“True. Listen, I’ve got to run.” Dahlia held her stomach. “I have some puking to do. Then painting and boxes from the basement.And I need caffeine, lots of it.” The mere thought made her belly gurgle, but she couldn’t make it through the day without it.
“Please tell me you’ll think about it.”
“I’ll noodle on it.”
“Oh, and think about the party tomorrow night. It’s a fundraiser. You can bring McHandy too, if he comes to his senses.”
If he ever calls me back. And I get rid of this hangover.“Sure, maybe.”
“Toodle-oo,” said Kara.
Dahlia’s feet swiftly shuffled into the bathroom. She expelled the remnants of last night’s pity party and splashed her face with cold water. “Never again,” she said, looking at her puffy eyes in the mirror. She knew better than this. Plus, she had too much to do. She opened the medicine cabinet that still seemed to stick in the humidity, and grabbed the ibuprofen. Three didn’t seem like enough, but she wasn’t about to take any more. Harry was waiting by the door for her when she walked out. It seemed Kara wasn’t the only one concerned. “Need to go out, boy?” Dahlia couldn’t help but ruminate on what Kara said about opening her own gallery. It seemed risky, yet something had uprooted inside her like a tree in a storm when she mentioned it. But was that a good thing? It was yet to be determined.
They took their time descending the old, creaky staircase. She let Harry out, plugged in the percolator, and fed him. It’s funny the things you do when you’re drunk; apparently, making the coffee the night before was a priority. The aroma of freshly ground java floated through the air. Just smelling it made Dahlia feel more awake. But it wasn’t the same without him. Where was he? She still had no idea.
She sipped her coffee and began typing to Gretchen.
Hey, have you seen your brother? Is he okay? I haven’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon, and it’s not like him.
Right away, Dahlia saw the bubbles, and her smile grew.
Hey, not sure what’s going on with you two, but he sounded upset when we spoke last night. He said he was going to the beach for a few days.
Dahlia’s heart sank. What could have happened? Something didn’t feel right.It was similar to the feeling she had the night her parents died. The tiny hairs stood straight erect on the back of her neck, the way they did at the sleepover right before Lil’s phone call. Obviously, Noah was fine and not hurt, but it was the same eerie sense. It was as if a tectonic shift was coming, and she needed to hold on for dear life.
K. Thx. Just wanted to make sure he was safe.
For what it’s worth, I hope you 2 work it out. You better come to the opening on Sunday, regardless.
It was tough to swallow the brick lodged in her throat, but she typed back.I’ll be there.
Dahlia’s heartbeats collided, creating an uncomfortable hiccup in her body. Noah seemed happy yesterday. Did she do something to upset him? She didn’t like uncertainty because with it came chaos she couldn’t control. This kind of feeling always brought her back to her thirteen-year-old self, waiting for Lil to pick her up from the sleepover, not knowing what actually happened. But she wasn’t thirteen; she was a middle-aged woman who’d survived the unthinkable, and because of that, Dahlia knew that whatever curveball was thrown her way, she could handle it. Or at least she hoped she could.
She instead decided to turn her focus to something she could control, like her research. She finished her coffee and got to work. Determined to find more clues, maybe even the key, she was done wallowing in the why. Whatever was left unanswered about the affair lay hidden in the deposit box. And she knew it was the only way to keep her mind off Noah. She reminded herself that this waswhy she’d never leap without a safety net. Charleston was her safety net. There was a reason she’d kept her options open, even after meeting the man of her dreams. Falling in love, as romantic and unraveling as it was, it was also messy and unpredictable. And certainly not something in her wheelhouse.
After dressing in layers, including a knit hat from Lil’s mudroom, she was armed and ready for any low-hanging arachnids and cement crawling rodents. She inhaled the damp, moldy air as she slowly stepped down the rickety staircase to the black hole known as the basement. Meeting the last step, she looked around, feeling an emptiness in her heart. All the old boxes and containers that sprawled across the floor contained moments that had come and gone. Yet, Dahlia was the only gatekeeper to their existence and immortality after this. She squeezed her eyes shut, promising to bring them up and go through every last one of them. Even if she had to put them into storage for a bit until she got settled.
With her knit gloves on, she lifted two boxes and headed up the stairs. She placed them by the mudroom door and went back down for more. There were four trips in all, and on her fifth trip, she spotted something in the crawl space. It was hard to tell what it was at first because of all the cobwebs. All she knew was that it was green. Dahlia pushed the remaining container against the wall and used it as a step to climb up. Dahlia let out a squeal before pushing her hand through the silky threads. It was like something fromRaiders of the Lost Ark. And she felt a little like Indiana Jones. With her hand firmly gripping the top of the object, she yanked it out.
Dahlia sat down on the stairs and blew the dust off the green rusted box. By the looks of it, it had been hidden for a long time. Decades, maybe more. Her fingers lifted the rusted clasps and raised the lid. “It’s more letters,” she mumbled to herself, letting out a mouse-like sneeze. There were hundreds in the box. The skinon her arms tingled as if she knew she was uncovering a mystery meant to stay buried. But theDatelineenthusiast inside her wondered who’d hid them and why. Her curiosity won out as it often did, and with trembling hands she reached for the last one.
It was dated September 1, 1956. A quiet gasp spilled from her lips when she spotted the sender’s name and address. Gene Obermann, 6121 Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, California. It was addressed to Lizzie Laurent, 6 Meadow Lane, Southold, New York.
Dahlia slid her fingers under the brittle envelope flap that had never been opened. She felt like a voyeur traveling back in time. She blew out the breath trapped in her lungs and read it to herself.
Dear L,
It’s been over a year since you left me, and I still haven’t received a letter back. I’ve written you almost every day, and yet nothing. I thought I would have heard from you by now if we still had a chance. I’m not sure if your father has had a hand in keeping us apart or if you changed your mind after returning to your real life on Long Island. No matter what, I want you to know that those two months we shared in Los Angeles were the best of my life. You will always be with me in everything I do and who I become. It will always be you and me forever. I love you with all my heart and soul.
Goodbye,
G
The box was filled entirely with letters from Gene.
Dahlia sat there, letting the tears roll freely. She didn’t know exactly why she was crying. She didn’t know this man, yet it felt like she did. Through the years, she’d tried so incredibly hard to be strong, but now it felt like the dam was breaking. Maybe it wassupposed to. Someone kept these letters from Gran. The likely assumption was that it was her great-grandfather, but it very well could have been her pop if he found out. Poor Gene. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but she did. It wasn’t his fault that her grandmother had misled him.She wiped her wet eyes with her cobweb-free cuff. What if he hadn’t known she was married? What if he’d had no idea? The nostalgic young girl inside her wanted to tear each letter open and read every last word. But with her head still pounding and the speed at which the facts were unfolding, she didn’t have the energy. It was as if she was in a batting cage being pelted with balls.
If Dahlia read further, she might change her mind altogether about connecting with him. She feared something inside the letters might make him a knowing accomplice. So she closed up the tackle box and left it on the stairs, where the past belonged for now.
