Page 27 of All Along The Watchtower

And that was very dangerous thinking.

Restless and nervy, I ate more ice cream, shoveling in another spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough, as if the sugar rush might drown out the unwelcome thoughts taking over my brain.

Keeley bounced to her feet moments before my back door opened and Pop strode in. He took one look at the ice cream in my hand and harrumphed. “Good thing I brought dinner.” He set a takeout bag on the kitchen table and bent to scratch a wagging Keeley, who’d immediately abandoned me in favor of her second-favorite human. “Can’t have you living on dessert alone.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were playing poker with the Gray Beards tonight.” I tried not to sound defensive, but Pop had an uncanny way of showing up when I was most unsettled.

“Thought you might want to talk.” He gave me that knowing look that always made me feel about eight years old again.

“What on earth gave you that delusion?” I jabbed my spoon back into the carton, avoiding his eyes.

He just arched one bushy eyebrow with the same unimpressed look I’d gotten from my dog. “You really gonna tell me there’s nothing to talk about when you were seen with Ford earlier today? After not giving him the time of day for ten years?” His tone held that mix of concern and judgment that only a parent—and let’s be honest, grandfather or not, he was the only one I’d ever really had—could master.

“Nothing I want to talk about.” I stabbed my spoon deeper into the melting ice cream.

He ignored my annoyance and crossed to pull plates out of the cabinet, the clink of ceramic against ceramic filling thesilence between us. “I’m not trying to dig into your business.” The gentleness in his voice made it worse somehow.

“Really? What do you call it?” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice, knowing I was being unfair but unable to stop myself.

“I’m just asking what changed.” He waited me out like he always did.

“His daughter showed up at the Brewhouse.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, stirring up memories I’d rather leave buried.

The plates rattled as he set them on the counter. My grandfather had been around. He’d seen and heard a lot in his lifetime. Everything from bar brawls to hurricane evacuations to tourist shenanigans. It took a hell of a lot to surprise him, but at my words, those grizzled caterpillar eyebrows hit his hairline.

“Daughter?” The word came out as more of a croak, and I couldn’t blame him. This was exactly the kind of bombshell that made small-town tongues wag.

With a weary sigh, I snatched the plates and moved to the table, needing something to do with my hands. As we spooned out kung pow chicken and beef with broccoli, letting the fragrant steam curl between us, I gave him the overview of what had happened. Better he hear the real version from me instead of the island grapevine. That would be circulating soon enough. Probably already was.

“No wonder you latched onto the girl. She’s like an older version of you.”

I bit into an egg roll and jerked one shoulder in a shrug, the crispy wrapper crunching between my teeth. “I feel for the kid.” The words came out more defensive than I’d intended.

“So you protected her until Ford could get back. And you called him yourself rather than pawn it off on someone else.”

I bristled, dropping the rest of my egg roll onto the plate. “Peyton deserved that. She deserved to know someone gave a damn about doing right by her.”

“Not saying you were wrong. It was the kind thing to do.”

That edged too close to acknowledging my own history, and my shoulders hunched up toward my ears. “I can pay it forward. That’s all it was.”

Pop reached out to lay one gnarled hand over mine, his skin weathered from decades of working on the water. “Baby girl, you never owed me a damned thing.”

I owed him everything. But that was an old argument I didn’t want to rehash right now. Not when the wounds of the past felt so raw and exposed.

“What’s she like?”

“She’s at that age where she’s both really mature and so very young. She’s tall, like Ford, so she can get away with people thinking she’s older than she is. When I think of all the things that could have happened to her on her way here from Oregon? Christ, it still makes me want to put my head between my knees.” I shuddered, thinking of all the true crime podcasts I’d listened to over the years.

“Sounds like she’s resourceful.”

“Yeah. And scared. She ran away and made it all the way from the West Coast to here in search of a man she didn’t even know, rather than stay put. That takes a lot of guts and desperation.”

Pop sobered, his weathered face creasing with concern. “You think she was in a bad situation with the foster care?”

“I talked to her about it a little. She didn’t show any of the expected signs of abuse, but you and I both know that can be hidden. Whatever she came from, she’ll be safe here. Ford and his moms will see to it.”

“Reckon that means he’s moving home. If not immediately, then as soon as he can manage.”

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