He indulges in the memories until they avalanche and the ache widens and wraps around his chest. He’ll be calling Helen again on the morrow at this rate. The need to hear her voice beats against the inside of his head. Words cannot express thesheer pleasure of imagining her arms about him again. Helen slipping up behind him in her long nightgown and snuggling her face into his back, sighing and—
He shoots out of the chair. Paces. Tosses woodchips into the fire.
Florence touches his back, and he freezes. “Just think about it. Sammy would be ever so happy to meet you. And in the meantime, we’ll go on looking for Merryn—for Helen’s sake.”
Muscles ripple and twitch beneath her hand. “I’ll think about it.”
“Promise?”
He nods. But he’s still swimming in images of Helen. Her laugh, her colorful, infectious joy, her softness. Memories are a terrible, wretched reminder of all we’ve lost, because they aren’t the present. Mixed with a human’s creativity, they even, at times, rewrite reality.
Chapter 22
Merryn, 1913
Iforcethisnewwordto write over our reality, over everything I knew of AJ. “Arrested?”
“I’m afraid so.” Mr. Gould’s voice is crackly, but every word drops like a stone into my heart. “For pub brawls, but I suspect there was a great deal more—perhaps involving large sums of money. It seems that, in a matter of weeks, he went from working class to making large business investments.”
That angry voice sounds in my head.“We’re dealing with several thousand pounds now, and this is unacceptable.”
“Large…Pardon, did you say AJ hasinvestments?”
“Didhave. All dried up now, I’m afraid.”
“AJ, investing. It all seems…” as surreal as watching AJ’s body walk out after hearing that angry voice in the telephone booth. “It’s impostable. Im—”
“Impossible. And no, it’s not. Somehow he managed to lay hands on a great deal of capital. What I need to know is: where did he get a small fortune? And what became of it? You don’t happen to know, do you?”
“Well, he certainly doesn’t have it anymore. And as far as where he came by it, I cannot begin to imagine.”
“There’s a chance he still has it hidden somewhere. It’s doubtful, but I’ll need you to find out what you can. It might become a liability toyouif he possesses ill-gotten gains.”
“You mean…fraud? Theft? And what has he done with it if we’re starving and sleeping under the stars?”
“I’ll find out more. Will you ring me again tomorrow? Same time.”
I grip the receiver and lick my lips. “All right.” Although I’m tempted to ask if I can ring him back tonight, as I won’t be able to sleep.
“Very well. I’ve two clerks on the matter. And Merryn…take care, will you?” His voice drops into the firm, fatherly tone he only uses in private moments.
“Of course. I’ll be all right, Mr. Gould. Truly, I will.”
But I’m not. The world feels bottomless as I walk back. Then I descend the rock cliff down toward the C-shaped inlet and strike moss on a slanted rock. My foot slips and I tumble down, hitting the boulders on my left side. I throw my arms around my head to protect it, but the water pours over the rocks, grabbing me and pulling me out. It’s strong and I tumble over rock and sand and bits of seashell as I scramble against it.
It wants to own me, this sea. To pull me back as punishment for resisting my past here all this time. It has beckoned and taunted me, and now it’s gotten ahold of me. It will drown me.I tumble through the water. The wave pulls me in, and I paddle and scratch and kick, but its strength is enormous.
No. No! I’m so close to the truth. So close.
A good blow and you’ll lose what little ground you’ve gained…
I breathe in, pulling in saltwater, and it stings my nose. Burns my throat. Gasping for air, I shove myself toward the shore, but waves tumble me back and forth. I brace for a blow to the head. I tumble again and again, thumping my head on the sea floor, and then I clamp one hand on a rock and pull myself up with a burst of strength. I pant and cough as I lay on the sand. My ears buzz and a heartbeat throbs in my skull.
I cough out briny seawater and crawl toward the rocks, shaky and cold. Bits of shell bite into my knees and calves. I lower my head, loosened hair blowing in front of my face, and I realize I’ve lost my hat.
I wore a hat, didn’t I? I can’t picture it, and close my eyes. Feather. No, flower. Purple? No, I do not care for purple. Gray. I recall something gray. But is it a hat? Odd shapes float on the fringes of my vision as the world blurs, then solidifies, then blurs again.
Where’s Mum?
