Startled by this question, I hesitated. Had I mentioned how I knew Finn at the coffee shop? I didn’t think I had. “I knew him a long time ago. Just travelling through and thought I’d look him up.”
“Travelling through Peregrine?” He lifted his eyebrows. “Now that’s a new one.”
“Well, good to meet you, Doctor Sloane.” I pointed toward Moonstone’s. “I should really get back and pack up.”
“You’re leaving town, then?”
“Right. Tomorrow.”
Was it my imagination or did he seem relieved? “Well, safe travels.” We shook hands again and I headed up the street.
***
Moonstone, at the front desk, looked up when I arrived back at the B&B a few minutes later. “Blythe. How are you, Love?”
I sat in one of the chairs next to her desk. “Fine, thanks.”
She gazed at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher before breaking into a knowing smile. “Let me guess. You’re checking out.”
“Yes, tomorrow. Will that be a problem? I know the reservation was for a week.”
“Not a problem at all. Matter of fact, I just had a call from a young couple on their way east who needed a room. I had a feeling you wouldn’t need your room so I already gave it away to them.”
“You gave it away without knowing I was leaving?”
“But I did know.”
“Oh, okay.” I shrugged, trying to locate the feeling churning around inside me. Disappointment. That was it. I’d wanted her to refuse to let me out of my commitment. Then I could stay. “Well, that’s good, then.”
“It certainly is. Best not to mess with fate.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Wise girl.”
“Fate?”
“Fate with a set of blue eyes and a pair of long legs in blue jeans.”
Flushing, I smiled as politely as I could. I knew from years with my mother it was best not to engage with this kind of crazy.
“Sometimes the thing we think we’re looking for is really something else entirely.” She tapped her long nails on the countertop. “Happens to all of us at one time or the other.”
Moonstone, you’re one crazy witch, I thought. Rising to my feet, I thanked her.
“My pleasure, Love.” She grinned. I averted my gaze and walked toward the stairs, feeling her eyes following me.
Back in my room, I went to the window and looked at Blue Mountain. Another knock on the door startled me. The security at Moonstone’s Bed and Breakfast wasn’t what you’d call bulletproof, I thought as I crossed the room.
I opened the door. Kevan leaned against the opposite wall in the hallway, his face tense. He held a plain white envelope.
“Hey,” he said.
I greeted him in kind and then stood there, unsure what to do next. The two of us stared at one another for several awkward seconds, the air ripe like before a thunderstorm. “Do you want to come in?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
I opened the door wider and let him pass. He sat in the same chair Rori had only recently vacated. Not wanting to betray her confidence, I vowed to keep her visit to myself. I saw him with new eyes; a sliver of doubt had replaced my former vision.
He held the envelope in the air. “I thought you might like this. It’s a letter Finn wrote to me about you. I save letters. There are boxes of them in the garage—some from my wife, some from Finn, some from friends over the years. No one writes letters anymore, of course. Only emails.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m rambling.”
“It’s okay. I’ve rattled you, just showing up like this.”
He nodded, his brow furrowed, and handed me the letter. “Yeah. It’s brought up some stuff.”
“Kevan, I went to the library to look for information on Finn’s accident and death, and the librarian said it was a sore subject around here. Why is that? How come nothing came up about his death when I Googled him?”
He shrugged. “My mother made sure nothing got in the papers or on the Internet about it, afraid of scandal if people found out Finn and Meredith were together. I didn’t especially want that either.” He leaned forward, crossing one leg over his knee and clasping his ankle with his hands. “Can you blame me?”
“I met Doctor Sloane. He seemed very interested in making sure I knew it was an accident.”
“Can’t stand that asshole, Barry Sloane. He spends most of his time gossiping now that he’s retired.”
“He’s retired?”
“Yeah, early. Not sure why. Rori got the feeling something happened in Boise with his medical practice—not sure if it was a lawsuit or what, but he’s retired now and living here full-time now that the kids graduated from high school.”
“Yeah, he mentioned the kids went to school together.”
“His son is Rori’s boyfriend.”
The pieces came together. The hated boyfriend was Doctor Sloane’s son. “Oh, I see.” I paused, wanting to change the subject delicately but failing miserably with my next question. “Why would the librarian say it was a sore subject around here?”
He let out a big breath. “You’re not going to let this go anytime soon, I gather?”
“I’m not trying to hold on but I wanted to know some details, and clearly there’s something I don’t know. Why would the librarian act so strangely? She almost seemed scared. And just like at the coffee shop, it felt like the entire place stopped what they were doing to listen the minute I asked a question about him. And Doctor Sloane seemed like he was trying to sell me a used car.”
“The truth is, Finn wasn’t the most popular guy around here.”
“Why?”
“You ever heard of a tree-hugger?”
“Sure. A rude term for an environmentalist.”
“That’s right. Well, Finn was a tree-hugger and extremely vocal about it. The locals weren’t fond of him. Not to mention they hate my mother and, well, the rest of us. They tolerate us but we’re not really considered one of the gang, so to speak.”
I thought about this. Rori had said the town hated all of them because they were rich. Was it possible that Finn was even less popular because of his politics? Had he been killed for his beliefs? I wanted to ask about that but I didn’t want to betray Rori. She hadn’t wanted her father to know she was here and he certainly wasn’t going to hear it from me.
Sitting back in the chair, he shrugged. “What did Rori want?”
My mouth opened and closed in surprise. “You knew she was here?”
“I follow her sometimes. Actually, I follow her a lot.”
“You follow her?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do. Save letters. Follow my daughter. Tend to my horses.” His voice was soft and sad. “I should’ve followed her all along and maybe she wouldn’t have a tattoo and a dozen piercings.”
I looked down at the letter. It was addressed to Kevan with an address in Boise. The return address was from Peregrine. It was Finn’s handwriting. Just as I’d done earlier to the photo, I traced it with my finger before looking back at Kevan. “Rori came to bring me that photo. The only one we ever had taken of the two of us.” I pointed to where I’d set it on the table next to the bed.
Kevan shifted in the chair, crossing and uncrossing his long legs. “Well, anyway, I just wanted to bring you the letter.”
“Thank you. It’s kind of you. Given everything.”
“No one could blame you for the choice you made. Finn didn’t, if that matters to you at all.”
I waited to speak until the lump in my throat subsided. “It does.”
Kevan stood, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gazing at the floor. “The lady at the desk mentioned you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Moonstone may or may not be psychic but she was surely the interfering type. Perhaps she fancied herself the modern version of Cupid? “I check out in the morning,” I said.
He was at the door when he turned back to me. “You could stay awhile. Take photos. Get some of your spark ba
ck. No prettier place for an artist.” He shuffled his feet. “I have a guesthouse. No one uses it much.”
“You’re offering me your guesthouse? Isn’t that a bit rash?”
He grimaced and then chuckled. “Apparently both Finn and I make judgments about people quickly. Bottom line, Finn cared about you a great deal, regardless of how long you two knew one another. He’d want me to offer my home to you. Besides, I lost one of my guys yesterday. You could help me out with the horses.”
“I don’t know anything about horses.”
“I could teach you.”
I stared at him. This was so unexpected I didn’t know what to say. Was he trying to manipulate me so I’d quit asking questions? Would I go to his guesthouse only to be murdered in my sleep?
“I was going to suggest it before I knew who you were. Last night, I mean, after you told me about your situation.”
“So you run a ranch for divorcées and old horses?” I smiled, moved by this man who smelled of the forest, forgetting for a moment I didn’t fully trust him.
“You’ll be my first divorcée.”
“I don’t know.”
“Because I’m Finn’s brother?”
“That. And, well, I should go home and get my life together.”
He scratched the side of his face. “You have three weeks without your girls. Figure out the rest of your life under the Idaho sky.” Peering down, he played with the fabric of his jeans, just as Rori had done earlier, gathering it into a pleat before letting it go and smoothing it over his thigh. “You have no idea how hard that was for me to ask. Therefore, you owe it to me to say yes.”
I went to the window and looked out. The purple, red, and yellow wildflowers dotting the base of Blue Mountain swayed in the breeze. My camera was there on the desk with its eye that seemed to follow me. Was it insane to accept an offer from a man I didn’t trust? A man who’d possibly murdered the only man I ever loved?
But no matter the thoughts in my head, I knew I would say yes. Yes, to the Idaho sky, yes to the man who smelled of the mountain, yes to trying to find out the truth for Finn. “I would like to take a photo of the moon.” I put the emphasis on the word would as I turned back to him. He watched me from the chair, his eyes hooded. “I’ll stay a week. And I insist on helping you with whatever you need.”
He smiled, his gaze travelling to my feet in the sandals. “We might need to get you a pair of boots. I’ll meet you at the hardware store in the morning after you check out of here. Say noon?”
“Fine.” I smiled back at him. “Boots?”
“Yep.”
***
After Kevan left, I went down the street to the grocery store, buying a sandwich and diet soda at the deli and then went back to my room to eat, nibbling on the sandwich though I had little appetite. I set the sandwich aside, next to Finn’s letter, and busied myself with packing and tidying up, unable to read it yet. Aware of it even when I turned my back, like a bright light I couldn’t dim, I changed into pajamas, washed my face, and brushed my teeth.
I stood at the window, holding Belinda Bear and watching the sun set behind the mountain, thinking through the events of the last twenty-four hours, trying to make an order of things. What I knew for sure was this—if Finn had been murdered I was compelled to figure out by whom and why. I owed him one courageous act. The decision fortified me, the way decisions do, and I reached for his letter. Examining it, one could easily think it hadn’t been opened because it was slit so precisely. Kevan must have opened it with either a knife or a blade. I touched the stamp, thinking of Finn licking it and sticking it on the letter. The date and time stamp said: Hailey, Idaho, June 28, 2001. Thirteen years ago almost exactly, give or take a week. I took the letter out; it was written on lined paper like we used in school. It was undated.
Dear Kevan,
I’m writing from my hotel room in Sun Valley. The sun is setting, all gold and orange splendor behind me and yet I can barely see it because the ache in my chest has reached my eyes and blinded me. I met a girl. “The” girl. But she’s gone back home, just three hours ago now. She’s engaged to someone, you see, and I’m fairly certain she won’t return to me. But, as you know, I’m an optimist and I told her if she changed her mind I was here, waiting. I know what you’ll say. It’s nothing but a romantic notion. But if you’d met her, if you’d seen the connection established within a minute or two of meeting her, you would understand when I say I’m in love.
She was in front of me in line as we waited to go into the concert, and the first view of her was the back of her head. Her hair was the color of honey with streaks of sunburned straw and she wore it long down her back against skin browned by the sun with freckles scattered over her shoulders. When she turned to look at me, her eyes were the color of emeralds. I’m not kidding. They shone as brightly too. And she wore these large gold hoops and played with one when she smiled at me. It was a shy smile and without guile. In the days following I saw that she has a way about her like you—almost of the earth. So I’m writing to you to tell you about her but also to tell you, my most favorite person in the world, I love you. Loving her made me think of all the others in this life I love, mostly you and the brothers and Teagan. We don’t say it enough in our family, with all the testosterone overshadowing our tender hearts.
I can still smell her on my hands. She wears a scent that reminds me of the flowers of Hawaii—do you remember the aroma of white plumeria when we came out of our room last year? That’s what she smells like.
I’ll return to work, as you asked, after the Fourth of July. But, understand this. I cannot remain at the company for long. It’s a soul sucker and these last weeks have convinced me that it is not my destiny to sit behind that desk. Truth be told, I’m no good at it anyway. But I cannot leave without your blessing.
I can’t help but think I just had the best three days of my life. Think of me, perhaps even pull out your dusty Bible to say a prayer for me to endure despite the disappointment. Pray for me, my brother, to let go of what doesn’t belong to me. I believe it was Buddha who said, “In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.” Pray that I may learn to live this way.
Love,
Finn
I cried into Belinda Bear’s neck after I finished reading it, his words bringing back the moment we’d first met clearly in my mind. I thought, too, of the last moment: if you change your mind. And my heart, my tender heart, was twisted like a wet rag wrung out between strong hands until it was nothing but the hollow, bitter feeling of regret. After a few minutes, I fell asleep with Belinda Bear in my arms, exhausted, sad and lonely for my children.
CHAPTER 12
THE NEXT MORNING, I awoke to the sound of my cell phone ringing. Glancing at the clock, I was surprised to see it was almost eight. I never slept this late at home. I reached over Belinda Bear for the phone, hoping it was my girls but was disappointed to see that it was Sally Heywood, my mother. Should I answer? I sighed. It took a lot of energy to talk with her that I couldn’t muster without coffee, so I let it go to voicemail. Instead, I made a cup of coffee in the little coffee maker and nibbled on a protein bar, thinking about my mother.
I dressed in running clothes and strapped my music player to my arm, planning to head out for a run. Just as I picked up the room key, the phone lit up again, reminding me of my message from my mother. I grabbed the phone from the bed and went to the window, listening to the message with my gaze on the wildflowers and the yellow hillside. Her voice was the usual light and breathy way she spoke, like someone exhaling from a large marijuana toke, which never ceased to annoy me. “Hi, Blythe, it’s Sally.” My mother refused to have us call her Mom or Mother or Mommy. She wanted to be our friends, she told us when we were little. Our equal. So she was Sally.
The message continued, “I’m here puttering in the garden today. I’ve planted another herb box and the smell of mint makes me feel aliv
e. Have you thought about the therapist? I really think it would help you. Also, I ran into Ellen White the other day—your old English teacher. Remember her? She looked as spunky as always and told me she’s getting married. It’s never too late to find love. She asked about you and Bliss. Of course, I couldn’t tell her much about Bliss but I told her you are in the rebuilding cycle of your life. Okay, bye now. Talk soon.”
No one could ramble on a message better than my mother. I set the phone down on the table just as it buzzed again. This time it was Lola, calling from her little flip phone I’d gotten her last Christmas. I had hesitated to give her a phone but now I was happy to have a way to communicate with her that didn’t require calling Michael.
“Hi, Mommy.”
“Lola! How are you, honey?”
“I’m good. We’re on our way to the beach in a few minutes. You should see the place Dad rented for us. It’s enormous and has marble countertops.”
“Marble countertops, how nice.” I wanted to roll my eyes but I didn’t though no one could see me; I didn’t want to get in the habit whenever they mentioned something about their dad that annoyed me. I’d constantly be rolling my eyes. Surely there was some permanent, physical damage I could do to myself. “So you’re having fun?” I asked.
Silence and then, “Yes, but I miss you.”
“Just enjoy yourselves. Hawaii’s a wonderful place. Have you noticed how it smells there?”
“Totally, Mom. Like flowers.”
I smiled, thinking of Finn’s letter. “Yes. White plumeria.”
Blue Midnight (Blue Mountain Book 1) Page 12