Chapter 10

Evelyn

I stumble through the door and head straight for the kitchen, still not sure of what I’m doing or why I took a sick day. I don’t even know what time it is. I drove around for two hours in a completely stupid desperate search for Connor.

What I thought I would say to him if I managed to by some act of God find him, I can only imagine. My brain isn’t working, I’m off-balance, and everyone in the office probably thinks I’ve finally succumbed to grief and had a mental breakdown.

I grab the bottle of red and pour it out so fast I spill it over the counter. I guzzle the wine and stagger around the kitchen, exhausted and out of sorts as I try to find something to eat. I open the pantry and stare at the bag of microwave popcorn. I blink and grab the box of Oreos instead. I alternate between drinking my wine and gorging myself on cookies while I mutter like a mad woman trying to psyche myself up enough to go into the master bedroom again.

When half the bottle and all the packet are gone, I picture Connor’s face and find enough courage to swing the door open with enough force to make the door smash into the wall.

I stride across to the drapes and pull them open, disturbing years’ worth of dust and who knows what else in the process. I cough, trying not to breathe in as I try to push the window open. It sticks, but I manage to open it enough to let the cool air start to permeate the musty smell.

I know my resolve is wavering when my hands start to shake, so I rip the bedding off and dump it, so it’s in the middle of the floor. I don’t stop moving until I’ve pulled everything out of the drawers and they sit on top of the bedding pile. I step back and survey the giant mess I’ve made, and instead of feeling even remotely proud, I just stare at it wondering what I’m supposed to do with all this?

I scratch my head and mutter into the room. “I need help.”

I turn, half anticipating an offer from Connor to help me take my clothes off. I gape, staring at the hallway, wondering what is wrong with me. Have I gone so crazy that I expected Connor to be standing there? I’m drunk, but I’m not that drunk.

I back out of the room and head back out into the living room. As I stop to stare at the photo of Scott, realization snaps into me like a rubber band to the chest. I used to do that all the time. It’s been so long I’ve forgotten. All those almost questions, those laughs where I looked beside me to see if Scott was laughing too, only to be staring at empty space. But I’d known Scott for years. Shared everything with him. Built a life with him. Am I that lonely that a man I’ve only known three days imprinted that deeply on me?

“That’s just sad,” I mutter to the photo. I pick it up and trace my finger over his face. “Is he right?”

When I’ve looked so long at Scott’s smiling face and know he can’t answer me, I open a drawer and carefully place his photo on top of my high school yearbook and pull out a photo of my family instead. I close the drawer on Scott, on my guilt, my grief, and leave him locked up tight with all the other mementos that make up almost thirty years’ worth of living.

Before I drag all of Scott’s things out, I tap out a text to Rosie.

Hey. So, I think I quit my job, and I’m kind of tipsy and a complete mess right now, but this singles night thing on Saturday? I think it might be a good idea.

I don’t know why I think I’ll hear from her immediately since texts can arrive hours later due to the spotty signal, but I stare at the screen for a few minutes before I give up and throw my phone on the sofa.

It takes me nearly thirty minutes of unladylike grunting to bring all of Scott’s things onto the beach. I use my hands to dig a trench around the mountain and fill a bucket with water, so I create what I hope will be a fire stop. When I’ve figured the direction of the wind and am ninety percent sure I’m not going to burn anything outside of the circle, I strike a match and fling it onto the pile.

Nothing happens.

“Arrgh,” I scream at the sky.

Gritting my teeth, I stalk to the pile and grab Scott’s aftershave and unscrew the cap. The scent seems weaker than I remember, but it’s still enough to bring back a host of memories that I’d ordinarily have to fight to keep down. I slowly pour the contents over one of his favorite shirts. When I think it’s saturated enough, I take a step back, make sure I haven’t accidentally poured aftershave on my hands, and strike the match again.

This time when I flick the lit match onto the pile, it ignites with a whoosh and a blue flame. I watch it for a while, feeling the heat warm my skin as the day starts to creep closer to night. When the wind shifts and I suck in a lung full of air and start hacking from the smoke, I duck back inside, pull the deck door closed, and watch like a maniac as Scott’s belongings light up the beach.

It takes me three hours to scrub every inch of the room, vacuum up cobwebs, and dust and polish. By the time the fire is starting to burn itself out, and my arms are aching, the room is empty, sterile, and the mattress is flipped to one side ready to be taken to the thrift store, along with its matching furniture.

I catch myself smiling as I pass the newly polished mirror. And despite how exhausted I feel, despite looking like I’ve been up all night partying, I don’t think I’ve ever felt better. I pick up my discarded wine glass and slump into the couch, eyes on the photo of my family as I try to figure out if I want to rearrange the entire room.

My phone vibrates beside me, and I smile as I see Rosie’s message. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Finally! You won’t regret this.

I put my feet up on the coffee table and stare at my reflection in the TV screen as I wonder what on earth is happening to me. I’ve never been prone to impulsiveness. Until Connor showed up, I don’t think I’d even broken the speed limit. Or broken the law.

Broken.

Connor said I wrecked him. Well, I’m pretty sure he’s done something to break me. And I’m pretty sure it’s a good kind of broken all things considering.

I’m starting to doze, caught in my melancholy thoughts when a knock at the door makes me jump to my feet. My heart starts racing as I rush to the door, hoping that Connor will be standing there.

Any hope of him turning up fades as I see the brown uniform of the smiling UPS man. He opens his mouth to speak, but as he looks at me, his smile collapses. “Er, Evelyn Jones? I’m sorry to call on you so late, but this is a priority package.”

I try for a smile. “Oh, it’s fine. It’s not that late, just past six, I think?”

He nods and doesn’t say a word about the state I’m in, just hands me a package and the signature device so I can sign my name. “Wasn’t sure if I was going to get through with the water damage, but it’s first-class. Someone paid a lot to make sure that got here tonight.”

I cock my head at him as I try to wonder who is sending me something that needs to get here so quickly. “Um, thank you,” I manage as he strolls away.

I’m still mentally scratching my head when I rip the package open and take a seat at the kitchen table. A shirt, pants, and sweater have been neatly folded into tissue paper. I choke on a laugh as I recognize more of Scott’s clothing that I’ll need to burn. I search the packaging for a note and find an incredibly messy note obviously written in a mad rush that makes no sense whatsoever.

This saved my life, then you did.

Figured you should stay together.

Connor

I’m still puzzled when I notice a flat shiny silvery metallic bar with numerous markings. At the back of the piece of metal is a perfect cone-shaped dent, but it’s the words Palladium 300 grams that makes me screw my face up. What in the world is Palladium?

Since I have my phone handy, I text an old friend who majored in geology and try my luck at getting a response. I turn the bar over in my hands, not sure if this is an incredibly sweet gesture or I’m handling stolen goods. I give up trying to figure out why he sent it and put it in the top drawer along with Scott.

My stomach is growling at me, reminding me that Oreos and wine don’t qualify as food, so I fix myself a ham and cheese and sit on the counter, drinking a beer in the dark so I can look at the waves as they crash over the sand. I brush the crumbs from my clothes, yawning as I contemplate taking a shower before crashing for the night. I’ve halfway decided a shower is desperately needed when I hear my cell phone buzz on the sofa.

Three messages have come in at the same time, which isn’t anything unusual. What is unusual is the message from my cell provider, letting me know they are finally looking at extending their towers to include one in Sanctuary Cove. The next text is from Rosie, telling me about a hot bartender she met, and the third is from Chloe.

It’s basically a metal that can be used in anything from car parts to jewelry, and yeah, to answer your question it’s incredibly rare. About thirty times rarer than gold, so that makes it valuable. Why?

I frown at the message and send her another one, making sure I ask all the questions I wish I had thought of in the first one. I tap my finger on the sofa as I wait for the message to come back. When it’s been over ten minutes, I give up and decide to take a shower.

I scrub my face clean and wash the day's grit off me as quickly as I can. I’m barely dry when I pull my robe over my body and rush back to check on my phone. When nothing has come through, I start to pace. I stretch my hands behind my back and try not to look at my phone as I tidy away the UPS packing and clean the kitchen counter to keep busy. I’m about to find something else to clean when I hear my phone. The first vibration hasn’t even finished before I scramble across the room to snatch it up.

Conversion rate is about 1 oz to about 28 grams. I checked the market, and an ounce is selling for around $1400. Aside from this random interest in precious metals, how are you?

I drop the phone and stare at the drawer. Fourteen hundred dollars an ounce and he’s given me a bar worth ten times that much? What am I supposed to do with it? Did he ever think about that? Did he think of how utterly useless a bar of metal is?

The note is on the table where I left it, so I hurry back into the kitchen and see if I missed anything. After the third read through and nothing magically appears to explain why he’s basically given me an expensive keepsake, I check the clock on the microwave and decide to call it a night.

I’m still shaking my head when I crawl into my bed confused, exhausted and desperately wishing Connor Slade was here to explain himself.