If I don't end up finding Lydia on my own, and if Claire keeps refusing to help me, then maybe that woman is someone I can approach. Surely the person running the show would know everyone helping to put on the event, right?
I pull out my phone and start texting.
Me:You sure she’s here?
Claire:Positive!
Me:Been standing here for ten minutes, and I don’t see her.
Claire:Look harder ;)
Me:Can’t you just send me her number so I can call her?
Claire:Oh, but this is so much more fun.
Me:Careful, your evil side is showing.
Claire:Hahaha, think you’ll live!
I laugh as I slide the phone into my back pocket. All right, time to get this over with. I’m not exactly looking forward to digging around for info on Mr. Blackwood, but it has to be better than doing nothing and discovering too late that he needs help of some kind. I wait a second while the woman with the clipboard finishes wrapping up a conversation, then stroll toward her.
“Excuse me,” I call, before someone else can steal her from me. “Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if by chance you’ve seen a Lydia Birch around here?”
Her painted lips curve up warmly as she extends her free hand toward me. “That would be me. And you must be Claire’s friend, Lou.”
“Oh! I’m—yes, I’m Lou.”
Lydia chuckles as we release hands. “Honey, it’s okay. Claire’s adopted, but she’s been a part of our family since before she was born. She told me to expect you this morning, but with all the set ups and such I didn’t notice you standing there. Have you been here long?”
“No, no,” I lie. “Well, not really.”
Seeing right through me, she wrinkles her nose. “Sorry. There’s not much in the way of entertainment around here, so I allow myself to get caught up in all this.” She waves a hand in the air, gesturing to the set ups, then wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me across the street, away from the watchful eyes surrounding us. “Anyhow, Claire said you wanted to see me in regards to Mr. Blackwood?”
I nod, not quite sure how to begin. “I just . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to overstep, but I’m a little worried about him.”
“Here, honey. Take a seat.” We’ve reached a small outdoor seating area, and we’re both silent as we get settled across the table from each other. “Mr. Blackwood . . . well, he certainly is a private man.”
“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”
She laughs. “I can see why Claire likes you. You two must get along pretty well.”
“She’s easy to get along with.”
“That she is.” Her smile widens, and my heart swells.
They’re such simple, general words, but the way she says them . . . it’s impossible not to feel the love she holds for her daughter. The woman is so motherly in this moment that the constant longing I have for my own mother bubbles back up to the surface.
“Lucky for you,” Lydia continues, returning to the topic of Mr. Blackwood, “I just so happen to have a knack for learning about the residents in my town. Unlucky for both of us, however, that man is about as hardheaded as a mule, so I’m afraid I haven’t discovered much.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” I chew on the inside of my lip, my already minimal hope deflating. “Anything could be helpful, though, if it sheds more light on who he is. How I might be able to connect with him better.”
She nods as though she understands, and I think she really does. I remember that, back when I first got the job, Claire said something to suggest her mother was one of the town folk urging Mr. Blackwood to get a caretaker. “Right,” Lydia says, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back against the seat. “Well, you’re aware he’s an author?”
“Yes, but I haven’t seen any of his work.”
“Oh, you should. It’s perhaps a bit far-fetched for some, but remarkable work regardless.”
“Far-fetched? How’s that?”
