Free Accidental Happiness by Jean Reynolds Page Page B

there, at the hospital, when she got the update on her daughter.
    “We need to watch out for infection, but other than that, she shouldn’t have any trouble. She’ll need some physical therapy to get her shoulder muscles up to speed again once it heals.”
    She wasn’t kidding about the blood. I’d done the best I could with my cockpit, but even as I glanced around, I could see streaks of red that I’d missed when I’d gone to work with sponges and towels after getting home.
    “I know it’s been a bitch for you too,” Reese said. “Did the police give you a hard time?”
    “No.” I shook my head. “They talked to me at the hospital, said they’d file a report, but since both of us agreed it was an accident, there won’t be any more to it. The gun is registered, so that’s not a problem.”
    “And we were intruders,” she added, saying what we both knew but I wouldn’t have voiced.
    We sat high on the Stern Perches. Reese’s heel tapped with nervous energy as she nursed a margarita from the batch I’d made below. I drank with more enthusiasm. The melting ice diluted the bite of the lime.
    “I don’t blame you for any of this,” Reese said.
    Generous of her, I thought, but didn’t say. I did blame her, the intrusion into my life. But didn’t say that either. She seemed sincere enough, but I didn’t trust it. There were shadows trailing all of her words, meanings and intentions that were obvious but not clear. After our lunch-time bonding, my suspicious nature had taken hold again.
    “Yeah, well you couldn’t have known I was here either.” I tried to be charitable. “It was just bad luck.”
    Just one big lovefest. I didn’t mention that people, even former wives, had no right sneaking around on private property in the first place. We’d come to a decent place with each other. No need to get defensive.
    “Why are you living here anyway?” she asked. “Do you still have the house?”
    If her motives ran beyond curiosity, she didn’t show it.
    “I sold it. It was too hard being there without him.”
    I wondered if she had designs on money or property. Ben’s will had been standard, no frills. A young man’s document that seemed little more than a formality to us at the time.
    I looked over at Reese. The pause in conversation, the loose tequila mood, made the moment ripe for inquiry. Trouble was, I didn’t know where to start.
    “Listen, you up for some questions?” I asked.
    “Shoot.” She sipped from her glass, kept a cautious look about her.
    “Why
were
you two coming on the boat, Reese?” I decided to begin with the simplest one for her to answer.
    She sighed, looked as if she needed a minute to think. She touched the edge of her glass with the tip of her tongue, closed her eyes, seemed to savor the salt crystals, elevating them somehow with her response. Then she looked over at Angel, rubbed her fingers together in anxious repetition, which I took to mean she could use a cigarette. I wondered if she’d even heard me; but when she spoke, something about her seemed defeated, as if everything had become pointless.
    “We drove into town late,” she said. “It’s the high season and I didn’t think our chances of finding a room that we could afford were so great to begin with. And, to be honest . . .” She turned her eyes to me. “Money’s a little scarce at the moment. I knew the boat was here, figured the padlock combination was probably the same one Ben used for the whole time I knew him . . . Gina, I just thought it’d be a safe place for us to sleep for the night, that’s all.”
    A safe place. I looked for irony in her expression, but only saw fatigue. She couldn’t have slept much the night before. I felt bad pressing forward, but I’d waited long enough.
    “That doesn’t answer any of my real questions. Why are you back in town? What did you bring Angel here for?”
    I saw Lane coming down the path to the dock. As she neared us she must have sensed a serious