"Not to mention screwing the poor bastard's wife," Ty muttered to himself.
But had Manny known that?
North turned onto Gus's village street, and although it wasn't even six o'clock, Cold Ridge was already engulfed in darkness. Gus's house was all lit up because Carine was there-otherwise, her uncle would have just the kitchen light on. Ty pulled into the short driveway, his cell phone ringing, and he just barely made out Val Carrera's voice through the static. "You must have some kind of mother radar, Val. I just saw Eric. He's worried about Manny, but he's okay."
"Is he eating?"
"Not much from the looks of him, but he had his meds with him. He was coughing, but lungs sounded pretty clear. The house parents at his dorm were waiting for him when we got back-"
"Got back from where?"
"Town. We were leaf-collecting."
"I should-never mind."
"I know it's hard, Val, but he'll make it through this thing. We all will."
"What other choice is there?" She was grumbling, worried and out of sorts, but she didn't sound as fragile as she'd been six months ago. "Manny's not talking to you, either, is he?"
Instinctively, despite his own frustration with his friend, North found himself offering a defense. "Manny doesn't have a lot of room to maneuver."
But Val wasn't one to cut anyone, herself included, much slack. "How much maneuvering does it take to dial a goddamn phone? Okay, never mind. That's not why I called. Look-I'm driving myself crazy here with the computer. You don't happen to know his password?"
"Why would I know his password?"
"I don't know. He tells you things he doesn't tell me. I thought if he knew he might be in deep trouble, he'd maybe clue you in on how you could help him if he really got in over his head."
"I don't know how to help him, Val. I wish I did."
"He's hamstrung. He can't do a damn thing except smile at the cops."
If I can't function…I've got computer files…you'll remember.
Hell, North thought. Only Manny. "Try I love Val."
"What?"
"For the password. Manny said something to me yesterday at the hotel. It didn't make sense at the time-"
"What, that he loves me?" she asked in that wry Val tone.
"No, that he felt the need to mention it. Christ, Val, you can be irritating."
He heard her tapping her keyboard. "It didn't work, so there. Wait, let me try-" She gulped in a breath.
"Bingo! I'll be damned, North, that's it! I used a u for love and one v. I'm in. I-l-u-v-a-l."
"Val-"
"I knew you'd know. I wish I'd thought of you ten million failed passwords ago. I'm surprised this thing didn't self-destruct like in Mission Impossible, just start smoking."
"Val, what's on the screen-"
But it was as if her mind was inside the computer. "I'll call you back if I find anything interesting. Watch, it'll just be a spreadsheet of how much he's won in the football pool. He loves those damn spreadsheets."
She clicked off, and Ty could have thrown his phone out the window. He adored Val-everyone did, just like everyone adored Manny. They were straightforward, high energy, fighters. But both of them could drive Ty straight up the wall if he let them.
I love Val.
Why hadn't the big oaf just said it was his goddamn password?
The cop with the PalmPilot, probably. Manny wouldn't want to tip her off. But if he had anything on Louis Sanborn, anything that could help his situation, he needed to be spilling it to the damn police, not making cryptic remarks to a PJ buddy.
Maybe whatever was in the files didn't help his situation.
Or maybe there was nothing in his files, North thought, and he and Val were just grasping at straws, trying to help a friend and husband who may have lost it two days ago and blown a man away. It'd been a rough year for Manny. He shouldn't have retired. He needed a couple more years to get Eric out of school, Val back on her feet and in a new job. Starting his own business-it was a different world for Manny Carrera, unfamiliar territory.
But he hadn't lost it. He hadn't blown Louis San-born-or whoever he was-away in Boston on Wednesday.
Ty rousted Stump out of a hole he was digging in the backyard and joined the Winters in the kitchen, the uncle and the auburn-haired, blue-eyed niece arguing over butternut squash. Bake or boil. Nutmeg or cinnamon. Real butter or the soft stuff made with olive oil. Boiling won out, because there wasn't enough room in the oven with the clay pot.
Carine retreated with Stump to the front room to sit by the fire, and Ty wondered if he looked as agitated and frustrated as he was, as ready to get into his truck and charge down to Boston.
"You were afraid you'd die on her this year." Gus's quiet words caught him off guard. "You knew what kind of missions you had coming up. She'd just had that business with those assholes shooting at her. What happened to her parents up on the ridge is a part of her- you see that. You let it spook you."
Ty sat at the table; the small kitchen was steamed up, smelling of chicken and baking onions. "Gus, you're off base. I can't do my job if I'm worried about dying. But I'm not going there with you."
"You're not getting my point. You can't do your job if you know she's back home worried about you dying." Gus glanced up from his cutting board. "That's the devil, isn't it?"
Ty watched him dump the deep orange squash into a pan of water on the stove. The man had done combat in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. An infantryman. A kid plucked out of the mountains of northern New England and sent off to fight a war he didn't understand. He'd probably thought about his family back home worrying about him.
But it didn't matter-Ty's relationship with Carine was for them to sort out. "You know you could make soup out of that squash?"
Gus returned to his cutting board for another chunk of squash. "Butternut squash soup is a favorite at the local inns. They put a little apple in it, sometimes a little curry."
"I'd rather have apple than curry, wouldn't you?"
"North…I was out of line." Gus sighed, his paring knife in his hand as he brushed his wrist across his brittle gray hair. "You and Carine-what's between you two is your business."
Ty grinned. "What have I been saying, huh?"
Gus pointed his knife at him. "You're going to live to be an old man, North, just to torment the rest of us."
"And you're going to kill yourself with your own cooking." Ty was on his feet, frowning at the stove. "What the hell's that in the frying pan?"
"Braised Brussels sprouts with olive oil and a little parmesan."
"Jesus. I think I've got an extra MRE out in the truck."
Gus threw him out of the kitchen, and Ty joined Carine in front of the fire. He sat on the couch, and she sat on the floor with her back against his knees, comfortable with him, he thought-and for a moment, it was almost as if he'd never knocked on her cabin door and canceled their wedding.
Eighteen
Carine climbed onto her favorite rock on the lower ridge trail and looked out at the valley and mountains, the view that had captivated her since she was a little girl. It was midmorning, the trees, even the evergreens, almost navy blue against the bleak gray sky. If only she could stand here and let her worries and questions float out on a breeze, dissipate into the wilderness.
She remembered Gus taking her and her brother and sister onto the ridge after their parents died. She'd dreamed about that day for years. She spotted an eagle and swore she saw her mum and dad flying with it in the clear summer sky. The image had been so vivid, so absolutely real to her.
But, so had her dreams, her images, of her life with Ty. So vivid, so real.
She half walked, half slid down the curving granite, rejoining him on the narrow, difficult trail. They'd gone far enough. Neither had the attention span for a long hike. They'd loaded up a day pack after breakfast and set out, crossing the meadow, climbing over a stone wall, then walking up a well-worn path to the trailhead. The dirt access road was quiet, the parking lot empty, not atypical of November. It was Saturday, but still early.