Page 10 of Dear Bookworm Beauty
My eyes catch on an envelope sitting on the nightstand next to the bed with my name printed on it. I reach out my hand for it, but it's just out of my reach. I lean forward, but the movement jostles Grant, and his breathing sputters. I don't want to wake him, so I move slowly, inch by agonizingly slow inch out from under his arm.
I pick his shirt up off the floor and slip it on. It barely touches the tops of my thighs, but it covers enough. I slip on my panties and tiptoe over to the bay window overlooking the woods behind the house. It’s a view I’ve seen before, but not in person. It’s one of Josephine’s paintings, calledEverlasting. I never understood the meaning of the title until this moment. You can see the trail from this exact window that leads into the woods to the tree with Josephine and Gad's initials carved into it.
I sit down on the bench. A tear falls onto the envelope in my hands onto my name. Wiping away at the wetness, the tear makes the ink bleed and smear on the envelope. I open the envelope and find a letter inside.
My dearest Laurel,
I'm not one for writing my feelings, but then again, I’m even less for trying to say them out loud face to face. I can’t sleep. I'm afraid that I will wake up and find that this time with you was all a dream if I do. So, I thought I'd take a note from G.A.D. and write out what I'm feeling for you. When I first saw you so many months ago, I felt a feeling of familiarity with a stranger that I'd never felt before. Like I was missing a piece of myself, but no matter who crossed my path, they never filled that hole. I know now it’s because the shape was unique to you that was missing in me. I could never have imagined that two people who lived over a hundred and fifty years ago could change the projection of my life so significantly. I don’t know why Josephine and G.A.D. couldn’t get their happily ever after. But I have to think that it was something out of their control because my understanding of G.A.D.'s feelings for Josephine mirrors my own for you. I know it's crazy to say this already, but maybe it's not too soon to write it. I'm in love with you. I have been since the first moment I saw you, but what I feel tonight with you lying asleep in the bed next to me is more than just attraction—it’s everlasting.
Most affectionally yours forever,
Grant
I look up and find Grant watching me. The crease of concern between his brows tells me that he doesn’t understand the tears. He must be wondering—are they happy or sad tears?
He leans up in the bed—the early morning sunlight filtering in the windows catching the olive tones of his bare chest.
“Tell me I’m not alone in how I feel,” he asks, his voice shaking a bit with uncertainty.
“You aren’t alone,” I assure him.
He lets out a breath that sounds like he is holding, waiting for my answer. I push up from the bench and start to walk over to the bed when we both hear the sound of a loose floorboard beneath my foot. I step back and then forward again, hearing the same squeak beneath my foot. I lean down, and I'm able to pull up the board with ease.
“What the—?" Grant asks as he swings his legs off the side of the bed and tugs on his jeans before meeting me on the floor.
“There’s something in here.” I reach between the floorboard planks and pull out what feels like a book wrapped in old linen and lace cloth.
With the utmost care, I pull back the cloth and find what looks like one of Josephine’s journals. I would know it anywhere. I’ve been studying them at every free moment I have for my graduate thesis.
“Do you realize what this is?” I ask Grant.
He nods.
“This must have been Josephine’s room,” I say, looking between the journal in my hand and the window that overlooks the woods.
“Do you think we should read it?” Grant asks.
My fingers are already moving to open it, but I stop at his words. Suddenly I feel like I’m prying into something Josephine never wanted anyone to find. Why else would she have hidden it beneath the floorboards in her room? What will these pages say that was too sensitive to be in the other journals?
A sudden knock at the door makes us both jump like we are children caught with our hands in the cookie jar.
“Ms. La Monte requests you come down to breakfast,” Mr. Waters calls to us through the closed door.
Grant clears his throat. “We’ll be right there.”
“Very well.”
“What do we do?” I ask, looking from Grant to the journal back to him again. “I suddenly don’t feel right reading this.”
He nods once. “I don’t either.”
"The answer to our mystery could be in here," I say, playing devil’s advocate to my own argument.
“Even if we wanted to read this, we don’t have time. Evangeline wants to see us downstairs now.”
“You’re right.” I start to wrap up the journal back in its cloth. “I think we should at least give it to Evangeline. Let her decide what to do with it.”
“You’re right.” Grant pushes to his feet and reaches out for my hands to help me up. “Let’s get dressed and show her what you’ve found.”
