“Then we have something in common,” I say. “Because I’ll never forgive you either.” I stride toward the door.

“Please. Son.” His voice is broken and cracking.

“Ask for forgiveness in hell.” I open the door and walk out, slamming it shut.

That horror. That perversion Donny and I lived through.

Perpetrated on us by our own father.

I stand outside the door to Floyd’s room when the machines start blaring once more. The nurse rushes by me and enters. Seconds later—

“Code blue!” she cries.

I stand against the wall as staffers roll in a crash cart in slow motion. Broken words meet my ears.

BP ninety over sixty. Septic shock. Kidney failure. Arrhythmia.

He’s gone.

I know in my heart. He’s gone.

They’ll try for several minutes to resuscitate him, but he’s already gone. In his warped mind, he did what he had to do. He spilled his last secret and begged for forgiveness.

Should I have given it to him?

I’ll never know the answer to that.

For I have my own secret. My own reason for needing forgiveness. If I ever reveal it, I’ll lose the love and respect of the person I’ve known the longest.

I can’t let that happen.

So I’ll take that secret to my grave.

Chapter Fifty-One

Ashley

I don’t work the harvest. Ryan gives me some paperwork to handle, and since it’s Saturday, he lets me go by three p.m. I head to Dale’s, let Penny out, and refresh her water. He’s still not home, and I haven’t heard from him since he left this morning. I send a quick text.

Hey, how is everything?

Call me, please. I love you.

Dale’s not a huge texter, but he does usually respond, albeit in very few words. When he doesn’t, I assume he’s driving home, which means he’ll be here soon.

I want to do something special for him. I’m not the cook that he is, but I have a few recipes in my repertoire. I surf through the freezer. Beef, beef, and more beef. If only he had some—

Aha! Fillets of cod buried under a pound of ground beef. Did he sneak it in after I told him I know how to prepare cod?

Warmth rushes through me. He must have. Tonight I’ll surprise him with cod à la Ashley. I can make a white wine and butter sauce with garlic and capers. I know he has those two staples in the door of the fridge. As for white wine, I have my choice from his wine cellar in the basement. No fresh vegetables other than salad greens, spinach, and peppers. Sautéed spinach will go nicely with the cod, and I can make a mock rice pilaf with the peppers, brown rice from the pantry, and Dale’s myriad spices.

Not perfect, but it will be good, wholesome food that will be ready soon after he arrives.

I head down to the basement to Dale’s refrigerated wine cellar. A dry Sauvignon Blanc is my white of choice for cooking. Chardonnay is a little too oaky unless it’s not aged in oak, and very few Chards aren’t. I choose a wine—not from Steel Vineyards—and head back up to prepare my feast.

A half hour later, Dale still hasn’t arrived. My brown rice is nearly done. Do I start the fish now? Fish only takes about ten to fifteen minutes to cook, and there’s nothing worse than overcooked seafood of any kind. It gets rubbery and tough. Cod has a tendency to dry out as well.

I look at my phone sitting on the counter. Still no response to my text.

I check the rice. It can go for about ten more minutes.

Ten more minutes.

I pick up my phone to text Dale again, but something stops me.

It’s my heart. It drops to my stomach.

“Be careful, please. Driving, I mean.”

“I’ve been driving for twenty years.”

“I know, but you’re upset.”

“I’m not that upset.”

“Just come back to me. Promise?”

“I’ll be back. Count on it.”

He made a promise to me. To come back to me. But some promises can’t be kept through no fault of the person making them.

Images splatter into my mind. Dale slumped over his steering wheel. Blood gushing from his nose and mouth. Glass shards splayed over him. Sirens. Wailing sirens.

“No!” I say aloud. “Just no!”

Then the door. Feet clomping.

“Dale!” I run to him, throw myself into his arms.

And all is right in my world once more.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Dale

Ashley’s in my arms.

She’d comfort me if she knew I needed it, but I don’t want comfort right now. I don’t know what I want.

Revenge?

The man’s already dead.

He sold his children.

He sold Donny.

He sold me.

To a bunch of psychopaths who starved us, beat us, raped and humiliated us. I was ten years old, but to hell with me.

Donny was seven. Still a kid. Still slept with that stupid-ass teddy bear.

I used to give him such grief for it. So much I wish I could take back.

So much I can’t even bring myself to think about.

“Hey.” Ashley melts against me, hugging me.

She’s warm. Warm and loving and familiar.

But I don’t want warmth at the moment. I don’t want love.

Familiarity?

Even that doesn’t sound good.

Normally I’d run to my vineyards to seek something with a semblance of tranquility. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. It’s harvest time. The vineyards belong to everyone during harvest. Usually I accept this, because harvest is my favorite time of year—when the fruits of our labor begin a new journey.

I want something unfamiliar.

I pull back from Ashley. “We need to talk.”

Her blue eyes widen. She’s expecting the worst. She thinks I’m going to dump her. It’s written all over her face.

She’s wrong.

I gave her my word. Two months. I’m nothing without my word. I’ve gone back on my word only once, and I’ll pay for it until the day I die.

“I need a favor,” I say.

“Of course. Anything.”

“I need you to stay here for a few days. Take care of Penny.”

“Well…sure. But where will you be?”