Chase frowned, unease settling in his chest. “What do you mean?”
She took a breath, her voice steady but filled with a kind of clarity that unnerved him. “You’ll always, always, put your work above everythin’ else. Goodness’ sakes, it might even be in your DNA. Look at that great-great-great-grandmother of yours.” She glanced at him. “Bet you’re plannin’ to leave that little detail out of your newspaper.” She lifted a hand in front of her like it was a headline: “TheGazette’s Foundation Rests on Stolen Gold.”
He had stiffened, defensiveness rising. He hadn’t even begun to get his head around that revelation. “It’s just your father’s theory. Not provable.” He didn’t want to get off on that subjectfor now. “Scout, you love the national parks like I love my paper.”
She shook her head slowly. “There’re passion and commitment, and then there’s obsession. My dad has an obsession with shipwrecks. And you have one with your newspaper.” As he opened his mouth to object, she held up a hand, cutting him off. “My parents split up when I was fifteen. But before they did, I can’t tell you how many times I heard my father say to me somethin’ just like what you said on Precipice Trail. I can’t even count the number of times my dad promised he’d be back for somethin’ important. And he never was. Missed birthdays, Christmases, milestones that mattered to me. Every time, it was the same excuse—‘just one more thing’ or ‘I’ll be back soon.’ But he never was. Broken promise after broken promise. And that’s just not what a promise is meant to be. If there’s anythin’ this last week has taught me, it’s that I want someone who knows how to keep a promise.”
Then her voice softened, but her words hit him like stones. “So no, Chase. I wish you well, but I’m not the one for you.”
She rose and walked away. Chase sat frozen on the bench, the weight of her words sinking in his chest. He had watched her go, feeling like he’d just lost something he didn’t even realize he had—like a good melody fading before he could catch the tune.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and read Lydia’s text:
When are youcoming to the office?
On my way
During lunch break, Maisie borrowed a bicycle and headed toward her grandfather’s living quarters, planning to vent allher frustrations about Frankie to her mom. But as she pedaled past Pops’s office, she slowed when she spotted Naki standing by the door. When Maisie saw Scout’s mother walk toward him from her car, heels clicking like a metronome, she came to a full stop.
Maisie hopped off her bike and wheeled it behind a parked truck, happily unseen. Mrs. Johnson was terrifying. Not in a horror-movie way, but in that sophisticated, could-read-your-soul-and-find-you-lacking way.
And then there was Naki. She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to tower over everyone. Such an advantage! At first, she was super intimidated by him. But the more time Maisie spent with Naki, the less intimidating he seemed. In fact, he’d become kinda fascinating to her. Maisie put the kickstand down, left the bike, and crept toward the front of the truck. Cautiously, she peered over the truck’s hood.
Mrs. Johnson had stopped in front of Naki and tilted her head in a girly way. That mannerism reminded Maisie of Scout, or maybe Scout reminded her of Mrs. Johnson. Maisie tried to imitate it.
“Mr. Wakinabi, have you seen a delivery truck drive by? I received a call from the driver that he’s lost.”
“No, Mrs. Johnson. I have not. And please, call me Naki.”
“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”
“I am. For your husband, in fact.”
“So, my daughter tells me that you work for James Henry.”
Naki didn’t blink. “Now and then. I help your husband on some of his projects.”
Mrs. Johnson crossed her arms. “And, apparently, he confides in you.”
Whoa.Maisie’s head straightened. Her ears perked right up. Confided what, exactly? She inched closer to the front of the truck, determined to get every syllable of this conversation.
“We work well together,” Naki replied, his tone as smooth and unaffected as the sea on a windless day.
Maisie sighed wistfully. It must be nice to be Naki. Nothing fazed him. She needed to incorporate more Naki-isms into her repertoire. Frankie told her that her current emotional range hovered between “easily flustered” and “hair on fire.”
“I hope you don’t mind a personal question,” Mrs. Johnson said, in a tone of voice that meant she was going to ask anyway. “It seems to me that you have an interest in my daughter. Mothers have a sense about these things.”
Maisie nearly gasped. This was good stuff. Way better than spending her lunch break bellyaching to her mom about Frankie.
Naki, however, remained utterly unruffled. “Ranger Rivers asked us to locate the gold caches.”
Mrs. Johnson’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then you won’t mind if I point out that you and Magnolia Pearl come from entirely different worlds.”
Magnolia Pearl. Maisie resisted the urge to gag at the name. It sounded like one of her mom’s boutique candles.
“I don’t mind at all,” Naki said. “You’re quite right. Coming from different worlds can certainly create complications.”
“So true!” Mrs. Johnson nodded, satisfied. “Lots and lots of complications. I’m glad we understand each other.”
