“Just north of Saint Andrews where Declan went to school. Less than an hour’s drive, actually,” she tells me. “And what about you? Where did you go to University?”
“Where did I go?” I can’t possibly tell her the truth, so I cover my ass and lie. “Kansas State.” It’s the university I told Declan Nina attended, but I immediately kick myself for lying when Declan made it clear not to, and when I continue, I stumble over my words, knowing I need to right the lie. “Well, I mean . . .” Fuck!
“Is everything okay?”
She sees right through me. When she stands, I wonder if somehow she knows I’m a fake. She comes to sit right next to me.
“Let me apologize,” she starts, and I don’t respond. I just let her continue. “I don’t mean to pry. I can see I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“No,” I say, attempting to cover myself. “I’m just a little on the private side.”
“I can understand that. It’s just, well, after Lillian’s death, Declan changed a lot. He isolated himself from nearly all the family. The two of us managed to keep close though, and we’ve remained that way,” she reveals. “I love him dearly, and when I spoke to him after our dinner the other night, he told me that you were an extension of him. So, I can’t help but love you as well because of that.”
Her words are heartfelt and take me aback. I can see no other motivations on her part aside from genuinely wanting to get to know me. Declan was right when he told me she was a good person, because that’s the very impression she’s giving me right now.
“I never went to college,” I admit to her, needing to erase the lie. “I’m sorry I lied. I guess I was just embarrassed.” Airing my truths is not what I’m used to. I’m a liar, a manipulator, an imposter. Or I was. But I’ve always been running from something, a runaway at the age of fourteen. Always dodging the law in one way or another. But today, right now, I’m going to choose to take a step forward as Elizabeth. If Davina believes as Declan does, that I’m an extension of him, she won’t judge. “I was a foster kid. I didn’t come from money, so college was never an option for me.”
She smiles and places her hand on top of mine in a gesture that is both comforting and foreign. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”
I nod, and after she gives my hand a light squeeze, she moves back to her seat across from me. She takes a sip of her champagne, smiles, and then adds in jest, “We should order more champagne . . . Declan’s treat.” She winks and pulls out one of his credit cards and laughs. “He slipped it to me when I picked you up in case you refused to use the other card he gave you.”
I shake my head. “That wretch!”
“Well, that wretch is going to pick up our tab.”
Conversation is less stressful now that the brick of worry and secrecy has been lifted off my shoulders. She asks about our trip back to the States, and I tell her all about Chicago. I’m not about to tell her my whole life story by any means, but for now, I’m enjoying the light conversation with someone other than Declan or Lachlan. Those two know so much of my darkness, but with Davina, I feel a little . . . de novo—and even a little normal.
I STUFF THE manifest along with my notepad and contact list into a manila envelope and zip it up in my suitcase. Last night was another long night of letter scrambling. I know Declan thinks it’s nonsense, and maybe it is, but I refuse to sit idle and wait. I’ll always find a way to keep moving, because I have to, because I need to find him.
“Do you know where your duffle bag is? I need it for my workout clothes and trainers,” Declan asks.
“It’s on the top shelf on my side of the closet.”
I sit on the bed and wait for him to finish packing. He walks out of the closet with the bag, and I admire him in his fitted button-down that’s tucked nicely into his charcoal slacks. Always so polished and refined, even when he’s dressed down in jeans and a cotton shirt.
“You want to wipe the drool off your chin and help me?” he heckles when he peers up at me and catches me gawking.
“You’re so full of yourself,” I shoot back when I hop off the bed to go grab his shoes.
When I return and set the shoes on the bed beside the bag, I watch him pull out a picture frame. He holds it with both of his hands, and I remember it being the picture I found of him in Isla’s bedroom at The Water Lily.
“I forgot this was in here,” he says.
“You’ve seen it before?”
“When you were missing, I went through all your belongings, and I came across this,” he tells me. His eyes remain on the photo of himself as a little boy, and then he looks to me, asking, “Where did you get this?”
“At the bed and breakfast where I was staying. I found it in the owner’s bedroom.” I pause for a moment, and when he doesn’t speak, I ask, “It’s you, isn’t it? I mean, your name’s written on the back.”
“Yes. It’s me.”
I look at him in confusion and he reflects it back to me.
“Do you know her? Isla?”