He pulls back, looks at me for two long seconds, and with an easy whistle, strolls out of the store, leaving me confused and speechless.
Because what the actual hell does that even mean?
I’m wrong about her being a person?
Or them being serious?
Or being happy?
A couple and family exit ahead of me, and my eyes catch on a sign that saysClimb and Get Finedas I wait.Beneath it is a painting of Angel Oak with a rainbow arching into the center of it—entirely colored in shades of blinding neon—with rays of light bursting from its center. While I’d bet money the artist was on psychedelics, it takes my mind off Nash and triggers a chain reaction of thoughts.
Rainbows lead to gold.
Gold shines bright.
The tree is shining.
My fingers tingle with how right this feels.
Nash is already next to Cap, Anson’s letter in hand when I get to them.
I take it from him, skimming until I get to the part about the tree.
there is an oak tree which locals say is hundreds of years old and spreads far and wide. it must be the strongest in the world. you will never believe it and need to touch every branch and crack of the bark just to know its real.
We’re in the right place, this much I know. Anson might as well have included a photograph with his description, but that painting shines a new light on it. Maybe we’re thinking about it all wrong.
“Anything in there?” Cap asks.
“Everything you’d expect in a tourist trap,” Nash answers. “T-shirts, and a mil?—”
“What if it’s in the tree?” I blurt. “Where all the branches come together. I bet there are all kinds of holes and cracks. Maybe not gold in there, that would have been discovered by all the scientists who have studied it. But what if—if there’s ...” My thoughts jumble together as Nash and Cap look at me skeptically. “My mom has an old oak in her yard—you remember it, Nash? That big one in the front?” He nods. “My daughter loves to climb it, puts all kinds of weird things up there. Last summer, she got ahold of a pocketknife and?—”
“Daughter?” Nash’s chin jerks back.
I would love to unsay that.
“Uh.”
I look at Cap like he can help. He looks back like,good luck, kiddothen pulls a flask out of his pocket and takes a slug, eyes bouncing between Nash and me. When I force my gaze to Nash, there’s nothing smiley or smug about him. This is bad.
Slowly, I say, “I do.”
The admission sticks between us. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but his face says he’s hurt. I personally would love nothing more than to climb to the top of the sixty-six-foot pinnacle of the tree and plummet to my death.
I need to tell him—this is a moment presenting itself if there ever was one—but the hurt in his eyes won’t let me say it. If he’s upset by that, then the full truth will be ugly. It will be big. Big enough he might not want to help me find the gold I desperately need. Big enough he’ll leave. I rub my chest and force myself to stay calm.
“Anyway,” I say cautiously, “she carved her initials into the tree last summer, and I was th?—”
“How old is she?” Nash asks, zero play in his voice.
I am so thirsty.
“Young.”
His brow creases.
“Five.”
