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She didn’t know him very well, however, so he was asking for a lot, probably more than he had a right to expect. Most people believed the worst when they heard someone had been convicted of murder. If he hadn’t been through what he’d been through, maybe he’d be like everyone else. Hehadassumed a fake name and lied about his past. He was guilty of that, which didn’t exactly build his credibility.
Still, he hadn’t murdered anyone and would always want the people he cared about most to believe him.
He let her text go unread for the rest of the day. Matilda was cooking up a storm and storing meals in the freezer, so Chester could heat them up after she was gone. And Bo was repairing all the dry rot around the dilapidated house and painting. They’d both been busy, but they had dinner with Chester every night, and after Chester went to bed, they’d sit out on the deck and talk until late. Despite having his past discovered by the Windsors, which meant Ismay had learned about it, too, the past three days had been a time of healing as he and his sister put things right between them. But they didn’t have too much longer to be together, especially with time alone. Her husband was bringing her two boys—five and three—to Louisiana over the weekend to meet him. Then Matilda was going home with her family.
Bo figured he’d stay on Grand Isle until Chester’s arm healed. Then, after his belongings arrived from Mariners, he’d try to find another job in another place that held more promise. Fortunately, he’d saved most of the money he’d earned working for the Windsors. Since his housing and vehicle had been covered, and he lived a simple life, he hadn’t spent much, only what he’d needed for food and basic necessities.
“You were quiet at dinner tonight,” Matilda pointed out after Chester said good-night and shuffled down the hall, and they once again settled into the chairs on the deck.
Bo had been consumed by the text he’d received from Ismay—was constantly thinking about it while putting off actually looking at it. He was afraid she’d sent a reproach of some kind. She had a right to be angry. He’d slept with her without telling her who he really was, but he didn’t want to ruin his memory of that night by spoiling it with accusations and anger or the news that she was going back to Remy.
“Just tired,” he said. He hadn’t told her that he’d assumed a new name or been fired. He didn’t see the point of going into all that. Although she knew his time on Mariners was over, he’d just told her he was tired of doing maintenance work for rich people and was going to move on in search of something else after he left Louisiana. She’d been trying to talk him into moving to Tampa, where she lived, ever since. But he could never go back to Florida. Florida held too many memories.
Almost an hour later, Matilda’s phone dinged with a text, and she lifted it to show him. “I can’t wait for you to meet the boys,” she said.
Bo smiled at a picture her husband had sent of her children hamming it up in their pajamas. He’d never dreamed Matilda would be eager to have him around her kids. It was proof that she finally believed he was innocent—and that felt even better than he could’ve imagined. “You think you’ll have any more children?” he asked.
“Maybe one. I’d like a little girl.” She set her phone aside and took another sip of her beer. “What about you? Would you like children one day?”
Bo had finished his beer thirty minutes ago. “If I can get anyone to marry me,” he joked.
She didn’t laugh with him. She studied him for several seconds, then said, “You’ll find someone. And whoever you settle down with will be lucky to have you.”
“There isn’t much to recommend me.”
She looked pained when she said, “I’m sorry for my part in that. The more I’ve come to know you these last few days, the more I realize how wrong I was to believe what I did.”
“Let’s not relive it,” he said. “It happened, it’s over. We have to salvage what we can from the wreckage and move on.”
“I know. It’s just...” She groaned. “You lost twelve years of your life because of me.”
“We don’t know that. I had the motive and the opportunity, and my fingerprints were on the murder weapon. I probably would’ve been convicted either way.” What she’d said to the jury certainly hadn’t done him any favors, but he’d been far more hurt by the fact that she’d refused to believe him about what really happened that night.
“Thank you.” She reached out to take his hand. “Thank you for understanding and forgiving me in spite of everything,” she said and gave his hand a squeeze before getting up to go to bed.
Bo stayed on the deck alone, listening to the cicadas as he held his phone in his hand, both longing to read Ismay’s text and dreading it. Finally, when the hall light snapped off and he knew Matilda wouldn’t come out again, he drew a bolstering breath and navigated to the message that’d held his heart and mind hostage all day.
I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to process everything that’s happened. I wanted to be sure of how I feel before I said anything. Now I hope I’m ready because I can’t wait any longer. I miss you too much. And I want to tell you that I have no idea what happened the night your father died, but deep inside, I know you’re a good man—and that’s all that matters to me. I hope what we had, though new and untried, was worth enough to you that you’ll come back.
He’d prepared himself for so much worse he almost couldn’t absorb the meaning of those words. He read her message three times before the pressure on his heart and gut eased—so much that he suddenly felt light as a feather—and he turned his face up to the moon and smiled. He’d gotten twelve years in prison he didn’t deserve. Now he was getting the chance to continue a relationship with the most beautiful woman he’d ever met—beautiful in every sense—which was probably something he didn’t deserve, either.
Life could be inexplicable, totally unfair and cruel and yet exquisite and fleeting and gorgeous at the same time. Ismay had far less reason to believe in him than the family and friends who’d turned their backs on him when he was on trial. But against all odds, she was still there, and she had her hand outstretched.
But could he take it? What did he have to offer someone like her?
“Any word from Bo?”
After having breakfast in town, Ismay and Jack were slowly walking around the island to the public beach closest to Honey’s house. They could’ve taken an Uber, but the exercise was good for them, and the long lazy days ahead removed any sense of urgency. “Not yet,” she replied.
“But you wrote him last night?”
“I did. After you went to bed.” She took out her phone and showed her brother the message.
He smiled as he read it. “That’s nice. It must’ve felt good to receive that. I’m shocked he hasn’t written you back.”
“I took a while to decide how I feel. He deserves the same courtesy.”
He stopped to remove a small rock from his flip-flop. “Are you afraid he won’t come back?” he asked as he straightened.
