Chapter 51
But no, not Emily, it couldn’t be, there was barely a resemblance, now that Tessa looked again—but the woman had locked eyes with her, with a glare of victory or confusion, Tessa never got time to decide.
The woman swooped up her signed book, whirled, and trotted away, vanishing behind a stand of bookshelves.
Ethan turned his back on the three women still waiting in line. Looked at Tessa, questioning.
“Was that who this was all about?” He’d lowered his voice. “Are you telling me you know who that was? I heard something about summer vacation.”
The disappointment in his eyes broke Tessa’s heart, but it was impossible to explain. Ethan would think she’d been lying to him. Or know she had.
“Oh, well,” she hurried to reassure him.
“It’s exactly what I predicted, our summer vacations.
In Chatham,” she amended. “She told me she thought she knew me, but wasn’t sure, she’d been there, too, once, gosh, we were all kids…
” Tessa knew she was talking too quickly, and sounded as guilty as she felt.
“Haven’t thought about those days in years. ”
Cut your losses, Annabelle told her. Right now.
“That was funny, wasn’t it though?” Tessa changed her tone entirely, now amused and tolerant.
She saw Ethan look toward the front door, saw that he was watching the woman—not Emily, definitely not Emily—walk out of the store.
“I guess she did hit Enter too many times. Technical difficulties. But nothing sinister.”
Ethan’s shoulders rose, then fell, and she wondered if he was counting his blessings that the event had not imploded.
“So did she? Know you?”
Tessa shrugged. “She never said. Could be she was embarrassed, that’s why she left. Who can ever tell about people.”
“Huh,” Ethan said.
Three women were still waiting for a signature, one of them now eyeing Tessa with concern.
“You’re so patient.” Tessa stepped closer to the trio, conspiratorial. “Turns out that person thought I was someone she knew from a million years ago. You never know who you’ll meet on book tour.”
“ Did she know you?” one asked.
“Did you know her ?”
“Nope,” Tessa said. “Mistaken identity. Now. Who needs a book signed?”
“We all feel we know you.” The first woman’s periwinkle earrings matched the blue cardigan tied around her shoulders. “And don’t worry. We would wait any amount of time for you.”
Tessa could feel Ethan’s demeanor relax, though their relationship would never be the same. But that summer-vacation questioner was still out there. Getting bolder. Tessa had no idea who she was. And she was baffled about her motives.
Because—why not cut to the chase, and ask about Ohio? She thought about what such a thing would mean in a novel. Maybe this was, like, setting the trap. Maybe “summer vacation” was the prologue, building up to the real story.
This is real life, Annabelle said. Not fiction.
When the last customer had gone, Ethan, now polite but aloof, walked her to the front door.
“We sold two hundred and three books,” he said. “That’s a store record.”
“More than Harry Potter?” Tessa asked, relieved that he’d warmed to her again.
“Different crowd,” Ethan said. “Long ago.”
He held the front door, and they walked onto the wide sidewalk, the Seattle evening damply gothic, clouds snagging the moon and scudding by.
“That’s probably your Uber,” he said, pointing.
“Look, Tessa, tonight was a success. But if something’s going on with you, the best thing to do is face it.
Book tour can be a lonely place, and I’ve seen it break some authors.
The pressure, and the exhaustion. New York always on the phone.
The world unpredictable and readers terrifyingly fickle. ”
“Thank you,” Tessa said. “You’re right about the loneliness. Even surrounded by people, even fans, you realize everyone is a stranger. I appreciate your concern. And truly, nothing is wrong.”
Headlights flared to her left, and Tessa checked her phone, confirming the license plate. “That’s me.” She showed the phone screen. “Thank you for a terrific time. And your insight. I hope you’ll invite me back.”
Ethan lifted a hand in farewell. “Safe travels,” he said.
Lucky you, Annabelle said. That was a close one.
Tessa scanned the sidewalks as the Uber pulled away, looking for a blond woman in a maybe-wig, in a doorway, in an alley, in a parked car.
She turned once, twice, to see if they were being followed.
Should she text DJ? Or call Sadie Bailey?
Certainly not at this hour. And what could she say, anyway?
Her phone. No one had VIP-texted her again, she realized as she grabbed it from her bag. Which was good news, she hoped, meaning whoever it was had worked it out.
She clicked it on. Zack? Zack had texted? From his laptop.
Need help.
Her heart raced, and a twist of guilt tightened in her chest.
The new dishwasher is overfloing, like on the floor. Dad not home. I don’t no what to do.
Ten p.m. now in Seattle, which meant one o’clock in Rockport. One in the morning. Need help? The dishwasher? Where was Henry? He’d left them alone ?
Tessa tapped frantically at her phone, heart on fire, as the Uber turned a corner. Zack’s message had pinged in at nine thirty Seattle time, twelve thirty in Rockport.
She pictured him sitting in a flooded kitchen with his laptop, with his father gone—gone? gone where? at that time of night?—waiting for her to call. He’d left them alone.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid ,” Tessa said out loud. “ Idiot .”
“Talking to me?” the Uber driver asked.
“Sorry, no,” she said. “Sorry.” She was losing it. The bookstore woman had unnerved her, and now this thing from Zack. The dishwasher. And her absent husband.
Her emotional upheaval had hit earthquake level. And her personal Richter scale was off the charts.