A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series) (16 page)

The house was larger than I realized—eight bedrooms and who knew how many bathrooms—and lovely on every floor. When we reached the room that had been William’s, I had to pause and look inside.

“William took most of his things with him to college or put them in storage,” Abigail said as I gazed around the room, which was painted white and styled in a nautical theme with lots of navy blue. It looked like a boy’s room, not stark or minimalist at all. “But he never liked much clutter,” she said.

“I can believe it,” I laughed. I moved toward a wall with several pictures hanging on it. They showed a younger William in cap and gown. “Graduation?” I asked.

“Yes. Top of his class, of course.”

I peered closer. His face was more youthful, but the eyes were the same—haunted and shrouded.

“Catherine,” Abigail said. “I want to say again how very good it is to see you. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve seen William this happy.”

I turned and smiled. “He makes me happy too.”

“I’m so glad he found you. Every time I talk to him, he can’t say enough about how talented you are, how smart, how caring. He goes on and on. I feel as though I know you already.”

I opened my mouth but wasn’t quite certain how to respond. William had said all of that about me? He went on and on about me? I could hardly imagine the man I knew doing that. Finally, I said, “I care a great deal about William.”

Abigail nodded. “I can see that. Be careful with him, Catherine. He has a tender heart and he’s been hurt so many times.”

Again, her words stunned me. A tender heart? And how could
I
hurt William?

“He carries a heavier burden than most people realize,” she continued. “Wealth like his comes not only with tremendous responsibility, but also with tremendous risk. He’s so driven and strong and accomplished, but he’s had to deny whole parts of himself to make it this far and sometimes it’s been very difficult for him.”

This was not at all what I’d been expecting to hear and my gaze remained riveted on Abigail as she continued to tell me more about William.

“It’s been ugly for all of us at times, but that’s never been his fault. I’ve often worried about the toll it’s taken on him. Mary Alice used to call him her little Romeo. He was this sweet-natured, fearless little boy who’d take on the world just to bring her a pretty flower and make her smile.”

I watched as a faraway look crept into Abigail’s eye after mentioning her sister’s name. She’d lost someone too, and my heart broke for her in the same way it had shattered for William. Then she looked at me and smiled warmly.

“Please excuse me, Catherine. I don’t often speak like this. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen William let his guard down and it’s wonderful to witness.” She gave me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and I smiled in return. “Let’s see how Annabelle is faring, shall we?” she asked, and we turned to head downstairs and check on dessert.

Holy shit.

***

Still reeling from our talk, I wandered the house and found William and his uncle in the library. As I stepped inside, I heard Charles say, “I don’t understand why you haven’t let George handle it.”

I stopped cold just inside the room. “I’m sorry. Am I intruding?”

William came toward me and slid his arm around my waist. “Not at all.”

“I could help your aunt in the kitchen.”

“Stay,” he said, looking down at me. “You should hear this.”

My heart began to pound. Finally I was going to know exactly what had been going on. The tension in the room was thick. I could feel it as William drew me farther in and seated me next to him on a dark leather couch. The entire library was paneled in dark wood and furnished with heavy pieces. A fire roared in the large fireplace, where Charles leaned against the mantel. William sat beside me, elbows resting on his knees.

“This is simply another hoax and another attempt at extortion,” Charles went on. He had a highball glass in his hand and swirled the amber liquid inside. “Nothing I’ve seen suggests Wyatt is really alive. We’ve been through this, William. Why are you giving it so much credibility?”

I glanced at William and watched as he squared his shoulders and sat up a little straighter. “I was in Whitehorse last week.”

“For God’s sake, why?” Charles sputtered, looking genuinely shocked. “It’s brutal up there this time of year. Why on earth did you go?”

“About three weeks ago, a timber company crew working about thirty miles north of Dawson City found pieces from a plane.”

I froze and saw that Charles had done the same. “Go on,” he finally said.

“The Canadian Transportation Safety Board was notified and a team was deployed. The scene was analyzed, but I was told there wasn’t much
to
analyze given the amount of deforestation in the area and the harsh conditions. The pieces were transported to Whitehorse for further analysis and that’s when I was called. Our flight pattern data could have been off— if you take the wind currents into consideration, it’s possible they drifted off course and went down there. This could be their plane. The CTSB allowed me to send samples to the manufacturer in France for authentication. Now we’re just waiting for the results.”

We stared at William in stunned silence. His shoulders had slumped and he seemed impossibly weary. I wanted to reach out and stroke his back, but I wasn’t sure if he’d allow it.

“They’re gone, William,” Charles said. His voice was low and sympathetic. “Even if the pieces are from the plane, it doesn’t matter. I know it’s hard to accept, even now, but they’re never coming back. Wyatt is never coming back.”

A heavy silence hung in the air and William ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign he was frustrated. Charles spoke again.

“Do you think this latest extortion attempt and the discovery of this wreckage are somehow connected? It seems a little implausible, don’t you think?”

William sighed. “I can’t ignore the timing. My gut says it’s not just coincidence.” He looked up, and I took a sharp breath at the anguish I saw in his eyes. There was heartbreak and a pain even I, who had lost someone I loved deeply, couldn’t fathom. But William was far from broken. He’d been beaten, but he was not conceding defeat, not if the hard, determined set of his jaw meant anything. “I don’t think that Wyatt’s alive, Charles. But I do think it’s possible that whoever is behind the threats might know something more about the wreckage. That’s what I need to find out and that’s why I haven’t let George take care of this. Yet. I’m sorry for any inconvenience the extra security may be causing. I can’t let anything happen to you. To any of you.” William squeezed my hand then. “But I have to see this through.”

I understood now. I understood everything and I felt like the worst kind of asshole for leaving him in Napa and for doubting him ever since. Why hadn’t I just trusted him like he’d asked? Why hadn’t I seen his vulnerability? He had needed me to be there. He’d needed someone to take care of him. Instead, I’d made him rush back to Chicago to take care of me.

“William,” his uncle said. “Abigail and I are here for you. We’ll always be here. Do what you need to do. Just be careful.”

William nodded and, with a pat on William’s back, Charles quietly left us alone.

“I’m here too,” I said. I would take care of William, the man and the hurt little boy with the tender heart. I loved him more than ever now.

Abruptly, he stood. “We have to go. Grab your coat.”

“We’re leaving?”

“No. I need to find something. Come with me.” He held out his hand, and I took it. We donned coats and gloves and headed outside. It was dark now, but he led me down a shoveled winding path behind the house. His steps were sure and confident, as though he’d traveled this way many, many times before. Finally, a large coach house came into view.

William reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He seemed to know the key without even looking, and he opened the door and flicked on the lights. It was chilly inside but not freezing, and he led me upstairs to a room stacked high with boxes. Some of them were labeled
Christmas
and others looked old and battered. William headed for those. “These boxes are from my parents’ home in the city,” he said. “Abigail has kept them here for me. There’s something…here it is.” He reached for one of the cartons and pulled it off of a short stack of cardboard boxes.

He flipped the top flap open, and I spied a half dozen or so leather-bound photo albums. My mom had some just like them, filled with our family pictures. William removed an album and turned toward a couch covered with a drop cloth. He yanked it off and pulled me down with him onto the old couch. He drew me close, wrapping his arm about my waist and laying the book half on his knee and half on mine. Opening the album, he said, “Catherine, I’d like you to meet my family.”

I’d seen a picture of his parents in his huge walk-in closet at his penthouse, so I had an idea of what they would look like, but it was still a shock to see the carefree snapshots of his mother and father as a young couple. William looked a great deal like his father, though there was some of his mother in him—he had her eyes. He flipped the pages slowly, years passing with a flick of his wrist. There was a baby and then a toddler who must have been Wyatt. His parents were beaming with pride at the little boy. His mother had a quiet beauty, while his father had much of the same charm and charisma William possessed. They were a beautiful family. I didn’t remember any of my own family photos looking so warm.

And then William paused and pointed to the picture of a prune-faced newborn. “That’s me.”

“So you are mortal,” I said. “And you don’t look very happy about it.”

He grinned at me. “My mother said she thought second babies were supposed to be easier, but apparently she was in labor with me for twenty-three hours. I don’t think either of us was very happy by the time this picture was taken.”

He flipped the page and there were pictures of him receiving his first bath, sleeping in that two-handed surrender position babies were so fond of, Wyatt kissing him, his father asleep on the couch with a dozing William in his arms.

A few pages later, there were photos of William and Wyatt playing with trucks. William looked as though he could barely walk, while Wyatt was a confident preschooler. “Do you see that truck?” William pointed to the red one Wyatt was pushing. “That was the one we always fought over. I don’t know what it was about that truck, but we both wanted it.”

He flipped the page again to pictures of Christmas. There were his aunt and uncle and his three blond-haired cousins. In one photo, preschool-aged William was seated on the couch, happily squished between his mom and dad. There was so much joy in that picture. No wonder he wanted closure. He wanted it for them, for their memory, as much as he needed it for himself.

There were more pictures and more albums—family vacations, birthday parties, one of William in about second grade with a skinny mongrel. William pointed to that one. “That was Joe. He followed me home from school one day. My father said we couldn’t keep him. He was covered with fleas and half his fur had fallen off from mange. I cried and begged, and my mom convinced my dad to give in. I could keep him if I fed him and walked him.” He stared at the photo a long time. “That dog slept with me every night, and when my parents died, he was the one who never left my side.” His voice was low, and I didn’t want to stare at him too hard. “He’s buried in the backyard here. He was a good dog.”

I leaned in to him, and I’d never felt closer. I’d never loved him so much. He turned the page again and it was filled with images of skinny boys with scabby knees and uncombed hair, beautiful parents with their arms securely around their sons. When we reached the last album, I saw immediately it wasn’t filled. Its final pages were blank, but William opened it and diligently flipped through the last days of his normal life. There was his fifth-grade school picture, Christmas, a family ski vacation where everyone had rosy cheeks from the cold. William looked at one of the photos of the four of them against a backdrop of a snow-covered mountain. “That was the best vacation I ever had. Wyatt and I raced down the slopes, and I beat him twice. We ice skated and played hockey. I must have drank a gallon of hot chocolate a day.”

He was pointing to one of the pictures, but I wasn’t looking. I was watching him. He didn’t need to say it was the last vacation he’d ever had with his family. I knew it, and I knew he would cherish those memories forever.

The album ended abruptly, and when he closed it, I covered his hand with mine. “I can see why you had to go to Canada, why you had to investigate the situation yourself.”

“My uncle is right,” he said, leaning back, and looking at me directly. “He didn’t say it, but he thinks it’s a longshot. I have to accept that I might never find any answers.”

“You will,” I whispered and kissed him gently. “I’ll be here for you.”

“Catherine.” He cupped my cheek and kissed me tenderly on the lips. We pressed against one another, kissing delicately and slowly, holding each other. Finally, it was too cold in the coach house to ignore. Even William’s body heat didn’t warm me.

He pulled away. “We’d better head back. It’s getting late.”

“Your aunt and uncle will wonder what happened to us.” We stood and wrapped up again, and then William lifted the box of albums and led me down the stairs. He turned off the lights and locked the door, and I followed him back to the house. Its windows glowed a cheery yellow, and when we stepped inside it smelled like freshly baked apples.

“Is that you, William?” Abigail peeked around a corner and ushered us back inside. I saw her gaze flick to the box William carried, but she didn’t remark on it.

“We need to head back to the city,” he said.

She nodded. “Annabelle wrapped up two slices of apple pie for you.” She turned to me. “Catherine, I hope we see you again soon.”

“Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

Once we were on our way, William and I didn’t speak much, and I didn’t feel the need. We held hands, and I felt more connected to William than I ever had. Music played in the softly lit vehicle, and he and I were content just to be together. Tonight was the night I was ready to tell him how I felt. I couldn’t hold it in anymore and I needed him to know that I loved him.