Page 12 of The Words We Lost

Allie halts as she rounds the corner and holds out a key. “I wanted to give you this before I take off. I’m not sure I’ll make it back over tomorrow—my mom needs about ten extra hands during special events, and this one is obviously more special than most. I wrote the garage code down for you as well. It’s on a sticky note on the fridge.”

“I appreciate that, thanks.” I try my best to smile, but by the way she eyes me, I can tell it doesn’t quite hit the mark. “Would you remind me what time the dinner starts tomorrow?”

“Six. Although I’m sure there will be plenty going on before and after. You know how these kinds of things go.”

Maybe at one point I did, but I wasn’t sure of much that went on here anymore.

“Oh”—she holds up a finger—“I also left my number on the counter for you. Please don’t hesitate to call. You’re only a seven-minute club car ride away from me.”

“But only when it’s not loaded down with other people’s opinions,” I remind her, and she laughs at that.

“True.”

“But, really,” I say, “thanks for treating this place with such special care.”

“It’s been my privilege. Cece was so kind to me after we moved here. One time, she even invited me over on one of my breaks to make milkshakes with her, which neither of us knew how to make.” Her lips quirk as if she’s reliving the memory. “We ended up with a sad sort of cold soup by the end of it. But she was super cool to letme ask her a million questions about her characters and series and even about the book she was working on at the time.”

My thoughts sharpen at the mention of the timeline.“When was this milkshake meeting?”

“Um, let’s see.” She thinks for several seconds. “I guess it would have been when I was home last spring break? Middle of April last year.”

“She was working onThe Fate of Kingsthen,” I say, more to myself then to Allie.

She nods. “I actually analyzed her entire series for my literature and pop culture class last semester. I’m an English major. Same as you were, right?”Her smile brightens again when I nod. “I was thrilled when she told me that Ember and Merrick would finally get their happy ending, but I guess that was never meant to be....” Her sentence slides away, but I’m not quite ready to move off this topic.

“Did you actually see her working on it here at the cottage?” My heartbeat ticks a bit harder in my throat because I know this is the biggest clue I’ve been given in a year. A firsthand account of somebody who saw the manuscript in progress.

Her nod is more vigorous this time. “Yes, she had all her notebooks spread out on the dining room table, along with her laptop and all the maps and timelines. She showed me her plotting system, and we talked through her outline. I honestly felt bad for interrupting her that day when I knocked on her door, but she ushered me in and told me she was due for a mental break and a milkshake.”

I smile. “That sounds like her.”

“Oh!” She gasps and reaches for her phone. “I have some videos from that day, if you want to see them.” In only a few swipes and taps, Allie pulls up the videos, and for a moment I’m not sure if I can do it, if I can see Cece’s face or listen to her voice. But Allie’s expectant smile causes me to push down my instinct. The video she plays reveals a countertop slick with milk and littered with ice cream cartons. Allie is talking into the screen, laughing at the mess they’ve made, when suddenly Cece’s face pops into view and my breath allbut leaves my body at once. Her smile is as vibrant and lively as my memory recalls, as are her corkscrew blond curls, which spill out from a messy bun atop her head. By the looks of it, it was not a wash day. Whenever she was super-focused on a writing deadline, she’d go up to a week without washing her curls. “This right here,” Cece says, pointing to the sloppy blender on the countertop before slinging an arm over Allie’s shoulders, “is procrastinating like a pro!”

The video ends, and Allie looks over at me. “She gave me permission to post it to my social media, and when I did, my writing club went crazy. Everyone wanted to meet her, so Cece invited us all to come to the hotel for a private luncheon after she was finished with her draft and her recovery from surgery, but...”

But Cece didn’t live long enough to fulfill her invitation.

Allie goes quiet then, and I know it’s because there’s no easy way to transition out of this conversation. So I do it for her.

“You know, I just thought of something you might be able to help me with,” I say, swallowing back the tears lodged in my throat as I conjure up a request.

“Sure, ask away.”

“I’m thinking I might need to upgrade the dress I brought to wear to the birthday dinner tomorrow night. Are there any stores in town you’d recommend? Preferably a place that doesn’t feature a colorful sarong or a Port Townsend windbreaker in the storefront window?”

Allie belts out a laugh, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. “You’re in luck. My sister owns a clothing boutique next to the hardware shop called Madison’s Wardrobe. It’s where all the bougie tourists shop, but she really does have some beautiful formal wear. I’m sure she’d give you a discount, too.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks.”

Once Allie takes off for the hotel, I tuck the cottage key into the pocket of my shorts and pull out my phone. Allie only represents one person in this town, and yet the information I confirmed in twenty minutes about Cece’s final months is more than I’ve discovered all year. If I had any doubts that Cece hadn’t been working during hersickness, that worry has now been put to rest. Maybe SaBrina was right to suggest that somebody in this town held the answer to where Cece’s manuscript’s been hiding out all this time.

And the most obvious choice by far is Marshall Evans. It makes sense to me now. Why wouldn’t Cece entrust her last manuscript to a man who was legally bound to keep it safe?

What if for once in my life I don’t have to suffer to find the answers I’m in search of? What if, for once, those answers might simply be handed to me in a package on the morning of my best friend’s birthday?

6

Iwake disoriented. It’s as if the lack of police sirens and sidewalk musicians busking to make their next rent payment has muddled my memory. That is, until I register today’s date on my phone’s home screen. Like the swift bang of a gong, my brain clears in full: the ferry, the cottage, the run-in with Allie, the vase of wild flowers arranged by Wendy at Joel’s request. And then the loudest clang of them all, Cece’s twenty-seventh birthday. It’s this last reality that pushes me from the comfort of the bed and into the shower. I’m dressed and ready with an hour to spare before my scheduled meeting at the law office, but I have no desire to sit in an empty house. Not today.

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