Page 10 of Return to Whitmore (The Whitmore #2)

It was then she saw him—one of the older employees of the White Oak Lodge, Denny, ducking through the grounds and disappearing behind the old horse barn.

Leaving her camera behind, Charlotte broke into a run and found Denny tending to two brown and glossy mares, who, incredibly, still lived in the barn.

Charlotte watched, breathless, as Denny fed them and petted them, then turned back to find her. His eyes widened with surprise.

“Miss Charlotte,” he said, “what on earth are you doing here?”

Denny had worked for the Lodge since he was a teenager, long before Charlotte was born. It meant that he knew much more about the goings-on of the Lodge and the Whitmores than Charlotte did.

Was it possible he knew about Jefferson Albright?

“Denny,” Charlotte said, stepping into the shadows of the barn. “It’s good to see you.”

Denny let out a boisterous laugh. “My gosh. I haven’t heard a thing from a Whitmore in well over a year.” He paused. “Are you here with your mother?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“I didn’t think so.” He scratched his head. “Are you hungry?”

In fact, Charlotte was. She’d been neglecting her physical needs in honor of her emotional ones, and she wasn’t sure how much longer that could last. After he badgered her a bit more, she agreed to pack up her camera and head over to his little house down the beach.

It was there he lived with his wife and their daughter, a ten-year-old named Alicia.

Charlotte had no idea he was married and didn’t know anything else, really, about his life, and for this she felt ashamed.

Like the other Whitmores, she’d always been tied up in the affairs of the White Oak Lodge and hadn’t allowed time to get to know the non-Whitmores around her.

Not that I’m a Whitmore , she reminded herself, filled with shame.

They sat at the kitchen table with glasses of lemonade.

Charlotte reminded herself that if she was going to be a good documentarian, she had to learn to be a good interviewer.

She asked his permission to set up the camera and then returned to the table.

Denny laughed nervously and looked directly at the camera.

“It’s best if we pretend the camera isn’t here,” she told him.

“Oh!” Denny furrowed his brow and turned his attention to her.

“Can you tell me what’s been happening at the Lodge since last summer?” she asked.

“Nothing, really,” Denny answered. “After it burned, I kept waiting to hear from someone about what was next for the property. It isn’t so damaged that it couldn’t be restored.

Like I said, I kept going to the grounds to feed the horses and take care of the garden.

For the first few months, I was still getting paid by the Whitmores, but that’s gone now. I have another job.”

Charlotte’s heart was tender toward him. “It’s kind of you to take care of the horses. Have you considered selling them?”

“I’ve raised them from fouls,” Denny said, smiling to himself. “I feel like they’re my children, in a sense.” He cleared his throat. “I sold the rest of them, though. I still have the money in my account. Haven’t spent a lick of it. I know that money belongs to the Whitmores.”

Charlotte fought the urge to tell him that she needed that money. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You should keep it and spend it on whatever you need.”

Denny breathed easier. It seemed this had been weighing heavily on his mind.

Charlotte asked him several more questions about the previous year, including his suspicions about why the Lodge had burned in the first place.

“There are plenty of rumors,” he said, sounding nervous again. “But I like to take everything at face value. It was a Fourth of July fireworks accident. A tragedy, but something that happens all the time.”

About twenty minutes later, Charlotte dared to ask the question she’d come for. “Did you know that my father isn’t Benjamin Whitmore?”

Denny flinched and adjusted in his chair. From just these mannerisms, it seemed clear he knew.

“It’s okay,” Charlotte assured him. “I know it’s an open secret.”

Denny was nervous. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. Did you just find out?”

“Years ago,” Charlotte lied. “But I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. Were you around during 1978?” It was when she’d been conceived.

“I was, of course,” Denny affirmed. “There hasn’t been a time I haven’t been around. Worked here since I was sixteen years old.”

“Right.” Charlotte smiled. “So you knew Jefferson Albright?”

“I did,” he said. “He had some crazy accent. Of course, your mother did, too.”

Charlotte folded her hands on her lap. “Was my mother the one who originally hired Jefferson Albright?”

“I don’t believe so,” he said. “I believe it was Benjamin who hired him. It was necessary, after what happened to Ronald.”

The voice rang between Charlotte’s ears. “I’m sorry. Who is Ronald?”

Denny looked like he’d really stepped in it. He adjusted his feet. “You don’t know about Ronald?”

Was Ronald another of her mother’s affairs? Charlotte stewed with anger.

“Ronald was your father’s brother,” Denny said. “He drowned in the Nantucket Sound in the early part of 1978. Must have been January or February.”

Charlotte was on her feet, gaping at him. Her heart pounded.

Denny nodded. “It was a terrible tragedy. Something went wrong with his boat, and he went under and was found a full day later. The water was turbulent. Your father went to bed for weeks after that. I don’t even know if he made it to the funeral.

He was at a loss. Ronald was your father’s favorite person.

They were thick as thieves. I guess that’s why he never talked about him, back then. ”

Charlotte couldn’t believe this. Because Ronald had died in the first months of 1978, it was clear that neither Allegra nor Lorelei remembered him either. But Francesca surely did.

“Did my mother like him?”

“She did. They were funny,” Denny said. “Always joking around with one another.”

“Were they having an affair?” Charlotte asked because she couldn’t rule anything out.

“No.” Denny shook his head. “Francesca wouldn’t have done that. Neither would he.”

“But she slept with Jefferson Albright not long after that,” she blurted.

Denny’s face was grim. “Like I said, your father disappeared for months at a time. His grief seemed insurmountable. Around that time, he hired Jefferson Albright to manage the horses and the horseback riding lessons. Your mother was painfully lonely. I think that’s how they got together.”

Charlotte sat back down and crossed her ankles. It felt as though she’d just discovered a terrible family cancer, poisoning the rest of them.

The news was so startling that after she wrapped up filming with Denny, she returned to the bed-and-breakfast and slept for almost twenty-four hours.

When she woke up, she dug through Nantucket records to discover all she could about Ronald Whitmore, her long-lost uncle.

In the photos, he was handsome and hilarious-looking, always with a smile on his face. Her heart broke for this loss.

It was this loss that had pushed Francesca into the arms of Jefferson Albright.

When she left the records office, Charlotte wandered through downtown, not bothering to cover herself up with a cap.

Her mind was heavy. Vincent was the last thing she thought about, which was probably why she ran into him not five minutes later.

He was on the sidewalk with a pretty girl on his arm, beaming up at him as an ice cream melted on her hand.

Vincent looked at her as though she were a ghost, as though he’d spent the past many months praying he’d never see her again. But here she was, haunting him.

Charlotte glanced down to see that she wore a crummy pair of jeans and a black tank top. She looked fine, sort of. She’d also been crying.

“When did you get back?” Vincent asked, causing his girlfriend to balk and look over at her.

“The other day,” Charlotte said.

“Oh.” Vincent continued to let his girlfriend cling to his arm. “Were you going to call?”

Charlotte raised her shoulders. Of course, she’d been meaning to call, but she’d been terrified. And now, everything about romance felt a little meaningless and strange. “I wasn’t sure if you still lived on the island.”

“Where else would I be?”

“College?” She shrugged again.

“You know I have to help my dad.” Vincent’s father was a fisherman who’d always assumed Vincent would continue with the family legacy.

“You always said you didn’t want to.”

“Things change,” Vincent said.

His girlfriend glared at Charlotte as though she were a wasp who’d come to ruin her date.

“This is Jamie,” Vincent said.

“Hi Jamie.” Charlotte’s tone was harsher than she’d meant for. “How long have you been together?”

“Eight months,” Jamie said, flaring her nostrils.

Eight months! It meant that Vincent had moved on with Jamie, entering a serious relationship just six months after Charlotte left. It felt like a smack. Vincent sensed it too and looked at the ground, his eyes heavy with shame.

But Charlotte realized she didn’t want an explanation from him. Nothing would do.

Before she knew what she was doing, she said goodbye and forced herself back to the bed-and-breakfast, where she burrowed herself in a pillow and cried.

A part of her hoped that Vincent would begin to call hotels and bed-and-breakfasts to find her, as he had last year.

But a bigger part of her knew that that time of her life was over.

Charlotte was on her own now. She had to figure out a way through.

When she considered trying to find Nina and start a new life with her, Charlotte stopped herself.

She didn’t have money, and she didn’t even really have the Whitmore name.

What would a twelve-year-old do with Charlotte besides fall apart?

No, she was better in Michigan. Charlotte prayed she’d forget all of them and find a way to start over.