning my integrity, Mr. Calhoun?”

Finn didn’t even pretend to consider the question. “I am, as it happens. My client is making a reasonable request.”

“Well, I don‘t have time to play these games,” Jonathon said, a distinct edge to his voice. “I‘m due back in China in three days, and I want to put this to bed before I leave. I need to hire someone to handle the sale of the property. I can‘t manage things from halfway around the globe.”

“You mean to sell Marc‘s house out from underneath him?” Finn’s voice rang with condescension and distaste. Sawyer had heard the tone often. He had to admit he appreciated it far more when it was turned on somebody else. Namely Jonathon. “You can‘t be serious?”

Jonathon raised his chin. “I‘m truly sorry about that. I want to—” he paused and looked at Maggie. “We want to make sure Marc gets something, of course. I‘m not a monster. But please try to understand what good this money will do where it‘s going. I can‘t, in good conscience, let it be wasted.”

“Wasted?” Sawyer asked, incredulous. Finn shot him a quelling look. He ignored it.

Jonathon shifted in his chair. “There are children to be considered.”

“What about your child?”

Dark splotches appeared on Jonathon‘s cheeks. “Marc is no longer a child. As you well know, based on the state of undress we found you in yesterday morning. Disgusting,” he muttered.

Sawyer took a raging, trembling breath. So did Finn, curiously.

“We‘ve made our decision,” Jonathan said. “Once they clear probate, both properties are going on the market.”

“How can you do that? In good conscience, how can you do that?” Sawyer asked, voice rising with every word.

Jonathon‘s mouth turned up at the corner, reminding Sawyer of a snarling dog. “Marc isn‘t the person I thought he was.”

Because he‘d been honest and stood up for the truths in his life. For once. The implications of yesterday‘s early morning confrontation made Sawyer nauseous.

Marc had gone pale. “How long is probate?”

“A couple of months at least,” Heidi said kindly. Her eyes, at odds with her voice, shot daggers at Jonathon.

“Actually….” Finn looked pointedly across the table. “Your wife is the beneficiary of the will, Mr. Wynn. Not you. I‘d like to hear her opinion on the matter.”

“Maggie and I have already spoken about her wishes,” Jonathon answered. “She agrees with me.”

Tension crackled in the air, yet nobody spoke. Beside Sawyer, Marc gave a quiet sigh. His shoulders sagged.

No, Sawyer wanted to say. Don’t give up. Not yet. But even he recognized the inevitability of what was about to happen. Furious and afraid, he took Marc‘s hand under the table. “Finn,” he said, choking on the name.

Finn‘s fingers tightened on his pen, but he wouldn‘t look Sawyer in the eye. Sawyer‘s temper bubbled, gaining momentum, but before it could crest, Finn spoke. “Mrs. Wynn,” he said, and if Sawyer hadn‘t seen his lips moving, he wouldn‘t have believed it was his brother speaking. The cockiness had vanished. “I implore you.” He leaned across the table, ignoring everyone, especially Jonathon, as he focused on Marc‘s mother. “Maggie,” he said. “One day. That‘s all Marc is asking for. Please. For your son. What has he ever asked of you before?”

No bargaining, no guilt trips, no wheedling of any kind. This must be the Finn who wins over juries. Unbelievable to see such quiet respect from a man who enjoyed proving he didn‘t believe in such a thing.

Jonathon sputtered. “We are not—”

“That sounds fair to me,” Maggie said, interrupting her husband. Her voice gained strength as she spoke. “A day sounds more than fair.”

While Jonathon sat gaping at his wife, Heidi closed her notebook with a sharp snap. “These are the kinds of meetings my accountant loves. Lots of talk. Nothing resolved. All right everyone, how does Wednesday morning sound? Nine sharp? And I expect,” she said, looking over her glasses at Finn, “we‘ll be able to put this matter to rest at that time.”

Finn inclined his head and started repacking his briefcase, which wasn‘t the answer Heidi was looking for, Sawyer was sure.

“That‘s more than a day,” Jonathon groused. He hadn‘t quit glaring at Maggie.

“It‘s a fair request, Jon.” Maggie rose when Marc did, reaching for him across the table. “Marc—”

Marc brushed past Sawyer and out the door, moving fast. Maggie‘s hand wavered, then dropped. The stab of sympathy Sawyer expected to feel for her never materialized.

“Go on,” Finn prompted, waving him after Marc. Sawyer didn‘t need further prompting. Let Finn deal with whatever polite goodbyes were necessary. He reached the lobby just as Marc shoved the heavy glass door open and stormed out onto the sidewalk. Sawyer caught the look of alarm on the receptionist‘s face and slowed to offer a placating smile.

“Sorry, he‘s a little upset.”

“So I see.” Her pinched frown followed him out the door and into the late day sunshine.

Marc was already half a block away, sifting in and out of the crowd. Sawyer followed, taking care to keep a respectable distance. Marc needed space, and not just the physical kind. Sawyer‘s own thoughts were in a tangle, and he wasn‘t nearly as emotionally invested in what was happening.

At the southern tip of Main Street, a wide creek flowed under the road. Sawyer watched Marc place both hands on the bridge railing and hang his head between his shoulders. Apparently he‘d outrun his demons, at least for the time being. No. He‘d spoken too soon. Sawyer‘s sigh of relief caught in his throat when Marc vaulted over the metal barrier and disappeared over the side of the hill. Cursing, Sawyer broke into a jog. He reached the railing just as Marc hit a flat shelf of earth halfway down. Before Sawyer could call out, Marc dropped to the spongy moss, paying no attention to how the damp ground soiled his suit and shoes, and reclined back on his elbows.

When Sawyer‘s heart had stopped racing, he swung his legs over the railing and followed Marc down. The bank was slick, and the tall reeds didn‘t slow his descent. He probably would have shot past the ledge and into the water if Marc hadn‘t grabbed his arm. “Easy there, city boy.”

“Thanks.” Nowhere looked particularly clean. Sawyer reconciled himself to the dry cleaning bill and lowered himself onto the ground next to Marc.

“Sorry I didn‘t warn you about Finn,” Marc mumbled.

Sawyer gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Well, at least he did his job.” More than that, Sawyer knew, but giving his brother credit for anything was anathema. “Just keep an eye on his expense account.”

Marc tilted his head. “He told me it would be pro bono.”

Sawyer had no answer for that.

Marc reached for his hand. Charmed, and still enjoying the newness of Marc’s openness, Sawyer grasped his fingers tightly. Marc squeezed back. “Why do you hate him so much?” he asked Sawyer.

I don’t hate him. He kept the thought to himself. Opened and closed his mouth twice before answering. “That’s not an easy question.”

“Actually it is. It probably doesn’t have an easy answer. But I think I need to know, because I like him, Sawyer. I realize I don’t know him well, but he’s never done anything but good things for me. Never been anything but kind and helpful.”

“He’s a pretentious ass,” Sawyer recited, though the rote response didn’t ring as true to him as it normally did.

“I imagine his chosen career has him acting like one sometimes.” Marc skipped a pebble across the water. “I meant when you were kids. What happened to you two?”

“Nothing. He just hates me,” Sawyer said, then gave a slight wince. Was that still true? Had it ever been? He simply wasn’t sure anymore.

Marc arched a brow. “Why?”

Sawyer considered. “He resented that I got along with our grandfather. When we were kids, Finn used to sit with Granddad for hours and ask him questions about the law, try to get him to talk about cases and things like that, but he never got much more than a one word response. And my mother…”

He trailed off, but Marc showed no inclination to do anything but sit and listen, so Sawyer soldiered through the hard part. “He was kind of a cold-hearted bastard to my mother. Finn never really forgave him for that, even when Mom did.”

“She forgave him?”

Sawyer gave a slow nod. She had. Hadn’t she said so when he told her about his plans for the house? Troubled, he skipped a rock across the water.

“As I understand it,” Marc said, “Paul Steinbrick wasn’t an easy person to get along with. Kind of had a reputation, according to Aunt May, for being a cold-hearted bastard, as you put it, much of the time.”

“Maybe. But he wasn’t like that deep inside. You just had to get past all that…inability to connect… and get to his core. He didn’t express his feelings very well. I guess that’s true. But he wasn’t a monster. Just kind of standoffish.”

“Hmm. That sounds like you.”

“What? Standoffish?”

“Hardly. No, I meant how you shoulder your way past someone’s defenses. Most people aren’t capable.”

“Most don’t try.”

“Many do try,” Marc pointed out. “Some sit for hours with people they don’t necessarily like and try to engage them in conversation, to start.”

Sawyer gave him a sidelong glance, and Marc arched a brow. “Maybe Finn deserves a little credit for trying, no matter how things turned out between the two of them.”

Marc’s pensive stare convinced Sawyer to brush the subject aside before too much introspection darkened his mood even further. “Enough about Finn. Let‘s concentrate on what we need to do.”

Marc‘s wrist flicked, and a stone skipped across a pool of water before landing in the faster moving current. “I have no idea where to begin. Well” —he gave a bitter laugh— “that‘s not exactly true. I‘d start at Aunt May‘s house, but there‘s no way my father will let me near it.”

“He can‘t keep you out forever.” Sawyer frowned. “Can he?”

“Probably not. But he doesn‘t need to. He just needs to make sure there‘s nothing there for me to find once I get in the door.”

A tuft of grass took the brunt of Sawyer‘s rage. Marc had the truth of it. “If there‘s a copy there, there‘s a copy somewhere else.” He forced himself to hold Marc‘s stare. To sound sure and strong. “There has to be. We‘ll find it.”

“You think?” The sun glinted off Marc‘s sad smile.

“Yeah. We just need to go about this logically. What about May‘s friends?”

Laughing, Marc tossed another pebble into the creek.

“Okay, come on, Marc. I know she could be… abrasive. But she had to have had some friends.”

“Yeah,” Marc said, still chuckling, “she did. But hardly any that she would‘ve trusted with this.” Brow furrowed in thought, he dug a few more flat stones from underneath the soil. “There was Mary, but she moved away to be with her family in Florida years ago. I don‘t think they stayed in touch. And there was Simone. They were close, but she moved out to St. John‘s when I was still in college. I don‘t think they kept in touch either.”

Sawyer filed all of that away. “What‘s St. John‘s?”

“A huge retirement community about forty miles from here. It‘s pretty fancy, as those places go. Aunt May liked to call it adult day care. Yeah,” he said, catching sight of Sawyer‘s face, “she wasn‘t the most politically correct person in the world.”

“I‘m sure she didn‘t relish the thought of giving up her independence.”

Marc shook his head. “I think—” He gulped and tossed another rock at the creek. “I think I‘m going to head home.” Sawyer‘s jaw clenched at the way he tripped over the last word, as if it wouldn‘t be valid much longer. “Is that okay?” To be alone, he left unvoiced.

“You don‘t need my permission,” Sawyer replied, keeping his tone light.

Marc nodded. “I need some time to think.”

That was fine. Sawyer needed some time to stew in his rage without worrying about how juvenile it was. “Are you coming to work tomorrow?”

Marc nodded again. He stood, brushing the dirt from his pants. “We‘ll all be there.”

“Yeah?” Sawyer asked as they trudged to the top of the embankment. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” Marc said, giving Sawyer a hand over the rail. Which was why he wanted the evening alone, probably. How would tomorrow play out? What kind of trouble would Rick cause? Would they find May‘s will? And how was Marc going to weather having everything in his life turned upside down?

There were no answers to be had then, in the middle of the street at the busiest time of the afternoon. People brushed by them, some greeting Marc, and even a few waving at Sawyer. No matter what Sawyer longed to say—no matter what he longed to do—it wasn‘t the time. He settled for squeezing Marc‘s shoulder. “I‘ll see you in the morning.”

Marc nodded. “In the morning.”