“She’s a big house, that’s for sure,” came Mason’s voice from behind her. He was walking out of a garage-like building behind her, wiping his hands off on a blue bandanna. He looked less harsh than he had at the gazebo. Fit, strong, but not as defensive on his own turf.

  The smell of sawdust and the collection of wood behind him in the building reminded her that Mason had a carpentry business. His website spoke of basic structural construction work, but there was also a section of beautiful furniture. He had an artistic side, a man who created with his hands. That artisan’s skill wasn’t visible anywhere in the overlooked beauty of the home in front of her.

  “Nice house.” Probably beautiful in its day, Dana added in her head. Maybe beautiful again, if we can manage it. Beauty and creativity had to be a part of the camp and was one of the reasons she’d felt drawn to Mason. Her idea for the place needed both natural beauty and pleasing accommodations. Too many of these kids came from ugly worlds where beauty was for other, more fortunate people. Her mind landed on the memory of eleven-year-old Eddie from last summer. Eddie found two uses for the knife he always carried: one was to whittle amazing little figures, and the other was to cut himself. Getting Eddie into treatment was one of her favorite victories. Dana peeked at the graceful curves of a table leg in the shop behind Mason and thought, What victories could Eddie discover in a place like this?

  Mason led her to the little dining room set while Charlie sat watching what sounded like cartoons in the next room. She wasted no time in battling his polite resistance with a pile of charts, drawings and tables.

  “This house would be central, of course,” she continued as she described her vision for the property as it was all marked out on an aerial shot of Mason’s land. “Dining, gathering and any non-counselor staff. Not a ton of staff, by the way. This wouldn’t be a large-scale operation. No more than twenty kids at a time. Less if we do surviving parent/child pairings, which I think would get the best results.” She waited for his reaction at her use of the word “we.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Twenty? And parents? You couldn’t fit that in here.”

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “That’s why we’d need to take the two barns and turn them into multiple small bedrooms for kids and their parents. The two larger sheds could be dorms if we needed them and the greenhouse could be a gathering space, I think. Not sure about that yet.”

  A skeptical frown grew on his face. “You’re talking about a lot of renovation.”

  “Maybe, but that’s why I need someone with your skill set. You’ve got the only right combination of skills and layout in the county near as I can see.”

  “Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to.”

  Dana fought the little voice of you’re beyond foolish to try this that seemed to be her constant companion since she came to North Springs. She folded her hands on the table as resolutely as she knew how. “Well, no, not yet.”

  “But you’re going to convince me. Or try to.” Doubtful didn’t begin to cover his expression. Still, she chose to see more challenge than outright refusal in his eyes.

  “That’s the plan, yes.” She shifted the property drawing so that it faced him. “What are you doing with the sheds and greenhouse right now?”

  Dana wished she could gauge if her preparation and persistence were getting her anywhere. Mason was so hard to read. “Those buildings aren’t in use at the moment.” When she tried to make a comment about that, he jumped to add, “I do have the right to use—or not use—my own property as I please.”

  Dana forced herself to back down a bit. “You do. But this is family property, isn’t it? Charlie referred to the house as ‘Grandpa’s house.’”

  Ouch. That seemed to be a sore spot. “This land has been in my family for three generations,” he said curtly. “It’s going to stay that way.”

  “Is it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dana gave him as pointed a look as she dared. “Can I spin a scenario out for you? Purely hypothetical. But hear me out.”

  When he scowled but didn’t outright refuse, Dana took it as consent. “This is a big chunk of land,” she went on. “Prime land, and I expect from the gate, Charlie’s attitude and your none-too-friendly welcome that you’ve had your share of people coming at you to sell.”

  “I’ve had offers, yes.”

  She’d done her homework. She knew he’d received offers and declined every one. “But this place won’t stay what it is now if you sell. They’ll knock everything down and put up condos or a resort or some other thing you really don’t like. I won’t do that. I’ll use every building as intact as I can. We’ll work together to make sure this stays as close to your father’s land as possible. Nobody else can promise you that like I can.”

  * * *

  Mason couldn’t decide if it was a sign—good or bad—that she’d managed to hit on the one thing that bothered him most about selling. It felt like selling out. As if he was failing the long line of Avery men who’d put their backs into this land. As if he was failing Charlie and the legacy a man was supposed to leave his son.

  “So I’m supposed to swallow the line that a camp is a better use than a spa or homes?” Even as Mason said it, the blatant truth of that hung in the air between them. A camp was a far better use of the land than a spa or condominiums. But it was still less of an option than keeping the land. He and Charlie living alone on twenty acres he could barely manage. Who was he kidding? He was not managing. The place was slowly falling into disrepair because he could only scrounge up enough money and willpower to survive, not to get ahead.

  “Yes. Because it is. You want this land, this place to mean something. Nobody else is offering—nobody else will offer you the chance for this place to mean something this important. Changed lives. Saved lives. A tiny corner of the world you and I both know is far too broken to put back the way it ought to be.” She seemed surprised by her own passion, as if she didn’t know she had such lofty words within her.

  Why couldn’t the woman in front of him be an oily salesperson instead of the memorable, wounded beauty he could see too easily? And those eyes. Could everyone see the wounds in her eyes? Or did they just speak that strongly to him?

  “You seem awfully sure of yourself.” He tried to keep her impassioned words from digging into him before he could put up enough resistance. It wasn’t entirely working.

  Dana paused for a long moment before replying, “Not at all. Farthest thing from it. In fact, I have no idea what I’m doing. Only that I have to do it. I’ve got the why. But I’m counting on you to bring the how.”

  “Me?” Counting on him? Of all the ideas she’d posed today, that one was perhaps the most outrageous.

  She met his response with a shaky and endearing sort of defiance. “Yeah, you. Because if this works the way I’m planning, not only will the land matter, you’ll be crucial to it mattering. Well, don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sick of feeling like an insignificant speck against the big wave of bad out there. You and I have both had a hefty dose of that. Now I have to fight back, because...well, because I just have to.”

  He’d felt that way once. Back when the grief hadn’t swallowed up all his fight and purpose, back when he was a ball of anger railing against the world that took Melony from him. “You’re asking a lot here.” The resistance should have come easier. He’d never planned on saying yes today, but it was unsettling how far he had to reach for the hard no he had in mind.

  “I am.” No apology or plea softened her tone. She knew what she was asking and wasn’t afraid to ask it, despite the nerves he saw tighten her fingers. Dana Preston was making a very brave march out onto some very thin ice. Some part of him couldn’t help but respect that. Maybe even be drawn just the tiniest bit toward it.

  “Yes. And one more thing,” she said as she rose out of the chair. The woman was tall and willowy, straight and strong. Like a poplar tree, he thought. Good wood. Versatile, hard, easy to work with, doesn’t split when you nail it. He doubted she would take the comparison as the reluctant compliment it was.

  Mason wasn’t sure why he braced himself. “What?”

  “Do you want Charlie to have a purpose in life? To grow up with a sense of direction, of value? For your son to know that he’s more than just the survivor of a very sad accident?”

  What kind of a question was that? “Of course I do,” he answered loudly, probably a little defensively, but she’d earned that tone from him.

  Dana pierced him with a glare so direct he felt it in the pit of his stomach. “You can’t give what you don’t have.”

  The phone rang just then, but he couldn’t let that be the last word from her. “Give me a minute, will you? Charlie’s watching TV in the den, maybe go say hello to him.”

  He ducked into the hallway as she wandered in the direction of Charlie and his television show. The name of Charlie’s teacher Martha Booker came up on his phone screen, and he tamped down the tiny surge of alarm that always rose with calls from school or church. It was Friday night. What was so urgent it couldn’t wait until Monday? “Hi, Martha, what’s up?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, Mason, but I’ve been on the phone with a few parents smoothing things over. I’m wondering if you could come into school Monday morning. I need to speak with you and Charlie about what happened today.”

  The tiny surge blossomed into a tornado. “What happened?”

  “Charlie hasn’t said anything?”

  “No. He’s been a little on edge, but that happens a lot, still.”

  “There was an incident. He and Nathan Summers. It’s something I think we need to nip in the bud before it gets more serious.”

  More serious. Those weren’t comforting words. “What happened, Martha?” He remembered the scrape on Charlie’s elbow. Why didn’t he ask him how he got it?

  “According to Mrs. Summers, Charlie threw a rock at their car window.”

  A rock. At a car window. The idea of it turned Mason’s stomach. “He what?”

  “Charlie and Nathan got into a scuffle over something in the playground earlier. Charlie responded by throwing a rock at their car after school before the kids were lining up for the bus. I don’t know how any of the teachers missed it, but Mrs. Summers was understandably upset.”

  Mason couldn’t fathom Charlie doing anything so violent, much less that particular act. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a mistake?” He knew better even as the words left his mouth.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Charlie missed on the first throw but tried two more times. The third one chipped the window. I’m sure you can understand why we’re taking this very seriously. I wanted to make sure I had the facts from everyone before I upset you with a call like this.”

  Upset was an understatement. Mason leaned back against the hallway wall as a wave of dread washed over him. Charlie was going under. He’d been fighting like crazy to keep both their heads above water, to crawl their way to the shore of this sea of grief and loss, and it wasn’t working. Charlie was drowning in the aftermath of what had happened to them.

  Dana came back at that moment, ready to say something, but stopped wide-eyed at Mason’s expression.

  “I understand, Martha. I agree this is serious. And upsetting.” He started to say “This is so unlike Charlie,” but realized he couldn’t. Charlie was sliding downhill, had been for a while, and he’d talked himself into ignoring it. The sense of failure pressed him against the wall.

  “Would ten a.m. work?” the teacher asked.

  “Absolutely. I’ll do whatever you think is necessary.” Mason’s dry mouth and shocked brain could hardly form the words.

  “Why don’t you try and talk to Charlie about this over the weekend,” Martha suggested. “See what he has to say about what happened and why.”

  “I will.” How was he going to navigate this while he was barely holding it together himself?

  “We’re going to see Charlie through this, Mason. We’re all behind you. Remember that.”

  Somehow Martha’s kind words only made it worse. Mason let the phone fall on the hallway table—the one he’d built for Melony for her birthday four years ago—and covered his face with his hands.

  “Mason...” Dana’s words were low and cautious.

  He didn’t know how on earth to talk to Charlie about this. Still, Mason realized there was someone standing in front of him who did. Who’d maybe done it hundreds of times. He was too desperate to care about pride or the fact that he barely knew her.

  Mason pulled his hands away from his face and stared into Dana’s worried eyes. “Charlie’s done something—something awful—and I think I need you to help me figure out why.”

  Chapter Four

  “That doesn’t sound much like Charlie to me,” Dana replied when Mason gave her a quick rundown of the troubling facts. It didn’t, but she’d also not seen nearly enough of the boy to make a fair assessment.

  And even if she had, she’d seen some alarming transformations from some of the least likely candidates. The straight-A student who’d taken to keying cars in parking lots after his brother was killed in a hit-and-run accident. The sweet-as-pie toddler from the private school kindergarten who began biting everyone in her class when her father was killed in a mass shooting. Kids often processed enormous traumas in startling ways.

  Mason looked shattered. “No, it doesn’t. Charlie would never do something like that.”

  Dana dared a direct look. “No offense, but if I had a dollar for every time I heard that from a parent, I could open up my camp on a private island.”

  He scowled. “Not exactly helpful information.”

  This was going to be a tough conversation. It required a skill set she wished she didn’t have, even though part of her was glad to be able to help Mason at a moment like this. The man looked lost and wounded—and beyond guilty. Whatever Charlie had done, Mason clearly blamed himself for it. She knew even really good kids could buckle under the weight of a traumatic experience. She told him that—twice—but he wasn’t in a place where he could hear it.

  An idea struck her. “Have you got any cookies?”

  “What?”

  “Cookies. Something for him to hold, to do, while we try and get the info out of him.”

  He looked as if he found that ridiculous. “Um, yeah.”

  “Okay. Grab a couple and meet me on the porch steps. Sit next to him and hand him a cookie.”

  “The porch steps?”

  “Yes. Just trust me on this.” If they were sitting on the porch steps looking up at the view, Charlie wouldn’t feel cornered and didn’t have to look anyone in the eye. “Ask him to tell you what happened. See if you can get him to give you his version before anyone gets into accusations.”

  When he hesitated, she pressed, “Mason, I know what I’m doing here. You asked me to help. So let me help.”

  Settled in a few minutes later with two cookies each on the front steps, Dana caught Mason’s eye over Charlie’s head. She nodded for him to start.

  “Charlie,” Mason said, bumbling a bit, “Mrs. Booker called me about what happened at school today. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Nothing happened,” Charlie mumbled.

  Mason caught her gaze over Charlie’s head again, but Dana nodded to keep going. She had been fully expecting Charlie’s answer.

  “Something must have happened if Mrs. Booker wants me to come in Monday and talk about it. I really need you to tell me so I can help sort this out.”

  “Nathan’s mean.” Charlie’s pronouncement was soft and wounded.

  Mason sighed. “Kids can be mean. Sometimes they don’t even realize they’re being mean.”

  “What did Nathan do that made you so mad at him?” Dana asked. It was better to couch it in terms of Charlie’s anger than on how mean and violent he’d been. Kids Charlie’s age didn’t always know how to handle so much anger. How much anger must still be boiling around in that little chest after what he’d been through?

  She took a bite of cookie as Charlie paused for over a minute before answering, “Said something about Mom.”

  Dana could almost hear Mason’s flinch of pain. She’d long since stopped pretending the world was a just place, but the burden he was forced to carry seemed beyond unfair. “What did Nathan say about Mom?” Mason’s back stiffened as if readying himself for the blow.

  Charlie’s lower lip jutted out. “He asked me if I had to skip school on Special Ladies Day because I don’t have a mom anymore.”

  I’m pretty sure Mrs. Booker didn’t hear that part, Dana thought. Also, what on earth was Special Ladies Day?

  “He said it all mean-like,” Charlie added.

  “He might have, or maybe you just heard it mean-like,” Mason replied. “Some people don’t understand how talking about Mom still hurts a lot.” His simplified words held a world of pain behind them. “And Grandma’s coming in from Flagstaff for Special Ladies Day, remember?”

  Dana thought the event sounded a bit ridiculous. In her world something like that would be fishing for disappointment and heartache. Most of the kids she dealt with would be hard-pressed to come up with any adult friend, much less sort them out by gender.

  Charlie broke his cookie in two and stuffed one half in his mouth. “Willy,” he said with his mouth full, “He’s that fourth grader I told you about? He said I should be mean right back to Nathan.”