Page 33 of The Pink House

“Now that you’ve read the letter, are you going back to the pink house?”

A chill traveled up her spine at the thought. “I don’t know.”

“Surely you’re curious where the woman got the letter and how long she’s had it.” He’d been tapping a hand against his thigh. The movement stopped. “Maybe she has other letters from him.”

Hannah blinked. “Wouldn’t she have given them to me all at once?”

“Who knows?” Charlie glanced out the window. “It could be she has letters for his parents. Or friends.”

Hannah understood. “You’re thinking maybe there’s one for you.”

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “Brian and I hadn’t seen each other as often the past couple of years before he died.”

“Everyone was busy—”

Charlie held up a hand. “I could have made time. My job was more flexible. Not making the time is on me.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Pulling to her feet, she strode to the window to gaze on the woods in the distance. “We think we have all the time in the world.”

Charlie rose and moved to her side. Though he didn’t touch her—and she was glad, very glad, he didn’t—he stood at her side, a strong, supportive presence.

“I think it’s important you speak with her again. You need more information.” He focused his gaze on Hannah. “But this time, I think we should go to the house together.”

CHAPTERNINE

Charlie was impressed. Hannah had taken pictures and made careful notes on her phone of the route she’d taken to find the pink house. The pictures of the house? Well, those were a blur.

The path was a familiar one. He and Brian had done their share of exploring these woods over the years. Charlie swore if there was a pink house anywhere close, he’d have seen it.

After thirty minutes, Hannah stopped and turned to him. Obviously bewildered, she turned in a circle, then pointed. “This is where the house should be. But it’s not.”

“Are you sure we didn’t take a wrong turn somewhere?”

“I’m positive.” Her hands clenched in frustration. “I don’t understand how it could have been here earlier, and now it’s not.”

Her voice pitched high.

Perhaps coming here so soon after reading the letter had been a mistake. Charlie had to admit that seeing Brian’s handwriting and reading the words his friend had written had been like a sledge to the chest.

All that Brian had wished he’d had a chance to show Hannah were things he and Charlie had shared growing up.

Such amazing memories.

He understood why Brian had longed to share those adventures with his wife.

Sitting in Hannah’s living room, he’d nearly mentioned that those adventures had been part of his childhood, too, and that he’d be happy to share them with her.

Charlie had kept his mouth shut. It would have seemed wrong for him to insert himself in those experiences. Except, he doubted Hannah would ever experience swimming at Devil’s Bathtub if he didn’t intervene, not with her aversion to violating Mr. Jessup’s sign.

Charlie knew Merle Jessup. He’d helped him out only last month when the man’s ancient snowblower had needed repairing. He had no doubt if he asked Merle if he could bring a friend to the swimming hole, the old man would make an exception to his keep-off-my-property rule.

Hannah turned to him, tears shimmering in her blue eyes. “What if I can never find the pink house again?”

“You found it twice,” he reminded her. “You’ll find it again. Just not today.”

* * *

Hannah found planting a rosebush at the corner of her house the next day steadied her. Since getting the letter yesterday, Brian’s words were all she could think about.

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