A tear rolled down my cheek. Was that true?
I’ll leave the house stuff to Trevor, which is what I should have done from the start. Thank you for all of your kindness. I’m genuinely grateful to have met you and Taco, and I’ll miss you both. Sorry I couldn’t say goodbye in person—it’s not really my thing.
Good luck with the inspection. I know you’re ready.
Riley.
P.S. Give Taco a hug from me.
I choked back the tears as I placed the note on the butcher’s block. Placing my key on the counter, I left out the front door, pushing the lock on the handle as it closed behind me. I turned on my heel and strode double time to my car, heart pounding.
Don’t look back.
The first hour passed without my realising. The only thing that jolted me back to awareness was the flashing light on my dashboard. My car was thirsty—and quickly running out of petrol.
Panic filled my chest as I stared at the $83 left in my account. That would cover an oil top-up, but I doubted it would stretch far enough to get me all the way back to London. I threw my head back against the driver’s seat.
I was tired of life feeling like a rollercoaster I couldn’t get off, although I was pretty sure it was me that kept getting on it. I just had no idea how to make it stop.
The lights of a twenty-four-hour café gleamed ahead, and I pulled in. I needed a moment to figure out what to do next. I grabbed my phone from the centre console and saw three messages. The first two, from Breeze and Dax, I deleted without reading. I didn't need to make this any harder than it needed to be.
RICK: What’s happening? I haven’t heard anything since you left.
I felt grateful for his quiet panic. Rick was one of the few people who saw all of me and still wanted me around. June came close, but something about her ability to do life in a way I couldn’t always left a sour taste in my mouth.
ME: Two hours out. Taking a break at a café. Might sleep so I’m not driving tired. If I’m not there tonight, don’t stress.
I wasn’t going to tell him about my money situation. If I did, he’d transfer funds before I could say no, and then I’d have to deal with the humiliation of being a charity case again on top of everything else.
RICK: Sweet. Jeffrey’s here, just FYI if you get here tonight. See you when I see you.
My eyelids felt like sandbags as the automatic doors ofTaylor’s 24-Hour Café & Grillwhooshed open. Maybe the forced stop was a blessing.
A server with chocolate brown hair and skin waved me to a booth and followed behind me with a menu. I knew exhaustion had seeped into my bones when the woman’s placement behind me as I walked didn't cause my chest to rage like it normally would.
“Just coffee,” I said, forcing my lips to smile although it didn't reach my eyes. I shouldn't even be getting that, but I couldn't expect them to let me sit here for free. She nodded, tucking her notepad into her apron, and walked back to the counter humming. I was grateful for the tall backs of the booth seating enveloping me in my misery, and I leaned my head back considering my situation.
I was homeless, jobless and now I had even less money than when I started. I willed myself not to spiral at my constant and repeated failures.
Fucking Trevor.It felt better to blame him for this scenario.
There was one saving grace in this situation. I pulled the creased issue of Squirrel News from my satchel and laid it flat onthe table, grateful to have one last piece of the town to take with me.
Not much news. I could see why the issue had been delayed. They’d stretched a story about a found wallet into a full-page feature, and I laughed at the way the editor, Harlow, had turned it into fiction.Long may your job last, clever writer.
My eyes drifted to the obituaries. Call me macabre, but I enjoyed reading the tributes. They felt like a way to say,your life mattered.That someone saw you.
I scanned the names until one age made me pause. Born a year before me. Thirty-six. You hadn’t even had a chance to live at thirty-six. I dreaded the idea of dying now, with so much left unaccomplished. Though I wasn’t convinced I’d feel like I’d achieved much more at eighty-five either.
“No,” I sucked in a breath reading the name.
Olivia Pratt.
“No,” I repeated, my body deflating like an old balloon.
There was no cause of death listed. No messages from loved ones. Just a brief note about a memorial at St Peter’s Church in two days’ time. I wanted to melt into the table.
Another lead gone. Not that it mattered anymore. If I needed one more sign to confirm I was right to leave Glades Bay, here it was.
