“You’ll never believe this,” Gladys said over her empty dinner plate. She’d refused to let Callie cook tonight. She’d brought them a whole dinner.
By the look on Gladys’s face, she’d clearly been waiting until after the meal to tell Callie and Olivia this news so she could have their undivided attention. Wyatt was fishing on the beach while the three ladies had a glass of wine. Gladys’s face was animated as she reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a slip of paper. “Adelaide found Frederick’s number.” She slid the paper across the table.
Callie clapped a hand over her mouth as she peered down at the handwritten phone number scrawled across the little piece of paper. “Let’s call him,” she said through her fingers.
“Right now?” Olivia asked, swirling her wine in her glass with a smile. “This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. I want him to have what’s rightfully his. He might not even know Alice had that lockbox. It could have valuable items in it, personal items.” She thought back to that baby boy.
Gladys nodded toward the paper. “Call him.” The way she said it, her encouragement seemed more rooted in support for Callie than in the excitement of reaching Frederick.
With an air of drama, Callie pulled her phone from her pocket and, a zinging feeling running through her fingers, she dialed the number. After two rings, there was an answer.
“Hello?”
She cleared her throat, setting down her wine and sitting up straight. “Um, my name is Callie Weaver. I’m the new owner of Alice McFarlin’s place…” The silence that followed was slightly unsettling, so she plowed on. “I’m looking for her brother, Frederick. Is this him speaking?”
“Yes,” he said kindly, causing her to exhale.
She smiled excitedly at Gladys and Olivia.
“Hi,” she said a bit too enthusiastically. “We’ve found a lockbox with your initials on it. I think it might be yours, and I’d like to return it to you.”
“Oh. That’s very kind of you.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t know if you were missing it or not.”
More silence.
“Yes, I’ve missed it,” he said softly. “I know just the box you’re talking about. I thought it was gone, but Alice must’ve kept it. I’m glad she did.”
“Can we arrange a day and time to meet so I can give it back?”
“Of course. How about tomorrow?”
“That would be perfect! Maybe around two?”
“Thank you for going out of your way.”
“You’re welcome.” She couldn’t believe it; she was going to get the lockbox back to its rightful owner. How lucky was that?
Seventeen
Callie lay in bed holding the journal in her hands, grinding her teeth, guilt washing over her for just holding it now that she could actually give it back to someone. There was no reason to read it. She’d be delivering it to Frederick tomorrow. She’d only allowed herself to read it before because she was hoping to find him and now she had.
She put it back on the dresser and tried to go to sleep. But, she wondered, who was the man she would encounter tomorrow? What might Alice have said? Callie closed her eyes and rolled over onto her side, away from the dresser. But the more she lay there in the dark, the more she stewed about how Frederick had abandoned his child. Her pulse sped up as she reached up and grabbed the journal. Hoping to understand him a little better, she opened it and read, curling up under her sheet and summer blanket, the tiny lamp by her air mattress giving her enough light to see the words.
I spoke to Frederick. We’d spent a long time talking over coffee and I had waited until just the right moment to mention the topic. See, any talk about Frederick’s son is off limits. He closes right up. But this time was different. I’d seen the boy again—I’ve seen him many times now, and it doesn’t make it any easier. He was at the intersection by the new hotel, his car packed to the brim with things, and I wondered if he was going away to college. He’d graduated high school just before the summer. I went to his graduation to watch him walk across the stage and get his diploma. Frederick didn’t tell me he was going, but I saw him hanging back behind the crowd. I asked him if he ever wished things were different. He replied, “Well they’re not, so why should we bother wishing something that won’t happen.” He got up and left the room.
Irritation burned inside her and she wanted to go to Frederick right now and shake him. What if his son wondered where he’d gotten his height from or his features? Shouldn’t he at least be allowed the choice of knowing? With a huff, she picked up the journal and decided to read on. But she wasn’t prepared for what she read next.
The boy has come home! I don’t know why I call him “the boy.” Maybe saying his name would make the situation too real, and I’d fall apart. He’s home from college and he’s back in town.
He’s flashy now, like his family.
Callie stopped, her gaze lingering on that last sentence, the wheels in her head turning. She shook it off and kept reading.
He’s at that age where he feels invincible, like he could conquer the world. And, given his upbringing and his money, he probably will.
She was unwilling to think the thought that was pushing its way through her mind, her fingers feeling unusually light as she turned the page.
But when I look at him, I still see Frederick’s face and the smile of the little boy who dropped his baseball all those years ago. I wish one day he could know that I’ve been there. I’ve watched his soccer games and been at his choir performances; I’ve walked down the beach until it becomes his family’s private property and I’ve seen him building sandcastles. I’ve watched him grow into the young man he is now, and whenever I can, I try to send him my love in little glances, smiles, whatever the moment will allow. He is my family and I’m there for my family.
When she’d first met Luke, she’d mentioned Alice McFarlin and he’d said, “I saw her everywhere.”
An icy cold slithered through her. Oh my God.
She got up and went into the kitchen, taking the journal with her. She pulled a knife from the drawer and went over to the lockbox, wedging the point of it into the lock and twisting, but it wouldn’t turn. From the look of the box, it didn’t seem terribly secure though; if she tried hard enough, she might just get it open. She grabbed a sharper knife. With a shaky hand, she jabbed it into the lock again and frantically pushed, prodded, twisted. Nothing.
“Whatcha doing?” Wyatt said with a sleepy face as he padded into the kitchen.
Callie jumped, throwing the knives back into a drawer. “Oh, just trying to see if I could open this old thing,” she said as calmly as she could, her hands still trembling, her heart pounding. With a little smile put on for Wyatt’s benefit, she slid the box back into the pantry. “What are you doing up?”