really do. I just…” She shrugs. “Everything has moved so fast with me and Ward. I don’t regret any of it. But I also don’t want to feel like we’re rushing through this relationship. I want to slow down. Enjoy each other. There’s plenty of time to get married. Right now, I’m just happy being with him.”
And it’s clear, from the look in her eyes, that she is happy—if her actions around Ward these past couple of days weren’t proof enough.
“Ah, geez,” she says, wiping her eye. “I can’t talk about anything without getting all teary. Friggin’ hormones. Between them and the cravings, I feel like a complete psycho.”
“You’re not a psycho,” I assure her. “And anyway, I’m having a few cravings myself. How about a snack before dinner?”
I hook my arm through hers and together we head out the door. I throw a glance down the hall toward Calder’s room, but the door is closed.
People handle stress in different ways , I remind myself. Lou was right—Calder has never been particularly good about expressing himself. I just need to be patient.
Even if it kills me.
CHAPTER SIX
CALDER
I wasn’t lying when I said I had work to do. But though I initially locked myself in my room with every intention of losing myself in my accounts, I should have known it would be a lost cause. No matter what I do, I can’t get this whole Taran Harker business out of my mind.
I tell myself that I’ll have more information in a couple of days, once Joe Osborne has had the time to do his research. But I’m not sure I can wait that long. And I’m not content to just sit around doing nothing.
Which is why, not half an hour after Lily and Louisa leave to get the dress, I borrow my sister’s car and take off on my own errand. I’m now at the public storage locker where I left boxes and boxes of my father’s effects in the months directly following his death—those things I couldn’t sell and didn’t want to deal with. I spent months going through his financial statements after he died, but I largely ignored his other papers and keepsakes. I didn’t want to dive too deeply into his memories. Now I wonder if there’s something among these boxes—a letter, a photograph, or even a journal—that might shed some light on Mr. Harker’s claims.
Which I still believe are completely false, of course.
It will take me hours to go through all of these boxes. There are a few dozen of them, and I’m not even sure where to begin. I never bothered to organize them in any particular way before leaving them here. I merely filled them and secured them and locked them away, as if hiding my father’s mementos would make it easier to forget him and get on with my life. That means it’s no small task to look through these boxes now; I have no idea what I’ll find when I peel back the tape.
A beep in my pocket signals an incoming text. I tug out my cell. The message is from Louisa: Dinner at 6 sharp! I’m making frutti di mare tonight!
I smile, but honestly, food is the last thing on my mind. And having my phone out reminds me that I still haven’t listened to the message from yesterday. I’m tempted to just delete it, but that feels cowardly. I don’t even know it’s from him.
My thumb presses the voicemail button before I can change my mind.
Hello, Mr. Cunningham? comes a familiar voice. My name is Taran Harker. I know you probably don’t know who I am, but I’m calling to see if I can meet with you. I have some information about your family I think you might like to know. There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is a little shakier, a little more uncertain. I know you have no reason to believe me, but this is important. I’d really like to meet with you. This isn’t something that should be discussed over the phone. My number is 555-2395. I can meet with you anytime. Again, this is Taran Harker.
I frown at the sound of the click. I can no longer delude myself into believing
And it’s clear, from the look in her eyes, that she is happy—if her actions around Ward these past couple of days weren’t proof enough.
“Ah, geez,” she says, wiping her eye. “I can’t talk about anything without getting all teary. Friggin’ hormones. Between them and the cravings, I feel like a complete psycho.”
“You’re not a psycho,” I assure her. “And anyway, I’m having a few cravings myself. How about a snack before dinner?”
I hook my arm through hers and together we head out the door. I throw a glance down the hall toward Calder’s room, but the door is closed.
People handle stress in different ways , I remind myself. Lou was right—Calder has never been particularly good about expressing himself. I just need to be patient.
Even if it kills me.
CHAPTER SIX
CALDER
I wasn’t lying when I said I had work to do. But though I initially locked myself in my room with every intention of losing myself in my accounts, I should have known it would be a lost cause. No matter what I do, I can’t get this whole Taran Harker business out of my mind.
I tell myself that I’ll have more information in a couple of days, once Joe Osborne has had the time to do his research. But I’m not sure I can wait that long. And I’m not content to just sit around doing nothing.
Which is why, not half an hour after Lily and Louisa leave to get the dress, I borrow my sister’s car and take off on my own errand. I’m now at the public storage locker where I left boxes and boxes of my father’s effects in the months directly following his death—those things I couldn’t sell and didn’t want to deal with. I spent months going through his financial statements after he died, but I largely ignored his other papers and keepsakes. I didn’t want to dive too deeply into his memories. Now I wonder if there’s something among these boxes—a letter, a photograph, or even a journal—that might shed some light on Mr. Harker’s claims.
Which I still believe are completely false, of course.
It will take me hours to go through all of these boxes. There are a few dozen of them, and I’m not even sure where to begin. I never bothered to organize them in any particular way before leaving them here. I merely filled them and secured them and locked them away, as if hiding my father’s mementos would make it easier to forget him and get on with my life. That means it’s no small task to look through these boxes now; I have no idea what I’ll find when I peel back the tape.
A beep in my pocket signals an incoming text. I tug out my cell. The message is from Louisa: Dinner at 6 sharp! I’m making frutti di mare tonight!
I smile, but honestly, food is the last thing on my mind. And having my phone out reminds me that I still haven’t listened to the message from yesterday. I’m tempted to just delete it, but that feels cowardly. I don’t even know it’s from him.
My thumb presses the voicemail button before I can change my mind.
Hello, Mr. Cunningham? comes a familiar voice. My name is Taran Harker. I know you probably don’t know who I am, but I’m calling to see if I can meet with you. I have some information about your family I think you might like to know. There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is a little shakier, a little more uncertain. I know you have no reason to believe me, but this is important. I’d really like to meet with you. This isn’t something that should be discussed over the phone. My number is 555-2395. I can meet with you anytime. Again, this is Taran Harker.
I frown at the sound of the click. I can no longer delude myself into believing
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