It was the one lesson his relationship with his father had taught him.

Would he have loved having a male figure he could look up to, make proud, feel respected by? Hell, yeah. Would it have been awesome to not grow up in a house where the sound of loafers on marble flooring or the whiff of cigarette smoke didnt make him run for cover? Duh. Could he have used some fatherly advice, especially at a time like this?

Yeah. He really could have.

{ 387 }.

That wasnt the way things had worked out for him, however" and he had had to get used to it or go insane negotiating with a failure he was never going to be able to change or improve.

By the same token, if Lizzie King truly believed there was even a possibility, however slight, that he could have taken his hand to a woman like that? That he could have lied to her face about Chantal? That whatever baby the woman was carrying was actually his? Then there was no hope for the two of them. No matter what he said to her or how he tried to explain things . . . she didnt really know him, and more to the point, she didnt really trust him.

The fact that it was all bullshit? The fact that Chantal had cheated him, once again, of the woman he loved?

Tough breaks.

Whaaa- whaaaa- whaaaa.

Go ask Santa for a new father. Get the tooth fairy to bring you a new ex- wife.

Whatever.

Leaving Easterly in the dust, he hopped on the highway and doubled the speed limit on his way to the Charlemont International Airport" not because he was in a hurry or going to be late, but because, what the hell.

The car could handle it" and at the moment, he actually was sober at the controls.

The entrance for private arrivals and departures was the first exit off the concourse that circled the enormous facility, and he shot onto a narrow lane that led to a separate terminal. Parking right in front of the double doors, he got out, leaving the engine on.

Jeff Stern was just walking into the luxurious space, and even though it had been mere days, it seemed like a century since Lane had played that poker game and become annoyed by that bimbo" and got- ten to his feet to go answer his phone.

Unsurprisingly, his old roommate was dressed like the Wall Street man he was, with his structural glasses, and his dark suit, and his crisp white shirt. He even had a red power tie on.

You could have worn shorts, Lane said as they clapped hands.

{ 388 }.

Im coming from the office, asshole.

That accent, at once foreign and familiar, was exactly what he needed to hear right now.

God, you look like hell, Jeff said as his luggage arrived on a cart.

Family life clearly doesnt agree with you.

Not mine at any rate. Tell me, is your plane still here?

Not for long. Its refueling. Why? When Lane just looked out at the runways, his friend cursed. No. No, no, no, you did not drag me down here south of the Mason- Dixon just to cry wolf and want to go back to Manhattan. Seriously, Lane.

For a moment, Lane stood with one foot on each side of the divide: Stay, just to screw his father to the wall on multiple levels; leave, because he was sick and tired of the bullshit.

Guess he and Lizzie had something in common after all.

They both wanted away from him.

Lane?

Lets go, he said, tipping the redcap and picking up his old room- mates two leather suitcases. When was the last time you were at Easterly?

Derby, a million years ago.

Nothing has changed.

Outside, he popped the hood of the Porsche and put the luggage in; then he and Jeff were off, speeding around the airport, shooting out onto the highway.

So, am I going to meet this woman of yours, Baldwine?

Probably not. Shes quitting.

Well, that de- escalated quickly. Im very sorry.

Dont pretend you havent seen the news.

Yeah, its everywhere. I think you are personally responsible for resurrecting the printed newspaper. Congratulations.

Lane cursed and sped around a semi. Not an award I was looking for, I assure you.

Wait, quitting? You mean she works for your family? Is this a Sa- brina thing, old man?

{ 389 }.

Lizzies the head horticulturist at the estate. Or was.

Not just the gardener, huh. Makes sense. You hate stupid women.

Lane glanced over. No offense, but can we talk about something else? Like maybe how my family is losing all its money? I need to be cheered up.

Jeff shook his head. You, my friend, lead one hell of a life.

You want to trade? Because right now, Im looking for a way out of all of it.

{ 390 }.

FORT Y- SIX.

T hat night, Lizzie arrived home to no tree in her front yard.

Getting out of her farm truck, she looked around. The Yaris was still where it had been crunched, the mangled little car with its busted- out windows and its soaked and leaf- riddled interior looking like something out of a video game. But the limb was gone, nothing but fresh, sweet- smelling sawdust sprinkling the ground in its place.

Dont you dare, Lane, she thought.

Dont you fricking dare try to take care of me now.

She glanced up high and saw that the ragged wound from where the tree had split had been cut with care and sealed up so that it would heal and the magnificent maple would survive the damage.

Damn you.

At least hed left the car where it was. If hed taken that, too, she would have had to contact him to find out where to reclaim the body, so to speak.

She should have known better than to assume it was over between them.

Marching up to her front porch, she talked at him the entire way"

{ 391 }.

Lizzie stopped with her foot on the first step. On her screen door, a note had been taped to the wooden frame.

Great. Now what. Some kind of, Now that cooler heads prevail, blah, blah, blah.

He was a sick man.

And she was doing the right thing leaving. As much as it was going to kill her to go, she had to get away from him, from Easterly, from this bizarre stretch of her life that could be described only as a bad dream.

Forcing herself into gear, she went up and tore the paper off the door. She wanted to throw the thing out, but some sick, pick- at- the- wound impulse made that impossible. Opening the note up, she"

Howdy, neigbor. Cows out n all over yur yard. Ruined beds out back. No good with flowers so took care of yur tree. The wife made you a pie. Left on yur counter.

" Buella n Ross Exhaling, she felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, and instead of continuing into the house, she went across and sat down on her porch swing. Kicking the floorboards with her foot, she listened to the crickets and the creak of the steel chains that were bolted into the ceiling above her head. She felt the soft, warm breeze on her face and watched the waning sunlight thicken into a peach wash that created long shadows across the good earth.

She needed to plant her porch pots"

No, she really didnt.

Hey, at least she had good dessert tonight" Buella made pie that was out of this world. Maybe it would be peach. Or . . . blueberry.

Lizzie found herself wiping her eyes and staring at the tears on her fingertips.

It was a horrible thing to have to save herself by leaving all this"

rather like, she supposed, having to cut off a diseased limb.

Shed been doing so well, she thought.

{ 392 }.

And then Lane just had to come back down here and ruin everything.

T hats as much as Edward took out of there, Lane said as he paced around the guest room Jeff had been given.

It was the best of the suites, looking out over the back garden and the river, and it also had a desk big enough to qualify as a kitchen counter. In fact, back a million years ago, the set of rooms had been his grandfathers private quarters, and after the mans death, nothing had been touched except for regular cleanings.

Jeffs comment when hed walked in had been stereotypically dry.

Something about whether the Civil War had been commanded out of the space.

Predictably, though, the second the guy had accessed the financial data, the smartass qualifiers had dried up and the man had become all business.

Anyway, its almost time for dinner. Lane looked at his watch. We dress here. Well, everyone except for me. So your suit should be fine.

Bring me something up here, Jeff muttered as he yanked off his tie, his eyes never leaving his computer screen. And I need some legal pads and pens.

You mean you dont want to see me and my father glare at each other across the souffle? Yeah, cuz Lane was really looking forward to that himself. You could also meet my sisters fabulous new fiance. The guys about as charming as cancer.

When Jeff didnt respond, Lane walked across and peered over the guys shoulder. Tell me that makes sense to you.

Not yet, but it will.

Right man for the job, Lane thought when he finally left.

Out in the hall, he found himself staring at his mothers door. Maybe Edward was right. Maybe if everything went poof! his mother wouldnt notice: All those drugs kept her cocooned and safe in her delirium"

something that, for the first time, he was coming to understand.

{ 393 }.

On that note, how about some bourbon.

Heading for the front stairs, he decided he was going to skip dinner himself. He still wanted to punch the hell out of his father, but with Jeff in the house, he had, hopefully, a much better way of taking the man down.

And then he was going to follow Lizzies lead and get good and gone with all this.

It was just too much here, too Byzantine, too polluted.

Maybe he would go back to New York. Or perhaps it was time to cast a wider net. Take off to somewhere overseas"

Lane stopped halfway down the grand staircase.

Mitch Ramsey and two CMP officers were standing in the grand foyer below, their hats off, their faces like something out of a textbook on criminal justice: no expressions. At all.

Shit, Lane thought as he closed his eyes.

Guess Samuel T. had been able to work the old boys network only so far.

Ill go get my wallet, Lane called out. And Ill call my lawyer"

Mitch looked up just as Mr. Harris came bustling in from the din- ing room.

Oh, Mr. Baldwine, the butler said. These gentlemen are here to see you.

I figured. Ill just grab my"