“If anything happens to my Sophie,” Frank says, nearly vibrating with anger and kicking the dirt with the toe of his shoe, “it’s on you!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

LEE

While Adam Warner and Helen Flynn gather Aubrey’s things for the trip back to Seattle, Montrose and I talk with Sophie’s father. It’s after four, and the sun is baking us where we stand, so we move under one of the cedars between the first two cabins.

“Some tension there between you and your son-in-law,” Montrose says.

Frank Flynn nods. “He’s a prick, so yes. Always acting like he’s Mr. Hotshot. Always in line for some big promotion that, to be honest, never seems to come.” He stops a second and looks in the direction of the Wisteria. “He’s a good father, I guess. Probably the best thing about him.”

“How about as a husband?” I ask.

Frank doesn’t skimp on adjectives. “Disappointing. Egomaniac. Full of himself.”

Pot, meet kettle, I think.

“You two don’t get along,” I say.

“We do,” he says without hesitation. “For the most part. He knows his place, and that’s half the battle when someone joins the family, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” I say, wondering why joining anyone’s family should be couched in terms that include the word battle. I remember how tight Adam’s family had been when we were growing up in Shelton. My parents had divorced by the time I was sixteen, and Adam’s parents were not only together but happy. They took Kip to Disneyland one time. God, how I wanted to go too. Adam knew this, and he made sure that Kip brought me back some mouse ears with my name stitched in lavender thread on the back. I still have them somewhere. Mr. Warner worked at the mill, and Mrs. Warner was an elementary school librarian. Good people.

“Everything okay between them?” Montrose asks. “Marriage okay?”

“A few bumps in the road,” Frank says, his tone suddenly colored with reluctance. “But not since Aubrey was born.”

“What kind of bumps?” I ask.

“Sophie wanted to move to New York,” he says. “She’s a graphic designer. A great one. Not some flake freelancer who thinks that graphic design is the gateway to a fine arts career. Sophie’s smarter than that. More talented too. She had a chance to work for one of the biggest agencies in the world, but Adam wouldn’t leave his job at SkyAero. Like that was some prize. Jesus.”

Coming from a town like Shelton, SkyAero doesn’t seem like a disappointment to me at all. When I heard from someone in town that Adam had made his way up the ladder at the Seattle aerospace company, I thought it was great. I’d only been on a plane three times in my life. Adam’s success was a big deal. Impressive. Better than the ups and downs of the mill in town or a job at the shipyard in Bremerton, like a lot of local guys. And girls too.

“But they worked things out?” I ask.