Read Online The Last to Know by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page A

this thing every day, especially now that baseball season’s over and he’ll be hanging around the house more—Unless the Mets go into post-season play, which means his sportscasting duties can extend well into October. With any luck, he usually heads up to his cabin in the Catskills to unwind with a fishing pole, then south to spend some time golfing and lying in the sun. But this year, when the Mets narrowly missed getting into the playoffs and Fletch found himself free, Aidan begged him to stay put in Townsend Heights for a while. Keep an eye on his nephew and step-nieces. Make sure they’re adjusting okay.
    What could he do? The last thing he wants is to stick around here, but he can’t refuse his brother. Not when the guy has just been widowed for the second time in his life.
    He has to admit that Sharon’s pitching in more than he expected her to, where the kids are concerned. After all, they’re not her blood relations, and it’s not like she’s prone to bending over backward to do favors for Fletch these days. But she’s spent more time at home lately, helping the twins with their homework and taking them shopping for new school clothes. Maybe it’s because she misses Randi, their own daughter, who is away for her first semester at William and Mary. Sharon seems to enjoy having their two young nieces around the house.
    She hasn’t exactly bonded with Jeremiah, though. He’s not the warmest, most lovable kid in town. Even Fletch hasn’t made much progress getting him to come out of his shell on the few occasions he has tried. He has no idea whether it’s because his nephew is still traumatized by the losses of his mother and stepmother, or because he’s just a loner by nature.
    Well, things seem to be settling down in the Middle East. With any luck, Aidan will be back before the cold weather gets here. Then he can make other arrangements for the kids, and Fletch will be free to get the hell out of here. Maybe a weekend up at the cabin, just to clear his head before heading down to Boca for some relaxation and then flying back up to spend the holidays with Sharon and the kids. She always insists on that.
    At least he got eighteen holes in today down at the country club, followed by a nice long nap on the couch in the family room. The house is silent, but he heard Sharon come in a while ago, slamming the back door and waking him from a sound sleep.
    He tosses the banana he just peeled into the blender, then crosses the green ceramic-tile floor and opens the enormous stainless-steel fridge. After moving aside several bottles of fat-free salad dressing and the remains of last night’s take-out Chinese, he pulls out a carton of skim milk. Way down on the bottom shelf behind a clear plastic container of mesclun greens, he finds a lone container of nonfat yogurt. Strawberry.
    He makes a face.
    He’s told Sharon—how many times?—that he doesn’t like strawberry. Raspberry yogurt is fine. Blueberry, too. Hell, even boysenberry. But not strawberry.
    What does she buy?
    Strawberry.
    Fletch returns it to the fridge. As an afterthought, he puts the milk back in, too, then takes the yogurt out. He tosses the container into the trash compactor under the sink.
    Nobody else will eat it. His brother’s kids don’t seem to like anything but junk food, and his son Derek has recently decided he’s a vegan—whatever the hell that means. Something about not eating any animal products.
    If it were up to Fletch, his son would eat thick steaks and ice cream like any other red-blooded American boy, but Sharon coddles him and his neo-hippie ideas. Tells Fletch to leave him alone. That Derek’s twenty now, fully grown, and he can eat whatever he wants, even if he is still living under their roof.
    Not that he’s ever home. Where he spends his days—and nights—is a mystery to Fletch, and if Sharon knows, she’s not telling. Leave it to her to keep Derek’s secrets. After all, she’s full of her own—or so she