She turned on her side, gazing out the window of her bedroom at the glimmering shadows of the lake. The full moon reflected on the surface in a sweeping line of pale white. She closed her eyes, listening closely to the quiet thud that echoed with each bang of the canoe against the dock. Liam. She couldn’t get him or his lips out of her mind. She was still wearing the cotton dress she’d put on, not wanting to part with the idea the night was over. She slid her hand under her head, and tried to let go of the notion of having a relationship or anything with Jack’s son. She wondered what Jack had said in the letter. Had the events he spouted off before he died actually happened? It was more than twenty years ago, but she wondered if people were still looking for Jack. Things like this just didn’t go away. There were legacies to fulfill. There were vengeances to be paid. People like this didn’t bury the hatchet; they didn’t forget. If any of it was true, she might be in danger, and Liam might be, too.
