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Contents ( 66)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. Dedication
  6. Contents
  7. Map of Florida
  8. one
  9. two
  10. three
  11. four
  12. five
  13. six
  14. seven
  15. eight
  16. nine
  17. ten
  18. eleven
  19. twelve
  20. thirteen
  21. fourteen
  22. fifteen
  23. sixteen
  24. seventeen
  25. eighteen
  26. nineteen
  27. twenty
  28. twenty-one
  29. twenty-two
  30. twenty-three
  31. twenty-four
  32. twenty-five
  33. twenty-six
  34. twenty-seven
  35. twenty-eight
  36. twenty-nine
  37. thirty
  38. thirty-one
  39. thirty-two
  40. thirty-three
  41. thirty-four
  42. thirty-five
  43. thirty-six
  44. thirty-seven
  45. thirty-eight
  46. thirty-nine
  47. forty
  48. forty-one
  49. forty-two
  50. forty-three
  51. forty-four
  52. forty-five
  53. forty-six
  54. forty-seven
  55. forty-eight
  56. forty-nine
  57. fifty
  58. fifty-one
  59. Epilogue
  60. Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
  61. Prologue
  62. one
  63. Acknowledgments
  64. About the Author
  65. Back Ads
  66. Back Cover

But the house wasn’t there anymore. Once Peyton’s embittered Uncle Julian seized control of the estate, he had the house torn down—his vengeance for a lifetime of perceived slights from the family patriarch. Knowing Uncle Julian, tearing down the house was the final assertion of his dominance over the family—of victory.

But like everything else about him, his victories were hollow. A carefully cultivated fortune left in his hands was doomed to blight. To finance his “visionary” real-estate deals, he had sold off the oil wells that fueled the family fortune. One failed development followed another, one bad investment heaping debt on those who came before, until finally, Uncle Julian was left with nothing but the family homeplace, which he transformed into the biggest trailer park in the state of Georgia. By the time his patrician neighbors found out, the trailer park was ready to open, but they swiftly put a stop to it, even engaging the governor for assistance. The park closed before it could open, and Uncle Julian, drowning yet another humiliation in whiskey at one of the seedier local taverns, mouthed off to the wrong mill worker and was found floating in the river three days later.

Now, here Peyton stood on the only remnant of an old family home, a stack of bricks and mortar that had escaped the wrecking ball. Granddaddy Cabot’s long-pampered carpet of zoysia grass had fallen to neglect, as had the azaleas that used to flower in the spring. Rectangular concrete slabs with trailer hookups dotted the landscape like so many gravestones, with weeds and briars growing up between them. Peyton did indeed feel like he was standing in a burial ground. Even the Ghost Oak was gone—and good riddance. However unintentional its role, that tree had helped end his father’s life. Peyton didn’t think he could bear the sight of it, even after all these years.

“Promise me something.” He turned to see his wife standing behind him. She had agreed to wait for him in the car—the ’47 Fleetwood she had restored for his thirtieth birthday a few years ago.

He smiled down at her. “You think I have to promise you the moon just because you gave me back the car o’ my dreams?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

He descended the steps and kissed her. “Well then, I guess I’d better go to promising.”

Lisa held both of his hands in hers. “Promise me you’ll never come back here, Peyton. It’s too much—it’s just way too much.”

He pulled her closer and held her against him. As always, Lisa was right. The memory of what had been, set against the stark reality of what remained, which was nothing, really—it was way too much.

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At a sprawling Georgia Air Force base, Peyton parked the Fleetwood and helped Lisa out. Then he stepped back for a better look at the car and whistled. “Man, she’s a beauty.”

“You used to say that about me.” Lisa shook her head and laughed.