Page 83 of Finders Keepers
I suppose that is often how I have felt lately.
Perhaps it’s the change in the weather, or my new chef’s cooking. Entirely too many beans in the—
“Now, Mr. Aaron, why have you stopped typing?”
The young man looked up from his portable typewriter and gave Julius Fountain a falsely pleasant smile. “Oh, I thought perhaps you were finished deluding yourself. Were you not?”
To his credit, Fountain revealed no emotion in response to this blatant disrespect. “Pardon?”
“Are you that deep in denial or simply the world’s largest fool? Which is it? No, no, I can answer that myself. It’s both, sir.Both.” Albert jumped to his feet and hastily crossed the room, only to turn on his heel and come straight back. Despite thevoice in his head that attempted to cool his frustration and warned that it was unforgivably impertinent for him to speak this way to an informant—and such a wealthy one at that—he found himself unable to stop. He extended an accusatory finger toward the absurd man sprawled across the garish armchair. “You go on and on about how you don’t believe in fear, yet I’ve never met anyone more afraid of reality. You’re so scared of it that you hide inside these ridiculous stories you tell yourself, so wrapped up in pretending that you’ve managed to miss what’s real and right in front of you.”
Fountain’s words were quiet, but with an unmistakable edge. “And what, in your estimation, is that?”
“Love!” Albert shouted, throwing his arms into the air. “You’re in love with your secretary, Mr. Fountain! YouloveMiss Worman. It is clear as anything, and yet you bury your head in the sand and speak of changes in weather and beans rather than acknowledge it. You needn’t admit it to her, I suppose. But my god, man, at least admit it to yourself! Perhaps then you will be a modicum less insufferable.”
“Is that all, Mr. Aaron?” Fountain asked, the edge to his voice even sharper now.
Surely he’d already said enough for Fountain to complain to his superiors, and then he would once again be unemployed. His wife would be so disappointed. Better make it worth it, then, he thought. “No. I have one more thing to say to you.”
Fountain raised his eyebrows slightly in invitation.
“My tie might be ugly, but your pajamas are absolutely atrocious.”
38
Ibring the boxto my lap and stare down at its contents. “It’s…it looks like it’s just a piece of paper,” I say.
“Maybe there’s something beneath it?”
Gently, I tuck my fingertip into where the edge of the paper meets the box’s edge and lift it out. “Nope,” I say. “Just…this.”
“Maybe it’s a folded-up US bond worth like a million dollars?” Quentin says. “I might’ve been lying about Charlie’s Law, but ‘finders keepers’ is actually sort of legit in certain circumstances…”
The fold is complicated—over this way, over that way—almost like an accordion. “It appears to be…a letter. At least this first page is. There are a couple sheets here.”
He lets out a long sigh and rubs his hands through his hair. “If this is another riddle, I swear to god.”
“No…” I say, my eyes dancing over it quickly, making out the words separately before putting them together.
My dearest Lou,
I’m certain you’re the one who will find this first. Probably within the first week of searching. I tried to make it a challenge, something to keep you occupied for a while, but you’re whip-smart and always did know me too well.
With that in mind, I’m aware I may be telling you things that are not news to you. Still, please humor an old dead man and continue reading this letter.
Lou. Louisa. I used to say that I couldn’t do it without you. And I couldn’t have. But it hit me much too late that what I meant by that shifted dramatically over time. It started as a way to acknowledge your invaluable help with the business. Then…
Then.
You remember those early days after Isolde arrived. How I walked around in a fog of grief without the first clue how to care for that sensitive, beautiful child.
And so you created the magical world of Edlo. A place for Isolde to grow up. A place for us to grow together.
Somewhere along the way you stopped being my secretary and became my partner. We built a family, ruled a great kingdom. We lived happily in the fantasy of it for a long time. But it wasn’t enough to keep you content forever—nor should it have been! So you left the Castle, decided to exist on the periphery of the story you’d written for us instead of remaining at its center. It was a story that I’d grown too comfortable inside, forgetting it wasn’t reality. That it wasn’t something I could keep.
I learned much too late that the problem with living inside the stories we tell ourselves is that sometimes it obscures what’s real and in front of us all along.
I’m both sorry and not, Lou, that I never told you how much I loved you when I was alive. It will come as no surprise, I’m sure, that I did not recognize the emotion in myself until it was too late to confess it. I loved my parents and my brother and Isolde, of course, but this particular variety was foreign to me. Something I didn’t understand, thought was beyond my capacity. Yet it snuck up on me over time, soft and purring like a kitten, disguising itself as gratitude and friendly affection until one day a strangercame by and tore the cover off it. Made me see exactly what it was. By that time, you were preparing to leave, though. To have adventures in service of yourself instead of us. You were on your way to real happiness, and I knew I couldn’t offer you anything more than a continuous game of pretend.
