Page 7 of Breaking Through

My heart stuttered. "You know him?"

"The park ranger? Of course. Everyone knows Wade." Grandpa handed the photo back, his fingers brushing mine with familiar warmth.

"He keeps to himself mostly, but he's done wonders for the state park. Helped design that new trail system that's easier for older folks to navigate. He also had them buy a specialized wheelchair to take into the woods. It has treads like a tank.Though I don't think I've ever seen him smile. Not since he came here, anyway."

"Actually," I said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, "Parker was pretty excited today. He's planning this whole series about hidden places around Blue Harbor. You know how he gets when he has a new idea."

"Oh lord," Maria chuckled from the stove. "Like a dog with a bone?"

"Worse. He had three laptops going at once and about fifty sticky notes everywhere. He wants me to photograph all these secret spots most tourists never find." I smiled, remembering Parker's enthusiastic gestures. " He mentioned the hidden cave behind Miller's Point, the old lighthouse keeper's garden that's all overgrown now, and the storm shelter at Michigami State Park that some local artist covered in murals back in the seventies..."

Grandpa's eyes lit up. "The storm shelter? I haven't thought about those murals in years. Your grandmother helped restore them; it must have been 1978 or so. She always said that the artist captured the soul of Lake Michigan better than any photograph could."

"Really?" I leaned forward. "Parker didn't mention that part."

"Oh yes. Beautiful work. It's a bunch of scenes of the lake in different moods. Storms and sunrises, winter ice, and summer sailing." He paused, taking a careful sip of water. "Though I suppose they might be pretty faded now. Nobody's maintained them since... well, it's been a while."

"That's what Parker wants to document—these pieces of Blue Harbor history in danger of disappearing completely." I pulled out my phone to make a note about Gran's connection to the murals. "Though I'll need permission from the park service to photograph inside the shelter."

"Ah," Grandpa's eyes twinkled. "So you'll need to talk to Wade Forrester after all."

I dropped my phone onto the table with a clatter. Maria didn't even try to hide her laugh.

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" Heat rose in my cheeks again.

"Match, you always did have a gift for finding magic in unexpected places." Grandpa reached over to pat my hand. "Just like your grandmother. She used to say the best stories are the ones that sneak up on you when you're busy looking for something else."

Maria joined us at the table, bringing the scent of herbs with her. The wooden chair creaked as she sat. "Wade Forrester? Sarah mentioned him when she called. Said something about a morning swim?" Her eyes danced with amusement.

"What? You knew?"

"Small towns, honey. News travels faster than light around here."

"Einstein would be fascinated," I deadpanned. "Forget relativity—he should have studied the Blue Harbor gossip network. Sarah probably knew about my lake encounter before it even happened."

Grandpa smirked. "Don't be ridiculous. She knew about it yesterday when Mrs. Peterson's second cousin's neighbor's dog walker spotted Wade heading toward the lake."

"That's... oddly specific."

"Welcome to small-town living. It's where everyone knows your business before you do."

I groaned, letting my head fall into my hands. "Is there anyone in Blue Harbor who doesn't know about this morning?"

"Probably not," Grandpa chuckled, then winced as he shifted in his chair. The sound turned into a cough that he tried to stifle. I pretended not to notice, but my stomach clenched.

"You should rest," I said, standing to help him up. "The doctor said—"

"The doctor says a lot of things." But he accepted my help without further protest, which worried me more than if he'd argued. "I suppose I could use a nap before dinner."

I supported him back to his chair in the living room, trying to memorize his weight against my side. He settled in with a soft grunt, and I adjusted the blanket—one of Gran's quilts—over his legs.

"Holden," he said as I turned to leave. "About Wade..."

I paused. "Yes?"

"He's been through a lot, more than most people know. That fire in Chicago—" He stopped himself. "Just... be gentle with him if your paths cross again. Some people are like your grandmother's puppets—they need careful handling to return to life."

I thought about those storm-gray eyes and the scars I'd glimpsed on his skin. "I will."

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