Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Dad,” Ethan says, and by the tone of his voice, he’s likely said my name more than once.
I blink several times and turn to see Ethan staring at me on the other side of the kitchen island.
“What was that?” I ask, somewhat embarrassed I tuned out the entire world as I thought about Greer.
“I asked if you want some help with the pizza,” he replies, looking down at the empty pan on the stove.
“Yeah, buddy. Sure.” Then I glance at my watch, relieved only a few minutes have passed. “I thought you wanted to play Fortnite?”
Ethan shrugs, coming around the island and grabbing the block of mozzarella to shred. “I thought maybe if I came and helped with dinner, you’d be so impressed, you’d let me play for at least an hour after I finish my homework.”
I snort as I turn on the heat and then cut open the package of sausage. “That’s a pretty risky bet you’re taking that I’ll agree to such a thing. You could technically be losing Fortnite the entire night if I don’t agree to that one-hour request.”
Ethan shrugs again, as if it’s no big deal. He stares at me with what I believe is an exaggerated look of adoration. “That’s okay. I love you so much, it’s more fun to hang out with you than play Fortnite.”
Laughing, I shake my head and affectionately say, “You’re a monster. A very good, manipulative monster. Yes, you can have an hour after dinner, after you help me clean up the kitchen and after homework.”
Ethan grins mischievously, and within those twinkling eyes I know my son takes after me. He sees what he wants and doesn’t worry about the risk.
He just goes for it.
I want to commend him for being such a daredevil, but I also want to warn him… it can lead to heartbreak.
CHAPTER 10
Greer
It feels weird to be in my childhood home. It hasn’t been mine for a long time—not since leaving for college at eighteen. It remained my parents’ home, though, and it’s always been the place I could come back to.
While I was in college pursuing a bachelor’s and then my master’s in international studies, this house was a refuge for me. When I went into the CIA straight after graduation, if I wasn’t working an active intel assignment, I’d always make it home for the big holidays. And because my time off after missions could come in two- to three-week periods, I would often come home to hang out with my folks.
I love this old house—twenty-one hundred square feet in the foothills of the Laguna Mountains. Over the years, my mother built the most beautiful, luxurious garden to meander through via walking paths replete with benches, a two-person swing, and a little wrought iron table where you can sit to sip a glass of wine while watching the koi pond.
I spent a lot of time out there today staring at the fish. It’s been four years since my parents died, and I can’t sell the house. I can’t think of it as mine either, but at this moment with no job and no home, I’m glad I have it. I’ve had it meticulously maintained over the years. While I didn’t come home for the holidays or extended work breaks as much, I have visited a handful of times each year.
But as I said… it feels weird, and it’s because I don’t hear my dad’s boisterous jokes or my mother’s sweet lilting voice singing a love song.
Pieces of furniture throughout the house bear photos of our family. They’re everywhere, placed in groupings on tables, bookshelves and sideboards. Some of just Mom, some of just Dad, some of the both of them, some of the three of us. My mother has dozens, framed and perched and hung on walls.
While Dad was a security guard when he met my mother, he later became a real estate agent and was quite successful at it. My mother did not win the Miss World pageant as Miss Argentina, but she did win my dad’s heart. She settled into American life and became a private voice coach.
While they both loved their careers, they loved boating and fishing even more. They scrimped and saved to buy a twenty-eight-foot twin engine boat that was sufficient for them to fish offshore. They moored it in a rented slip in San Diego and were on that boat every chance they got.
And they eventually died with it. No one is really sure what happened. There was storm activity with heavy rain and winds. The boat was found floating in the Pacific Ocean seven miles off the coast of Mexico. The prevailing theory is they hit bad weather and a rogue wave swept them overboard. The currents took the boat south where it was found, and their bodies were never recovered.