The Cliff House. RaeAnne Thayne

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      In smaller type that ran across his legs, in the tight leather leggings his fans loved, another headline read:

       Whereabouts of rocker unknown.

      “They’ve done a two-page spread on it.” Bea flipped the magazine around so Daisy could see a scattering of several other pictures, one that looked like a grainy picture of Cruz on an ambulance stretcher and another of a man whose face she couldn’t see, slumped against a gray wall and holding his hands against his abdomen, a red stain spreading out across his shirt.

      She couldn’t read the caption from where she stood. Was that the assailant or the mysterious man who had rushed to the rescue?

      The attack on hometown boy Cruz Romero had been the talk of Cape Sanctuary since it happened a week earlier. People were talking about it everywhere she went in town. Every single client who came into Daisy’s accounting and financial planning office that week had brought it up to her, asking if she knew anything about where Cruz might be, how badly he had been injured, if it was true that he had been attacked by a jealous husband.

      She imagined Bea had it much, much worse.

      Cruz was her ex-husband, after all.

      “Still no word?”

      Bea shook her head. “Not since he called the night of the attack to make sure Marisol heard it from him first, before the rumors started flying at school, to assure her he only had a scratch. He was rattled and didn’t make much sense.”

      “That’s understandable.”

      “I guess. After only a couple of minutes he said he had to go, that he was heading to the hospital for a few stitches and to check on the guy who saved his life. He promised he’d call, but it’s been radio silence since then.”

      “From Cruz, maybe, but you’ve heard from his people.”

      “Yeah, his manager calls every day. Cruz is in seclusion but Lenny assures me he’s fine and he’ll call as soon as he has the chance.”

      That was strange enough to Daisy, since Cruz loved connecting with his fans on social media. She had never had a close brush with death, though, so it wasn’t for her to judge.

      “Buy it, if you want. Buy all of them, but I would suggest you don’t let Mari see them yet. She’s still upset about her dad.”

      “She’s probably read the online edition on all their websites already, along with everything else she can find,” Bea muttered.

      Daisy didn’t doubt it. Her niece was not only tech-savvy and headstrong, but she also adored her father and would want to read as much as possible about the accident that had nearly claimed his life.

      “You buy your tabloids, I’ll pick up the candles and the cake. We still have to stop by Melenzana’s for the gnocchi she wanted.”

      “Right. Sorry. I’ll take care of the candles and grab a bottle of wine.”

      Bea snatched several other magazines with Cruz’s face on them from the racks and tucked them into Daisy’s basket.

      Daisy hurried to the bakery. Though located in the grocery store, where one might not expect to find gourmet fare, they still made the best cakes in town.

      For months, Stella had been insisting she didn’t want a grand party to mark her fortieth birthday. She said she only wanted their family—the three of them and Bea’s daughter, Mari—together for dinner, in the garden of Three Oaks, Stella’s two-story Craftsman.

      Her aunt deserved a party attended by everyone in town. She deserved a freaking ticker-tape parade, as far as Daisy was concerned. She knew all the other lost souls Stella had rescued over the years would certainly agree with her.

      She couldn’t go against Stella’s wishes, though. She loved her aunt too much. If Stella only wanted her immediate family to celebrate her milestone birthday with her—and the money they would spend donated to her charity instead—Daisy would make sure that was exactly what happened.

      She picked up the cake they had ordered weeks ago, threw in some crusty Italian bread and some of the high-quality olive oil the store stocked, then headed for the checkout.

      The cashier in her line had worked at the grocery store as long as Daisy had lived in Cape Sanctuary, while the bagger was another of her aunt’s rescues.

      “Hey, Daisy,” he said, not quite making eye contact. Tommy Mathews was on the autism spectrum. When he had come to Stella, he had been considered unmanageable and difficult, close to being institutionalized after his mother died. He had lived with Stella for two years, from seventeen to nineteen, and had thrived with her loving care before moving into his own apartment with two other young adults who had special needs.

      Now twenty, Tommy had a steady job at the supermarket and was taking classes to earn an associate’s degree at the community college in the next town over.

      He had come so far because of her aunt, whose circle of influence was legendary.

      “Hi, Tommy.” She adored him and all the other young people who had come in and out of their lives since Stella began opening her home up to other foster children in the years since she and Bea had moved out.

      They were the first, she and Bea. Stella’s nieces. Her aunt’s influence started there and rippled out like concentric waves from a tiny pebble thrown into a pond.

      The tears suddenly burning behind her eyes took her completely by surprise. She usually kept much better control over her emotions.

      “Is that cake for Stella?” Tommy asked. “It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

      “I know. It’s a big day, isn’t it?”

      “She said she didn’t want presents but I have one for her anyway. I’m going to take it to her tomorrow.”

      “Oh. That’s so sweet of you.”

      “It’s a plant, the kind she likes with pink flowers. I can get it for a discount from the floral department here. It was only sixteen dollars and twenty-three cents with tax, but don’t tell her, okay?”

      “I won’t say a word, Tommy. I know she’ll love it.”

      “Yeah. She will,” he said with a confidence that made her smile.

      Stella had fostered about twenty other children, some with special needs like Tommy and others just in need of a temporary home for a while, like Cruz Romero.

      So many lives, changed for the better because Stella was a generous, kind soul who loved to help people.

      Unlike Daisy, who hid away in her house on the cliff, afraid to even smile at men she didn’t know who talked to her in the toothpaste aisle.

      The checker had rung up the last item when Bea hurried up, candles and a wine bottle in hand. “Sorry. Took me a while to find them. Hi, Janet. Hi, Tommy! Daisy, put this on your check and we’ll split the total.”

      The cashier gave a rather sour smile as she ran the candles and the wine through СКАЧАТЬ