Isobel locked her pinky around Fiona’s. “Pinky promise.”
They bobbed their joined hands a few times to seal the deal.
And now here, on her iPad, was a reminder that the eclipse of the pinky promise was no longer wildly far in the future. No longer an imaginary thing.
She needed to experience it with Isobel and fulfill their girlhood promise.
They must.
Problem was . . . she’d done something unforgiveable to Isobel.
And they’d been estranged ever since.
By the following afternoon, Jonah could no longer stand his imprisonment in Remy’s bed. The only entertainment he’d found inside this room had come from two things. One, her stack of fantasy novels. Two, the small TV/VHS combo she’d plugged in for him and the six VHS tapes of fantasy movies that went with it.
He couldn’t remember his past, but he’d learned two things about himself. Isolation made him itchy, and he was not aLord of the Ringsfan. So he went on a mission with one goal:get to a view of the ocean. Which would be much better than a view of Frodo.
Dressed in some of the new clothes Leigh had brought him—a pair of black basketball shorts and a long-sleeved athletic shirt—he made slow progress on bare feet, doing his best not to jar his cracked ribs. The clothes had come with TJ Maxx tags on them, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t a TJ Maxx shopper and usually paid more than $12.99 for a pair of shorts. But since his choices were A) wear the stuff Leigh bought, or B) wear black and red pajama bottoms, he’d go with the TJ Maxx wardrobe.
Remy’s kitchen looked like a throwback to the 1960s with its wood cabinetry and white Formica countertops. Her stand mixer had been taken apart and the missing sections never reinstalled. He opened the pantry door and regarded the depressing contents. The only thing that appealed was her stockpile of chocolate pudding cups. He snapped one free, grabbed a spoon, and continued on.
The walls in the living area were jammed with art, just like her bedroom. So much art it was like wallpaper. It stabbed his eyes. The beige sofa and chairs had navy-and-white-striped throw pillows on top. An unfinished puzzle covered the coffee table. More books on the side tables. A long piece of knitting—a scarf?—draped over a basket.
He let himself outside and found the view of the ocean he’d been searching for. Carefully, he eased his weight onto one of the two Adirondack chairs.
He’d made it. It had hurt, but he’d made it.
He drew in a breath as deep as he could manage, bringing cool, fresh sea air into his lungs.
It was breezy but not stormy like the past two days. Sun sparkled against the water spreading toward the line of the horizon. To the right of Remy’s house, land jutted out a short distance. To the left, jagged coastline stretched a long distance. He couldn’t see any other houses, just trees pressing close to the rocky shore.
His shoulders relaxed, and he tilted his face toward the sky. Here the only soundtrack was wind in the trees and water pounding rhythmically against the cliff below. This felt right. He must be someone who liked the water or who was accustomed to it or both.
Minutes passed.
“Jonah?” Remy called from inside the house.
“Out here.”
She walked onto the deck and planted her hands on hips covered by overalls. Today she wore a soft-looking black T-shirt beneath. She’d stuck half her hair in a bun and left the other half down. She wore her glasses like a headband. “Now you’re a pudding stealer?”
“Yes. Now I’m a pudding stealer.”
She tutted. “You should have asked for help getting out here.”
“I wanted to make it on my own.”
“When I saw the door open, I worried that you might have thrown yourself back into the ocean.”
“If I had, why would that have worried you?”
She smiled. “You’re right. That outcome should have no reason to cause me concern.” She took a seat on the remaining Adirondack.
For long minutes he said nothing. And, a rare gift, she also said nothing.
He ate the pudding, enjoying every bite.
“The weather is better,” she said.
