Back A Week at the Shore
Chapters (37)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Chapter 22
  27. Chapter 23
  28. Chapter 24
  29. Chapter 25
  30. Chapter 26
  31. Chapter 27
  32. Chapter 28
  33. Chapter 29
  34. Chapter 30
  35. Also by Barbara Delinsky
  36. About the Author
  37. Newsletter Sign-up

“Aiello?” I repeat, scouring my memory until I feel a warm suspicion. “Danny?” I ask with a smile, because if the memory is correct, it is pleasing. Danny wasn’t a close friend, certainly not close enough for me to be invited to his home. But we shared a love of American literature and coffee chip ice cream at Gendy’s, so we got along well.

Lina’s eyes move over my face. It’s like she’s looking for something, though, for the life of me, I don’t know what.

“How is Danny?” I ask.

“He’s fine.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Teaching English.”

I clap in delight. “Perfect. He was made for that. Will you give him my best?” I might have liked a nod, but she is still searching my face. I wait for her to speak. When she doesn’t, I raise my brows again. This time, my smile is forced. “Is … something wrong?”

Very quietly, she says, “You look like your mother, is all.”

“My daughter even more so. You’ll see her, I’m sure. It’s like seeing a ghost.” Truth be told, now that I say the words, Lina Aiello is the pale one, clearly unsettled by me.

Time to leave. I start to turn, then stop. It strikes me that if this woman is here every day, she could be a help. “I haven’t seen my father in a while. How’s he been?”

“Fine,” she replies.

“Does he talk to you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Anything of substance?”

“No.”

I take a different tack. “Do you clean his room?” When she nods, I tip my head and, like I’ve just thought of it, ask, “Have you ever seen a gun there?”

Gentle as I’ve kept my tone, her eyes are alarmed. “A gun? No.”

“Not on a bookshelf or in a drawer?”

“I’d never open a drawer. That’s not my business. I dust, is all.”

Her alarm could be guilt, if she’s protecting Dad, but my gut says that’s not it. Her response to this feels more spontaneous than the guarded one she’s shown up to now.

“Okay,” I say easily. “I just wondered. He’s confused sometimes, so a gun is the last thing he should have. If you see one, will you tell Anne?” She nods but says nothing, and that’s my cue. “Nice to meet you,” I say and add a genuine, “Thank you for helping around here, Lina. It’s much appreciated.”