Chapter 4 – THE HOUSE BESIDE THE WATER

Marco stared at the drawing.

He knew the house.

I could tell from the way his face changed before Charlie even finished speaking.

“Your father showed you this?”

Charlie nodded.

“He said we’d go there when everything settled down.”

Marco sat beside him.

“What else did he say?”

“That there were fish in the lake.”

“That’s true.”

“And a porch where we could eat breakfast.”

Marco smiled faintly.

“Also true.”

Charlie traced the little yellow roof with his finger.

“He said you could visit whenever you wanted.”

The smile disappeared.

I looked toward Victoria.

She was watching Marco with an expression I couldn’t interpret.

Surprise, perhaps.

Or recognition.

“Charlie,” Marco asked, “did your dad tell you why he wanted to move?”

The boy shrugged.

“He said he wanted a place where people didn’t have to whisper.”

I felt the words settle around us.

The mansion was beautiful.

Its marble floors shone. Its furniture cost more than I’d earned in years.

But people whispered constantly.

Staff lowered their voices when Marco passed.

Security men spoke into their sleeves.

Visitors stopped conversations when Charlie entered.

And a twelve-year-old boy had apparently grown accustomed to all of it.

Marco rubbed his forehead.

“Your dad and I talked about that house.”

“Were you going to live there, too?”

Marco looked at the drawing again.

“I don’t know.”

Charlie frowned.

“But Dad drew you.”

His finger touched the figure between them.

Marco leaned closer.

The third figure wore a black jacket.

Something about that detail made me want to cry.

Daniel had imagined his brother standing with them.

Even while planning to leave.

Marco swallowed.

“We were having disagreements then.”

“About the house?”

“About several things.”

Charlie waited.

Marco looked at me, then Victoria.

I understood that some of those disagreements probably involved a business nobody discussed openly in front of household staff.

But Charlie wasn’t interested in business.

He wanted to know why the picture his father had drawn had never become real.

“Your dad wanted a different life,” Marco said.

“Did you?”

Marco took his time.

“I thought I could keep everybody safe by controlling everything.”

“Like the guards?”

“Like the guards.”

Charlie glanced toward the hallway.

“Dad hated those guys.”

“He liked some of them.”

“He said nobody needed three people watching them buy groceries.”

Marco laughed despite himself.

“That sounds exactly like him.”

Charlie folded the drawing halfway.

“Did you tell him no?”

Marco hesitated.

Victoria answered before he could.

“They had an argument.”

Marco looked at her sharply.

She continued.

“Daniel felt Charlie needed to grow up away from the family business. Marco thought keeping everyone close was safer.”

Charlie looked from one adult to the other.

“Why do you know that?”

Victoria paused.

“Your uncle told me.”

The boy turned back to Marco.

“Is that true?”

Marco nodded.

“Yes.”

“So Dad wanted to leave because of you?”

It was a terrible question.

And because it was terrible, I expected Marco to soften the answer.

He didn’t.

“Partly.”

Charlie looked at the drawing.

“Did you say you were sorry?”

Marco’s eyes moved to his brother’s empty chair.

“No.”

The boy stayed silent.

Marco rubbed his palms together.

“I thought we’d have more time.”

Something about his voice made me look away.

I’d seen people talk about grief as if it were one clean emotion.

But grief was rarely that simple.

Sometimes it was love.

Sometimes regret.

And sometimes it was the unbearable knowledge that a person had died while you were still angry with them.

Charlie refolded the paper.

“Dad wasn’t mad at you forever.”

Marco looked up.

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“When?”

“The night before the accident.”

Marco went completely still.

Charlie continued, unaware of what he’d said.

“Dad was making macaroni. He said grown-ups can disagree and still love each other.”

Marco’s hand tightened around the edge of the desk.

“Did he?”

“Yeah.”

Charlie looked at him.

“He said you were stubborn, but you had a good heart.”

Marco let out a small, broken laugh.

“That was generous of him.”

Charlie studied his uncle.

“Did you still love Dad when you were mad?”

Marco answered immediately.

“Every minute.”

The boy considered that.

Then he laid the drawing in Marco’s lap.

“Maybe you should keep this.”

Marco shook his head.

“It’s yours.”

“But you’re in it.”

“So are you.”

Charlie looked down.

“And Dad.”

Marco carefully unfolded the picture again.

“All three of us.”

Across the room, Victoria opened her folder.

“Marco, this is exactly what I’ve been trying to explain. Daniel didn’t want Charlie growing up in this environment.”

Marco didn’t look at her.

“Daniel wanted his son to have a home.”

“And he wanted him somewhere safe.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you refusing to consider a place designed to help him?”

Marco finally raised his head.

“Because Charlie doesn’t want to go.”

Victoria pressed her lips together.

“And what happens when what he wants isn’t what’s best for him?”

Marco said nothing.

It was a fair question from someone who had forfeited the right to answer it alone.

Charlie slipped out of the chair.

“I’m going upstairs.”

Marco nodded.

“We’ll have dinner together.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The boy left, carrying his father’s glasses.

Victoria waited until his footsteps faded.

Then she turned to Marco.

“You know Daniel wanted something different for him.”

“Yes.”

“And you know why.”

Marco stared at the drawing.

For a long moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then he said quietly, “I know.”

Victoria’s expression softened.

“Marco—”

He stopped her.

“Because the last thing I told my brother was that I would never let him take Charlie away.”

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