I nodded. “I just needed some fresh air.”
Deborah smiled. “Thank you for letting me see the attic. I’m sure Gibbes will let you know what our plans are for the nutshell studies. I’d ask for the plane, too, but since there’s nothing conclusive drawn from it, I doubt the police department will want it. But maybe the museum will. We’ll see.”
“May I drive you home, Miss Fuller?”
“No, thank you. And please call me Deborah.”
The sides of Gibbes’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I’ve known you since I was a baby, and it’s a hard habit to break. But I promise to try.”
Deborah squinted up at the sky. “It’s cooled off some and the exercise will do me good. Thanks again,” she said with a wave, then jogged nimbly down the front steps. She walked away with her head down, looking up only to cross the street so she could stroll alongside the water. It was low tide, the sea grass appearing bereft. She paused for a moment and looked up at the attic window, as if expecting to see Edith Heyward in the early evening shadows. Then she continued on her way with her head bent, deep in thought.
“We might be able to find something about the crash on the Internet,” Gibbes said.
I started, having almost forgotten he was there. “That’s probably a good idea, but we can’t do it here. You probably won’t be surprised to hear this, but your grandmother wasn’t set up for Wi-Fi, or cable, or really anything else that’s been invented in the last forty to fifty years. I think there might still be an antenna on the roof, or at least the remains of one. And I have to change my phone plan, because I can’t get service inside the house with my current carrier. The e-mails I’ve managed to send and receive from my smart phone have happened only when I’ve stood on the garden bench outside—which isn’t really practical. I’ve got people scheduled to be here by the end of the week, but I’m not going to bank on that.”
“All right. I’ll Google it when I get home tonight and let you know. Assuming you’re interested.”
I thought of the nameless passengers and how their existence was recorded only in the fading memories of a few people. I’d never had the desire to be famous, but there was a particular tragedy to being forgotten. “Of course I am. Please let me know if you find anything.”
Loralee stepped out onto the porch, and in the last rays of sun she appeared pale under her makeup. Or maybe it was just the directness of the sun that bleached out her features and made her eyes a startling blue.
She grinned widely and she was the old Loralee again. “Owen and I are making chocolate sundaes, and we’ve got two with your names on them.”
“No, thank you,” I said automatically. “I need to go through the hutch in the library. There are all sorts of papers and miscellaneous items in there that Gibbes might want.”
“Are you sure? I can put it in the freezer just in case you change your mind.” Loralee sounded genuinely disappointed.
“I’m sure. I’m not a big ice-cream eater, anyway.” I thought my explanation would make things better, but when I saw the look on Gibbes’s face, I knew I was wrong.
“All right,” she said, still smiling but with a lot less wattage. “I’ll tell Owen he can have yours, too. That boy is way too skinny.”
“I’d love one,” Gibbes said, after giving me a pointed look. “I’ll be right there.”
Loralee nodded, then went back inside, closing the door. I stared at it, wondering whether it was too late to tell her I’d changed my mind and that I actually liked ice cream, too.
“Why do you do that?” Gibbes’s voice lacked any warmth.
“Do what?”
“Push people away. I’ve known a lot of New Englanders, and while most of them had a definite reserve, they were never like you. Is it something we’ve said or done? Because I thought that everybody you’ve come in contact with since you arrived here has treated you with nothing but kindness.”
I wanted to shake my head and tell him I couldn’t explain, because it was something I’d never been able to say out loud before. It’s because sooner or later everybody leaves you. I blinked back the sting in my eyes, feeling the power of his words and my involuntary response to them. “I think I’ve told you before that you know nothing about me, and I don’t think that’s changed. So don’t pretend you do.”
“You’re right. The only things I know about you are from the stray crumbs you’ve dropped along the way.” He stepped closer. “I also think that you haven’t been completely honest with me. I don’t believe your story about how you and Cal met. That whole scenario is so . . .” He searched for the word, his hands raking through his hair in frustration. “So foreign from the brother I knew that it can’t possibly be true.”