Page 25 of The Words We Lost

He clears his throat. “Should we start the next chapter? I can refill our coffees if you want to take the lead on the next one and—”

“Actually, I can’t do another one today. I need to return my rental to the drop-off site in Oak Harbor by three.” The hour-and-fifteen-minute drive wouldn’t leave much time for running errands, but it might be enough time to clear my head. Alone. Something I’d likely have to do in between all the future chapters we read together. “I need to run a few personal errands, too.”

“Anything Allie can bring over for you from the hotel?”

“Not unless she has a secret stash of women’s clothing hanging around in my size.”

“Allie wouldn’t, but her sister, Madison, might. She owns a women’s clothing boutique here in town. Obviously I haven’t shopped there myself, but from what our guests report it’s become a popular tourist destination on the peninsula.” His description conjures an image of the golden gown I purchased and wore last night from said shop. “Madison’s brain for marketing is remarkable,” he goes on. “She actually pitched a winter campaign idea for the hotel to my dad a couple weeks back. He was so impressed he asked if he could hire her on the spot.”

The favorable way he speaks about her fills in the holes of what I couldn’t conclude last night at the party through a simple observation: Madison’s admiration for Joel isn’t one-sided.

He cares for her, too.

He slips his phone from his pocket. “I’ll put a call in to her.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay.” My wind-chapped lips stretch to the point of pain as I reach deep for a smile I don’t feel. “Upscale boutiques don’t generally carry the kind of clothing options conducive for gardening.”

“Believe me,” he chuckles. “Madison has more closets stuffed with clothing in her house and storage facilities than we have rooms in the hotel. She’d be insulted if I didn’t at least ask what she has available.”

He knows her closets?Yet I have exactly no time to process this as he scrolls through his recent call list and taps on her name.

“Joel, please don’t—”

An instant later he drops the phone from his ear. “Straight to voicemail.”

I’m so relieved I nearly thank God for intervening on my behalf, as if that’s actually something He’s been known to do for me.

Suddenly itching for a reason to get up from this table, I swipe my empty coffee mug and make for the kitchen to buy time to collect myself when I hear the familiar buzz of my own phone. Which I left next to my plate.

“Your phone’s ringing. Need it?”

Unlike Joel’s lengthy list of recent callers, my own such list is limited at best. And by limited, I pretty much mean Chip. Based on the texts he’s sent, I know he’s calling about the email SaBrina sent, the one letting him know I wouldn’t be returning to the office until after my PTO was used in full. She basically told him he’d be tackling the bulk of my work responsibilities, effective immediately. Though he knew there was a chance of this outcome, I hadn’t yet told him about what had occurred at Marshall’s office yesterday. I’m simply not ready to talk about the memoir yet. Not even to Chip.

“It’s a ... Chip Stanton,” Joel announces, with a decidedly different tone of voice than the one he was using before.

I set my steaming mug on the counter and hold up my hands. “I actually should take that—can you toss it to me?”

Joel’s eyes widen as I catch the phone mid-arc and swipe the green arrow to accept the call.

“Hey, Chip. I’m sorry I haven’t texted you back yet. Things are ... busy,” I say, turning my back on the dining room and the man seated there.

“It’s a good thing you answered because my next step was to call the local police there and ask for a wellness check like I used to do for my grandpa. Only since I don’t have your address, I would have had to say, ‘Can you please go door to door until you find my missing boss? She’s about five-six, likes fantasy fiction, has dark hair and speaks fluent sarcasm—’”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’m fine, really.” I release a soft chuckle, though the worry I hear in his voice makes my eyes prick with tears. Or perhaps it’s the truth that lives just beneath it: Chip, my work colleague, is likely the only person in my life who’d even think to question my absence in the case of an emergency. I swallow to find my voice again. “I need to stay a bit longer.”

“So that means the package wasn’t—”

“Unfortunately, no. It wasn’t.”

“So you’re just going to stay there, in hopes you find it?”In hopesthat you have a career to come back to?is what he doesn’t ask. But I can tell he’s more concerned than he’s letting on.

I glance over my shoulder at Joel, suddenly hyperaware of the mounting sense of injustice between our two lives. While I’ve fought to survive these past five years as an orphan in a strange city, Joel’s life—which he’s lived in the only place I’ve ever called home—has continued on, continued to thrive, the same way it always has: through faith, family, job security, and a future of promising relationships.

He still has the whole package, while I’m at risk of losing the only thing I have left.

“Hello? Ingrid? Is this a blink-twice situation?” Chip cuts in. “Is there a safe word you forgot to tell me ahead of time? Because my offer to call the cops is still—”

“No, no, I’m good.” I breathe out. “Why don’t I call you back a little later when I’m in the car. Does that work for you?”

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