“He said he was a writer. Google him. He probably has a website. Listen, I have to go. The store beckons. Call me later. I’m really proud of you.”
“Meghan, I need to talk to you now.”
A muttered curse. “Sorry, shut the door on my hand. All right. The store can wait a minute. Shoot.”
“In person. There’s more. I can’t do this over the phone. Please come over. Please?”
Meghan sighed deeply, then said, “I’ll be there in five. But I don’t have long, sugar. No offense, but there’s a lot to be done today.”
Aubrey hung up and waited, unmoving, at the table. The thick wooden round had been in Josh’s family for years. He’d done his homework at it—they’d done their homework at it—and Aubrey knew on the underside of the table Josh had written in big black marker, I love Aubrey. His mother had never found out. God, Daisy would have shot him dead for defiling the furniture, especially with a declaration of love for Aubrey, of all people.
Daisy had thrown roadblock after roadblock in the way of the burgeoning romance the minute she saw it might be something more than puppy love. Aubrey never understood what it was about her that Daisy hated so. Josh told her it wasn’t true, that Daisy just needed time to wrap her head around their relationship, but it never happened. Aubrey tried so hard, too, to be friendly, and kind, and loving, but the witch would never let her in. After a few years of Daisy’s open hostility, Aubrey came to detest Daisy as well.
Some people are just meant to rub each other wrong.
Whatever thread, however thin, that held them together after Josh’s disappearance was severed permanently during Aubrey’s trial. Daisy’s gaunt, bony face swiveling to see who was watching her enter the courtroom, the stylish black suit, even the pillbox hat complete with veil—come on, how precious could you be?—seemed tailor-made for the prosecution. Aubrey would never forget the look on Daisy’s face as she sat on the witness stand, the manic glee in her eyes. “I have no doubt she played a role in my son’s disappearance. She’s always been off, that girl. From the moment I met her, I knew she’d be the death of Josh.”
Thanks a lot, Daisy.
Five minutes later, Winston rose to his feet and stared at the door. There was a knock, shave and a haircut. She answered it, and before Meghan even got inside Aubrey said, “It’s Josh.”
Her friend’s face, usually inscrutable, softened. “Sugar, no one blames you. It’s been five years. He’s dead. He won’t care.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Meghan leaned back and crossed her arms, assuming her usual stance. The move killed all her soft edges, made her look tough, uncompromising. She could be a biker assassin just as easily as a coffee shop owner.
“Speak to me.”
Aubrey took a deep breath.
“This may sound crazy. But hear me out. Chase reminds me so much of Josh. It’s almost like . . . almost like he knows him. Or knew him.” Or is him, but of course that isn’t true, it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. A girl knows these things.
To her credit, Meghan held back the laughter, though Aubrey could see her mouth twitching. She shook her head. “Sweetie. You need a nice cup of tea. Maybe with a little whisky in it. Hair of the dog. You really did tie one on last night.”
“I’m serious.”
“Come on now, Aubrey. Josh is dead. He’s been gone for years. If he were alive, he would have come back. You know that. And if Boden knew your husband, he would have said something.”
“He did things, things only Josh knew I liked.” She sounded ridiculous, she knew, but she needed to push forward on this.
Meghan sighed. “Aubrey, honey. When’s the last time you saw your doctor? Have you been taking your meds?”
“Damn it, Meghan. I’m not hallucinating, or imagining things. Not this time. There’s a connection between them. I swear it.”
Meghan sighed deeply and ran her hand through her cropped hair. There were a few strands of gray mixed into the black. When had they started to age? Aubrey didn’t feel any older than she had when Josh was here, though she must have gotten older, if her heart was still beating. She had to think for a moment when her birthday was—she hadn’t allowed a celebration in five years. May. In just a few weeks, she was going to be thirty.
“You know, we’ve been through this before,” she said, and Aubrey heard the recriminations in her tone. The solicitude of dealing with the madwoman in the attic.
“Not like this. This time it’s different. I swear. I slept with the man, for God’s sake. Does that not mean anything? Do you think I would do that with just anyone?”