Page 52 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

“Tell me about it.” With the way her face lit up, I didn’t want her to stop talking.

“Did I ever tell you that my brother is a veteran?” she asked and I shook my head. “Owen went into the military right after high school and served for about twelve years. He had a hard time coming home after his final deployment. A close friend from his unit committed suicide and it really affected him.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Me too. But he’s in a lot better place now. He found a job working with an organization that helps veterans like his friend. The Kendrick Foundation donates to them every year. And it has sort of become my pet project, finding other organizations like his who help veterans.”

Piper’s eyes sparkled whenever she spoke about her work. I was so lost in her face, I nearly forgot the food on my grill. “Shit. One sec.” I hurried to the grill and flipped the pork chops before they burned, then came back to my seat and nodded for her to continue.

“Not long after I moved here, I found an article in the Kalispell paper about this organization in Bozeman that helps veterans. They take them fly-fishing for a week and teach them a skill they can use to get some peace. I was skeptical at first, but their success rates are incredible. The testimonials from some of the participants are phenomenal. I pitched it to Logan, and today, we wrote them a million-dollar check to fund them for the next three years.”

“Nice job.”

She blushed. “Thanks. It was maybe the best donation we’ve made this year. Well . . . my personal favorite, I guess. If I hadn’t moved to Montana, I never would have heard about them. Logan and I are planning a trip down there in a week to deliver the check in person.”

“To Bozeman?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “That’s where they’re located.”

“Huh. I, uh . . . I grew up there.” That was the first detail about my past I’d shared with someone in Lark Cove.

The admission surprised me for a moment, but I didn’t regret sharing. Piper was a genuinely good person. While I found passion in my furniture, hers was supporting the causes she believed in most. I trusted her with a few minor details about my past.

“Do you still have family there?” she asked.

“My mom.”

If Mom still lived there. I hadn’t talked to her since I’d left Bozeman three years ago. She’d taken his side when everything had crashed, and I couldn’t forgive her for that choice.

“Do you go back often?” Piper asked.

“No, I don’t.” My tone was short, and I stood from the chair, going back to the grill.

We were treading on dangerous territory now. Piper wouldn’t learn about my family. I wouldn’t be sharing the reason why I’d left Bozeman. She didn’t need to know that I refused to return and that I’d blocked my mother’s number years ago.

The life I’d had in Bozeman was over. Dead. I’d buried it in a single grave.

I tested the pork chops, then shut the grill to give them a few more minutes. But I didn’t go back to my chair. I used the physical distance to reiterate that the discussion about my past was over.

“Most of my family is in New York.” She sipped her beer, taking the hint to let my past go. “My parents. Owen. Some aunts and uncles. They all think Montana is this wild and untamed wilderness where I’m most likely to be eaten by a bear. But I’m slowly convincing my parents to come out and visit this fall or winter. I think

they’ll love it.”

“You grew up in New York?”

“Born and raised. I went to college at Columbia. Graduated and took a job working for the Kendrick Foundation.”

“Why’d you move? For work?”

“No.” She stared blankly at the label on her beer. “Divorce.”

And just like I was done talking about my past, she was done talking about hers.

“How’d you find this place?” she asked.

I pushed off the railing and went back to the chair, sensing it was safe again. “I was looking for a place to disappear.”

Of all people, I had a feeling that answer would resonate with Piper. She wouldn’t ask why. She wouldn’t need more details. She’d understand that this was where I’d come to suffer alone.