The thought made him clench his jaw as ambivalence rocketed through him. There was no way he could have seen this coming. Not from the woman who urged him to find his destiny. —who always had far-fetched tales to share that somehow felt real, and tied back to reality in ways he didn’t understand, even now.
There were few things that confounded him, but this didn’t make made no any sense. She was so full of life. Loved everything and everyone around her. Taught him to see life as an adventure. —something all too brief, to be cherished while it was here.
And it was all a fucking lie.
She didn’t believe any of it. How could she spout that kind of bullshit, and then end her own existence? Howdareshe tell him—tell Bailey—he was working too hard and missing the good in life, when Nana willingly removed herself from that same life? She threw away this thing away she swore was sacred, and had the nerve before she left to sayhedidn’t know how to live?
Fuck that. He reached deep inside, past the stabbing grief and bitterness and resentment, and grabbed a sheet of nothingness to wrap it all in. Work was waiting, and he’d spent a long time ensuring it went the way he wanted.
He dove back into his email inbox. It was more of the same. Meaningless condolences, wasting his time. A couple of issues in the office, accompanied by a handful of threads that ended with Liz’s,I’ve got this. Don’t worry about it.
That didn’t take as long as he hoped.
He needed to get back to the hotel and get on his laptop. Work options were limited from here, but he could do some things. He dialed Liz.
“I’m not talking work with you,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“You have to give me something. I’m going stir crazy down here.” Not quite the truth. He needed to occupy his mind. Thinking about why hit him in the gut like a fist, and he gasped.
“No. I’ll talk weather. You staying dry? Is the property all right?”
Stubborn, overbearing—He cut the thought off before it became something he’d regret. Inspiration struck. “Everything’s fine.” The lie burned up his throat, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. “Hey. Mercy’s friends with that one guy, isn’t she?” Mercy was Liz’s best friend and a former colleague of Jonathan’s.
“Which one guy? There’s a list, I’m sure.”
“The one who owns Smut Central. Andrew Newton, isn’t it?” Jonathan knew the answer, but he wanted to drag the conversation out.
“She is, and he does. Why?”
“We found some classic stuff here in the attic, and I’m hoping a guy with connections like his can help me put a value on it.” A voice screamed in the back of Jonathan’s head for him to stop, but he gagged it. The rules were different than he realized, and that meant he needed to approach this in a familiar way. Sentiment was no longer a factor. If Nana didn’t believe any of the bullshit she taught him, there was no reason for him to. He could go back to living for his work without any pesky guilt. “If I ask you, pretty please, would you have her have him call me?”
“That was convoluted. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Because making another call would give him time to think about what he was doing. “I don’t know how long I’ll have service. It’s spotty. I’ll owe you.”
“You don’t owe me for passing along a message.” She laughed. “I’ll do what I can, but no promises.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.”
“I know I am. Talk to you when you get back.”
He disconnected and pocketed his phone. So much for distracting himself. Now this was done, his mind had a chance to wander. Except he wouldn’t let it. He’d count his footsteps if he had to. Let his legs carry him to the far end of the island and back. Process quadratic equations. Repeat poetry—
Nope, not going down that road.
He lost track of time and location as he walked. When he realized he was squinting because the afternoon sun shone along the horizon and reflected off the water, he paused. Where was he? He looked around at the seaweed, the palm trees, the sand, and the battered old shack at the end of the beach. The location looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He’d never been here before.
He traced through his mind along different points in time. Pictures. Stories. Maps. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and brushed his fingers over something metal.
He extracted the iron key. That was why this looked familiar. The trees, house, and looming cliff were in the same places as the map he’d found in the attic. The one with the key in it.
She gave her life, to keep those memories.
Which was stupid, because now they were gone anyway.
You still have them.
Great. He was talking to himself. He’d still have them even if she lived.