Free In Her Shadow by August McLaughlin Page B

her in a way Claire has never seen. He sits hunched over, seeming smaller, older than he did minutes before.
    She edges to his side of the boat, kneels down before him and encircles him with her arms. Though she senses much more to the story, she knows it’s not the time. For the moment she just wants her grandpa to be okay.
    “It’s all right, Grandpa, everything’s fine. I’m fine. No mental problems, I promise.” But even if she had such problems, would he react like this? What wasn’t he saying?
    She rocks him gently in her arms and can feel the weight of him, both physical and emotional. He leans on her for support, his body heavy like the burden he’s been carrying. She rubs his back lightly and feels her heart breaking in sad harmony with his sobs.
    Like the waves that follow the boat, his crying wanes. He soon breathes normally, looking more like himself again.
    “You could’ve told me, Gramps. It must have been horrible to keep this to yourself all these years.”
    And whatever else he’s hiding. Dr. Marsha was right; they’d both been bottling things up. At least she wasn’t keeping any secrets—nothing major, anyway.
    “The longer I kept quiet, the harder it was to say anything. Figured you’d get mad. Call me crazy, I guess I just didn’t wanna lose you.”
    Or did he fear that telling Claire would open up the possibility that she’d have similar problems? What if she already does? Chills coat her arms. “You won’t lose me.” She holds him tighter. “Not ever.”
    He takes a few calming breaths then looks up at her. “Damn straight, cuz I’d find you, you know.”
    The typical Grandpa Gil statement appeases her. The tension has definitely cooled.
    “So was that it? Nothing else I should know?”
    “There’s nothin’ more you should worry about, Claire-belle. Nothin’ more.”
    They drift for another hour. No more words are exchanged, no hooks baited. Even Zola stays silent in deference to the mood. They are three fishless fishermen, drifting in a lake of thoughts and candor.
    As the sky leans from afternoon toward dusk Grandpa revs the engine and heads for shore. They drive home in the same silence, but before they reach the house they stop at Frankie’s Fish Mart for a variety of fresh catches.
    “Make it look like we caught somethin,’” Grandpa tells Claire with a wink.
    They definitely left the lake with something .
     

Chapter Eighteen
     
    He spots Dr. Thorpe down the alleyway in the deserted warehouse district—on time, as expected. Malleable like clay, these young doctors are. And greedy. Hungry for money.
    As they draw closer to each other, he senses anxiety beneath Thorpe’s confident façade. Like frosting on an already decadent cake.
    “Angus?” Thorpe says.
    He nearly laughs. The young doc has no clue as to the foreshadowing lurking in his chosen alias. “That’s me. Do you have the materials?”
    Thorpe shows him the folder. As he reaches for it, the twerp snatches it away.
    “Payment first,” Thorpe says. “I need to see it.”
    He opens the envelope, fans the bills out to show that the thick wad consists of hundreds. Once Thorpe hands the materials over, he shines his flashlight on the charts and studies them for a couple of minutes —perfect. Her bones, her form...he can almost smell her .
    “Well done. Everything I need. Any trouble accessing them?”
    “None at all. Everything but my additions were in the system.”
    “So you had no...assistance.”
    “I’m a physician. Why would I need assistance?”
    God complex. He has no idea... “Did you call her with the results?”
    “Not yet, I figured I’d—”
    “Do it now.” He prompts himself to take the edge from his voice. He needs to maintain his cooperation for a few more minutes. “I want to make sure you get it right, as I’m certain you will.” Being a doctor and all. “Assure her, then forget her. That’s the plan, right? If all goes well, we may do business again in the