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“Sophie and Caroline are already discussing their costumes,” I say. “Barbie, due to the popularity of the movie, is the hot costume for girls this year. They already own so many dress-up clothes. Why can’t they just wear one of those costumes?”
“Ha. Where’s the fun in that?” Ashton rolls her head on the back of the chair to look at me. “Tell me about therapy.”
I stare down at my wine. “Dr. Clemmy should be paying me. I’m the one doing all the hard work. She asks so many questions and expects me to have the answers.”
Ashton barks out a laugh. “That’s the nature of the process. You identify your life’s defining moments. Scrutinize them ad nauseam. And then file them away in the back of your memory closet for good.”
“You know the process well. I didn’t realize you’d spent so much time in therapy.”
“Oh yeah. I’ve spent a small fortune trying to get this brain straight.” She taps her temple. “And after everything Owen put me through, I’m considering going back for more.”
I run a thumb around the rim of my wine glass. “I don’t see the point in dredging up all these memories. Our parents did a number on us. Dad neglected us while Mom was mentally and physically abusing us. We were raised in a nuthouse.”
“You and Savannah had it the worst,” Ashton says.
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
“She’s alive. I feel it in my gut. She’s probably strumming her guitar and captivating audiences with her amazing voice in some remote part of the world where we’d never think to look for her.”
I consider the possibility. “If that’s the case, why hasn’t your investigator found her? You’ve had him on retainer for years.”
“I fired that guy. He bled me dry and did nothing to find Savannah. As soon as Carter gets some free time, he’s going to look into her case,” Ashton says in reference to the private investigator she’d paid to unearth her husband’s nefarious activities.
“What if he finds her? How weird would it be if Savannah came home after all this time?”
Ashton leaves her rocker and moves over to the railing, staring out at the amber sky of the setting sun. “Weird in a good way. If the world hasn’t hardened her up. She was always the sweet one. Mama’s happy-go-lucky little angel.”
“Until Mama took her baby away,” I mutter.
A pained expression crosses my sister’s face. “I wonder if Savannah had more children. We could have nieces and nephews we don’t even know about.”
“I never thought about that. Caroline and Sophie could have more cousins out in the world somewhere.”
Ashton watches the sun make its final descent before turning to face me. “Having therapy sessions twice a week is intense, Will. You should count on things getting tougher before they get better.”
I drain the last of my wine. “I’m aware of what’s coming, and I’m dreading having to tell Clemmy about Bert. I’ve worked so hard to put the accident behind me. Nothing good will come from reliving it again after all this time.”
“I disagree.” Ashton comes to stand in front of me, pulling me to my feet. “In my opinion, your bottled-up emotions are more about the accident than our dysfunctional past. You blame yourself for what happened to Bert. And that is the source of your anger.”
I hang my head. “You might be right.”
She lifts my chin so that I have to look at her. “Trust me on this, Will. Once you work through these emotions, you’ll be free of the ties binding you to the past. And you can finally lead a happy life.”
“That life won’t be so happy if my in-laws take my children away from me. If I’m in prison for murdering my wife.”
“Keep the faith. You and I will face whatever happens together.”
I pull her in for a hug. “Thank you, Ashton. For everything you’re doing for me. I don’t think I could make it through this without you.”
She hugs me tight. “I should be thanking you, little brother. For finally letting me be a part of your life.”
* * *
The weekend is a whirlwind of activity. When I’m not entertaining the girls, I’m cleaning, doing laundry, and helping Ashton with odd jobs around the house. Come Sunday afternoon, instead of feeling refreshed after a two-day break from work, I’m exhausted.
The girls are swimming in the sound with Ashton, and I’m cooking chicken breasts on the grill when Maurice’s truck pulls into the driveway.
“Hey, boss. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by on a Sunday. I had some extra time and thought I’d haul off the last of the building supplies.” He looks down at the chicken. “Isn’t it a little early for dinner?”
