The first and last adven.., p.4
The First and Last Adventure of Kit Sawyer, page 4
I was free.
“Can I take your trash, sir?”
I blinked up at the flight attendant—Cathy, whose perfect bun was still wisp-free after three hours. I looked down at the dented Coke can in my hand and loosened my grip. “Yes, thank you.”
All my reminiscing was pointless. Well, not all pointless. It made me certain I was doing the right thing. I hadn’t talked to Remi in a while, but he was still an important part of my life. And I couldn’t stop that gnawing feeling in my stomach that something was wrong. I would go to Villa Hermosa and set my fears at ease.
Once I saw for myself that he was alright, we could laugh about the misunderstanding. He could show me his latest discovery, whatever was so important that he couldn’t even answer a damned phone. We would have lunch, catch up with each other’s lives, and I could get back to my life, my real life, and my important research.
Sounded like a plan.
I pulled out my laptop and settled in for the rest of the flight with some work. But not my actual work. Do you think I was ready to dive into my research paper? The one entitled, An Archaeological Perspective Regarding Ethnicity in Complex Society?
Yeah, no. Deadline or not, I needed a little pick-me-up.
I pulled up the Word doc for my latest children’s book. I’d been writing them since I was a kid, but I hadn’t gotten up the courage to try and publish them yet. The hero of the stories, a middle schooler named Aristotle Abbot, was so real to me by now that he almost felt like a friend. His stories had kept me company for long stays in the hospital or when I was too sick to get out of bed.
Aristotle, or Arty to his friends, continuously got himself into all kinds of sticky situations looking for long-lost treasure. This adventure to the Vatican was no different. He’d just found a hidden passageway, and that spelled trouble for the plucky young lad.
I smiled, my fingers flying across the keys.
And yes, it was just a coincidence that he had archaeologists as parents.
6
Villa Hermosa was one of fifteen estates located on exclusive Indian Creek Island. Situated on four acres, it was an oceanfront marvel done in a Mediterranean Revival style. It even boasted a private beach, the sand a little too white to be natural and the water a little too blue.
I’d never been too fond of people with far too much money sticking stakes in something that belonged to all of us and saying, mine. Didn’t seem to stop me from using it, though.
Without question, the villa was a behemoth and much too large for one person. Although I guess Remi wasn’t alone. He lived there with his staff—Bartlett, his man Friday, a chef, a housekeeper, and whoever else was necessary to keep something the size of Villa Hermosa running smoothly.
Even as I parked my rental and walked up the long driveway, I tried convincing myself that I was worried for nothing. Bartlett opened the huge French doors before I was even halfway there—he knew absolutely everything that happened on the property. One look at his usually impassive face drawn in worried lines, and I knew my instincts had been right on the money.
“Where is he?” I asked quietly.
“Upstairs, Master Sawyer.” He looked hesitant. “Perhaps it would be better if I announced you. He’s not prepared for company.”
Yeah, fuck that noise. We weren’t royalty and I wasn’t all that big on standing on ceremony. I brushed past Bartlett and he closed the door behind me with a sigh. I forced myself not to take the stairs two at a time as I rushed up the sweeping staircase—the last thing I needed was a broken damn neck. At least not before I yelled at Remi for keeping his illness from me.
When I barreled through his door, every occupant in the room stared at me in varying degrees of surprise…and rightfully so. I’d come in like a wrecking ball, no Miley Cyrus required.
I brushed curly hair back from my flushed face, taking in the room’s occupants.
A nurse stood beside the bed, a syringe in her hand. Remi’s longtime assistant, Teddy Sparks, was sitting in a chair on the other side, his hand poised over his iPad. And Remi….
“God,” I choked out.
He looked so frail lying in the middle of the ginormous bed. The size of the bed certainly didn’t help, but he just looked so…small. Nothing like the larger-than-life man I knew who never stopped moving, and planned to travel until he couldn’t. This wasn’t the same man who’d wake me up, long past my bedtime, and sneak me out on the balcony from under the watchful eye of my nighttime nurse. He’d have a telescope tucked under his arm and give me a conspiratorial wink and a whisper. We can sleep when we’re dead, Kit.
Now…he was pale and thin, purplish bruises smudging the skin under his eyes. His usually wavy long hair was patchy and dry-looking. Brittle, almost. And he was in pajamas—blue checkered ones with a matching blue robe that practically swallowed him whole.
Wearing pajamas at two in the afternoon? My anxiousness ramped up a bit more. My grandfather thought rising before the sun was next to godliness. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him so much as take a mid-day nap.
He looked exhausted but thrilled to see me. “Kit,” he said, smiling at me broadly. “What on Earth are you doing here?”
“Apparently, your phone doesn’t work,” I managed. “In fact, it seems like no one’s phone can make outgoing calls in this household.”
I cast an accusing glance at Teddy, and he had the grace to look ashamed. He’d been part of our family since I was a little boy. I didn’t care what my grandfather told him to do. Teddy should’ve called me anyway.
Remi waved a hand and the nurse tsked at him to stay still as she approached his stomach with the syringe. “Don’t get mad at him. I told him not to tell you.” He winced as the needle punctured the skin and I took a quick step forward. He shook his head at me. “It’s fine. Just a little something so I don’t get clots lying in this damn bed all day.”
“I need to talk to my grandfather,” I said sternly, not breaking his gaze. “Now.”
I might not be a traditional globetrotting Sawyer, but I could still clear a room with just the sound of my voice. The nurse pulled the covers back up over my grandfather’s lap and bustled out the door. After a short glance at Remi, Teddy followed her. He gave me wide berth, looking positively grateful to be out of my wrath zone.
I’d deal with that little weasel later.
I waited for the door to close before I took the chair Teddy had vacated. I scooted it closer to the bed and sat. It was a few minutes before I could speak, but Remi waited patiently. As always. “I don’t understand,” I finally said.
“Oh, Kit. I knew if I told you, you’d get all worried and overprotective like you are right now. And there was no need to interrupt your life to watch me—”
“Die?” I knew my face was stricken, but I couldn’t help it. “What the hell is going on?”
“I have colon cancer. And it’s not looking so good.”
My heart felt like it stopped beating momentarily. I sank back in my chair, trying to become one with the worst news I’d ever heard. Then my brain kicked in, grasping for a plan of attack. Because I know he wasn’t just about to lie down and give up. No. He couldn’t—we couldn’t—accept that.
“Why aren’t you in the hospital?” I burst out.
“You know I don’t like hospitals.”
“Have you gone through chemotherapy? What about holistic treatments? Have you talked to Dr. Lovett? Have you—”
“Slow down, slow down.” He chuckled weakly. “God, you and all your questions. You’ve always been that way.”
“No, don’t do the indulgent grandfather bit,” I said, holding up a hand. “Not when you’ve kept this from me.”
“I didn’t want to go through chemotherapy. I’m an old man, Kit.” Before I’d laid eyes on him, I would’ve disagreed vigorously. But right now, he looked every one of his seventy-nine years and some. “I’ve lived a good life. I don’t want to spend the last months, days, or even years of my life being ravaged by poison. I’d rather…be at home in my bed.”
Die. He was going to say die. My stomach seized up again like an oil-less engine. “God,” I choked out.
He sighed. “Kit, you can meet with my doctors tomorrow. They’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“I don’t think anyone on Earth has enough time to tell Kit everything he wants to know,” a wry voice came from behind me.
I closed my eyes briefly. Of course. I didn’t even know why I was surprised that Ethan was already there. All my life, Ethan Stone was two steps ahead.
“Ethan,” I said stiffly.
“Kit,” he said mocking my tone. “It’s been a while.”
Not nearly long enough.
“That it has,” I managed politely.
The last time we’d seen each other was four years ago, Thanksgiving—as far as Ethan knew. I could hardly admit to watching his little expedition show on TV, could I? I would rather die than admit that I never missed an episode and I was a regular in the forums under a secret name. How humiliating would that be?
He made his way to the other side of my grandfather’s bed, carrying a steaming mug of something on a tray. He put the tray on the ornate nightstand and gave Remi’s shoulder a quick squeeze. I begrudgingly acknowledged how sweet it was when he treated my grandfather so well. But it was also annoying. Remi wasn’t his blood. He was mine.
It was also irritating that he was just as handsome as ever. The TV didn’t do him justice—he had the kind of chiseled jaw and hard muscles that TV execs loved to parade around on the screen. The messy blond hair and crystal green eyes didn’t hurt either. He was also taller than me, which was extremely vexing, seeing how I was a pretty tall guy myself at six-two, and he topped me by at least a couple of inches.
A couple, I thought indignantly. Not four, like he claimed. It didn’t matter how much he’d grown or how much stubble he had on his jaw. He was still the same Ethan who got to tag along after my father while I was stuck in bed.
“Good to see you, Kit.” His voice had the same slightly raspy quality that it always did, almost like he’d just woken up. And no, I did not find that sexy in the least.
I didn’t bother to ask him why he didn’t call me. Probably because he wanted my grandfather all to himself. Same as always. He smirked as if he could tell which direction my thoughts had taken.
“Shouldn’t you be filming your little show?” I asked sweetly.
“Shouldn’t you be researching another dusty artifact in your windowless office?” He retorted.
I seethed. “I have a window, you—”
“Boys,” Remi said sternly, and we both glanced at him guiltily.
“We’ve taken a break from filming,” Ethan said. “This is more important. He’s more important.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?” I cursed the moment the words were out of my mouth. Besides the fact that I always managed to channel my inner plaintive five-year-old when Ethan was near, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t ask.
For the first time since I’d arrived, he dropped the slightly smug veneer and I saw a glimpse of the exhausted man beneath. “He didn’t want me to, and I respected his wishes. Kit, we’ve had our differences, but you know you can trust me with him. He’s just as important to me as he is to you.”
Impossible.
“Last time I checked, I’m his actual grandson.” The satisfaction I got from my little dig was short-lived as hurt flashed in his eyes. Then his face went purposefully blank.
“Christopher Addison Sawyer the Third.” My grandfather’s voice was stern. “I’d like to have a word with you.”
I winced, wondering if my grandfather using that tone would ever not make me feel four years old. I expected Ethan to gloat, as he usually would, but he just turned away quietly. “I’ll let you guys talk.”
The door closed behind him with a quiet click and I slumped in my chair. I held up a hand. “Before you say it, I’m sorry. I know that was uncalled for.”
“You may not like him for whatever reason, but you will respect Ethan. I won’t have you talking to him like that.” Red spots appeared on my grandfather’s cheeks as he worked himself up. “He dropped everything to come down here and help me.”
So did I. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about you,” I said stiffly.
“Darling boy.” He gave me a fond look, but his next words were like a knife through the sternum. “I hate that you came.”
“Oh.” I blinked rapidly. I sat back in my chair. “Well maybe I should go, then.”
He reached for me quicker than I thought he could move and gripped my hand. His skin was papery soft against mine, dry and a little cold. “No, Kit, that came out wrong. Forgive me, but the painkillers are strong and I’m not always as sharp as I’d like to be. I’m overjoyed to see you. But I don’t want to interrupt your research. I know you’re busy doing amazing things.”
Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I looked down at our clasped hands for a moment while I battled them back. Everyone else thought I was such a boring disappointment for the famous Sawyers, but not my grandfather. He’d always thought I was important. And he never hesitated to show it.
“I’m not going anywhere just yet,” I informed him when I could speak again without bawling like a baby. “Research be damned.’
“And they say I’m the sick one?”
“I’m not that bad.”
I was exactly that bad. Research was life.
His eyes, though tired, twinkled. “When you were born, the doctor thought you were breach, but it just turned out that you had your face in a book.”
I chuckled. “Hush, old man. What do you want for dinner?” I asked, striving for some normalcy. “I can make your favorite if we have the ingredients.”
“As much as I’d love a roast, I don’t have much of an appetite,” he said, and our brief moment of levity was gone as I remembered exactly why that was. “But don’t let that stop you and Ethan.”
I froze. “Ethan? Uh, I’ll probably just—”
“It wasn’t a suggestion, Kit.”
I sighed. He’d used his stern voice, but at least I was plain old Kit again and not Christopher Addison Sawyer the Third. I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“After you have dinner with Ethan,” he said insistently.
“I don’t think those meds the nurse is giving you are strong enough,” I mused.
“Kit.”
I sighed again. “After I have dinner with Ethan,” I parroted back.
I pulled his door closed with a sigh. I had a feeling there was going to be a lot of silence and forks scraping at that dinner.
7
I moved by rote in Remi’s well-appointed, ginormous kitchen, cooking as I chatted with Liam. I felt the tension ratchet down a bit for the first time since I’d seen Remi. There was just a certain serenity that came with cooking dinner. It didn’t require a lot of thinking, especially since I was making something I’d made a hundred times—pasta and vegetables in a rich cream sauce.
I’d expected to have to make do, the selection had been astonishing. Magda, his chef, had been trying different foods to try and tempt Remi to eat. I expected no less. Magda had been with us since I was a young boy, and she took it as a personal affront when you didn’t eat, sick or not. I was just lucky she usually bustled off around six to her own family. She would’ve hit my hands with a wooden spoon if she’d seen me fussing about in her kitchen. Or sticking my finger in her freshly made custard, which I did not do. Twice.
At the last minute, I decided to add some shrimp to the dish, just to round everything out. Garlic bread. A large salad with vine-ripened tomatoes and homemade shallot dressing. It was a moment before I realized I was making all of Ethan’s favorites. I gritted my teeth, giving the pot a vigorous stir. Then I put the lid on the simmering sauce and turned the burner off.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” Liam said sympathetically. “Anything I can do?”
“Some sort of bug spray to get rid of six-foot-five pests would be nice.”
“Okay, I know you’re talking about Ethan but damn.” I could almost hear Liam shiver. “Way to give a guy nightmares.”
“He’s just so bloody annoying.”
“I mean, could you imagine bugs that big?” Liam clucked at me. “Actually, we don’t have to imagine. You remember that movie you made me watch on the sci-fi channel?”
“I’m his grandson, after all. Not Ethan. You think those two would remember that.”
“What was the name of that movie anyway?” Liam was still on a tear. “Something about killer bugs attacking?”
“Attack of the Killer Bugs,” I said dryly.
He didn’t seem to notice or realize he was officially off my future team for any game show. “Yes, that’s the one.”
“Do you mind?” My tone was exasperated as I headed to the pantry for some serving bowls. “I don’t want to talk about that stupid movie.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Actually, I did not.”
“Alright then,” he said placatingly. “Let’s get back to your favorite topic, then. What is it you’d like to tell me about Ethan?”
“That is not my favorite topic,” I huffed. “Frankly, I can’t think of anything I’d like to talk about less.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“So what are you doing?”
I paused. “Cooking dinner for Ethan.”
Liam didn’t have the common decency to hide his guffaw. The fact that he sounded like a braying donkey appeased me only slightly. I scowled at the rack of pristine white dishes, looking for serving bowls—this from a person who usually ate right out of the Styrofoam container his food had come in. God, why was I even trying to impress him? It was like I was being moved by compulsion.
