And lo and behold, two passengershadleft oral records: Else Friedhoff and Michael Saltzman.
When I reached the yacht club, I ran right up to Noah. “Guess what I got!”
He raised his brows. “Gold? A winning lottery ticket?”
“Passenger records!”
“What? For your grandmother?”
And we easily fell back into our rhythm, as though we hadn’t fought at all, as though I hadn’t told him we were on opposite sides.
Noah directed the sailboat with long-practiced ease. It would be August in two days, and I felt like I existed in a snow globe of summer, the glitter of sun scattered everywhere, and heat baking into my bones. Noah stood against the sky, listening, strikingly handsome. We were alone in the world, the two of us. As I finished talking, I could feel my heart pounding in my throat. I felt so light and tight with nerves my mind might break away from my body and float into the blue, blue sky.
And Noah was smiling. “So you’re basically Sherlock Holmes.”
“Exactly, my dear Watson.” I licked my lips, then felt embarrassed. “Unfortunately, it’s yet another archive where you have to go in person. Why have digital recordings you can’t transfer digitally?”
“Would Dr. Weisz be willing to listen to them?”
I made a face. “I thought about asking, but they’re upwards of five hours.”
“You could go to Boston.”
I shot him a quick glance. Boston, where he’d be in a month for school. “I could.”
A silence fell. I looked around us, at the water and sky. We were a speck of humanity, just two people, and yet we carried so many emotions with us.
“I brought lunch.” Noah lifted a cooler and canvas bag out of the storage. Then, in a move I should have expected due to the heat, he stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside before sitting across from me.
“You did?” Oh god. Where did I look? Why was I having so much trouble breathing? I was like a Victorian heroine, ready to faint. Was it kosher to stare at his chest? I swallowed hard and looked down at the canvas bag.
He lifted out a baguette, Brie, grapes, and chocolate. “I hope it’s okay.”
“It’s perfect.” Like him. Okay. I needed to get a hold of myself. “Friday was intense.”
Noah tore off a hunk of bread, and handed it to me. “Yeah.”
“Was your grandpa okay when you went back in to talk to him?”
“He—” Noah hesitated. “You know how you said your grandma didn’t like to talk about her childhood? He’s the same. He shut down. My grandmother was there when I went back, but she left—you said she came and talked to you?”
His hand brushed mine as he passed me the Brie knife. I suppressed a shiver. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure it out—I don’t know why anyone would give someone a gift, then ask for it back, but it’s not such a big deal, I guess. Not as big a deal as if it was a family heirloom.”
Noah was quiet a moment, opening the fig jam, spreading it methodically over his bread and cheese. “Maybe it was a family heirloom. Just not yours.”
“What?”
“Maybe it wasmyfamily’s heirloom. And Edward gave it to Ruth, but then when they broke up, took it back.”
I was already shaking my head. “Why would she demand it back, then?”
“I don’t know. But why else would he take back a gift?”
“Wouldn’t he have mentioned if it was a family heirloom? And then he’d still have it, instead of it being gone.”
“True. Maybe he wanted to avoid talking about it, because it brought back too many memories.”
We paused, stumped, under the hot sun, smearing more Brie and fig jam across the white interior of our baguettes.
