OCTOBER 2, 2019
To: Frankie Gardiner
From: George Saint James
Subject: Vancouver
Frankie,
I have news but we keep missing each other. I’ve accepted a job at theSunin Vancouver reporting on climate and the environment. I’m moving next month. I can’t believe I’ve been at theJournalfor a year and a half—I’m ready to move on. See the mountains. Live near the ocean. Get closer to the forefront of sustainability. I already have a long list of sources I want to meet with, and tons of ideas for stories.
So, yeah, I’m excited. I wish I wasn’t going to be even farther away from you, but I know you’re having a blast.
Not sure when I’ll be back next, but I’m hoping to take a week off this summer. Maybe I can crash with you for a couple of nights, and we can go home together?
George
OCTOBER 3, 2019
To: George Saint James
From: Frankie Gardiner
Subject: Re: Vancouver
GEORGE!!!! Holy shit! I can’t believe it. I’m so happy for you. This is huge, right? It’s what you’ve been working toward. And of course you can crash with me. My couch is yours whenever you want it.
I have some news, too. One of the cooks here has been hired by one of the big restaurant groups as executive chef for their next place, and he’s asked me to come with him. It’s going to be longer hours, but it’s a huge opportunity. I’d be there from the ground up to see how a restaurant comes together. I’ve never worked anywhere but Ronda, and the thought of leaving is terrifying. I’m not sure if I can do it.
Frankie
OCTOBER 3, 2019
To: Frankie Gardiner
From: George Saint James
Subject: Re: Vancouver
Of course you can. You’re Frankie Gardiner. You can do anything.
Chapter Forty-six
Day Seven: Memorialize
We take one last walk on the beach in the morning. This one, hand in hand. The fog lies low and thick, so the people walking farther down the shore disappear in and out of it like specters.
According to George, we’re on a mission. There’s one task left to complete in The Plan before we drive back through the rainforest, across Vancouver Island, and board two separate planes.
He’s nervous about this one—his palm is clammy in mine.
“You might feel better if you told me,” I say, giving his hand a little shake. “You’re always keeping secrets. I don’t want you to do that anymore.”
He blows out a long breath, and then another, as if he’s kept the entire atmosphere trapped in his lungs. “You’re right.”
“I know I am.”
We stop walking.
