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Unintended Consequences (Jack Turner Series - Book 3)

By Dan Walsh

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1


Jack got in the car and handed Rachel an ice cream cone. “I wonder when I’ll get used to it.”
“Get used to what? And what’s this? I didn’t ask for an ice cream cone.”
He closed the door. They were driving through the charming little seaside town of Chatham on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. “I know you didn’t ask for one, but you’re getting one anyway. I couldn’t believe it. The owner of the little shop still remembers me.” Jack had come here so many times over the years visiting his grandparents. Unless it was the dead of winter, he’d always stop in to get an ice cream cone. “The man looked out the window then asked why I wasn’t getting one for my girlfriend. I told him, that’s not my girlfriend. That’s my wife. When he heard that, he insisted on giving you one for free. If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it when I’m done with mine. You just need to—”
“Oh, I want it.” She took a big lick around the edges. “I just didn’t want to say it.”
He smiled. “You were gonna eat half of mine. That was the plan.”
She smiled, took another lick. “Is this coconut?”
He nodded. “As soon as I saw it in the case, I knew I was bringing one out to you. When do we ever see coconut ice cream?” He turned the car on, took a big lick of his own double-scoop raspberry.
“What can’t you get used to?”
“What? Oh, calling you my wife. I love whenever I get to say it. Afterwards I think, I can’t believe it. Rachel’s my wife.” They were married two months ago, but Jack hadn’t been able to break away from his duties at the university for a honeymoon trip until this past week.
As he turned his blue BMW sedan left onto Main Street, she leaned over and kissed him. “How much farther till we reach your grandmother’s? I don’t want to still be eating this when she first sees me.”
“Turns out, this ice cream shop is exactly one ice cream cone away from my grandmother’s place. Over the years, I’ve lost count of the times I had to finish one to avoid getting a lecture about spoiling my dinner. But I can’t drive by that place without stopping whenever I come here.”
“When was the last time you visited her?”
“Almost two years ago. But I can’t wait that long anymore.”
“Didn’t you say she was ninety-four?”
“Almost.”
“And she lives alone?”
He nodded, took another lick of his cone. “That’s how she wants it. My folks and I have tried over the years to get her to move someplace else. They even bought their last house because it had a mother-in-law apartment, but she says she doesn’t want to leave. All her memories with my grandfather are there.”
“I can see that,” Rachel said. “If you’re married to someone that long.”
“Sixty-one years,” Jack said. “Grandpa has been gone now since 2001.”
“That’s a long time to live alone.”
“It is.” He turned right at Cross Street, drove past the town hall.
Rachel’s eyes were looking all around. “I get why she wouldn’t want to leave here, besides all the memories. I already love this place. What a beautiful little town. Really, this whole drive through Cape Cod has been amazing.” They drove past a string of homes. “Look at these. They’re so adorable. Every one of them. I get now why they call this style of house Cape Cod.”
“You’re going to love her place. It’s not far. It’s just like these but on water.”
“She lives in a beach house?”
“Not quite. It’s a big pond. That’s what they call it anyway, but it really connects to the ocean if you trace it out far enough. My grandfather bought the house a long time ago, after he retired from the military. It was pretty affordable then. Now it’s worth over a million, and it’s not even that big a house.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s…pretty frail, but she’s always been petite. Her mind, though, is as sharp as ever. You’re gonna love her. And she’ll love you right off the bat. I’ve told her all about you.” His grandmother wasn’t physically able to make it to the wedding, which was why Jack made this little detour during their honeymoon drive through New England, so the two of them could meet.
“What’s her name?”
“Renée.”
“Sounds French.”
“It is, and she really is from France. Still has a slight accent, even after living here so long. They met in England during World War II a short time after she left France, right after the Nazis took over.”
“You grandfather was a fighter pilot, right?”
“He was, for several years. But he did a whole lot more things in his military career. I can’t wait for you to hear their story. That’s the other reason I wanted to come here. So she could tell you my grandfather’s story. I only heard bits and pieces of it while he was alive. Two years after he died, I came up to visit her for a week, and she told me the whole thing. How they met, how they fell in love. How he even came to be in England in the first place. When he took that boat ride across the Atlantic, America wasn’t even in the war yet. It was more than a year before Pearl Harbor. What he did was actually illegal. If he got caught, he could’ve been sent to prison. Maybe even lose his US citizenship.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. You’re not gonna believe their story. It’s the wildest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Weren’t you named after him?”
Jack nodded. “I am. Flying Officer Jack Turner. That’s who he was when she first met him. He was an American pilot flying for the RAF. He even fought in the Battle of Britain, and he’s the reason I majored in military history and focused mainly on World War II. It all started after my grandmother told me his story. Well, their story.”
“How come you’ve never told me their story before?”
He made a quick left turn, then a quick right. “Because…why hear a great story retold from a third-party when you can hear it told in person by a living eyewitness?”
“Won’t talking about these things stir up a bunch of painful memories for her?”
“It might. No…it probably will. But not all the memories are painful. I think she’d say most of them aren’t. The way she tells it, it’s not really a war story at all. Although there’s a ton of action and suspense in it. But hearing her tell it, it sounds more like a love story.”
“I like love stories.”
“I know you do.”
“You sure she won’t mind?”
“I know she won’t. I called her yesterday before we left our hotel in Newport and asked her.”
“What did she say?”
“At first, there was a long pause. I was about to say not to worry about it. But then she said—with that sweet French accent—that she’d be willing to tell their story one last time. Just for you.”

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