His Other Life

Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

ISLA

Present day

“Another one please.” Isla pushed her glass toward the bartender and watched as he poured the whiskey. She’d stop at two tonight, but those two would have to count. “I’ll take some water too when you get a chance,” she said, dragging the shot glass toward her with a hooked finger.

“I’ll have the same,” a voice said beside her.

She looked up ready to rebuke whoever dared invade her space, but instead of a stranger, there was Rowan. “Oh, it’s you.”

He gestured to the empty chair on her left. “Mind if I sit?”

Two hours had passed since they’d parted at the elevator, and in that time, the universe had seen fit to add insult to this already injurious day. Mav was in the hospital, they’d have to return home emptyhanded, and now the police report had put her face to face with the remnants of the wreck.

While the report itself had disappointed, lacking any new information that might have been helpful, there had been photos attached to the digital file that hadn’t been part of the document she’d seen way back. She’d scrolled through the stark series several times already, unable to shake both the strangling echo of pressure where her seatbelt had compressed her ribs and the voyeuristic sense of partaking in someone else’s trauma. A snap of the rear license plate. A dark wide-angle of the exterior of the car at the scene illuminated by spotlights. Something that looked like tire tracks in the brush off the road. The triggered airbags. A collection of items from inside the car in a plastic bin. Her eyes had blurred at the sight of the intact first aid kit Jonah had kept in the center console. Much good it had done them.

Isla clutched at her throat to stifle the lingering knot. She didn’t want to go there. Maybe she’d be wise to embrace this offered distraction to help her keep a level head.

“Sure, why not?”

“Such an enthusiastic invitation.” Rowan sat, an aromatic whiff of cedar and spice ruffling the air between them. He nodded a thanks to the bartender for his drink.

Isla dragged a palm across the bar top. “I’m not in a great mood.”

“Ah.” He twisted his glass. “I’ll consider myself warned then.” He sipped the Macallan then set it down. “You know, I have been told that I’m a good listener. Just putting it out there.”

“I expect you’d have to be as a nurse.”

He looked at her more intently. “Okay… I kind of get the feeling you want your space. I didn’t mean to impose.”

She was being rude. So rude. A flush of heat hit Isla’s cheeks. “No. I’m sorry.” She held up a finger to make him wait then finished her shot. The fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. “You’re being nice and I’m…” She gave a little shrug. “Stay. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

The bartender took her empty glass, and she asked him for a ginger ale. Then she turned back to Rowan. They weren’t close so she had nothing to lose by telling him what was going on. It wasn’t like her, but maybe changing things up would be good.

“How much do you know about me exactly?” she asked.

He blinked in a way that suggested he hadn’t been prepared for such a direct question. “Um, I don’t… I…”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know Mav is a talker.”

Rowan sighed and pulled himself together. “Fine. Then quite a lot probably.”

“About Jonah, the accident, this trip?”

“Your job, your sister-in-law, your mother moving.” He pressed his lips together.

“So everything basically?”

“If it makes you feel better, you can ask me whatever you want. We’ll even the score.”

“How tall are you?”

He sputtered out a laugh. “That’s your most pressing question? I’m six foot five.”

It was impossible not to smile when he smiled, and she struggled to temper it. “It was the first thing that came to mind. Don’t worry—there’s more.”

A text message lit up Isla’s phone screen. It was Louise asking if she’d received the report. Isla’s smile died, and she swiped the message away. Rowan followed her movement but didn’t say anything.

Isla hesitated, but then she took a deep breath and handed him the phone, where one of the photos was now displayed. “I’ve been waiting for the police to send me the report for the accident,” she said. “I’ve seen it before, right after it happened, but my friend suggested I might have missed something back then. I received it today, and there were some photos attached.” She indicated for him to look through them. “I know they don’t really show much,” she said while he did.

Rowan looked up. “I don’t know. Maybe this one will help us pinpoint the location.” He indicated the wide-angle one then scrolled on. He paused on the bin of glove-box sundries—napkins, pens, car manual, sunglasses, leather bracelet, flashlight, two protein bars. “Is that Morse code?” he asked, zooming in on the bracelet.

Isla’s forehead wrinkled as she examined the image where small studs lined the masculine leather strap. “No idea.”

“S… E…” Rowan squinted. “God, I’m so rusty. Mav taught me when I was a kid. Maybe R, then E again.”

“Weird. I don’t remember Jonah ever wearing anything other than a watch.”

They both hunched over the screen.

“Hold on—let me look it up.” Rowan pulled out his phone and found a Morse code key. “Let’s see. Dash, dot—that’s N. Dash, dot, dot—D. Then I, something, I. The rest isn’t visible.”

“Serendipity,” Isla said, the letters having strung themselves together in her mind.

Rowan’s gaze went up and left as if searching for confirmation somewhere on the ceiling. “You’re right. Serendipity . Cute.”

Isla nodded. It was cute, except it wasn’t exactly something a guy would buy for himself, nor did it seem like a gift she would have given Jonah. She supposed she might have—it had been their anniversary after all—but knowing he didn’t wear stuff like that, it seemed unlikely. So where had it come from?

Rowan flipped through the other photos one more time. “Must have been hard to see these,” he said when he was done.

Isla shrugged off the bracelet question. With so much on her mind already, what good would it do to add another conundrum? For all she knew, Jonah could have found it in the street. She took the phone from him and set it down. “More than anything, it surprised me.”

“What about the report?”

“Nothing new there. It has the where and when, the damage to the car, what hospital they took us to, but there were no witnesses and no other cars at the scene. We weren’t speeding. I wasn’t speeding,” she corrected herself. “And still…” Her voice cracked.

Rowan reached out and covered her hand with his. The comforting warmth of it seeped into Isla’s skin.

She pulled hers away. “Sorry. It’s just that now that this trip is a no-go, I was hoping something else would come through. Instead, it feels like I’m chasing shadows.”

“What do you mean it’s a no-go?”

Was he joking? “Um, maybe because Mav is sick and in the hospital. We have to get him home so he can rest.”

“Ha! Never gonna happen.” Rowan finished his drink, his hair flopping back from his forehead to reveal a two-inch, silver scar right at his hairline. “I’m telling you right now that when we show up at the hospital tomorrow morning, he’ll be dressed and pacing the hallways.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting I let him drive me to Bend as if today didn’t take place?”

“No, of course not. I’ll be driving.”

Isla stared at him.

“I was going anyway,” Rowan said, matter of fact. “We can all take my car.”

Isla’s brain churned with the need to conjure a protest, but to her surprise, none came to mind. Would she actually be able to continue the trip?

“Unless you object to having me along that is? I do take up a bit of space.” He stretched his long legs out. “But you should know I’ve already called the hotel to say we’ll be a day late, per Mav’s request.”

She’d still get to Bend tomorrow. Louise would join them Saturday. Rowan could help talk to people too, as well as keep an eye on Mav. And the hotel—she’d completely forgotten about that. The tension in Isla’s shoulders eased. “Yeah. I mean no—I’d be fine with it.”

“Really?”

Isla nodded. She meant it. Rowan may be a stranger, but so far, he’d proven himself to be nothing but pleasant company in what could have been an awfully awkward situation. Plus, she trusted Mav’s judgment.

“Thank you,” she said. “I was preparing myself for going home tomorrow. This changes things.”

He tipped his head. “Glad to be of service.”

Isla had another sip of her ginger ale then pushed her chair back. “But that probably means we should get some sleep.”

“You go ahead.” Rowan flashed her a quick smile as he pulled out a laptop from the satchel he’d slung over the backrest. “I have another hour in me.”

“Writing?”

“Yep.”

A barrage of new question immediately popped into Isla’s head. “Can I ask about it tomorrow?”

“We’ll have over three hours in the car.”

She smiled. “You’d better prepare yourself then. I’ll be taking you up on your offer.”

His eyes glinted in the light from the modern glass pendants above. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Rowan had been right about Mav being ready for them the next morning with one exception—Mav wasn’t pacing the hallways; he was already down in the lobby having discharged himself when they arrived.

“Finally,” he said. “I need coffee. What they serve here doesn’t deserve the name.”

Rowan had packed up Mav’s bag at the hotel and found a place to park the truck. The brother of a friend of his lived in Portland and was okay with giving up a spot in his driveway for a few days. Isla didn’t ask how they’d get the truck back to Port Townsend at the end of this. That was a question for another day.

“I still think we’d have been more comfortable in the truck,” Mav said when Rowan explained the plan to him. “That bench seat is more than wide enough for three.”

Rowan and Isla exchanged a look. “Be that as it may, Isla and I decided the Corolla was the way to go, and that’s what’s parked outside so…”

Mav grumbled, but then he relented. “Fine. Whatever gets me out of here faster. Let’s go.”

Isla had been prepared to take the backseat, but Mav beat her to it.

“You young folks can socialize up there,” he said. “I’m going to take a nap.”

They headed east out of the city, and soon Highway 26 stretched out before them, flanked by tall firs and maples. Traffic was light, seventies rock played softly on the radio, and the remaining clouds from last night’s showers were gradually giving way to what promised to be one of those rare sunny March days. After texting her mom the update she’d been unable to articulate the night before, Isla allowed herself to relax into the seat and let her mind go blank.

She was lost in thought about what lay ahead until Mav suddenly let out a snore from the backseat. Rowan and she both glanced back, their eyes meeting with shared amusement. That was it, she thought. Time to get some answers from him.

“Did you end up getting some sleep?” Rowan asked, beating her to it. “Or do you need a nap too? You’re quiet this morning.”

She swallowed the words on her tongue and rested an elbow against the door as she looked at him. “No, I’m good. I slept fine. Maybe I’m just plotting the line of questioning you invited last night.”

His eyebrows jumped. “Oh really? That’s what you’re doing.” He glanced her way. “Well, give it your worst. I have no secrets. What you see is that you get.”

“Okay.” She pursed her lips, pretending to think hard. “That scar on your forehead—what’s it from?”

He touched it, keeping his eyes on the road. “This one time in school, we went on a field trip to a science lab where I got bit by a radioactive spider. After that strange things started to happen.”

She slapped his arm. “Funny.”

He chuckled. “It is Spider-Man related though. Only I was seven, obsessed with superheroes, and thought climbing the walls couldn’t be all that hard. We had a narrow hallway upstairs where I realized I could get all the way up to the ceiling if I pressed my hands onto one wall and my feet onto the other. Thing is—when you’ve done that a few times, your arms get tired. So I faceplanted. Twelve stitches and a concussion.”

“Ouch.”

“Live and learn. After that, Batman became my favorite. We had paper bats taped to every single lamp in the house for a while, and if I noticed my parents turning one on, I’d jump out from around a corner in my cape, ready for my mission.”

“Cute.” Isla could picture it—little Rowan dressed in black, all serious. He’d proven himself efficient and in charge when Mav collapsed, that was for sure.

He sputtered a protest. “I wasn’t cute. I was vengeance!” He raised a fist in the air.

“Of course. My apologies.” Isla shook her head, bemused. “So are you still into fantasy, superheroes, and stuff? Is that what you write?”

“No, no. My book is historical fiction. Kind of a war epic, family saga kind of thing. It’s loosely inspired by Mav’s life actually. Secrets, drama, adventure, love.”

“Is it any good?”

“Ha! Ask me when it’s done.”

“Is it your first book?”

“My third. But the other two will never see the light of day. I’m considering them practice. This one… Mm, maybe.”

“Will you let me read it?”

“Nope.”

Isla laughed. Slowly, the image of Rowan was crystallizing, and the most surprising thing about the process was how straightforward it was. He wasn’t giving her half-truths or saying what he thought she’d want to hear. The authenticity was there at a core level. It was refreshing.

“So final,” she said. “Will you let Mav read it?”

“Maybe. But not until I know how it ends.”

“That’s fair, I guess.”

The woods around them were getting denser as they entered Mount Hood National Forest, and for a while, Isla allowed the rush of green outside to clear her mind. When Rowan hit the gas to overtake a logging truck, Mav woke up and announced he’d like to stretch his legs, so when signs announced a pull-off coming up—a trailhead for the Pacific Crest Trail—Rowan slowed and took the exit.

Despite the cool air, they weren’t alone in the large parking area. Hikers of all calibers seemed to be capitalizing on the beautiful weather, so there was a line for the restrooms. Rowan and Isla waited for Mav by the car, Rowan leaning against the trunk. He inhaled deeply and tilted his face to the sun.

“Amazing,” he mumbled.

Isla shaded her eyes to look at him. “Nature lover?” she asked. “Is that why you agreed to move with Mav to Port Townsend?”

He held his pose. “What do you mean?”

“You said that when Mav recruited you, one of the reasons you said yes was that it would get you out of the city.”

He pushed off the car and turned to her. “Well, there’s a certain peace to it, right?” He gestured to the abundant landscape surrounding them. “What’s not to love?”

She didn’t respond, sensing he had more to say.

After a moment, he added, “But I was also living alone in a small apartment, not doing much more than eating, sleeping, working, and watching TV, and I was feeling pretty stuck. I went through a divorce a few years back, and even though it was a mutual decision, that shit takes a toll.”

He’d been married? A slew of new queries popped into Isla’s mind. Who was she? When did they meet? Why didn’t it work out?

“I needed a change,” Rowan continued. “New scenery. Maverick thinks I’m doing him a favor? No. He offered me a lifeline, and I took it.”

Isla scanned the distance and spotted Mav making his way back toward them. “He seems to be good at that,” she said. “Knowing what people need.”

Rowan shrugged. “He’s lived a life.”

It was more than that, Isla thought as they got back in the car and continued. Mav had also died a death, however briefly, and she knew better than anyone the lasting effects such an experience could have. The difference between the two of them was that Mav had had time to gain perspective while Isla wasn’t there yet. But maybe one day she would be.

It was dark when they reached their hotel in Bend. It was the same one she and Jonah had stayed at both two years ago and for their engagement weekend many years earlier, so Isla approached the doors with caution, as if the past might jump out at her any second.

“All good?” Mav asked, hooking his arm through hers as they entered the lobby of the old building.

Isla trained her senses on the room—how the sideboard lamps in the sitting area illuminated the wood paneling, the scent of carpet cleaner mixing with the bright notes of a candle burning on the reception desk, the way their voices rose toward the tall ceilings. Something stirred in her mind like a microburst but settled again without offering anything of substance. She tried to hold on to it, but whatever was there, hidden deep within her, slipped out of her grasp like the final wisps of a dream.

“I think so,” she said. “Let’s check in.”

The small hotel was run by an older couple who’d converted and expanded what was once an old school into the quaint hotel now in its spot. Mr. Boyle greeted them himself and exchanged a few pleasantries with Mav before asking what name the reservation was under.

“That would be Isla Gallagher,” Mav said.

As soon as he did, Mr. Boyle’s head swung toward Isla, his face growing paler. “Oh,” he said expelling a gust of a breath. “I thought you looked familiar. Mrs. Gallagher. Of course.” He reached across the counter for her hand. “It’s a real relief to see you doing so well. When all that sad business happened… Such a shock. I am very, very sorry for your loss.”

Isla pulled her hand free as gently as she could and cleared her throat. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

An awkward silence stretched between them until Rowan stepped in. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I would love to get up to the room for a rest.”

Mr. Boyle averted his attention from Isla. “Yes, of course. My apologies. I just never thought we’d…” He typed something into his computer. “It is good to see you, Mrs. Gallagher.”

Isla forced her lips into a stiff smile, but she was the first to turn toward the stairs once they’d received their keycards. Out of the corner of her eye, she registered that Mrs. Boyle had come out from the back to join her husband, but just when she thought she was in the clear from more small talk, the woman’s operatic voice called her name.

She paused, one hand on the railing, then told Mav and Rowan to continue upstairs without her. She’d catch up.

“It is you,” Mrs. Boyle said when Isla reached the front desk again. “I have thought of you and your poor husband so many times over the years, and here you are.”

“Here I am,” Isla agreed, her mind already upstairs in a hot bath.

“I’ll be right back,” Mrs. Boyle said, then she scurried through the office door out of sight.

“She has something for you,” Mr. Boyle said. “Hold on.”

What on earth might the woman be fetching for her? Isla tried to recall if there had been any complimentary treats when they’d been here for their engagement but drew a blank.

The door opened again, and Mrs. Boyle reappeared, clutching a paper bag in her arms. “Housekeeping found it in the closet after your sister came for your things.”

“Sister-in-law,” Isla corrected automatically, accepting the bag.

“I tried reaching out to her, but perhaps it wasn’t deemed important in the grand scheme of things. I couldn’t make myself throw it away.”

Throw what away?

Isla steeled herself before opening the bag and reaching inside.

Her fingers only had to graze the soft corduroy for a happier past to invade her present. A past of snowy walks, holiday shopping and cocooning bear hugs she never wanted to end.

It was the winter jacket Jonah had worn the night they first met.