She ventures to the kitchen, leaving me alone to examine the box and hopefully jog my memory. It feelsimportantsomehow. I admire the craftsmanship, but I want to have a look inside. I try tolift the clasp, but it’s stuck. Maybe the tiny hinge has rusted with age. I try one more time to loosen it, but I use too much force. The entire clasp separates from the wood in one piece.
I panic and look toward the kitchen, hoping Grace hasn’t seen what happened. Luckily, she’s still busy making her tea. But what am I going to do? She rescued me, and here I am, repaying her kindness by breaking something that means the world to her. My hands shake vigorously as I try to put the clasp back in place, but the glue is old, and it lost a tiny screw that I can’t find.
I hear Grace returning from the kitchen. Panic floods my chest. Before I know it, I’m shoving the box into my backpack. Maybe she won’t notice, or maybe she’ll forget, her memory issues working in my favor. Then I can fix it and return it, and she’ll be none the wiser.
Grace approaches, displaying a hint of concern. “Are you feeling well? You look peaked.”
She dabs my forehead with the same tea towel she used for her misty eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say breathlessly, trying to keep my heart inside my chest.
“How’s your ankle feeling?”
I show her that I can move it fairly well, but perhaps adrenaline has blocked my pain receptors.
“Oh, good. I like to see that kind of mobility. Let’s get the paste cleaned off, and I have a crutch you can use. I think it’s time to get you home, dear,” Grace says with concern. “You’ve been through a lot and need a good night’s sleep.”
Grace gets the crutch from a closet and does not mention the box that seems to have vanished into thin air. As soon as I’m cleaned up, Grace helps me to my feet. Whatever she’s done seems to have worked. I can put more weight on my injured ankle than before.
“I recommend wrapping your ankle in an Ace bandage, and staying off your feet as much as possible,” she says. She sounds knowledgeable, and I don’t dare argue. But more important, the crutch has given me an excuse to come back, so I can bring the box once I fix it.
“Sure thing, and I’ll return the crutch when I’m better,” I tellher, finding a smile now that I have a plan. “But I’m sure the twins I’m looking after won’t let me lounge around.”
Grace escorts me to the door. “In that case, I’m going to give you an herbal treatment to take daily. Just mix it with water. It will help with the swelling. It’s bitter, but a pinch of sugar will help it go down.”
I don’t tell her that she’s essentially quoting Mary Poppins. I’m too ashamed of being a lying thief to associate myself with the greatest nanny of all time. But I promise to set things right. And I wonder if everything that’s happened to me—my injury, my rescuer, and the broken clasp—all happened for a reason, because this box means something.
I just need to figure out what.
Chapter 23
Julia
For one brief moment, Julia believed all the awful events from the day before were simply nightmares. Perhaps Christianhadn’tdowned half a bottle of whiskey and made his heartbreaking confession. She peeked out the bedroom window. As the early morning light seeped into her eyes, clearing her thoughts and vision, she realized it was all true. Christian was driving away. It must have been the sound of the engine that woke her. She could see his taillights fading into the distance like a sad wave goodbye.
She’d asked him to leave and was still beyond livid, but Julia wasn’t prepared for the deep loneliness she would feel in the aftermath of his departure. Her stomach turned into a bottomless pit.
The anger was easier to sit with, so she held on to that. She wasn’t sure what to say to Taylor, and she had no idea what the path forward looked like. She recalled a favorite AA saying of Christian’s—one day at a time—but even that felt daunting. She’d have to break it down further, into hours, perhaps minutes.
After her shower, which did nothing to wash away the negativity, Julia trudged across the dew-covered grass to Erika’s house. She picked up the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
“Where have you been, stranger?” Erika said. “Are you feeling better? Taylor said you were sick, so we didn’t bother you with all the news. Did you talk to her this morning?”
Julia had left a note for Taylor last night, letting her know she wasn’t feeling well and was going to bed early. It wasn’t a lie.
“No, Taylor was still sleeping when I left the house.”
“Well, you won’t believe what happened while you were out of commission. Lucas lost Izzy in the forest.”
“What?” Julia’s face widened with shock and surprise. “Is she okay? She’s been found, right?” Her question came with a deep pang of guilt for having powered off her phone last night in an attempt to shut out the world. But she had hardly slept a wink. Instead, she lay awake ruminating, fuming all through the night.
She heard Taylor come home from David’s, where she had been watching the twins. Christian stayed in the guest room, and Julia was glad he had kept his distance.
“Yes, Izzy’s fine, thank God. The Olsen woman down the road found her in the woods before it got dark and bandaged up her ankle. I guess she sprained it pretty badly. Lucas was a wreck—he thought he had killed her. I blame Rick for leaving them alone to chase down some animal. What a dumbass. Sometimes he has his head so far up his butt, he could give himself a colonoscopy.”
“Oh no! That’s awful. But I’m so relieved Izzy’s okay. What a nightmare.”
“Tell me about it,” said Erika.
