The inside of the home was just as cozy-looking as the outside. There was more square footage than I expected, having assumed it would just be the typical tiny beach house. The interior walls were a stunning span of polished wood, and in the center of the home stood a floor-to-ceiling tree trunk that braced the entire structure. There weren't very many windows, but a lot of natural light still managed to find its way in.

The house was set up similar in design to my apartment. A small, yet very nice kitchen was the main focal point, with a tiny dining table that looked better fit for playing cards off to the right. On one side of the kitchen was the living room, complete with a cappuccino sectional that I was dying to lounge on. The opposite side of the cabin housed the only bedroom and bathroom. There was also a beautiful porch that wrapped all the way around the beach house. It was the ideal vacation spot. I loved it already.

"This is so comfy," I smiled, looking around the house. "I can definitely see why your grandpa likes it here."

Joey didn't say anything. He made his rounds, checking that all the windows were locked and everything was secure. The frown hadn't left his face since he'd stepped out of the car and I knew he was thinking about the incident at the police station. I was itching to quiz him about what had happened on his end at the courthouse, but I knew he was liable to snap if I didn't give him a little more time to cool off. I could see his pulse ticking wildly in his veins. He was so high strung and sleep deprived, he looked like he might explode at any given minute.

"I've got to ditch that car," Joey sighed, running his fingers through his messy hair. "Somebody will track it down soon enough. I want to maximize our time here. The faster I get rid of it, the better."

"Is that Brad's car?" I remembered him mentioning that Brad always had a knife somewhere in the car.

He nodded and rolled up his sleeves. "It's been a few weeks since I've been here, but there's shit in the freezer if you get hungry. I'll try to be back soon."

Joey headed toward the door without so much as a glance in my direction. I'd made myself at home on the couch, thrilled to finally get a chance to relax on furniture that was actually clean and not owned by a motel. That last place we'd stayed at looked like it needed a flamethrower taken to it to rid the room of cooties.

"Joey?" I called after him, but he was already out the door, jogging back to the squad car.

I stood in the doorway, watching him back up and turn around to leave. Our eyes locked for a moment and he gestured for me to get back inside and lock the door. I waited until his taillights disappeared into the trees to go back in.

Without Joey there, the beach house felt so empty, despite a liberal amount of furniture. I wandered around aimlessly, trying to come up with a way to entertain myself until he returned. I ended up exploring the freezer's contents. Perhaps I could make dinner for us and have it ready by the time he got back. How long did it take to ditch a car?

There was a staggeringly large number of frozen items in the freezer, though almost nothing in the refrigerator. I went fishing through the tiny pantry to see what turned up there. The pantry was also overloaded, like the freezer.

I explored the kitchen, gathering all the utensils and cookware I would need, and set aside some frozen chicken breast to thaw. In the pantry, I found a bottle of baby mushrooms and a can of cream of mushroom. Typically, I would use fresh portabellas and sauté them in wine, but I would have to make do with what little I had. I continued my quest, collecting canned spinach and black olives, and a bottle of Worcestershire from the pantry. This was an improvised version of a dish I made regularly for my grandmother. It's always been her favorite of mine. I hoped Joey would like it, too.

The thought of my grandmother weighed heavy on my already aching heart. I wondered what she was up to and how she was coping with my absence. I shook my head as if that would toss out the nagging thoughts. I busied myself with food preparation in hopes of keeping my worries at bay. I chopped up the mushrooms and olives, tossed them in a skillet to sauté in Worcestershire, and drained the spinach. I still had to wait for the chicken to thaw just enough for me to be able to dice it up. I decided to continue exploring the house while I waited.

I wandered into the bedroom first. It was a good size. Not much bigger than my apartment bedroom. There was a queen size bed flanked by two oak nightstands, a small writing desk in the corner, and an ornate rocking chair made of bird's eye maple. A large bay window overlooked the ocean.

I couldn't help myself. Joey had made it clear he wanted me to stay inside and keep everything locked, but what harm could cracking one window do? I only raised it a few inches. There was no need to open it all the way. The fresh sea air wafted in instantly, enveloping the room in a warm summer breeze. I stood at the window, watching the waves slap at the shore and breathing in the salty smell. It was such a refreshing feeling, I almost forgot where I was for a moment.

I lounged back in the chair and slowly rocked myself to the rhythm of the waves. The sound was calming, like a relaxation tape. I closed my eyes and imagined I was on vacation. I tried to focus on replacing my shitty memories with new, happy ones. I wondered what it would be like to go on a real vacation with Joey. Where would he want to go?

The smell of Worcestershire entering the room interrupted my thoughts, reminding me I had food on the stove. I made my way back into the kitchen to find the mushrooms and olives ready to leave the pan. I set them aside in a bowl and checked on my chicken. It had thawed enough for slicing. I cubed the chicken and placed it in the skillet to cook while I readied the sauce. I emptied the cream of mushroom into a pot and poured in a half cup of Worcestershire in place of the red wine I usually used. I often cooked with both Worcestershire and red wine, so I knew this wouldn't turn out bad.

While I waited for the chicken to cook, I surveyed some of the personal items sitting out in the house. There were no photos on the walls and just a few on tables and shelves. I carefully picked up each one I came across, studying the subjects in every photo. The picture on the coffee table was of a boy, probably about ten years old, standing beside an elderly man. They both held fishing poles and the boy was grinning ear-to-ear, holding up a fish. I knew it had to be Joey and his grandfather.

The photo reminded me of a similar one I had back at my apartment. I was standing next to my grandmother, showing off the apple pie she'd helped me make. If memory served me correctly, I'd been eight or nine at the time. I smiled at the memory, telling myself I'd have to start cooking with her again once all this mess was over with.

Another photo on a shelf was of Joey in a cap and gown with the same older man beside him. The man had his arm slung around Joey's shoulders and he was looking at Joey like he couldn't be prouder. I assumed that was his high school graduation.

The last picture was in a thick, black frame beside some books. It was Joey with the same man again. Only this time, Joey was wearing his police uniform and the two were shaking hands. There were several other people in uniform in the background and I figured the photo had been taken at his graduation from the police academy. He looked so young and inexperienced, yet so ready to take on the whole world.

I smiled, setting the picture down, and went back to my cooking. Once the chicken was cooked and the sauce had mixed together in a smooth cream, I combined all the ingredients and added a dash of pepper. I stirred my creation together until everything was coated in the sauce and then turned the burner on low to keep it warm.

With nothing else to do, I headed back into the bedroom to enjoy the view and fresh air some more. But when I walked into the room, something caught my eye. There was something under the bed. I couldn't quite tell what it was, but I was intrigued. I crouched down on the floor and reached under the bed, retrieving the object. It was a dusty old wooden box.

Curiosity got the best of me. I leaned against the side of the bed and pulled the box onto my lap, blowing off the dust and lifting the lid with a squeak. Inside were letters, more photos, newspaper articles, and various little personal items.

I found myself smiling as I picked through the family photos. The edges of most were worn and some had been charred or were halfway burned. There were several more photos of Joey with the man I presumed to be his grandfather, and a few with other people – a younger boy and a man and woman. I wondered if they were Joey's parents and brother. He had never spoken to me about his family, aside from his grandpa, and now I was beginning to wonder why. Granted, it was none of my business, but I felt like we were close enough now that it wasn't out of bounds to talk about our families.

I picked up a crumpled letter. The handwriting was gorgeous, a lot like my grandmother's, in beautifully drawn cursive. It was dated July 7th, 1936. I could barely read the faded words, but it appeared to be a love letter to a woman named Julia. Maybe Joey's grandfather had written the letter.

I folded it back up and carefully placed it back in the box. Then a newspaper clipping caught my attention. It was from eight years back. The headline made my heart clench. Three Die in House Fire Overnight.

Early Sunday morning, firefighters were called to the scene of a major house fire in the 2900 block of East Delaware. The home was fully engulfed in flames by the time first responders arrived. Three of the four occupants did not survive the blaze, authorities say. The victims are 46-year-old David Cavannaugh, 39-year-old Michelle Cavannaugh, and their 9-year-old son, Hayden. The victims' other son, 16-year-old Joseph Cavannaugh, is the only survivor. Firefighters say the cause of the fire is still unknown, but they are investigating it as possible arson.

"Oh my god," I breathed.

No wonder Joey never talked about anyone but his grandpa. I wouldn't be able to either, if I were him. My heart hurt for Joey and his entire family. No one should ever have to endure such a tragedy.

I noticed another article: April 19th House Fire Ruled Arson. My heart sank to my stomach. How could someone do such a horrible thing? I couldn't bring myself to read the article. I couldn't stomach it any longer.

I placed everything back inside the box the way I'd found it and slid it back under the bed just in time for the front door to squeak open.

"Jess?" Joey called from the living room. "I'm back!"

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and tried to appear like nothing was the matter. I had no business snooping like that. If Joey wanted me to know what happened to his family, he would've told me. I tried to shake off my emotions. Maybe he wouldn't notice.

Who was I kidding? He was Joey! Of course, he would notice!

As I was standing back up, he walked in, twirling a set of keys around his pointer finger.

"What's going on?" he frowned, offering me a hand.

I got up and brushed some dust off my thighs. "Nothing. What's going on with you?"

Joey eyed me suspiciously, glancing down at the floor. He could probably see right through me. I wasn't fooling him. He knew I'd been up to something and he probably knew exactly what was under the bed, just inches from where I'd been sitting.

"Did you get rid of the car?" I tried to change the subject.

Joey sauntered over to the window and pushed it back down, flipping the lock on. "Didn't I say-"

"I just needed some air," I said breathlessly.

I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. My lungs were beginning to scream in discomfort.

"Yeah," he sighed, coming back to where I stood. "I got rid of it."

His expression was unreadable, but I got the sense that he was not happy with me. Either that, or he'd had a hard time ditching the squad car.

"I made dinner." My words sounded more like a question than a statement as I fished for something to say in hopes of altering his brooding.

I followed Joey into the kitchen where he glanced over my cooking and gave a soft chuckle.

"I didn't know you could cook," he said, giving a small smile.

"You don't know a lot of things about me."

His eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim range light. "But I want to."

I could feel goosebumps rising on my arms at this words. I wanted him to know more about me, too. And I wanted to know more about him, if he would open up to me.

"Why don't you have much in the fridge?" I changed the subject, frowning.

Joey shrugged. "I'm not here often. Can't really have perishables, can I?"

"How often do you come here?"

I watched him as he collected a couple sodas from the refrigerator, and plates from the cupboard beside the stove. We stood in silence while he dished out my cooking and gathered utensils.

"Not much," he said simply, and I followed him to the small kitchen table where he placed our dinner. "I don't have the time, usually. When I can, I like to spend a weekend here. It's peaceful. Takes the edge off."

"It's beautiful," I smiled, looking around at the living room and kitchen. "I would love to stay at a place like this for a week or two and just enjoy myself, for a change."

Joey nodded, eyeing the ocean out the window. "It is beautiful. My grandpa sure loved it here."

Maybe this was my chance to learn more about Joey. "Where is he now?"

He shook his head, shutting his eyes tightly for just a second. "This isn't the original house, actually. The first one was the classic-looking beach house. There was a terrible storm when I was eighteen. It destroyed the place. My grandpa decided he wanted to rebuild and transform it into a cabin style beach house. I helped him with a lot of the building process, and of course, he had to hire a builder and all that. The flatbed bringing the logs almost couldn't make it out here with the narrow, shitty roads. It took two years to complete, but we did it."

Joey laughed at the memory, his eyes wandering to the photos of himself and the older man in the living room.

"Is that him?" I pointed to the photos. "Your grandpa?"

He nodded, a somber look clouding his features. "He died two years ago. Cancer got him."

I decided not to pry any further. Joey masked his emotions well, but I could tell he was fighting to keep from getting teary eyed.

"I'm so sorry, Joey," I swallowed.

Learning what had happened to his family made me want to cry and scream and throw up all at the same time. My heart broke for him and everything he'd gone through at such a young, vulnerable age. I admired how strong he was. I would not have been able to go through everything he had and still be taking on the world. Joey was something special.

"What did you make? Is this chicken?" he quickly switched topics. "It looks good."

Little by little, I was going to discover what made Joey the way he is. Now was only the beginning.