“We can sit at the table.” She took a step toward the dining room then stopped. In her haste to straighten up her apartment, she’d neglected the papers she’d spread over her table to grade. “On second thought, the living room will suffice.”
He chuckled. “Wherever you say is fine.”
They crossed the small foyer, and she directed him to take a seat on the sofa before sitting on the opposite side. Patiently waiting to see the bottle, she accepted the bagel he handed her, then fixed her coffee with one sugar and one French vanilla creamer.
Reaching behind him after he’d sat down, he pulled a book from behind the throw pillow. “I thought I felt something poking my back.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she took the book, one on the history of the Everglades. At least it wasn’t one of her romance novels she liked to indulge in. “Sorry about that. I wondered where that book went,” she said smoothly, trying to cover her embarrassment.
“No problem.” He reached for the messenger bag that Anna only now realized he’d brought in. He withdrew an object carefully wrapped in what appeared to be a dishtowel along with a piece of paper sealed in a bag. “Here it is.”
Her heart pounded with anticipation. She set her coffee and bagel on the end table and eagerly took the bundle. Both items fascinated her, but she chose to inspect the bottle first. She laid it on the center cushion of the sofa and unwrapped it slowly. Lifting the bottle, she peered through the light green glass, flipped it over and examined all sides.
Jack inched forward. “What do you think?”
“It’s old.” Holding it out, she pointed to the lip. “Do you see how the seam stops mid-neck and if you look carefully, you can tell the lip is applied. A bottle expert could give us a more precise age, but I’d venture to say the bottle was made eighteen-eighties.”
“The letter is dated 1899, so that would make sense. Weren’t bottles often saved and reused?” Jack’s eyes widened.
“Yes, but antique bottles can be found anywhere. Take your pick of an antique store and you’ll be sure to find a handful.” When she saw him deflate, she worked to cheer him up again. “That’s not saying that’s what happened. If the bottle was a replica, then we would know the letter isn’t authentic. There’s a high chance it’s real with the age of the bottle.”
“Read the letter. I brought a pair of latex gloves. You always see in the movies that they don’t use their bare hands to touch old paper.”
She smiled at his consideration. “Clean, dry hands are best, unless you’re concerned with hazardous material or touching photo paper.”
“Oh.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I appreciate the effort. Can I read the letter now?” After Jack nodded solemnly, she gingerly removed the letter from the bag.
The feel of the paper, the ink’s presentation, all indicated it was authentic of the letter’s timeline. An ache grew in her heart with each sentence she read. By the final line, a tear rolled down her face.
She couldn’t speak right away. Instead, she read the letter a second time. “This is…wow.”
“I felt the same way.” He handed her a tissue. “What was D going through that prompted her to write such words?”
“Whatever it was tore her apart, forced to make a decision she didn’t want to make.” Using the tissue, she wiped the tear and gathered her composure. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting this to be so emotional.”
“One would have to have a heart of stone to not be moved by D’s words.” His gaze settled on the paper. “In your opinion, is it authentic?”
“My initial observations say this is a genuine message in a bottle from the nineteenth century.”
“What now? Should I turn it into authorities? Is there a protocol?” His dark brows furrowed. “The nature of the letter, it’s so personal that turning it over to the world seems an invasion of privacy. Even as much as I want to know the story, I wonder if it would be proper.”
His insight caught her off guard. This introspective side of Jack was one she’d not seen before and could prove dangerous for her feelings. Cute but shallow Jack was an overlookable crush. A slightly older, more mature Jack with depth made him an insanely attractive man.
His dad’s Latino heritage and his mother’s eastern-European ancestry gave him incredible physical genes. He, and his siblings were blessed that way. Kelly never lacked male friends in high school, but she’d never had eyes for anyone but Tommy Anderson, her high school boyfriend whom she’d married and currently expected her second child with.
The oldest Cruz sibling, Owen, looked very similar to Jack. They both had olive-toned skin and deep brown hair that was almost black with eyes to match. Where Owen was an inch taller than his brother, Jack was the more muscular of the two though both were trim and kept in shape. Jack also remained the only sibling unattached, as his brother had married New Year’s Eve.
Realizing her thoughts were drifting, she cut them off and brought herself to the task at hand. “There are no laws or statues declaring you have to turn in the message in a bottle. Some people who find them donate them to museums, but many keep them.”
“Have you ever heard of finding one this old?” He picked up the bottle and peered at it.
“It’s not common, but it’s not unheard of. The oldest message in a bottle found from the sea was one-hundred and thirty-two years old. As for the letter you discovered, that’s the most interesting I’ve seen.”
He laid the bottle aside. “What would you do?”
She gave the idea serious consideration before answering. “I’d research and do whatever I could to find the identity of Edwin and D. Their story needs resolution. If I were able to discover who they were, I’d consider tracking down their ancestors and handing over the letter.”
