Shouldn’t I recognize it?
Shouldn’t it sparksomethingin my memories?
“Why wasn’t I wearing it?” I turn it around in my fingers, studying theclaws holding the heavy diamond in. The band, bare of any scratches. No dents. No sign of wear at all. “Happily engaged twenty-five-year-old women wear their rings all the time, right?”
“You never wore it to work.” He nestles against the back of his chair, lifting one foot and resting it on the opposite knee. “Because you were always digging in dirt, you were afraid you’d lose it. You had this cute little bowl at the house. Your grandma gave it to you?—”
Piqued, I bring my eyes back to his. “My grandma?”
His lips curl into a sweet, almost nostalgic smile. “She lost her wedding ring when she was young, she said. Ironically, in the garden. So when your grandpa replaced it, she swore she would be extra careful because she felt so awful about losing the first one. Every single time she went out, she took her ring off and set it in the bowl. She kept the bowl on the kitchen windowsill, which overlooked the garden. When we got engaged, I suppose she wanted to pass that tradition down, so she gave you the bowl and told you the story about the first ring. From the very beginning, you kept yours in the bowl while you were at work, and as soon as you came home, you put it back on. It was a reverse routine, in a way, where others might take their jewelry off at night. But not you.” His eyes soften. They’re kind and gentle. Adoring, in a way. “You said you missed your ring all day long while you were at the nursery, so putting it back on was the first thing you did when you got home.”
Curious, I place the ring at the tip of my finger and slide it on, testing to see if it fits.
Kinda hoping it won’t.
It does.
“You’ve never worn a lot of jewelry in the past. You had your fair share, since I like to buy it for you, and at least once a month, we had reason to dress up and look fancy. For work. Or for a friend’s wedding. Whatever. So you have a collection, but none of it was consistently worn.” He gulps and looks down at the ring. “Except that.”
I spin the ring on my finger and frown.
Remember, Rose! Remember something, you idiot.
“Is my grandmother’s name Rosaline, too?”
A big, bright smile bursts across his face. “Yes! You remember?”
“Just her name.” I lick my lips and draw my eyes up. “Did she see the thing on the news? Was she worried about my disappearance?”
His expression drops, his brows lowering, and his lips falling into flat lines. “Um…” He draws a slow, shuddering breath. “Your grandma is… uh…” Sympathy shimmers in his eyes. “She’s declined a lot over the last few months.”
“Declined?”
“She’s been showing signs of dementia for a while. It was something that used to keep you up at night. But when you went missing and the police went to speak to her, things got worse. Fast,” he sighs. “They say the stress was just too much.”
“So she’s…” Fresh tears blur my vision. I’m hurting for someone I don’t know. Sort of. “She’s in a nursing home or something?”
“Yeah. She moved in about three or so years ago, about six months after your grandfather passed away. We already knew where her medical future was headed, so we made the choice to get her settled early, so when things inevitably got worse, she would already be comfortable and familiar with the staff. Your mom and dad had her in their home for those first six months, but?—”
“My mom and dad?” I swipe fresh tears from the corners of my eyes. “I have a mom and dad?”
His shoulders crumble. His chest shrinks. “There was a car accident?—”
“No,” I moan, my lungs jumping and spasming in my chest. “Really?”
“About a year and a half ago,” he sighs. “Your dad had been working really hard at his job, even with your grandma’s ailing health and your grandpa’s passing the year before that. He got a promotion he’d been looking forward to, so they went out to dinner and spent a fortune on lobster and wine. You could look this up.” He glances toward Billy. “There were newspaper articles about it and stuff. It was raining that night, the roads were slippery, and there was a stretch of road that had poor light. In the end, the investigators ruled it an accident.”
“W-was he drunk driving? You said lobster and wine, and then they?—”
He lifts a single shoulder. A light shrug. “They tested all that stuff afterwards, and they couldn’t come to any hard conclusions. Your dad was a well-respected man in the community, so instead of harming an otherwise perfect reputation, they just…” He presses his lips together, his brows pinching close and wrinkling his forehead. “They let it go. For them. For your grandma. And for you.”
For me.
The police who refused to investigate my disappearance are the same that—maybe—wiped a drunk driving incident under the rug to save my feelings.
“It’s been a massive few years,” he continues. “Painful years. Everyone who knows you saw how you’d changed after that.”
“How did I change?” I draw a shaking, shuddering breath. “How so?”
