Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
His dad’s study.
He opened the door, stood in the doorway and stared inside, his throat feeling strange, his breaths coming shallow.
Since it happened, had he even walked in here?
The vibrant Hockney mounted on the wall behind his father’s desk took his attention.
Hale had had it cleaned. The cleaning had cost a fortune. The painting was worth far more.
It wasn’t just the fact it had to be expertly done that it’d cost so much. It was because they’d had to clean off blood, brains, bits of skull.
His father’s mind, one of the most celebrated since Einstein, Turing, Gates, splashed all over a priceless piece of art.
The bullet had gone through his father’s head, and miraculously lodged in the 3D, rhombus chevron walnut paneling above the painting, all of that paneling another work of art that made up the entire wall.
The bullet had been dug out. The panel had been replaced by the woodworking specialist who’d built the wall, so you couldn’t see it was ever there.
Hale walked into the room, his head all over the place, but it felt light because he wasn’t getting enough air.
He looked to the wall of windows, saw the ocean beyond, and took in a deep breath.
Then he sat in the chair behind the desk.
That chair had also been cleaned.
On the desk, framed, were pictures of Genny, Duncan and his dad when they were kids, and another of Genny and Duncan, when they’d been a couple before they broke up and Genny met Tom.
His father had broken them up.
His father had loved Genny all his life. Since he was a boy. And he broke her heart and betrayed his best friend in hopes, if she was free, he could make her his.
This didn’t work.
Those two were together now because his dad had maneuvered that beyond the grave.
They were back together, and his dad was dead.
Hale closed his eyes, took in another breath, opened his eyes and then opened the drawer to his left.
The double frame was folded closed inside.
Yes, he’d been in there. He’d put that frame there.
But he hadn’t been in since.
He pulled the frame out.
It had been cleaned too. They’d found it on the floor at the side of his father’s dead body.
Hale opened the frame and saw what he’d seen when they’d sent that female cop to return it to him.
A picture of Corey standing and smiling at a camera that, probably, Genny had been behind.
Tucked in his arm was Hale, asleep on his father’s chest.
He’d been an infant.
On the other side was Corey squatting in the sand on a sunny day, Hale in a wetsuit beside him, his hair dripping. They were both smiling wide, Corey had his arm around Hale’s waist, he had his arm around his dad’s shoulders, a shortboard was stuck in the sand next to Hale.
His first surfboard.
He’d been eight. He’d asked for surfing lessons. His dad had given them to him. But he didn’t drop him off and then pick him up. Always during Hale’s lessons, he’d stayed to watch.
It was the second lesson, but the first time he got up on the board, rode his first wave.
Hale had been euphoric, high from a ride that caused an instant addiction Hale still nursed when he had the time. His dad had been openly proud.
He’d hugged him when he dragged his board up on the beach. Got all wet, didn’t care. Went right in for the hug.
It was one of the few times his father touched him.
The instructor had taken that picture.
The cop told him Corey was holding that frame when he shot himself. Hale suspected she thought that would make him feel better.
It made him feel, but what he felt was not better.
Hale closed the frame and put it on the desk in front of him,
He then dug out his phone as he turned his head toward the sea.
He hit what he needed on the screen and put the phone to his ear, eyes to the endless blue.
“Hey, son,” Tom answered.
“Tommy, I need to talk.”
“Where are you?”
“LA.”
“I’m still in New York.”
Breathe.
He breathed.
Then he spoke. “Elsa’s coming out to do an interview. I’ll go back with her. When I get there, we’ll sit down.”
“We can talk now, Hale,” Tom offered.
“No. Face to face.”
“Is everything okay?”
His dad held that frame in his hand when he’d taken his own life.
Hale had forgotten one picture existed, and he’d never seen the other one.
But Corey was holding Hale in his hand when he’d died.
He was holding them in his hand when he’d taken his own life.
“No,” he answered Tom.
“Talk to me, Hale.”
“Face to face.”
“Whatever you need.”
And that was Tom.
Whatever he needed.
“I love you, Tommy. You know that, yeah?”
“Okay, now you’re concerning me.”
“I’m fine.” Breathe. “I’m in Dad’s study.”
It was part groan when Tom said, “Son.”
“I just need to work some things out, but I want to do it with you.”