Page 82 of Wicching Hour

I flung it over the table and Bracken caught the far end, pulling it taut. The deep grooves from being folded for so long disappeared as he ran his hand along the cloth.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s lovely. Your mother clearly had you in mind when she chose this. If she were to buy one for herself, I imagine she’d lean more toward classic white or perhaps ecru.”

I laughed. “You’re very perceptive. I believe she does own multiple tablecloths in a variety of light neutrals.” I looked more closely at the fabric and my stomach dropped. I walked around to Bracken’s end, marveling that she’d done this for me. Pointing at it, I said, “I painted her a watercolor for her birthday years ago. It was the view of the ocean from her front window.” I tapped the fabric. “She had my painting turned into a tablecloth.” My throat tightened. Why was everything hitting me so hard today?

Declan wrapped an arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “She gave you a little bit of herself and little bit of your childhood to take into your new home.”

I looked up at him. “I’m such an asshole. I never opened it. I just thought, what am I going to do with a tablecloth, and put it in the cupboard.”

“Stop it,” he said. “You’re not an asshole. You just hadn’t had a need for it before. You should take a pic and send it to her, so she knows that you know.”

I pulled out a chair, put a leg up, and started to climb up when Declan caught me around the middle and pulled me down. “You’re too tired and I don’t want you falling. Hand me your phone. I’ll take it for you.”

I started to argue and then realized he would get a better shot than me, as he’s much taller, so I opened my phone and handed it over. He stepped up, took the pic, and passed it back.

“Thank you.” I tapped on the pic and then caught a strange look pass between Bracken and Declan. “What?”

“What what?” Declan asked

I pointed between the two of them. “Why are you two acting weird?”

“I’ve been weird all my life, I’m afraid,” Bracken said, walking around the table. “There isn’t much I can do about it now.” He patted my shoulder as he went past.

“I didn’t mean it that way. You two were just—Oh, Declan, were you able to make those copies for me?”

Nodding, he went into his front pocket. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ve been carrying these around for a couple of days.” He held up three keys to my back door.

I took them from him and then handed one back. “Put that on your key ring.” I held out the second to Bracken. “I want you to be able to come in any time you want. You shouldn’t have to wait for me on the deck.”

He stared at it for a long moment. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. My home is your home.” I held it up higher. “Please.”

He took it from my hand like it was a priceless relic and then slipped it into his pocket.

“This one,” Declan said to Bracken while pointing at me, “is feeling off today, so it’s time for an ocean swim.”

I put my phone, key, and backpack on the table. After toeing off my sneakers, I slid off my gloves and walked out, passing Jake and Tyler. “Any cameras?”

“Not that we found,” Jake said.

I blew out a breath of relief and was therefore blindsided by what Tyler said next.

“We did, however, find a listening device in the ice plant over there.” Tyler pointed to the side of the gallery, near where the camera had been. He was holding an electronic device with the bottom hem of his t-shirt.

“What? He’s been listening to us?” My skin crawled and my stomach twisted. “He’s been—he heard all about you two this morning? My reading for the police. When…” He listened to me and my dad talking about him. I’d had precious few conversations with my father after a lifetime of wondering about him, and this asshole was listening in and taking notes? My stomach flipped again. I ran through the studio and into the bathroom, lifting the toilet seat just in time.

He'd had me under a microscope to review and dissect. He’d heard everything Declan and I said to each other, my talks with the raccoon babies, with Cecil and Wilbur… I was so busy freaking out, I didn’t realize that Declan had followed, that he was holding my hair and now pressing a wet washcloth to my forehead.

Empty, I took the cloth, wiped my face, and thumped back, my butt on the tile floor, feeling lost.

Declan crouched down and pushed my hair back. “Can you find him?”

“What?”

“Can you touch the recorder and find him,” he growled. “Let me do the rest.”

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