Page 29 of Hush Money

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LUCIEN

“It’s over there,” Tamsyn tells me the following morning, gesturing to a grave with a small, flat marker about thirty feet away under a couple of mature trees. “There he is.”

“Great spot.” I try not to sound too surprised, but I am. When she mentioned this whole Brooklyn cemetery field trip, I pictured something wedged into a city block between, I don’t know, a check-cashing place and a dry cleaner. Which just goes to show that I’m an idiot. My elitist upbringing didn’t allow me to think that there could be this fantastic and beautifully landscaped park with rolling hills and stately gravestones right in the heart of Brooklyn’s buzzing hive of activity, but here it is, easily accessible. We parked the car and enjoyed a leisurely stroll to the plot. On a beautiful day like this, this is the kind of spot where I’d love to jog. But now that we’ve arrived for the solemn purpose of the trip, I don’t feel ready. I feel nervous about the whole thing, to be honest. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” she says, glancing around and holding the bouquet of bright blue hydrangeas that we grabbed from a local street vendor on the way in the crook of her arm. “I should come more often.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“True,” she says, continuing toward the grave. But when she realizes that I’m still right beside her, she stops again and ducks her head. Tucks her hair behind her ear and clears her throat. “I usually like to, ah, talk to him. I thought maybe you could, ah, give me a minute? Maybe sit on the bench right here?”

Wait, what? She talks to him?

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Let’s just say that I’m not the kind of guy that believes in talking to inanimate objects. Nor do I believe that Big Ralph is lingering around his gravesite in any way, shape or form, much less lingering and waiting for periodic earthly communiques. Still, if this is what Tamsyn needs, I’m all for it. “Shout if you need me.”

Nodding, she sets off again. I sit and hunch over my phone, but it’s only a token attempt at giving her some privacy. Luckily, she’s so absorbed in the moment that she doesn’t give me a second glance. So I watch as she calls out a cheery “Hi, Dad,” brushes away some dry leaves before sitting cross-legged and placing the flowers on the grave, then chatters away, as animated as I’ve ever seen her.

Watching her gives me a heavy pang of something in the dead center of my chest.

I wonder if she’s telling him about our chance meeting at LaGuardia and all our adventures since. Is she telling him about the Mediterranean cities we visited and all the delicious food we ate? The fancy cars we’ve driven? Maybe she’s mentioning Mrs. Hooper and her little Yorkie, and the way Tamsyn cared for her while putting up with her charming but snobby attitude.

Whatever the topic of conversation is, it makes her laugh and smile. A lot.

I’d give my fortune to know if she’s telling her father about me and what she thinks his reaction would be. If I were ever lucky enough to have a daughter, God knows I’d tell her to stay the fuck away from a guy like me and his domestic mess.

Still, Tamsyn seems happy, and that’s enough for me. Until the mood changes. Her smile slowly fades. Her chin wobbles. She ducks her head and wipes her eyes. I tense, ready to leap into action, but determined to give her a minute. I’ve got broad shoulders and two good ears for listening. I’ve got a handkerchief. Whatever she needs, I’m here. I’m waiting. I’m ready.

But she quickly pulls her own tissue out of her pocket and uses it to wipe her face. Another smile appears, a little watery, but still valid. Her one-sided conversation continues.

Leaving me to sit there in my waiting silence, wondering when it was that her smiles and tears took over my emotional state. Why is it that even a hint of her pain carves a groove through my gut? I’m in love with her, yeah, but this is bullshit.

It’s also nothing like anything I ever felt for Ravenna. I never felt this rabid protectiveness for her. Wild highs and lows, yeah, but never this. If I could find, I don’t know, a shaman or someone to resurrect Big Ralph, I would. Hell, maybe I should think about funding a foundation for research into the afterlife. Maybe that would cheer Tamsyn up.

I know I’m being ridiculous. Part of me does, anyway. But the sentiment is real. Made worse by the fact that I’m a rich and powerful man used to getting a good chunk of what he wants out of life. Funny how all I want has whittled down to seeing a smile on someone else’s face all the time.

It’s the weirdest thing. I’m sitting on a comfortable bench in a beautiful cemetery on a breezy summer day, but I can’t work through the knot of frustration in my gut. I know it’s not rational. What did I think I was going to do? Take my self-importance and my fortune and somehow resurrect her father so that I don’t have to feel sad about the sadness in her face? Ridiculous, right? But as I sit there watching her, I feel like a medieval knight with nowhere to go. I’m saddled up on my trusty horse with my shiny armor, sword, spear, dagger and all the other implements of warfare. I’ve got the energy. The desire. The only thing I’m missing is a declared enemy to protect her from. I suppose I could shake my fist at God or curse death. But I doubt it would do any good.

There is one good thing about this unexpected field trip. I’ve got a new mantra when it comes to Tamsyn. It used to be don’t let her go. And now? Protect her. I’d prefer not to have any mantra running through my brain, but I suppose a new one is a refreshing change. And there’s nothing I can do about it, anyway.

Protect her. Protect her. Protect her.

“Hey.” Tamsyn’s feet come into view, startling me out of my thoughts. I’m pleased to see that she’s wearing one of the pairs of Chuck Taylors that I bought for her. The hot-pink ones. I don’t know why I didn’t notice before. I hastily straighten and focus on trying to look a lot less batshit crazy than I feel. “Are you okay?” she asks.

The irony of her being worried about me is not lost on me, folks. She’s pure of heart. I think I knew it from the second I laid eyes on her. And I know it more and more with each passing day. That’s why I’m so determined not to let her go. In this whole world of billions of people, I’ll never find another Tamsyn Scott, and I know it.

“Of course I’m okay.” My gruff voice is giving me away, so I clear my throat. “The question is, are you okay?”

She studies me hard for a beat or two. Let’s just say that she looks sub-convinced. But she’s gotten good at recognizing my brick walls when I throw them up in her face, so she sits and brushes some of the honeyed strands of hair out of her face when the breeze kicks up. “I’m good.”

“You sure? I thought I saw a tear or two.”

“Yeah, but I always get a little teary when I come here. Last time it was buckets. So that’s progress, right?”

She’s so sunny with her bright brown eyes. So relentlessly upbeat. Can anyone realistically blame me for needing to tap into her energy here and there? I don’t think so. So I reach for either side of her head and pull her in for a lingering forehead kiss.

She melts, letting out a serrated sigh. “Now I’m really good.”

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