“That’s really them?”
“It is. They’re younger here than when I met them, but it’s definitely them. I remember him being a kind of prankster. Always giggling. Never sat still. She was the exact opposite. Always had her nose in a book. She barely said a word the entire weekend.”
Ashlyn felt a sudden wave of empathy for the girl in the photo. She understood the need to retreat behind a book, to create a physical barrier between you and the world. She’d been doing it for years, seeking refuge in other people’s stories.
She studied the children more closely. The girl—Ilese—was pale and small-boned and looked to be eight or nine. Zachary was clearly older, tall and toothy, already hinting at the heartbreaker he would almost certainly become.
“They’re very different, aren’t they? She’s so pale, almost frail-looking. But the boy’s a real charmer. It’s a shame you lost touch with them.”
“I’m not sure you could say we were ever in touch. They were both older than me. I barely remember them.”
“Do you know where Marian settled when she came back to the States? Did she go back to New York?”
“I have no idea. I doubt it, though. I don’t see her wanting to be anywhere near Martin.”
“You didn’t hear from her when your father passed away?”
“No. For all I know, she’s dead too. And if she isn’t, there’s a good chance she doesn’t know he died.” He paused, closing the scrapbook and setting it aside. “Why?”
“I was just curious.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You want to try to find her, don’t you?”
Ashlyn didn’t bother to hide her excitement. “Do you think it’s possible?”
Ethan looked at her, clearly uneasy. “That isn’t really the question, is it? The real question is, Would she want to be found? A couple of strangers showing up out of the blue, hoping to root through her past? Would you?”
“You’re not a stranger. You’re her nephew.”
“I’m actually her nephew’s son, and I’ve never laid eyes on the woman. That makes me a stranger.”
“All right, maybe you are a stranger. But if she’s alive, she hasn’t forgotten Hemi. She’d want the books back.”
“How do you know?”
Ashlyn looked away, briefly tempted to tell him about the echoes, then realized how strange it would sound. How strange she would sound. Psychometry. The term had the word psycho built in. She couldn’t afford to scare him off. Not when she’d come this far.
“A woman doesn’t forget the man who shatters her whole world, Ethan. Ever.”
“All the more reason to leave it alone. She had her say when she wrote the book. We should let that be it.”
Ashlyn watched as Ethan began to gather assorted papers and notepads and place them back into the carton. She hated to admit it, but he had a point. Reading the books was one thing. She’d stumbled onto those by chance. But tracking down Marian Manning like a bloodhound was something else entirely. Did she really have the right to rummage through someone else’s discarded heartbreak? Would she want someone rummaging through hers?
She stood reluctantly, aware that the evening was winding to a close. “I suppose you’re right. But thanks for showing me the photographs. I’ll at least have some faces to go with names. Can I help you put this stuff back in the closet?”
Ethan glanced around the room, then shook his head. “Nah. Now that I’ve dragged it all out, I might as well go through it. But not tonight. I’m wiped and I’ve got class in the morning.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. It’s time I got them sorted out. I’ll walk you down.”
Downstairs, Ashlyn slipped on her jacket and thanked him for dinner as they walked to the door. “I really didn’t mean to horn in on you. Or cause a scandal with your neighbors. At least Mrs. Warren will have gone by now.”
Ethan pulled back the door and peered toward the road. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find her lurking in the bushes, checking to see if your car’s still in the driveway. I’d be careful pulling out if I were you. I’ll drop Belle’s book off at the shop when I’m through with it.”
“Or I can pick it up so you don’t have to come all the way to Portsmouth.” They were standing in the doorway now, the smell of the sea wafting about them on the damp night air. The moment felt the tiniest bit awkward, like the end of a first date, which it absolutely was not. She fumbled in her pocket for her keys. “I promise not to make a pest of myself and stay all evening.”
“I appreciated the distraction, actually. It was nice to have someone to eat with for a change. I was a bit of a jackass that first night. I’m glad I got a chance to redeem myself.”
Ashlyn shook her head, laughing. “I can’t say I blame you. You didn’t know me from Adam, and the whole thing did sound pretty improbable. Anyway, I better go. I’ve got some reading to do.”
“Let me guess, Hemi’s book?”
“When I left off, things were starting to get a little bumpy. I’m hoping things smooth out between them.”
“Except we know they don’t.”
“Right,” Ashlyn conceded grimly. “We know they don’t. Anyway, good luck with your writing.” She was halfway down the drive when she turned back. “Is it really illegal to open someone’s mailbox?”
“I have no idea. But it sounded good.”
“Would you have actually called the police and had me arrested?”
His laugh drifted down the drive. “No. I can’t speak for Mrs. Warren, though.”
As Ashlyn pulled out of the driveway and headed down Harbor Road, her thoughts were already on Belle and Hemi and the argument they’d had about Belle’s reluctance to stand up to her father. Had it been the beginning of the end for them, the first fraying of their doomed romance? Or had they made up only to separate again later? The only way to know was to keep reading. Only this time she’d have a face to go with the words.
Regretting Belle
(pgs. 66–72)
21 November 1941
New York, New York
I’ve just finished making coffee when I hear your key slide into the lock. I reach for a second cup, set it on the table next to this morning’s paper—and wait.
I must say I was surprised when you called to say you were on your way over. I didn’t think you’d have the nerve to look me in the eye. But then maybe that was the plan all along, a way to tell me without actually telling me. Perhaps you were afraid I’d make a scene, plead and rail that I’d never let you go. You needn’t have worried. I won’t chase after you. If you’re determined to sell yourself to a man who isn’t worthy of you—and it appears you are—then go.