False front, p.26
False Front, page 26
“My brother was not a good man. Maybe the morality gene skips a generation in our family.”
“That’s troubling coming from the man I’ve come to think of as my moral compass.”
Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m a very proud uncle.”
“Great-uncle,” Nathan amended.
“I am great, aren’t I?”
Seraphina Bishop, looking as elegant and beautiful at seventy as she had at thirty, swept past the men in a cloud of Chanel, Harrods bags, and excitement.
“I love you, darling, but I’m here to see my grandchildren. Hello, Charlie.”
And she was gone.
The men got back to business.
“There’s a building I have in mind. It’s the damnedest thing. It was built as a grammar school in the 1950s. The basement was meant to be a bomb shelter, for a hundred and fifty students. It’s one of the few buildings I’ve seen that actually has a basement, and this thing is the bat cave. Two stories, nondescript, nice perimeter. Other than the fact it’s been sitting empty for twenty years, it’s perfect.”
“A renovation’s a renovation.”
“Sounds like your mind’s made up.”
“Lately, it all seems so clear.”
Charlie glanced over Nathan’s shoulder through the open door where Emily held up baby clothes, while Seraphina and Maggie each cuddled an infant.
“Son, a good woman will do that.”
Nathan gestured to the front door with a flourish. Emily stood on the pale blue planks of the wide wrap-around front porch and checked her phone.
“Emily, the boys couldn’t be in better hands.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Oh, Nathan, wow.”
He threw open the front door and . . . it promptly fell off its hinges.
“Damn. The contractor mentioned he hadn’t hung it yet. Oh well.”
Her gaze pulled her into the front hall. Located on a small lane that boasted modest homes on large lots, Emily was already captivated by the strollers and bikes she had spotted dotting the lawns. This was where they would raise their children. It was several blocks inland from Charlie and Maggie. Emily didn’t want to be too close to either the ocean or the public beach. She was working through a new set of issues with Neil Tyson as she battled her understandable but irrational fears for her sons. Nathan had simply accepted her wish list and made it happen. You are my home, he had said.
The renovated Victorian had been neglected. The neighborhood kids had started rumors of hauntings and strange noises, but Nathan had been haunted for too long, and elbow grease and affection had exorcized any ghosts. Now the house boasted a country French kitchen, cheery rooms with pale yellow walls and vintage molding. The wood fireplace in the cozy den was stacked with logs and kindling. Upstairs, the large room off the master bedroom would serve as the nursery. But Emily wasn’t looking at any of that. She walked straight back and looked out the restored French doors to the yard. The patio ended at a lush lawn dotted with violets. There were swings and a little cabin fort and . . . a lolling mastiff lying in a sunny patch of grass.
“Nathan?”
“That’s Reggie. Say hello, Reggie.”
In response, Reggie flopped his thick tail once.
“Charlie has a soft spot for these military dogs. Many of them can’t be adopted into the general population, but Charlie works with the training center officers, and when he can, he finds homes for them. You met his beasts.”
“Was he injured?” Emily approached him warily.
“Nope. Charlie said he was discharged. The trainer told him Reggie wasn’t cut out for it. He said if he’d ever seen a dog that should be in a yard with kids and a tennis ball, Reggie was it.”
“So, he was living a false identity in the military?”
“Fitting, I think.”
Emily plopped down next to the dog and scratched behind his ears.
“And he’s gentle?”
With that, Reggie made a lazy groan and rolled onto his back for a belly rub.
“Emily?”
“Yes?”
“Do you like the house?”
Emily smiled at the love of her life. “Let’s go get the boys.”
Nathan crossed the lawn in three long strides and held out his hand.
“Not yet.”
Emily slipped her hand in his, captivated by the purpose and lust and love in his green eyes. She returned the look in equal measure, and they quietly slipped into their home.
The End
Debbie Baldwin, False Front
