Page 20 of Going, Going, Gone
Chapter Thirteen
Sitting on Faith’s couch, Nessa tried to keep her tears at bay, as she stroked Wink, a one-eyed cat that’d been rescued as a kitten and spoiled rotten ever since. Nessa barely remembered teaching her two classes earlier before arriving at her friend’s front door. She was still in shock that Dylan had accused her of using him. Of practically pimping herself to get her way. After he’d stormed out, she’d cried her eyes out until there’d been nothing left. Then she’d showered and pulled on her big-girl panties. It wasn’t the first time she’d had her heart ripped out, but it was the first time she’d felt like the damage was irreparable.
“Here. Happy hour requires us to be happy, so wine will pave the way.” Faith handed her a glass filled to the rim with pinot grigio before sitting next to her. She clinked her glass against Nessa’s in a toast as Wink jumped from one comfortable lap into the other, purring loudly. “Here’s to men who aren’t douche canoes or cunt waffles. I’m not sure where the only dozen or so of them live, but hopefully one day we’ll come across them, so we can tag them for migration purposes.”
Despite her watery eyes, Nessa chuckled and shook her head. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know. It sounded good in my head. Mind you, I’m one glass up on you.”
“Bad day for you too?”
Faith was a paralegal for a divorce lawyer. She often saw the sad results of failed marriages, some of which involved spousal and child abuse or neglect. “You remember that story from the Bible that freaked us out in grade school. The one about the two women claiming the child was theirs, and the king said cut the child in half and give one to each. The one woman agreed and, instead of letting that happen, the other asked the king to give the child to the first woman. That was how he figured out which was the real mother. She’d rather give him up than see him be harmed. I’ve never wanted to be a bible thumper before, but there are days I wish I could shove that passage into some parents’ faces. It’s always about them and getting revenge for whatever reason. And it’s the kids that suffer.”
Nessa knew better than to ask for details, since Faith had to follow the same client/attorney confidentiality laws her employer was bound by. So, instead, she tried to lighten the mood. “Yeah, I remember that. I also remember Tommy Grossman bringing his sister’s doll and aStar Warslight saber into Sunday school the following week, wanting to act it out.”
Faith giggled. “Yup. Didn’t surprise me at all when he became a surgeon.”
“Me either.” Nessa took a few sips of wine, the taste barely registering. Her heart clenched as she remembered the picnic Dylan had brought to the movie in the park. He’d been so sweet—the perfect gentleman courting her, letting her decide when the time was right to take the next step in their relationship. The more she thought about what’d happened between her and Dylan that morning, the more she realized a lot of it was her fault. “I think I screwed up.”
Faith’s eyes narrowed. “You? I thought Dylan was the one who screwed up. What exactly happened?”
All she’d told her friend was “Dylan’s an asshole,” when she’d first arrived. Now, she regretted saying even that. Letting out a heavy sigh, she grimaced. “Nothing I really want to repeat. And honestly, his anger was in response to something stupid I’d said, and instead of seeing it from his side, I blew up at him. We both said things—well, I hope he regrets his words as much as I regret mine.”
“That sucks. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. But I think we need to take a break from each other. At least for a little bit.” With the Coldrick farm hanging between them, Nessa wanted to find out one way or another if it could be saved, but she didn’t want Dylan to think she was using him. If their relationship could be salvaged, then it would have to be with a clean slate. No second doubts. She had four days left until the farm was sold. Until then, she’d work her ass off tracking down the last organizations on her list, even if she had to visit each in person and crawl through their basements and attics on her own.
* * *
Three days later,it’d taken everything within Dylan not to go crawling to Nessa and beg for her forgiveness. He’d texted her the morning after their fight, apologizing, after she hadn’t answered his phone call. At first, he’d thought she’d still been seething and had refused to answer when she saw his name and number, but a half hour after his text, she’d responded with one of her own.
I was in a meeting and couldn’t answer. I’m sorry too, Dylan. I said things I regret, but I’m also still hurting. I think we need some time apart. Maybe after this thing with the farm is over, we can sit down and talk, but until then, I think it’s best that we not see each other.
His first instinct had been to drive over to her condo and demand they talk right then and there until she forgave him for being an ass, but he’d suspected that would make things worse. She’d wanted some time, and he’d give it to her. In the meantime, he and his mother had been doing a little research. His mom had met a friend of hers, Alice Barnes, for breakfast the other morning—the same morning he and Nessa had fought—and it’d been the reason she’d called to talk to him. Kaye had mentioned Nessa’s theory about the Coldrick farm being part of the Underground Railroad, including the artifacts that’d been found and the diary that was still missing. A longtime benefactor of the local library, Alice had been acquainted with Elise Coldrick. She recalled that many, many years ago, the library had displayed a collection of vintage items from the Coldrick family for several months. Some things had been from the early 1900s, but others had been even older than that. Usually after displays were taken down, all the items were returned to their donor, but sometimes they were packed up and stored in the library’s basement—which was where Dylan and his mother were for the third afternoon in a row. Their time had been limited due to work and prior commitments, but they’d spent hours pouring through boxes and boxes and more boxes—there had to be close to 700 of them. He’d lost count after a while, and they were only about two-thirds of the way through them. If he had to be here all night to find the box they were looking for—if it was even there—he would. He wanted nothing more than to be able to show the world that his Nessa had been right.
Dylan sneezed from the dust, and, not for the first time, asked, “Why are they keeping all this crap?”
Many of the boxes were filled with books that’d been taken out of circulation for one reason or another, mostly because they’d been damaged or there were extra copies the library didn’t have room for on the upstairs shelves. There were also decorations for every freaking holiday, including some Dylan had never heard of. Other boxes contained junk—plain and simple. Seriously.What the hell is a hand-cranked egg beater doing in a box with a taxidermied squirrel named Henry?
Moving another box out of the way, Dylan used his pocket knife to slice open the packing tape. He was just about to dig into the contents when his mother gasped beside him. “Dylan! I think I found it!”
Slowly she lifted a glass case out of the box on a table in front of her. Inside was what looked like a leather-bound journal, well-worn with time. The delicate pages had yellowed long ago. His mother set the case on the table after Dylan quickly moved the box out of her way. “Look!”
Dylan saw what she was pointing at. A typed label was attached to the top glass pane.Diary of Emily Coldrick—1848-1851. Donated by Mr. & Mrs. Frank Coldrick.
“They were Elise’s parents. Alice mentioned them the other day.”
Staring at the diary, Dylan realized he had no idea what to do next. As much as he wanted to open the case and read the pages, he didn’t think that was a good idea. After all, the artifact was over 160 years old. Thankfully, his mother knew what to do. Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, she began making calls.
