I nod and swallow hard, not wanting to tell Jed that it’s too late for hope.
Instead, I shift in my seat to stare out through the back window, watching the big house grow smaller and then disappear behind the trees at the bend in the drive, silently saying goodbye to the best man I’ve ever met.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Zack
I sense that something’s wrong the moment I step into the house.
There are no cooking smells, no music trickling from the record player, and no Colette in the kitchen sipping wine while she finishes the dinner prep. There’s no sign of Chip, either, but I’m not nearly as eager to see him.
He’s going to hate the song I just wrote.
Really fucking hate it.
But he’ll have to get behind it anyway. It’s just that good. If “Gatekeeper (aka Mircropenis)” isn’t a hit, I’ll eat a box of guitar picks.
“Colette?” I call softly, not wanting Chip to realize that I’m back from the studio until I talk to Colette first. I want to warn her about the impending explosion before Chip listens to the rough cut of the song I just sent to his Dropbox.
But I’m answered only by silence and a faint creaking from overhead, making me think Chip must be up in one of the empty bedrooms working. Colette might be up in our room, too, but I don’t want to risk climbing the stairs and alerting Chip to my presence.
Instead, I grab my cell from the kitchen counter, intending to text Colette, to find I have an unread message.
A long one.
From her…
I had to go. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, but I figured that would be awkward with Chip here. I’ve had a wonderful time, and I care about you so much, Zack, but the more I think about it, the more it seems dangerously foolish to keep heading down this path. It isn’t fair to you or me, and it would be especially hard on a child born into this strange situation.
We can talk more when you get back to town if you want, but for now, you should concentrate on your music.
You have such an amazing gift. I can’t wait to hear what you come up with next. I believe in you so much, and I know you’re going to make a record that blows everyone away.
I wish you all the success and happiness in the world, and I’ll never forget this trip. These have been some of the best days…ever.
Love, Me.
My first thought is that I love that she signed her text like a letter.
The second is that I love her, too, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go without a fight.
I jog for the front door, only to nearly run headlong into Chip, who’s standing in the semi-darkness by the base of the stairs, quiet and creepy as hell.
“Shit, Chip,” I say, my breath rushing out. “Where did you come from?”
“I heard something upstairs,” he says in a hushed voice. “On the fourth floor, I think. Is someone else staying in the house?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s…” I hesitate but decide honesty is the best policy, even if I’m sure Chip won’t believe me. “Colette and I have both heard things, too. Apparently, they have friendly ghosts in residence. That’s what the caretakers told us, anyway.”
As expected, Chip gives a derisive snort. “Yeah, well, the caretakers are to going to be pretty fucking surprised when they realize they’ve got squatters in their attic.” His gaze lifts to the ceiling, his eyes narrowing. “No, you know what? I bet they know exactly who’s up there. They’ve probably got a relative living in the attic rent-free while they charge guests for the entire house. Have you been up to the top?”
“We took a peek earlier this week, but there wasn’t anything there but boxes of Christmas decorations and some old toys. If someone’s living up there, they’re doing it without disturbing the dust.”
“You’d be surprised how some people can live,” Chip says, his lip curling. “Like that movie, the one with the guy who was hiding in the bomb shelter under that family’s house. He was right there, living right under their noses, sneaking out to eat their food at night, ballsy as hell. People like that will do whatever it takes to get a free ride. Just goes to show how careful we all need to be with security right now.”
I’m not sure that was the moral of that particular movie, but I have more important things to do than debate the politics of income inequality with Chip. “Colette is gone. You have any idea why?”
An innocent expression flickers across Chip’s face, but it doesn’t fully take hold, and his gaze remains fixed on the ceiling. “No clue. I’ve been answering my emails. Though, now that you mention it, I might have heard the front door closing, but I was so focused on the noise upstairs I didn’t—” He breaks off with a sharp inhalation and continues in a whisper, “There. Did you hear that? Footsteps. Heavy ones. Ballsy as fuck.”