Page 49 of All Along The Watchtower

CHAPTER 23

FORD

My tires bumped down the ramp from the ferry and onto the island. Home for real this time. No more counting down until I had to deploy again. The ferry’s horn blasted, signaling to those waiting that boarding for the next crossing to the mainland was about to begin. The sound of my childhood. Now the sound of my future. Some version of it, anyway. My naval career wasn’t over, but shifting to the Reserves meant I could put down real roots here. Build a life with my daughter.

My daughter. The words still felt surreal. Every time I looked at Peyton, I saw pieces of myself, pieces of my mom. Thirteen years of her life I’d missed. First steps. First words. First day of school. All those moments I should have been there for.

Casey should have told me.

The anger that bubbled up whenever I thought about it wasn’t productive. She was gone now, and Peyton needed me to focus on the present, on being the best father I could be. On not fucking this up.

I turned onto the main road toward the village, weaving my way toward the Brewhouse. My palms were damp on the steering wheel. I’d only gotten a handful of texts from them while I’d been gone. Mostly reports from Bree that she’d pickedPeyton up or dropped her off at school, but also one picture of Peyton passed out snuggling with Keeley. Damn it, I really was going to have to get her a dog.

The wall between Bree and me still felt impenetrable, but I thought maybe we were down a few bricks. She’d been amazing with my kid, helping to give Peyton stability when everything in her world had been turned upside down. Bree hadn’t been obligated to do that. It was just further proof of the soft, squishy heart she hid beneath that naturally prickly exterior.

Would there ever be a time when she’d let me back into that heart? Before Peyton, I’d have said absolutely not. But now? I didn’t know. I wouldn’t plan some kind of formal offensive to breach those walls of hers, but maybe sheer exposure would wear her down. I so desperately wanted the chance to prove to her that, if she ever let me in again, I’d be more careful with her. But that was a problem for another day.

The Brewhouse’s parking lot came into view, already filling up with the dinner crowd. Time to collect my kid and figure out how to do this whole dad thing right.

My phone rang as I pulled into a space. The number for the shipping company I’d hired to pack up and transport all of Peyton and Casey’s things that had been in storage flashed across the screen.

“Mr. Donoghue? This is Mark with Cross Country Moving.”

“Hey Mark. Tell me you’ve got an estimated delivery date for my daughter’s things.”

The heavy pause that stretched across the line told me that wasn’t why he was calling. I tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. The container was stolen from our facility last night.”

The words didn’t immediately process. “What do you mean, stolen? How does someone steal an entire shipping container?”I supposed it wasn’t an entire shipping container. This company specialized in those smaller pod-type containers. I imagined that several could be moved on one eighteen-wheeler load.

Another pause. “Well, they took the entire truck. Yours was only one of the units lost. Security cameras outside the truck stop show someone breaking into the truck and probably hot-wiring it while the driver was inside. The police are investigating.”

I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel. All of Peyton’s childhood memories. Her mom’s things. Everything she had left of her old life, gone.

“What are the chances of recovery?”

“These thefts are rare, but when they do happen, we often recover at least some of the contents. The thieves usually dump what they don’t want. I’ve already filed the insurance claim and notified local law enforcement.”

“Keep me updated. The second you hear anything.”

I ended the call and sat there, trying to process. Peyton had been talking non-stop about getting her stuff back. Her favorite blanket. The photo albums. Her mom’s jewelry. How was I supposed to tell her this?

As I stepped inside, the scent of hops and fried food wrapped around me like a welcome home hug. The dinner crowd buzzed with conversation, but my eyes went straight to the corner booth where Peyton sat with Ed Cartwright.

My kid leaned forward, elbows on the worn wooden table, completely absorbed in whatever Ed was saying. A weathered looking map lay spread between them, Ed’s gnarled finger tracing what looked like a route along the coast.

She looked happy. Settled, even. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy that right now. Not until we knew more about whether anything could be recovered.

I’d wait. Just a little while. Just until we had more information. God, I hoped I wasn’t making another massive mistake.

“… and that’s where they say Blackbeard lost his head.” Ed’s gravelly voice carried across the bar. “’Course, plenty of folks claim to know where his treasure ended up.”

“But nobody’s ever found it?” Peyton’s eyes were wide.

“Oh, pieces have turned up here and there. But the real treasure?” Ed tapped the map. “That’s still out there somewhere, waiting to be found.”

I couldn’t help grinning. Ed had told me those same stories when I was a kid. The way his eyes lit up hadn’t changed a bit. “Still telling tall tales?”

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