Dragonfly (27 page)

“But don’t you see?” My eyes went to his. “It does to me.”

He didn’t stop me slipping it off again. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s how you feel. Keep it somewhere safe.”

“I will.”

I left the small shop and was in my car when I saw Ms. LaSalle walking up. Her expression gave nothing away, and I wondered what had happened after I left. I only waved as I pulled onto the road to my house.

Chapter 26

Nancy was beaming the next time I arrived at the office. She came around the counter grinning like she was going to pin a medal on me. “What did you do?” she said.

I dropped my bag behind the counter, brow creased. “What?”

“I just got off the phone with Ms. Alexandra LaSalle. She’ll be very happy to talk to me about her art and when can we get together.”

“You’re kidding!”

“She said it was because of you.”

“Me?” I acted bewildered while trying to think of a plausible explanation. “Well, I’m friends with her son, you know.”

“Right.”

“I was visiting over the weekend, and we got to talking. I guess she realized she was being too sensitive.”

“Well, whatever happened, big points for Anna.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be interviewing her next week. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!”

* * *

I had no clue what to expect at my meeting with Mr. Kyser. Would he threaten me? Try to bribe me? I decided I’d repeat my position that it should be them, Julian’s parents, who told him the truth. This little messenger was not about to be killed. Or lose my friend. I was uneasy as I turned the car toward East End Beach and made my way to Phoenician One.

The receptionist recognized me on sight. I walked in, and she told me who I was and to take a seat. I fidgeted with a magazine while I waited, and after what seemed an eternity, he appeared.

“Anna. Come in.” He said, all business.

I walked into his stunning office and sat in the small chair I’d occupied at our previous meeting. He walked around his desk and sat.

“I wanted to talk to you because I know you’re smart and you care about your friends,” he began. “I get that, and I care about them, too. But I have something to discuss with you. Off the record.”

Here we go. “Okay.”

He reached down to open a large drawer in his desk and pulled out three thick journals. One was leather-bound, and the other two were covered in colorful fabric. Then he also reached into the drawer again and pulled out what looked like a present wrapped in brown paper with a green foil ribbon tied gaily around it. He handed the present to me first.

“This is from Lucy. She wanted me to give it to you. Christmas present or something.”

“Thanks.” Suddenly I felt awful for neglecting our friendship. Even if I was sure she’d been completely occupied with B.J.

“These are the reason I wanted to see you here. Alone.” He picked up the three books and placed them in a stack in front of me. I was mystified.

“We’ve known each other a little while now, Anna, and you appear to be a trustworthy person,” he said. “So I’m going to let you look at these.”

“What are they?” I leaned forward to touch the spine of one of the vintage-looking books.

“They’re journals. This one’s mine…” He picked up the brown leather-bound book. “This one’s Meg’s, and this one’s Lexy’s.”

“How did you get hers?”

He leaned back and sighed. “Lexy was an orphan. She was raised by a wealthy old woman who had a large house out on Port Hogan Road.”

“Okay.” I was thinking of the document I’d seen when I was searching for Julian’s birth certificate, but I couldn’t make the connection.

“Miss Stella was what we all called her. Her name was Stella Walker. She was originally from North County, around Lake Pinette. Her husband died young, and she liked to foster children from the Little Flower Convent in Sterling. Until the child was adopted or moved to a different situation.”

“What does that have to do with you having Ms. LaSalle’s journal?”

“When Miss Stella died, she left her home to Lexy. Lexy wanted me to sell it so she could get something smaller.” He paused. “I didn’t exactly do that.”

Now it all came together. “You bought it!”

“I’d intended to hold it as an investment property. But I never seemed to be able to part with it.”

“You still own it?”

“Yes. And I was cleaning it out a while back and found this in one of the rooms. I did read it, and it was very… helpful to me.”

“So you’re going to let me read these?”

“Only for your information. Not for print, not for sharing with anyone.”

“Why?” I cleared my throat. “I mean, why me?”

He stood and walked around the desk, leaning near me. “It’ll help you understand why you need to trust us. Why you need to keep what you know a secret.”

“I don’t think anything could convince me that not telling Julian is for the best. He deserves to know you’re his dad.”

He looked down at his hands. “Julian has everything he needs. I have always taken good care of them, and I always will.”

“But he needs a father,” I argued. “He needs to know who you are.”

“Lex is probably right. And once you read this, you’ll understand her reasons.” His voice was quiet, and I could tell this saddened him.

Still, I was amazed by what he was offering me, and I was itching to pick up the volumes and begin reading them at once.

“Can you agree to keep quiet if I give you these?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ve already said I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Be careful with them. It isn’t just two people who could be hurt here.” He stood and put the three books in my hands, and I felt like I’d just been entrusted with valuable artifacts.

I stood completely amazed, holding the books and almost a little frightened of what I might discover inside the yellowed pages.

“Anna?” He called.

I stopped and looked back. “Yes, sir?”

“I do want to know Julian as my son. Someday.”

* * *

Mom was in the kitchen when I ran in, stopped at the door to hang my keys on the rack, and started to run up the stairs. I’d stuffed the journals in my book bag, and I had to hold it close to me because the top was gaping open with the additional load.

“Tough day at the office?” Mom smiled as she lifted the lid on the slow-cooker and gave something that smelled delicious a stab. I paused at the stairs.

“Oh, ‘bout the same as always.”

“Any news to share? Something not fit to print maybe?”

If she only knew!
“Nothing I can spill just yet.”

“Hey, come here for a sec.” I sighed and put my bag on the stairs before trudging back to the kitchen.

“Don’t act like that,” she complained. “Listen, I know we’ve been sort of zooming past each other these last few weeks…”

“It’s okay, Mom, Christmas on the Coast is a lot of work. I know.” Every year she was consumed with the association’s biggest fundraiser.

“But I was going to say, it’s been a few months, and I noticed someone sort of dropped out of the picture.”

Ugh
. “Jack and I broke up,” I said. And without warning, my silly eyes actually started filling with tears. I stepped back and pushed them away, clearing my throat. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t really a big deal.”

Mom studied me.

“Don’t stare at me like that,” I said trying to get control. “It really wasn’t a big deal. We only went on one date.” It was true. And she didn’t need to know about all our other encounters.

“It just seemed like you liked him a lot. I saw the way you guys looked at each other.”

My eyes closed, and I fought against the pain flaring in my chest. “Please don’t make it seem like a bigger deal than it was.”

I leaned back against the counter and sighed. Why did my emotions choose now to flood to the surface?

Mom was quiet a moment and then leaned next to me. “But he was kind of your first love, wasn’t he?”

“No. What does that even mean? First love. That’s so dumb. People say that, but it’s not true. Weren’t there any little boys in elementary school I thought I loved?”

“Oh, sure. That little Anthony kid who wore glasses and picked his nose. I remember you drawing pictures of the two of you getting married. He was definitely your first love.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “feel bad for as long as you need to, but don’t act like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m not acting like it didn’t happen.”

“Well, I hope you don’t feel like you have to hide this stuff from me.”

We were still leaning against the counter, and I was staring at my shoes. “It just makes it worse when I tell people,” I said. “Like sympathy makes me want to cry more or something.”

Mom wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my head. “Okay, well, I hear you. Just know I
am
sympathetic, but I won’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“But if you change your mind, and you want to make a big deal out of it, that’s okay, too.”

I nodded. “Deal.”

“So the ultimate comfort food—I made beef stew for dinner!”

* * *

After dinner, I pulled the journals from under my bed. The first one I opened was the pink fabric-covered one that had belonged to Jack’s mom. Her handwriting was all curly and cute, and the first words she’d written were her name in all its different forms across the page:
Margaret Louise Kyser, Mrs. William Kyser, Bill and Meg
…

I stopped and looked up, thinking of Rachel and Brad. Since the invention of the small-town high school, it seemed girls had been deciding their future husbands by graduation time. I flipped through the pages. There was stuff in here about Brad’s parents, too…

Just then I heard a knock on my door and hastily shoved the books under my bed. Mom peeked her head in my room.

“Hey, honey. I’m turning in. You staying up late?”

“Not too late. I was just catching up on some reading.”

She walked over to my desk and picked up the brown package that was still wrapped.

“What’s this? A gift?”

I got up. “Oh, wow. I forgot. It’s a Christmas gift from Lucy Kyser. I probably should get her something in return.”

“You haven’t opened it.”

I picked up the package and hastily tore off the paper. My heart stopped when I saw what it was. In a beautiful antique-wood frame was a picture she’d snapped of Jack and me at that first school dance. I couldn’t stop it now. Seeing his gorgeous smile and my blissful expression, remembering that night, kissing him on the beach, my palms against his warm chest, all of it, the tears streamed down my cheeks in a flood.

“Oh, Mom, I think I did love him,” I whispered.

She helped me to my bed and rubbed my back as I dissolved into tears on my pillow.

Chapter 27

Every winter along the coast, an unseasonably warm, humid day would pop up right around Christmas. Sometimes a string of them. The next morning was one of those days.

The sky was white and dark grey, and the clouds were building into what looked like a strong storm. The idea of rain was perfect for what was going on in my chest, and I wanted to get out into the turbulent air and feel it on my face.

I scribbled out a note letting Mom know I was headed to the beach, I had my phone, and then I ran out to the car. The wind was pushing through in short, powerful bursts, and I couldn’t wait to be out in it. I wanted sit on the shore and let go all of my feelings. I wanted to turn over the leaves of the past six months and try to understand what had happened to me, how I’d changed, and how I’d gotten off course. I wanted to let the noise of the surf pound out the bad and help me find my way back to the beginning, back to how I was before.

I arrived at the beach. Alone again. I remembered that fateful day last August, but this time I wasn’t hiding. I was at a familiar stretch of public beach, and I went down to the shoreline to sit and watch the grey clouds roll in as the wind continued pushing my hair back and around my head. Two red flags today; water closed to the public.

A few local surfers made their way out to the waves that were growing in height as the storm approached. No lifeguard was on duty, but these kids had grown up taking chances on the water. It wouldn’t be a bad storm, just enough to blow in some big waves and a strong shower or two. I closed my eyes and felt the salty blast against my cheeks.

Maybe I wouldn’t go all the way back to the beginning. I wasn’t sure I could even if I tried, but I had to go back to when I was stronger, when I had goals and I was focused on my career plan. SAT scores were in, and in a few months, I’d know for certain where I was going to college next year. All that was left were these last few months, prom, and graduation. The best parts of senior year, and for some, the best days of their lives.