Page 56 of Cyn
Leaning over, she held the box out for him to see and pointed to the small mark. Taking it from her hands, he examined it more closely. “Is that a Jolly Roger?” he asked. She smiled and nodded. He looked up. “Why would a pirate…?” His eyes narrowed. “It’s from Meleak, isn’t it? This package?”
She inclined her head and held her hand out to take it back. “That would be my guess. My very educated guess.”
He handed the box back, but Cyn didn’t miss his reluctance. He might know more about her relationship with Meleak now, but that didn’t mean he trusted the man. Unlike her. She may not trust everything about Meleak, but she definitely trusted that he wouldn’t send her something that would cause her harm.
Reaching into the drawer at her hip, she pulled out a pair of scissors and used the blade to slice through the tape and labels. When the box was open, she tipped it up and an older version iPhone slid out along with a note written in Meleak’s elegant script. Leaving the phone where it had come to rest on the counter, she picked up the note. Joe leaned over her shoulder as she read.
“This belonged to our deceased friend, and it is with the utmost respect that I send it to you. I do not wish for anything to happen to you, my favorite Ingeles, and bad things are stirring nearby. The powers that be had no use for this, but your resourcefulness, intelligence, and dedication far surpass theirs, and I trust that you will. I still remember the day we met.”
The note wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. Setting it aside, Cyn reached for the phone to power it on, only to find the battery had died. With a very unladylike grunt of annoyance, she started rummaging in her drawer for a power cord.
“It’s several years old and the power cord has changed. You may not have one that works,” Joe pointed out, reminding her of something she’d forgotten. The change in cord design had happened four years earlier. If they were lucky, that meant that the phone, which was undoubtedly McElroy’s, had at least four years of data on it. But there was only one way to figure that out. And at the moment, she couldn’t find a blasted cord to power the damn thing up.
“Maybe in your office?” Joe suggested.
She paused, mentally going through all the nooks and crannies in her office. “You’re a genius,” she said, giving him a kiss as she grabbed the phone and darted up the stairs. Joe’s footsteps followed, though at a more sedate pace, and by the time he joined her, she was on her knees, pulling out a plastic tub from the closet.
“Michaela is my gardener and personal trainer, but she’s also a bit of technology guru. Not like Lucy James and her husband, but she’s good with equipment. Can more or less fix anything.” As she spoke, she popped the lid off the tub and sure enough, all neatly tied up and laid out were an assortment of cords. “She always insists on keeping at least one power cord from every device I’ve ever owned, telling me that one never knows when one might need it. Turns out she was right.”
With a smile, she pulled out the power cord that would fit McElroy’s phone. It had been sitting in her office for the past four years, waiting for this moment. Michaela would be so happy.
“Why don’t we take it back downstairs and plug it in to charge there. We can make dinner while it’s doing its thing,” Joe suggested.
Cyn grabbed the phone and cord and went with his suggestion. Despite having had a decent-sized lunch, she was starving. No doubt something she could attribute to Joe and their calorie-burning activities.
“Why don’t I pull the food together, and you get the phone set up? Then maybe we can pour some wine and take a breather,” Joe suggested.
“Sounds like a plan. There’s food in the refrigerator. You can see what Dan left us.” As she spoke, she walked to the kitchen island and plugged the cord into one of the outlets that lined the sides, then inserted the charger into the phone. Once she was sure the power cord was “doing its thing,” as Joe had called it, she set the phone down and set her mind to deciding what drink would best accompany their meal.
“What are the options?” she asked.
“There are a few,” Joe responded, standing in front of the open fridge. “But how does Mexican sound? It looks like he left stuff for fajitas?”
“Perfect. Now margaritas or beer?”
“Beer. It’s not warm enough for margaritas and it will make me miss Florida.”
“You miss Florida?” she asked. Her phone dinged with a text, and she looked down, grateful for the distraction. The question had popped out, and it wasn’t so much the question that caught her off guard but the flash of hurt she’d felt when he’d said he missed home. They hadn’t known each other long. Certainly not long enough to give her any right to have some claim over him. But that little punch to the gut she’d felt told her otherwise—whether she thought she was entitled to have expectations or not, she had them.
“Not really,” Joe answered as she read a group text from her friends. They were on their way over. Six warned her to be dressed by the time they arrived.
“But maybe the weather a little bit,” he continued. “Florida’s an interesting place, but mostly it’s just where family is. You probably know what I’m talking about, with your family all still in England.”
She nodded and held up her phone. “Is there enough food to feed everyone?” she asked.
Without a word, he opened the refrigerator and started pulling a few more items out. “You ever miss England?” he asked.
A not-so-small slice of her heart was glad to hear him essentially equate his missing of Florida to her missing England. Because yes, she did miss home sometimes, and she did miss her family. It would be even harder when her sister finally got pregnant, and Cyn had a niece or nephew across the pond. But even though she missed it, she never felt the need to go “home” because to her, “home” was Cos Cob.
“Sometimes,” she answered, popping the tops of two beers as Joe started to heat the pans. “But like you, it’s mostly family I miss. I visit several times a year, and in the summer, if I’m not teaching or working, I’ll spend a month or so there. Unlike you, though, I like the weather here. It’s dramatic and changing, certainly from season to season, but oftentimes from hour to hour. This morning, it looked like we were going to be socked in by a huge storm, but look now.”
They both looked out the window to the clear, late evening sky.
“Who knows what tomorrow will bring,” she finished.
Joe smiled as he tossed some onions and peppers into one of the pans. “I know you said you’re considered the reckless one among your friends, and while I don’t really agree with that attribution, I can see how ever-changing weather would be something you’d appreciate.”
Cyn had never thought of it that way, but Joe was probably right. The gentle weather of England didn’t much suit her personality the same way the dramatic changes of the Northeast did.
