Page 23 of The Hangman's Rope
“You love those things for a reason. Think about that.”
I blinked.
“My mom,” I said. “She was really into those things, and gardening, and my grandmother before her. My dad’s American but my mom is British,” I said and swallowed hard, tears springing to my eyes.
“There you go!” he crowed. “Proud of you, Sweetpea. You’re getting it.”
I laughed a little uneasily.
“That was Grandpa Gantz that called me that. He’s my—” I blinked.
“Dad’s father? Your American grandpa?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Lorelai Mary Ellen Gantz,” I whispered. “That’s my name.”
“Fuck yeah!” He immediately set the things he’d been pulling out of the fridge down and picked up his phone from where he’d pulled it from his back pocket and had set it inconsequentially on the kitchen counter.
He tapped out a text furiously, and his eyebrows went up as he gave a low whistle.
“That’s you, for sure,” he said, turning the phone to face me.
He hadn’t been texting. He’d been doing a search for my name.
I took the phone from him and swallowed hard.
“Lorelai Gantz of Charleston, South Carolina, missing since Saturday night after visiting a popular bar down in Savannah with friends on a weekend trip,” I read aloud. I looked up at Hangman and frowned in confusion.
“I don’t remember,” I said and he nodded slowly.
“It’s okay. Don’t push it,” he cautioned. “You’re doing good. You’ve got people who love you that are looking for you,” he said.
“I don’t feel like I know any of them,” I said, rubbing my lips together.
“Give it some time,” he said gently. “You’re safe here, and there’s no rush.”
“What happens now?” I asked carefully, almost afraid of what the answer might be.
He braced his hands against the kitchen counter across from me and leaned heavily on them. I tried valiantly to ignore the fluid way his muscles moved beneath the golden tan of his skin. His shoulders and across his back were tinged red, which told me he’d been working shirtless in the sun today, and I tried doubly as hard to banishthatthought from my mind. Instead, I searched his face, which the more I looked at it, the more handsome it became.
“Legitimate question, Lorelai,” he said gently, and I nodded mutely, patiently willing to hear him out. “What doyouwant to have happen right now? In this moment?” he asked.
I swallowed hard.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’m overwhelmed, afraid. I mean, I know it’s probably a dick move to make my parents worry for any longer but I’m still trying to, you know, process what may or may not have happened to me. I’m trying to figure outwho I am. This seems to be all over the news and then some. My dad is some kind of important. I don’t remember what for, but I know that. I know we come from money. I remember that now.” I frowned. “There’s just still so many missing pieces.”
“All fair points,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t answer the question.”
“I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “I guess I just want a little time to try and, I don’t know, get it together, before a whole bunch of questions and crazy are thrown at me. I just… I just need some quiet before all the noise.”
He nodded slowly and said, “You got it.”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s quiet here,” he said. “Doesn’t get much quieter than this,” he said, pointing out in the direction of the cemetery beyond the little dining nook’s window at what was presumably the back of the house. I was kind of fuzzy on the orientation of things, having come in in the dark, in such a state of confusion.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
