Made to Be Broken

Chapter Fifty-one

A week later, I was tearing across the south field on a newly repaired ATV. I'd never used the south field. The former owners had rented it to a misguided city transplant with dreams of organic tomatoes, who'd plowed the field only to learn that the soil wouldn't grow anything less hardy than potatoes.

When I'd moved in, I'd had dreams of a native wild life meadow, but without the time or funds to cultivate the field, I'd settled for the north meadow as my picnic spot, leaving this five-acre plot a rough and rutted field choked with saplings. For ATVs, though, it was perfect.

I was ripping around the corner, sailing over a hillock, when Jack waved me in. He'd come back from Detroit with me, but now, with one ATV running and the other almost there, I suspected he'd be on his way before the weekend crowds arrived.

I raced the ATV over the ruts, hitting the brakes a few feet from Jack, then veering fast when I realized it wouldn't stop in time… and he wasn't getting out of the way.

"I think the brakes need adjusting," I said as I got off.

"Think the driver needs to slow down."

I grinned as I pulled off my helmet. "Never."

He motioned for me to follow him back to the lodge.

"Did Quinn call?"

Another head shake. Quinn had left that same evening we had to head home, but he was keeping an eye on the case, letting me know how it unfolded.

Jack had helped me cobble together a story to explain how my "quiet evening resting at a motel" left four people dead and me holding a flash drive full of case-breaking details. That had surprised me – Jack helping me square things with Quinn – but when I'd joked about it, he'd only shrugged it off. If Quinn suspected there was more to the story, he didn't press.

Before we'd parted, we'd made plans for a few days in Toronto or Montreal. No date set yet – weekends were out for me, and weekdays were tough for him – but we'd work something out. And if we couldn't do it in the next month, I was going to take the bigger plunge and invite him here for a weekend instead. No more stalling. I wanted this and I was going to make it happen.

Now if only I could take as decisive an action with the Evelyn question. That one I still hadn't decided yet, and time was running out.

"So what's up?" I asked.

"Someone to see you."

"Oh, shit." I raked my hand through my hair and whacked the dust from my jeans. "Do I look pre sentable?"

"Don't think she'll care."

I squinted against the midday sun, seeing two figures on the porch. But it was just Emma and Owen, watching us. Emma was smiling. Even Owen looked impatient, as if waiting for me to get there.

"Okay," I said. "Let me repeat. What's going on?"

Jack motioned me to the other side of the building, where he'd left my truck after a run into town. I noticed a tall, narrow cardboard box propped against the lodge wall.

"What's that?"

He shrugged. The box looked like some kind of fencing. Why would we need…?

"Oh, no," I said. "You didn't. Tell me you didn't."

He slowed. "Want me to take her back?"

I hurried over to the truck. In the back, a pet carrier started quivering, a black nose pressing against the wire.

"I can take her back," Jack called.

I hopped into the bed, crouched beside the carrier and opened it. A white ball of fur torpedoed out, toppling me backward. The puppy lapped at my face, paws digging into my chest as she balanced on top of me. Jack glanced over the side of the truck. I turned a reproachful look on him.

"I said I can take her back."

I lifted the puppy off me and knelt, petting her. She was about the size of a terrier already, with huge batlike ears and massive paws that promised she'd grow into those ears soon enough.

"What is she?" I asked.

"German shepherd."

"Ha-ha."

"She is. White one. Thought that'd be good out here. Help people see you on the road. Easy to see her in the fields."

"And when those fields are covered in fluffy white snow?"

"Huh. Never thought of that."

I shook my head as I rubbed her ears. "I don't need a dog, Jack."

"But you want one."

"Nadia?" Emma called before I could answer him. She leaned over the porch rail, holding the phone. "It's your Aunt Evie."

"Fuck," Jack muttered. "Said a week. Waits exactly that. To the hour, I bet."

I motioned to Emma that I'd be there in a moment, and handed the dog over the side to Jack.

"Tell John to bring the puppy over," Emma called. "Owen wants to see it."

"And she doesn't," I murmured.

"Haven't decided, have you?"

"Not yet. I guess I'd better think fast."

As I climbed out of the truck bed, I looked around. At the lodge, the bright midday sun cresting over the roof. Towels flapped in the wind, hung to dry before guests arrived. The smell of soup and freshly baked bread wafted from the open windows. Emma laughed at something Owen said as he refilled the bird feeders, sneaking glances at the dog. I glanced at Jack, the puppy playing tug-of-war with his sleeve.

I looked around and had the overwhelming urge to say "good enough." This was good. This was right. This was me.

Stick with this. Sneak out a couple of times a year for the Tomassinis, and if it doesn't scratch the itch, just say "good enough."

Don't go deeper. Don't even look deeper. Tell Evelyn no.

And if I did that, did I secure my world? Keep it all sunshine and puppies? Or only make the darkness burrow deeper, fester deeper.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs until they stung, then slowly let it out.

"Be back in a minute."

He nodded. "I'll be here. Whatever you decide."

I headed for the lodge.