Page 88 of Always Knew It Was You

“It’s not a beautiful thing. Mysteries are beautiful. Like the one you’re going to tell me.”

That’s all the prompting he needs as he pushes us off the shore. “Alright. Let’s get ready for the ride.”

As the boat sways and surges at a steady pace, Grandpa begins his story. “It was a warm and stormy night. Sometime in summer. And it was practically hailing. I’m talking about the kind of rain that makes you feel like the world is ending. Just big fat drops pelting...”

“We get it, Grandpa,” Amelia says, sounding very much like Emma in that moment. “No offense, but can we get to the meat of the story.”

“Patience is a virtue, my dear.” Grandpa smiles at her indulgently. “Anyway, just to continue setting the scene. This was nearly two decades ago. The hotel fire had happened just a few weeks before, and most of the Pink Hotel had burned to ashes. I lost my little boy and his wife.” Grandpa swallows thickly, a sad smile on his face. “But of course, my grief was nothing compared to little Emma’s. She cried nearly every day and asked if there was a way we could get them back. And then she watched this fairy-tale movie on TV– I forget the name–but it had her convinced that if she went to the hotel and said a magic spell, it would bring them back. Of course, I tried to dissuade her, but even back then, my Emma was very stubborn when she put her mind to something. So I had no choice but to take her, to see for herself.”

The boat’s now entering a tunnel, where the lake continues out on the other side. “Of course, neither of us accounted for the rain. And when we were about half a mile away, it started pouring. I had to jet to make it in so we didn’t get too soaked. You would have thought I was in high school again.” His eyes twinkle at the memory. “Although to be honest, I wasn’t much of a jock in high school. I could have been, had I not torn my Achilles in freshman year...”

“Grandpa...”

“Sorry, sorry. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. We dashed into the hotel to protect ourselves from the storm, but when we arrived, there were already wet footsteps on the floor. Meaning that someone had gotten there right before us. Now, I thought they might still be there, so I called out and no one answered. It was a little spooky. And then, suddenly, when we walked across the hall, someone ran down the stairs and out the door. I only got a glimpse of him but he had white hair and a huge burn scar on his face and a little on his neck.”

“Wait, what?” I jerk to attention. “A man with a burn scar on his neck and face?”

“Yes.” Grandpa seems delighted by my enthusiasm. “And I swear on the almighty, Carly, I’ve never seen that man before and never saw him since. I think maybe he could have even been a ghost. I thought he was a ghost. Until recently, I saw him for the second time.”

Anxiety tightens my stomach and my spine laces straight. “Where?”

“It was a few days ago, in the alley behind Lou’s. A few of the guys and I were over at Lou’s playing poker but I needed to take a leak and the bathroom was choked up. So I went out back to do my business and there he was coming out. Our eyes met and he took off running again.”

“Strange,” Micah murmurs.

No. It’s more than strange. Internally I’m freaking out a little.

I tune out the rest of the conversation as my mind whirls around one thing. The man with the burn scar. Just like the guy Nate described to me.

I thought my cousin was just messing around. Trying to scare me into coming to visit him more often.

But what Grandpa Crane is saying...

No. There can be more than one person with a burn scar on their arm and face. It may be a coincidence.

Or it may not.

But I don’t know what to think right now.

As Grandpa continues the elaborate story that somehow includes him beating everyone at the bar at pool, my mind remains on what he just told me. Even after getting assaulted by a flying fish, much to the mirth of everyone else on board, I still can’t forget it.

And unluckily, Micah also hasn’t forgotten about our conversation. When we get back into our hotel room about an hour later, he closes the door behind me and summarily sweeps me off my feet.

“Micah!” I yell, shocked. My legs kick in protest but he carries me with relative ease over to the couch and sits with me on his lap. “Do you want to tell me what was bothering you now?”

“You didn’t have to carry me, you know?”

“Didn’t have to. But wanted to. Now tell me. What happened at the picnic?”

I blow out a breath staring up at the ceiling. I don’t want to talk about this. Ireallydon’t want to talk about it, but knowing Micah, he’s not going to let this go. So I have no choice but to try and explain it as maturely as possible.

“It was nothing,” I say. “I just thought, since you and Tate were hitting it off, maybe it was just time to make my exit.”

I say it as effortlessly as I can, as though the bad thoughts weren’t eating me inside. I’m hoping he won’t dig deeper but that’s clearly too much to hope for.

“Hitting it off?” He sounds confused at first, and then his eyes flare in understanding. “Wait, you mean like flirting?”

I try to imitate a casual shrug, but I don’t quite think I land it. “I mean, that’s what it looked like. I thought maybe you wanted to... anyway, I didn’t want to be a third wheel so I gave you your space.”

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