Chapter 7
The lights of downtown Indianapolis still glowed in nighttime neon, and not a ray of dawn broke the endlessly dark sky as Tessa revolved out of the hotel’s heavy front door.
Airplanes weren’t the only ones running on autopilot, she realized, now barely able to put one foot in front of the other.
She’d dismissed any idea of makeup this morning as she yanked her hair back into its ponytail and put on her airplane clothes, black T-shirt, big silky scarf, black leggings, white sneakers, and her trusty black coat, and now managed to laugh at her own exhaustion as she slid into the back of the sleek white town car that idled at the curb.
A uniformed driver with a name placard, CALLOWAY , had been standing at the ready.
A car with her name on it. She let that sink in, too. No more jouncing taxis. No more unreliable rental cars with exorbitant fees. All because she wrote a book. Thank you, Annabelle , she thought.
You deserve it all, Annabelle said.
“You settled in?” the driver asked.
Her schedule reminded her the driver’s name was Geneva, and Geneva had not only brought her an ambrosial cup of coffee in a mug labeled Beans, she’d also hoisted Tessa’s bag into the trunk of the car, and installed Tessa into the puffy black leather back seat.
“I can do it myself,” Tessa had begun, but Geneva had tutted her away.
“You have your job, I have mine,” Geneva said, buckling in, then twist ing over the front seat to look at Tessa, “although I’ve been doing mine for twenty-five years, and from what I read in the papers”—she pushed on the ignition—“you’re a newbie on the road.”
“True,” Tessa said, taking a sip of coffee, thought of the travel-heavy job she’d walked out on three years before. “In this role, at least.”
“Did you find Locket Mom?” Geneva asked.
Tessa stopped with her seat belt halfway on. “You saw that?”
“And you crying, for all the world to see. Surprised your phone hasn’t blown up. You’re probably used to it, but you see how many views you have?”
“Oh no, my phone’s on silent. Let me look.” She clicked it on and bell after bell pinged, signaling message after message.
“Tolja,” Geneva said.
Locket Mom was hitting the comment stratosphere, and shares climbed way past her usual live chats.
She scrolled through the comments, eyes widening.
“I see what you mean,” Tessa said, as the car eased away from the hotel.
Locket Mom. She’d debated with herself, all through her hasty dinner and her fretful sleep, about whether to take the locket with her or leave it at the front desk.
If she took it, she was stealing. Although not exactly stealing, she argued with herself, someone had left it behind. Could be they had abandoned it. Discarded it. Decided they never wanted to see it again. But couldn’t bear to throw it away.
She rolled her eyes at her own imagination as the Indianapolis skyline diminished behind them. If she left it at the front desk, it would be lost forever. In the hustle-bustle of a hotel, the possibility of it getting into the hands of someone who really cared seemed remote.
Plus, if social media worked, she would reunite photo and owner in a twinkling. Done and done, and even more good karma.
Waverly Publishing’s page now featured her periwinkle book cover—the sleek chignoned businesswoman with tortoiseshell glasses—with a banner saying New York Times Bestseller—Second Week!
In bright yellow , almost like crime scene tape, she had to think.
She looked at it, falling in love with it, thanking her lucky everything that this had happened.
Her new career was all a trade-off, though, an incalculable and unpredictable financial return on infinite emotional investment.
She pictured Linny and Zack asleep now, Linny with her stuffed animals lined up on her shelves instead of with her in bed, the first break with childhood.
I’m basically a teenager, she’d pronounced in her newly authoritative eleven-year-old’s voice.
And Zack, sprawled and gangly as a marionette on a bed that would all too soon be all too small.
Henry, too, she pictured him atop the mound of pillows he insisted on, flopped on his back in his flappy black shorts, the sheets twisted and cast aside, dead to the world.
And, maybe, his arm embracing the empty space beside him. Her empty space.
But wait. She was picturing their old house.
The rooms they’d all left behind. How they looked now —where they slept, what was on their shelves, whether they were smiling—she had no idea.
Her own kids, her own husband; living such a separate life that she couldn’t even picture them. Was she doing the right thing?
She smiled, reassuring herself. She’d be back soon enough.
This would all be worth it. Plus, she had to pay the mortgage on those imaginary bedrooms. And now she’d been lost in her thoughts so long her phone screen had gone dark.
She touched it to wake it up. And scrolled down her Insta page.
Could this be yours? already showed hundreds of comments. At four in the morning.
“Great,” she whispered, hopeful. Someone had to know this person. Everyone was on social. Everyone wanted to help. Everyone loved a mystery, yearned to get the viral acclaim as the one to solve it.
“You all right back there, Ms. Calloway?” Geneva asked. “We’re close.”
“I’m good whenever anyone gives me coffee,” she said. “And it’s Tessa.”
“Might I say? Your book is the bomb.” Geneva gave a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror. “I’m a big reader. Lots of waiting time.” She held up her cell. “I read ’em on my phone.”
Tessa saw the signs for the airport, the snaky twisting arrows. She’d scan the posts after she got through security. Maybe someone had found Locket Mom.
“My family will be so impressed.” Geneva handed her a business card.
“I drove that funny dog-book guy. And that gorgeous woman from Nantucket. But your Annabelle, she got to me. I’ve had to make lots of deals in my life.
Trade-offs. I love how Annabelle never felt guilty.
My kids are boys. Only boys. They’ve been making deals since they were born.
Women—well, that’s why you wrote the book.
You tell the truth. Or at least, Annabelle does. ”
“You’re so kind,” Tessa said as they pulled up to the curb. In the pinkening dawn, Tessa lofted her too-heavy carryall onto her shoulder while Geneva pulled her roller bag out of the trunk and swiveled it onto the sidewalk.
“Look.” Geneva began scrolling through her phone. “Here they are.”
Geneva held up a snapshot, showing herself cuddled against a man in a starched khaki army uniform and mirrored sunglasses. In front of them, an array of boys, stair-stepped from teenager to toddler.
“Adorable,” Tessa said.
“They’re a handful.” Geneva clicked the photo away. “That’s why I hope you find Locket Mom. I know she’s missing her family, too. Good that you took a picture. What’d you do with the original? Leave it there? Whoever’s it is, they’ll probably call the hotel.”
Now she had to decide on her story. Did she tell the truth—reveal her questionable decision to take the photo with her?
“Listen,” Tessa said, “big favor. I was going to leave it in lost and found, but lost and found wasn’t open when I left. So I stashed it in my suitcase. Do you think you could… return it for me? Give it to lost and found?”
Geneva pursed her lips, looking dubious.
“Never mind. It’s okay,” Tessa said. Geneva didn’t want to get involved. Made sense. It was a complicated and unusual story, Tessa swiping someone else’s property, then asking a driver to return it. It seemed fishy in every way. Geneva might even get in trouble.
“Gotta tell you, that lost and found is a black hole,” Geneva was saying.
“I know that hotel. They should call it lost and more lost. You did the right thing, Ms. Calloway. You take care of that necklace. You take care of that family. I shared it on my socials, too. We’ll find ’em. Nothing more important than family.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Tessa felt less guilty after Geneva’s approval. Nothing more important than family. “And yes, we’ll find them. We’ll take control.”
“You’re exactly like Annabelle.” Geneva waved at an approaching police officer, pantomimed “just leaving,” and opened her car door. “Got everything?”
Tessa patted her tote bag. “Set.”
“Then safe travels, Ms. Calloway. Thanks for the book. I’ll treasure it. My husband says I’m not the same since I read it.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“ All good.” Geneva raised an eyebrow. “As you have Annabelle say in the book. And I’m crossing fingers for Locket Mom.”
“Thanks, Geneva. Me, too.” Tessa turned, headed for the terminal’s wide sliding door. She heard the rumble of Geneva driving away, and pulled her suitcase toward her next journey.