14.
“But oh, the agitated heart
Till someone really find us out.”
—“REVELATION,” 1915
Inside Kismet it’s warm and cozy, and surprisingly empty for a rainy day. The bells on the door jangle when I step in, but no one’s behind the counter, which is actually perfect. I spent the entire drive down from the lakes trying to figure out how I could get a closer look at the sketches hanging on the wall behind the register. Whereas all of the art on the walls of Kismet is in constant flux, these three have never moved. They’ve always been there, for as long as I remember, right in front of me.
I know it’s a crazy thought, but I have to see if one of them could possibly be the one of Julianna that Orion drew that day at the lake. Because if it is, that means . . . I don’t know exactly, but it feels like something. Maybe that Josh knew Orion? Was friends with him? Or maybe he’s his brother. Ex-tattoo-artist-turned-coffee-shop-owner? That would explain the full sleeves on both arms. I realize as I think each of these things how crazy they’d sound if I said them out loud, but at the moment I don’t care about the lack of logic in it. For now I hope that maybe the feeling is enough to lead me to something.
I stand in the middle of the empty café a moment, waiting for someone to appear from the back room, and hoping it’s Lane. He’s not intimidating to me in the same way Josh is, so I could actually carry on a conversation with him. Maybe even ask him if he knows anything about the sketches. No one comes out, but I can hear a steady rhythm from the back room that sounds like something heavy being moved and then stacked. Whoever it is working back there probably didn’t hear me come in, which means I might have a minute or two to inspect the sketches before they even realize I’m here.
I inch my way toward the register and the three frames behind it. After one look over my shoulder, and another at the door of the storeroom, I step through the opening in the counter, past the register and stacks of paper coffee cups, and come face to face with three framed sketches, the middle of which is the “sexy girl,” as Kat calls her.
The picture is of her in profile, and she’s lying on her back on what I always pictured as a beach rather than the shore of a lake. She’s stretched out on her back, one knee bent so her leg forms a triangle, chin tilted toward the sky, eyes closed, hair tumbling down over her shoulders. She’s smiling, just barely, like maybe she’s dreaming. Or soaking up the sun after a swim. Nothing about it jumps out at me as distinctly Julianna, but there isn’t anything that says it couldn’t be her either. From what I know, a sketch is an imprecise art form.
I look at the two on either side, the ones I never paid much attention to before today. They’re of trees. Not dying trees, but trees with branches that wave like arms on the page so that I can practically see the wind in them. I lean in closer, sure I’m going to see I WAS HERE carved into one of them, and—
“What can I do for you?”
The voice makes me jump—no, leap—backward. “Oh, God,” I say, hand to my chest. My heart pounds so hard against it, I think Josh must be able to hear it too. “I’m so sorry,” I add. “I just . . . I just was trying to get a closer look at these drawings.” I point, as if that will somehow explain everything and lessen the sudden burn in my cheeks.
Josh nods slowly but doesn’t look at them or say anything and I feel like I’ve been caught trying to steal something.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, watching him closely—for what, I’m not sure. There’s a hint of something I can’t pin.
He tries for a smile but it just looks tired. And he doesn’t even look at the drawings. “Thanks.” There’s a pause, and then, “Did you want to order something?”
“Yeah, I—wait.” His thanks echoes inside my head. “Are they yours?” I ask. “Did you draw those?”
“Yeah.” His eyebrows crash together for a second like he’s surprised at his own answer. “Long time ago.” We’re quiet a moment, and then he recovers, focusing on me. “So can I get you something to drink? You look like you have some work to do.” He nods at Julianna’s journal, which I realize is clutched tight to my chest.
“This? No, it’s not work, it’s—” I stop myself and take a deep breath, but a host of questions and suspicions are whirling in my head, fighting to come out of mouth. “Yeah, I’ll take a . . .um . . .”
“You want a chai, like normal?”
“Yes. Please.” I force my mouth shut and try to look at the ground, collect myself. But as soon as he turns to grab a mug, my eyes creep back up to the girl on the wall.
“Who is she?” I blurt out. A lot less tactfully than I’d like to.
He turns with the pitcher of tea in his hand and looks at me like he either doesn’t know what I mean or doesn’t want to answer.
“The girl in the drawing,” I stammer. “Did you know her?”
“I did.” He says it in a way that makes it clear he isn’t going to elaborate. And then he glances at the sketch, just barely, before going back to making my drink, and I see it. A flicker of something. “Such a tiny thing, a glance,” Julianna wrote. And his glance says something.
Before I can form a response, the door opens, letting in a whoosh of cool air, and Trevor Collins steps in, shaking the rain from his hair. A smile breaks across his face when he sees me. “Hey, Frost. I thought that was your car outside.”
“Hi,” I manage. My mind is spinning a million miles a second with what I think I just saw. With what really has been right here in front of me this whole time. I’m so close to something, I know it. The last thing I need is to complicate it with Trevor Collins, cute as he looks with his hair all damp, and his eyes a vibrant blue against the gray outside. What I need is to keep talking to Josh. Ask him some more questions to be sure.
Trevor looks around at the empty café. “You alone? Where’s your partner in crime?”
“I don’t know,” I say curtly. “Either sick or ditching. She wasn’t at school today.” I turn my back to him and dig out a few dollars to pay, hoping he’s not planning on staying.
“Oh,” he says from behind me. “I was gonna head up to the mountain for a few runs, but it’s all gonna be slush now.” There’s a pause. “You want some company?”
The question zings straight to my stomach, makes my cheeks flame up. There’s no joking or pretense to it. I can hear the smile in his voice when he asks, picture it without turning around, and any other day—well, lately at least, I might’ve actually said okay. But it feels like I’m right on the edge of discovering something that would change everything, and I need to get back there.
I turn around. “Not today.” His smile takes a tumble, and the zing I felt turns into a stab of regret. I soften my tone a little. “I’m sorry—I just have a lot of work to do—my speech. Maybe another time?”
“Here you go,” Josh says before Trevor can answer.
I turn back to the counter and hand him my three dollars, trying to figure out how I can pick our sort-of conversation back up after Trevor leaves. But when Josh reaches out to take my money, all the thoughts in my head grind to a screeching halt. I only catch a glimpse of it when I put the money in his palm, but it’s enough to recognize it. On his forearm, buried in a maze of other tattoos, is a tiny triple spiral.
I gasp. Audibly.
“You okay?” he asks. Josh, Orion, I don’t know what to call him right now.
I nod wordlessly and he slides my cup across the counter to me. When I grab it and turn around, I almost run into Trevor. “Some other time then,” he mumbles. He looks through me, at Josh. “I’ll take a hot chocolate. To go.”
I wish I could explain that I’m not blowing him off, because I can see on his face that’s what he thinks is going on, and I feel awful about it, especially since this time he seemed sincere. Sincerely interested, even. But at the moment, the only thing my brain can do is try to reconcile the fact that Josh is Orion. Or Orion is Josh.
“See you tomorrow?” I ask, a cheery octave higher than normal.
“Sure,” Trevor says, measurably aloof now. I don’t blame him, but I don’t try to stop him either. He turns without saying anything else, and I do too, and we go our separate ways. With my hands shaking I head to the table in the far corner, where I can pretend to bury myself in work while sorting out the fact that the Orion Julianna wrote about is standing right here in this café, with a different name, and seems to be a whole different person than when she knew him.
I open up her journal to where I left off and get a pen out of my purse like I’m going to write something down. Trevor pays for his hot chocolate and glances over at me one more time just before he pushes out the door. I smile briefly and drop my eyes to the page in front of me, but I don’t read the words. I hardly even breathe. Trevor walks out the door and Josh busies himself with unloading the box of coffee bags, and I take a good long look at him from the safety of my corner.
For a second I think I can see him there. Orion. Not as he is now—barely thirty but already weighed down with life. But as he was with her. I can see him standing on the balcony under the stars, diving into the freezing lake, falling in love with a girl he could never have. I wonder what happened after. Who she chose before—
“Hey, I gotta go finish up in the back,” he says, breaking down the empty box in his hands. “Just yell if you need a refill.”
“Thanks,” I answer. And I leave it at that for now. Before I can ask him anything else, I have to know how it ended. The pages of the journal are a little damp from the rain, but the ink hasn’t smeared or bled. I take a deep breath, a sip of the too-hot chai, and brace myself for what comes next. For where the story ends.