Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ISLA
Present day
Isla pulled the jacket free and let the bag drop to the floor. Her hands fisted in the soft material, clutching it to her body.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes welling up. “Thank you so much. I can’t believe you kept it.”
Mrs. Boyle’s lip quivered, but then she sniffled and drew up straight. “I’m glad I did and that it’s back where it belongs.”
Mr. Boyle put an arm around his wife. “We hope you’ll have a pleasant stay. If there’s anything else we can do for you, please let us know.”
Isla assured them that she would, and then she set off up the stairs, still hugging the jacket close.
As soon as she closed the door to her room behind her, she buried her face in the bundle. Her nose chased Jonah’s scent in every crease and fold but found nothing no matter how deep the inhale or how desperate the plea. Too much time had passed.
She held it out before her then spread it out onto the bed. This jacket was so inextricably linked to every winter memory she had of Jonah that she couldn’t believe she’d never once thought of it since the accident. Playful snowball fights. His arm around her shoulders to keep the cold at bay on starry nights after late dinners with friends. The cool scent of his skin beneath it when he returned inside after shoveling the driveway. Katelyn must have forgotten about the closet when she gathered their belongings that weekend, and Isla had always assumed Jonah had been wearing it in the car that night. Why hadn’t he? The temperature had been in the thirties.
Isla shook her head at the addition of another question.
Her phone dinged with a message from Rowan.
We’re going to go get dinner in town in a few. Want to come?
She wandered over to the window and glanced out into the impenetrable dark beyond her reflection. No, she thought. She needed to be alone tonight. It wasn’t just the jacket—Jonah was closer here somehow. Or maybe she was less distant.
Kind of tired, she typed . I’ll get a sandwich from downstairs and tuck in early. See you tomorrow.
He sent her a thumbs up, and she appreciated his good sense not to probe.
This room was smaller than the one she’d been in last—she knew that from their card statements and Katelyn’s account of the suite—but something familiar dwelled in the atmosphere. She couldn’t be sure of course, but there was a ripple somewhere inside her at the sight of the dark floral wallpaper, the wood-frame bed, and the ink prints on the wall that was similar to what she’d experienced in the arboretum before she’d remembered Jonah snapping her picture by the tree. Like she was playing a game of hot and cold, and her hands were getting warm.
She sat down on the bed and pulled the jacket to her again.
“Am I not looking in the right places, Nana?” she whispered. “What am I not seeing?”
But the universe kept quiet, and eventually Isla had to concede that whatever simmered beneath the surface in this place would stay that way for now.
Louise in real life looked exactly like her profile picture online. Thick, wheat-blond hair, perfect winged eyeliner, and a tentative smile that grew wider the closer Isla got to her.
“Do we hug?” Louise asked when Isla reached her. “God, I’ve been nervous and excited all morning. Nervo-cited. Let’s hug.”
She was a head shorter than Isla and fine-boned like a wren, but her embrace was surprisingly forceful.
“It’s great to meet you finally,” Isla said after they separated. It was. Louise had been an unexpected connection to the world when Isla hadn’t had the energy to maintain other friendships, and this—getting together in person—proved their rapport had been real. Not like Mom had described it, merely “anonymous, superficial chats.”
They were in the parking lot of the hotel, having decided to grab a coffee just the two of them before getting Mav and Rowan and driving out to the spot where the accident took place. Isla still hadn’t filled Louise in on everything that had happened in the past couple of days, so Rowan’s presence especially would definitely be a surprise.
“It’s kind of like a blind date almost, isn’t it?” Louise said.
Isla laughed. “Yeah, I suppose. I don’t remember. It’s been a long time since I went on any date.”
“Yeah, I got you. Same.”
“But you’re so…” Isla was going to say “adorable,” but maybe that was patronizing since Louise was so petite? “Pretty,” she said instead, though it was an inadequate word choice.
“Aww, thank you. Right back at you.”
They drove into town and found a café.
“Wait, there actually was a stalker, but he was Mav’s friend and a nice guy?” Louise made a “mind-blown” gesture as she stared at Isla across the table.
“Yup.”
“And Mav collapsed in a donut shop?”
“Not sure the type of shop is relevant, but yes.”
“So now nurse-guy is traveling with you?”
“Mm-hmm.” Isla sipped her latte, taking care not to burn her lip.
Louise leaned forward. “Is he cute?”
“Um…” Isla squirmed at the direct question. Rowan wasn’t not-cute, though “cute” painted too juvenile a picture. He was too steady, present, and grown-up for that word. At the same time, it would be dishonest to deny he wasn’t objectively attractive. And not only looks wise.
Louise sat back again suddenly, interrupting Isla’s thoughts. She covered her mouth with her fingers. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I asked you that. That’s not at all why we’re here.” She lowered her hand. “If you hadn’t noticed, I tend to talk too much. Occupational hazard. Sorry. I didn’t upset you, did I?”
Isla smiled to reassure her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I promise I’ll save my nosiness for when we talk to people in town.” She mimed zipping up her lips and throwing away the key.
“No. Nosy can be good.” That’s why having Louise here would be helpful. She knew how to ask questions, and from the looks of things, she wasn’t afraid to be too forward—a character trait no one had ever used to describe Isla.
Louise finished her drip coffee then wrinkled her brow. “So okay. If we’re going to be serious, then…” She nodded toward Isla’s left hand. “I imagine being here can’t be easy.” Her voice softened and slowed.
Isla peered down at her wedding band, glossy gold against her pale skin. She reached for it and spun it once. “It’s… weird,” she said. “Because I don’t remember, it feels like I’m traveling in someone else’s footsteps.”
Louise studied her carefully. “You really don’t remember anything from that night? Not where you were, what you did, what you talked about, where you were going?”
Isla shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Mm.” Louise’s head bobbed up and down. “You know, some might say that’s a blessing in disguise.”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess—sometimes reality can be worse than our imagination.”
Isla scoffed. “Not mine. For two years I’ve had to contend with imagining Jonah dying, essentially at my hand. I’m pretty sure no real scenario could top that.”
“Then you’re hoping you’ll remember something that makes that scenario better?”
“No.” Tension built inside Isla. Something spiky was trying to break out of her chest. “No, I know I was driving. You saw the police report.”
“Then why put yourself through this?”
“Because.” Isla huffed out a harsh breath. “How can I move on from something that isn’t here?” She tapped her head. “Any time I try to think it through—that weekend, the accident, everything—I get stuck. One black hole to fall into after another. And maybe—just maybe—if I can remember… if I can tell myself the story of what happened in order, one event after the other, it will somehow make sense.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “No, I’m not here because I think I can change the facts and absolve myself. I want answers so that maybe I can stop asking the questions.”
Louise’s eyes had rounded as Isla spoke, and now she cleared her throat and looked away. “I didn’t realize,” she said finally. “The pain I mean. You’ve never told me.”
“We bonded over silly birds.” Isla allowed herself a wry smile. “That was my only escape at the time.”
“Hey, there’s nothing silly about them.”
“Fair enough.”
The mood lightened, and Isla finished the last of her drink.
“Maybe it’s time then,” Louise said when Isla put her cup down on the table. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
Ready to go face the place where Jonah had taken his last breath? Isla wasn’t sure. But as with so many other things lately, there was only one way to find out.
She stood and grabbed her coat. “Let’s go get the others.”
Rowan and Mav sat in the front seats and Isla and Louise in the back as they made their way south along Route 97 toward Crescent. The air outside had a raw chill, and even though the heat was on, Isla couldn’t get warm. She pulled Jonah’s jacket closer around her and buried her chin in its collar. It had been a last-minute decision to switch into it before they left, and Isla was glad she had. It made her feel closer to him.
“So, Louise, as a journalist, you must do a lot of writing.” Rowan glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Sure. Among other things.”
“Very cool. To do it professionally I mean.”
A look of perplexity swept across Louise’s features.
“He’s writing a novel,” Isla said, the corner of her mouth pulling up. “Prepare to have your brain picked.”
“I’m just curious what it’s like,” Rowan continued. “I imagine you have stricter parameters to follow, but do you feel like it’s a creative job at the same time?”
“Um…” Louise cocked her head. “Yeah, I’d say it’s fairly creative. I have to think of what questions to ask in order to create the story, you know.”
“Which I kind of do with my characters too.”
“Right. And the word choice needs to be compelling.”
Mav turned around. “If you ask me, it was better when the journalism profession was there to report facts. To objectively inform. Now it’s all about who can get the most readers. No offense.”
Louise smiled. “None taken. And you’re not wrong.”
“But maybe there’s less of that in local press?” Rowan asked.
“Sure. Yeah.”
“Did you always know you wanted to be a journalist?” Isla asked.
“Not really.” Louise brushed something off the side of her nose. “But I always knew I wanted to work with people. The rest was more ‘right place at the right time.’”
Isla nodded. She too had ended up in a job she liked and that suited her but that she hadn’t originally aspired to. She’d known she wanted to do something with art ever since seventh grade art class but teaching it hadn’t been on the table until college.
As the forest on either side of the road was starting to thin out, giving way for sporadic buildings, they all fell silent.
“This is Gilchrist,” Rowan said. “Crescent should be up ahead.”
“But we have to drive through it, right?” Mav asked.
Isla handed Mav her phone so he could show Rowan. “Yeah, the coordinates from the police report are further south.” She sat back and focused on keeping her heart steady.
Once they’d passed Crescent, they drove another few miles, and Isla was just going to ask if they’d missed it when Rowan slowed and pulled to the side of the road. There was no natural place to stop, but the road was wide and straight so they should be easy enough to spot.
As they got out of the car, what struck Isla the most was how flat everything was. No hidden turns, no hills. The verge was trimmed so that the main tree line sat at least ten yards in with only scattered trees closer to the road. And yet this was where she’d lost control of the car. Of all the places for a single-vehicle accident, it seemed the most unlikely.
She scanned the growth along the road. Watched the others move closer to the trees. And she knew when Rowan found the spot by how his back straightened.
Twenty feet ahead of Isla, two tall firs stood together about four yards from the shoulder and down a small slope. She started moving toward them at the same time Rowan called, “This might be it.”
Isla knew it was. She recognized the V-shaped trunk of one of the trees from the photos, and the other one had a large gash in the bark from the impact. At the sight, her stomach dropped like she was flying over a dip in the road.
“It’s too high up to be from a car,” Louise said when she and Mav reached them.
For a long while, they stood, eyes fixed on the tree, then Isla said, “We were airborne.” She considered the road behind them, several feet higher than the spot where they were standing. When the car had gone off the road, it hadn’t merely driven into the tree, it had flown. Her stomach vaulted again, recognizing the truth in the memory.
“Makes sense,” Mav said. “Speed and elevation.”
Louise circled the tree. “Do you remember anything else?”
Isla focused. First there was nothing. But when she looked up into the branches of the tree, a snapshot of pandemonium flared through her head. She gasped.
Rowan was at her side instantly, his hand at her elbow. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I don’t know what it is. The impact maybe.”
“It’s starting to come back,” Mav said. “That’s good.”
“Maybe if we walk through it?” Louise suggested. She took out a notepad and pencil from her purse.
“Are you up for it?” Rowan asked Isla.
She nodded again. “There’s not much to it.”
“You were driving…” Louise began, indicating for Isla to continue.
Isla walked back up the slope to the road and faced the tree. “We were driving south, Lord knows why. Or I was driving,” she corrected, “which also makes no sense.”
“It was dark, late,” Mav filled in. “Not much traffic.”
“And at some point, I lost control of the car for an unknown reason, we went off the road, flew into that tree, and my husband died.” Isla forced herself to face the point of impact.
The others followed her gaze.
“Maybe an animal ran across the road?” Rowan suggested.
“Except there were no tire marks noted in the police report,” Louise said. “Typically, if there’s an animal, you instinctively hit the brakes before you steer.”
“I don’t know if that’s true,” Rowan said. “That might depend on if you’re used to driving at night.”
“What about another car?” Mav asked.
Louise lowered her hand holding the notepad. “Wouldn’t they have stopped? The police weren’t alerted until more than thirty minutes after it happened by a trucker heading north.”
Isla shrank deeper into Jonah’s jacket, fighting the impulse to put her hands to her ears and block out their voices with a “la, la, la.” They could speculate all they wanted, but that’s all it was. Speculation. She shoved her hands into the pockets and was about to tell the others that she wanted to leave, when her fingers met the dry friction of paper. She frowned and pulled out a folded note. Opened it.
“Do any of those scenarios sound familiar, Isla?” Louise asked from what sounded like far away.
Isla looked up from the note. “Huh?” She’d missed something—that much was clear from their expressions. “Sorry, I was…” She shifted her stance, fiddling with the paper in her hand.
“What’s that?” Rowan asked, stepping closer to her.
Mav and Louise joined them.
“It’s a phone message from the hotel.” Isla pointed to the logo at the top of the note. “It was in Jonah’s pocket.”
“What does it say?” Mav asked.
Isla scanned the words again and the date in the top-right corner—the day before the accident. “‘ Please call Gemma ASAP ,’” she read. She looked up at each of their faces, hoping their reactions would settle the turbulence brewing in her mind. A random note. It doesn’t mean anything.
Instead, Rowan’s jaw was tight when he took the note from her, read it, and handed it to Mav, whose blue eyes seemed to pierce the paper. He, in turn, gave it to Louise, who whispered the written words to herself as she read, her fingers tightening around the note.
They all stared at each other at length, and then, finally, Louise asked the question they were all thinking.
“Who the hell is Gemma?”