Page 27 of Day Break

I didn’t know what hurt more, remembering my younger sister’s smile and laughter or the last memory I had of seeing her—broken, bloodied, her skin the color of ash. Her eyes had stared up at me up at me, hollow and pale.

Shit. I jerked up off the sofa and went into my closet to change into my gym clothes. I jumped on my treadmill and ran until I almost collapsed.

It was the only way I could get those last images out of my mind. To rid my memories of those days behind bars, having to explain and re-explain where I’d been while someone violated and murdered my sister. Explain how, even though she hadn’t died by my hand, it had been my fault anyway.

The rest of the week I worked longer and harder than I normally did. That was usually the case after I’d had a run-in with my family. I was thankful that at least there wouldn’t be another request for dinner from them for a while.

I arrived home one night the next week to see Derrick sitting outside my place. I wanted to turn around and get back in the car, but I agreed to go to a bar down the street and have a few drinks to listen to his latest sales pitch.

“I tell you, man,” Derrick yelled over the band that was playing in the corner of the bar. “This is the one. This is how I become rich and famous.” He slapped me on the back and waved to the waitress so he could order more drinks.

I remained quiet, knowing how Derrick worked. His pitch windup took most of the night while the actual throw lasted seconds and always fell on deaf ears, as I’d stopped listening hours before.

I wasn’t looking to invest in anything Derrick had going. Ever. I had, to this date, never invested a penny in anything he sold.

As he droned on about the company and the product, he kept drinking and his self-esteem grew. This was typical of my family. They loved themselves more than anything or anyone else. Add a dash of liquid confidence to the mix, and you had a Molotov-cocktail effect.

By the time I helped carry him to the cab, he was ranting about becoming the next Elon Musk or Bill Gates.

I sent him on his way and walked the block and a half back to my own place. I thought about spending the next few days on the island. I had enjoyed a few nights up there since my grandfather had moved back after we’d worked late hashing out details of the changes he had made to his estate.

In the last year, we’d moved all of his assets into a trust, a smart move for someone as old as he was and for someone with so much wealth and property.

The following morning, I woke up at dawn, packed a small bag, and hit the road. I stopped at my favorite coffee place on the way and grabbed a box of apple fritters to munch on during the drive and to share with my grandfather when I arrived.

During the ferry ride, I received a couple of text messages I didn’t respond to and some emails I did answer before turning my phone to do not disturb. I tried to do that whenever I stepped foot on the island.

I wasn’t there to work. I went there to escape.

I parked in front of my grandfather’s garage and noticed that the yard work had been recently done, which must mean it was officially spring.

Seeing the yard pruned and clear of dead leaves reminded me even more of my summer days there.

I remembered lying under a large oak tree, the smell of the salt water, and the sound of the waves lapping the shore, and was transported back to my youth.

I’d really had a great time here each summer. Maybe I’d talked myself out of it because the last days here had been tainted.

Facts were facts. I loved this home. When the time came and grandfather was gone, I was really going to miss coming here.

I was walking from the garage to the back door, which was almost always unlocked and the way I usually entered the house, when I heard a woman’s laughter. The rich sound was followed by one quick happy bark from my grandfather’s newest addition to the household, Dog. Then I heard my grandfather’s laugh and tensed.

Who was with him? He didn’t normally have anyone over.

I followed the sounds down the pathway that led through the tall grass and exited on the beach.

There, near the water’s edge, my grandfather sat in a beach chair under an umbrella. Dog was running around chasing a blonde woman, who was laughing and tugging a rope, trying to get it away from the dog.

The sound of my grandfather’s laughter had me frowning. I couldn’t remember hearing that noise since that last summer. I had talked myself into believing the man didn’t know how to laugh and that any memories I had of the sound had been a dream.

Dog spotted me first. He immediately stopped playing to race across the sand and jump up on me. I’d worn jeans and a T-shirt, so I didn’t mind. I was normally there in a suit and would limit our interaction to pats on the head.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, giving the dog attention.

“There you are, my boy,” grandfather said cheerfully.

I straightened when Dog went back to racing around the sand. Keeping my eyes on the blonde woman, I moved over to stand next to my grandfather.

“Grandfather,” I said. I motioned to the woman, who was standing still, her eyes shielded behind a pair of sunglasses.