Chapter 19 Ilsa
Ilsa
The table was scattered with a mix of my parents’ belongings. Dad’s journal, his letters and the atlas. Mom’s diary and a pile of photos he’d sent her, memories from the life they’d shared before she’d left Dalton.
In the hours since Cosi had brought me back to his house, we’d both pored over everything we’d found at the post office.
If Dad had meant for me to understand any of this, he would have been disappointed.
The atlas was just an atlas, outdated by ten years. Each page was a map of different areas in Montana. There were no markings or annotations or dog-eared corners. Nothing to give us a hint why Dad would have sent this to himself through Donnie’s post office box.
“There’s nothing here.” I leaned back in my chair, disappointment heavy on my shoulders. “It makes as little sense now as it did this morning.”
Cosi propped his elbows on the table, staring blankly at the wall. He’d had that faraway look since we’d left the post office.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It was just a thought I had earlier. I can’t make any sense of the fire and vandalism. I can’t figure out motive.”
“To punish me, clearly, for trying to teach children math.”
“Most likely, it was a student. Vandalism is an emotional crime. It fits that it would be a pissed-off kid.” Cosi’s jaw worked as his forehead furrowed. “But when we found that atlas, I started to wonder if it wasn’t about you at all. What if it’s about all this?”
“This?” I waved a hand to the table. “This is a conspiracy theory from a man losing touch with reality. I think my dad convinced himself he found some lost treasure from the Garrack gold mining days. That’s why he sent me the letter before he died.
It’s why he’s left what he must have thought were clues.
But none of it points anywhere. None of it makes sense.
And the more we find, the more I worry about his mental state in his final days. ”
“He never said anything about this Garrack gold legend?”
“No. Not until that letter.” And by then, it had been too late to ask.
Cosi sighed. “In my head, the most logical explanation for vandalism is an angry student or parent. But my gut says this is all connected. That Ike was the reason behind it.”
“You think Dad told someone about all of this and they believed him.”
“It’s possible. The fire might have been a way to get you out of the house.”
“Which it did,” I said, my stomach tightening.
We were only tossing out a theory, but I hated the way it clicked. Maybe that was simply wishful thinking. My tender heart not wanting to take the blame for alienating a student so completely.
But what if . . .
“So while I was out of the cabin, someone came in to search for this stuff?”
Cosi lifted a shoulder. “Could have.”
“Why destroy everything? Why not just poke around?”
“Could have been worried you’d notice. And you’ve got a history of calling the cops.” He put his hand on my knee. “Saying it out loud . . . it sounds like a stretch. Fuck, I don’t know what to think.”
“Neither do I.” I traced a fingertip up and over each of his knuckles. “Well, if someone was looking for this, they’d be disappointed. It’s a cluster.”
Cosi chuckled. “No shit. Not worth the jail time they’re going to get when I track them down.”
The confidence in that statement eased some of my fears. It might take him time, but the more I learned about Cosi, the more I was starting to see the man behind the handsome face and sexy mustache.
He was determined and resolute and unwavering. He’d turn himself inside out to keep that promise he’d made me.
“I think I might read my mom’s diary.” It was the one piece in this that I hadn’t delved into yet.
“I’ll make us some dinner. Spencer should be home—”
The front door burst open before Cosi could finish his sentence. Then a moment later, it slammed shut so hard the entire house rattled.
We both stood from our chairs as footsteps pounded through the living room, then Spencer came storming through the kitchen, ignoring us both as he threw a ball of white across the room. It bounced off the counter and landed in the sink as he stomped down the hallway.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Cosi asked.
Spencer kept walking, his bedroom door banging closed a moment later.
“What the fuck?” Cosi followed his son, knocking on the door before he tried the knob. But it was locked. “Spencer, open this door.”
“I don’t want to talk, Dad.”
“Spence—”
“Go. Away!”
I flinched, my stomach dropping as I moved for the sink, lifting out the ball.
It was a crumpled envelope, and as I smoothed it open, I saw Spencer’s name on the front and the back flap open.
He hadn’t bothered putting the letter inside again. A single sheet of lined white paper was wrinkled with the envelope. The handwriting on the page was pretty and swirled in blue ink.
A single word jumped off the paper.
Mom.
Cosi hadn’t shared many details of Spencer’s mother, only that she wasn’t in the picture. If he’d wanted to share more, he would have. But here I was, intruding again.
I let the letter drop into the sink and backed away like it was poison, only to run into a hard, solid body. I glanced up and over my shoulder, finding Cosi’s gaze locked on the paper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked.”
“It’s all right.” He reached past me, snatching it up.
I kept my eyes on the counter as he scanned the page.
Then like his son had done, he crumpled it into a tight ball, only he threw it in the trash, not the sink.
“Son of a bitch.” He planted his hands on his hips, pacing the length of the kitchen. “She couldn’t help herself.”
“His mom?”
Cosi nodded. “She wants to see him. He doesn’t want to see her.”
There was more to that story, but it wasn’t my business. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear about the woman who’d had his child, his high school sweetheart. A woman who had more of a claim to both Cosi and Spencer than I did.
A green, slimy feeling crawled up my neck. Damn it, I hated being jealous.
But in just days, they’d both become mine.
Cosi took out a pan, filling it with water and putting it on the stove. Then he went to the fridge, opening the door to take out a pack of chicken breasts. He rinsed them at the sink, then patted them dry. And as he put a skillet on the burner, adding a dollop of oil, I leaned against the counter.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“I’ve got it.”
No man had ever cooked for me before. Each time I’d offered to help, Cosi had turned me down. So I stayed against the counter, mesmerized as he moved around the kitchen, preparing a meal for his son. And for me.
“His mom’s name is Gwen,” he said. “We grew up together. Started dating when we were fourteen.”
“Young.”
“Too young.” He came to stand in front of the sink, staring through the window to the snow-covered yard, like he was staring into the past. “When Gwen got pregnant, it was rock bottom.”
“You were fifteen?”
“Yeah. Sixteen when he was born.”
Too young. When I was fifteen, I’d been too shy and awkward to even consider kissing a boy, let alone having sex.
“Her parents were furious. They disowned her and kicked her out of their house, so she moved in with her aunt.”
“Not you?”
He shook his head, walking to the pantry to take out a box of dried pasta. As the water came to a boil, he dropped in the noodles with a sprinkle of salt. Then he put the chicken into the pan, the sizzle filling the kitchen as he added some seasoning.
“Mom offered to let her live with us,” he said. “And she did for a couple of months, right after Spencer was born. But after he was about two months old, Gwen moved back in with her aunt.”
“Why? Did you break up?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We were still together. At least, that’s what I thought.
She said she wanted her own space. That her aunt really wanted her back and she owed it to her.
I figured we’d stick it out and get married when we turned eighteen.
Looking back, I can replay so many moments and see her pulling away.
She dropped out of school to stay home with him and it was like the light dimmed in her eyes.
We stopped talking unless it was about Spencer.
We didn’t kiss or sneak off to my truck to be together.
She was unhappy, and in the thick of it, living in the fog of a newborn baby and juggling school with work, I was clueless.
All I could manage was surviving one day to get to the next.
So no, we never broke up. I thought I was in love with her up until the day she left. ”
The day she’d broken his heart.
“Gwen turned eighteen when Spencer was eighteen months old, and she’d planned this trip with a couple of friends to Missoula to celebrate. She dropped him off at my house on a Saturday morning. We haven’t seen her since.”
My gasp filled the kitchen. “What?”
“Yeah. The only reason we knew she was okay was because she called her aunt and told her she wasn’t coming back.”
“Wow.” That was not at all the story I’d expected to hear.
Cosi yanked a drawer open to take out a pair of tongs and flip the chicken.
He gripped the utensil just a bit too hard, oil splattering on the stove.
“Honestly, I never expected to hear from her again. But right around Christmas, she wrote me a letter. She wants to visit and see Spencer. Except he doesn’t know her. He couldn’t pick her out of a crowd.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ve got pictures of her in high school yearbooks. I kept them in case he ever asked what she looked like. But he’s never asked. Not once. Not even when he was little.”
Because Cosi was enough. Spencer hadn’t needed anyone but his father.
I was going to fall in love with this man, wasn’t I? It was inevitable.