32. Keaton Wormhole
A sick feeling has lodged itself in my throat. I can’t imagine feeling that way, knowing my demise was coming—and that it wasn’t going to be pretty. “I sort of wish I’d never read that,” I say.
“Sorry,” Harris says. “I guess it made me feel better. If they were both dying, maybe their death was less tragic? Made it less painful for them in the long run?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just can’t imagine being Mom and Lon and never finding this stuff out.”
Harris looks over at me. “Yeah, but if they really thought their parents were murdered maybe they were too scared to come back.”
“That’s just so creepy,” I whisper.
Harris shakes his head. “I don’t think the murder theory holds up. The only thing even remotely sketchy about their disappearance is that, in the newspaper interviews from when it happened, Lon said there was a bunch of cash missing from a secret hiding spot. But then there were no signs of a break-in or foul play, so I think they just wrote it off as a coincidence—or figured Becks and Townsend had taken the cash at some point.”
My eyes widen. I didn’t know about that. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to read the articles. “What if they took the money, faked their deaths, and created a new life for themselves?”
“Maybe,” Harris says with a small chuckle. “But Becks was dying of pancreatic cancer.”
“Was she?” I ask excitedly. “The town doctor was their best friend. Maybe they made it all up so they could disappear. They could have been living a secret double life that no one knew about.”
“I want to say you’ve been reading too many books, but I actually really love that. They moved away, faked their deaths, changed their names.”
“Ruined their children’s lives and never met their grandchildren.”
“Damn, Keaton. Now you’ve ruined it. You are no fun at all.”
I flick his shoulder hard enough that I know it will sting but not so hard that he will crash the plane. Just thinking about that brings the eerie feeling back.
“Maybe they were on their plane and they got sucked through a wormhole and are living a perfectly fine life in, like, 2057 or something,” Harris offers.
“Yes! Then we could meet our grandparents one day!” I smile. “Well, whatever happened to them, I’m glad we got to know them a little better through all this.”
He smiles. “I know. I feel like I know my grandfather now. It’s crazy.”
“Nothing will give you insight into a person’s mind quite like reading their innermost thoughts,” I say.
He looks down at me. “We got to know our grandparents and you got that rock.”
I nod, wiggling my fingers. “Truth. How much you want to bet Mom changes her mind about wanting this when she sees it on my hand?”
“Oh, one hundred percent,” Harris says. “She’ll pry it off your finger with butter when you’re sleeping if she has to.”
“That’s what I figured.” I pause. “Do you know what’s funny?”
He looks over at me. “What?”
“It seems like Becks lived this quiet life where her main goal was just to make everyone around her happy. At the time, it was so personal and intimate, but now I feel like she would have a couple hundred thousand Instagram followers hanging on her every recipe and entertaining tip. Like, she’d get a cookbook deal and have a coffee table book and a show or something.”
“Oh my gosh, Keaton. You’re a genius! She still could.”
The man has lost his mind. The altitude is getting to him. “Harris, I know we’re running pretty deep on the conspiracy theories, but I think it’s safe to say the woman is dead.”
He is grinning so widely. “But her granddaughter isn’t.”
I shake my head. “Are you crazy? I can’t even cream butter.”
“Couldn’t!” he says. “You couldn’t! But now you can. And that’s the genius of the thing. That’s the story. Granddaughter pieces together her grandmother’s life and finds new passions and talent along the way. It’s so feel-good.”
I snort. “You’ve been in PR too long. That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Fly the plane. I need a nap.”
I close my eyes, but I can’t sleep. Because I’m thinking about the early days of starting Allison’s All Welcome Instagram account—and all the fun posts I could do as @rebeccasaintjames.
A little over an hour later, we’re making our descent into Teterboro, New Jersey, and the notion of somehow reincarnating my grandmother through her entertaining has all but left me. It’s time to focus on reality. “Thanks, bro,” I say when Harris has safely parked the plane. “You really took my mind off things.”
“Oh, you’re repaying me. I’m borrowing your dog tomorrow to help me get a client out of a mess.”
“Great,” I say.
My phone beeps and I will it to be Bowen. But it’s my mother.
I gasp.
“What?” Harris says, taking my phone. He reads out loud, Coming to see you and Harris tomorrow night. Miss you both and decided you’re right. I should say goodbye to the house.
Goodbye to the house. That means, I realize, I’m going to have to say goodbye to it too. Goodbye to the house and Beaufort and Violet and Arlene and Betty and Suzanne. Because when will I ever see them again once the house is sold? And Bowen. How could I have been so wrong about this one? That is all hard, but the idea of saying goodbye to Anderson is what brings tears to my eyes.
We’re actually just landing at Teterboro, I text Mom as we hop out of the plane.
The phone rings in my hand instantly.
“You flew?” Mom asks. “Seriously? Like, in an airplane?”
My entire body feels jittery. “I know. Can you believe it? As it turns out, I trust my brother.”
Harris leans over and says, “Mom, if you want to go to the house I’ll fly us all back tomorrow.” He raises an eyebrow at me and I nod my consent.
I put the phone on speaker.
“Darling, I love you, but I do not fly on single-engine planes.”
Harris rolls his eyes. “Keaton did it, and she survived. Salt too.”
“Love you both, but I already have a plane ticket to fly on a big airplane out of a regular airport. And Lon is going to join us later in the day. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
A car is waiting for us, and, as we leave New Jersey and make our way into the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, I feel so far away from Beaufort I can almost forget I was ever there.
But then Harris sighs contentedly. “Ah. There’s no place like home.”
And I feel that tug, deep down in my belly, for the smell of the ocean, the breeze off the water, the smiling faces, and the cheerful waves of a place that I haven’t realized until this minute really has begun to feel like home.