Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Goose bumps prickle my arms. “To old friends and new beginnings.” We both drink and set down our glasses. “Speaking of old friends and new beginnings,” I say, “I heard the old foundry site where we used to meet up might be repurposed into a playground and community center.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really? It’s a mess now.”
“It was kind of a mess back then, too,” I say with a laugh. “We just didn’t care.”
“All we cared about was that no one could hear us talking shit about people. ”
“Or see us drinking Boone’s Farm right from the bottle.” I pick up my glass of red. “This is much better.”
She groans. “God, I hope so.”
“It’s funny that you were the only one of us who refused to drink that shitty wine. Your palate was refined even then.”
“I think it was more that I was afraid my parents would find out. I remember how much trouble my sister got in for drinking in high school.”
I nod, remembering how unruly Yasmine’s older sibling had been. How determined Yasmine was as a kid to be the opposite of Sara, even though we secretly envied how fearless and wild she seemed.
“What’s your sister up to these days? Does she live in town?”
“God, no.” Yasmine shakes her head. “She’s out in California, living on some kind of commune. She swears she won’t set foot in Hart’s Landing again.”
I laugh ruefully. “Pretty sure I said the same thing the day I left.”
“Well, I’m glad you reconsidered.” She refills my wineglass.
“Do you ever hear from Gabi or Rachel?” I ask.
“No. I’ve seen Gabi’s mom and brother, and I know she lives in Detroit and occasionally visits, but she hasn’t reached out to me or come into the bar. And I haven’t heard anything about Rachel since she left for Yale.”
“Me neither. My mom and I ran into Mrs. Hart at the grocery store a couple weeks ago. She said Rachel lives in Florida and works for the family business.”
Yasmine pours a glass of white for another customer. “I saw Mrs. Hart around town a couple times this summer, too. I said hello once or twice, but she always seemed to be in a hurry. Either that or she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“I kind of got the same impression. But it’s hard to tell, because it’s not like she was ever warm and fuzzy.” I pop a dried fig into my mouth. “So I guess Rachel never went to law school?”
“Honestly, I have no clue. She was so upset after everything that happened, she wouldn’t talk to anyone.”
“I wonder if she ever gave that letter to Lydia’s sister.”
“I don’t know that, either.” Yasmine delivers two glasses of wine to a pair of women down the bar. When she returns, she says, “I’ve seen her, though—Alice, I mean.”
My eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Yeah. She came in here over the summer with friends. And then, another time, I saw her in the grocery store. She was wearing scrubs, and she looked…” A small smile curves Yasmine’s lips. “She looked so much like Ladybug. I think it broke my heart a little.”
“Did you say anything to her?”
Yasmine shakes her head. “Nothing more than social small talk. I didn’t want to bring up anything painful. But God, the look of her. Same wild blond curls as Ladybug, same dimples. Same smile. And when I heard her laugh…” She shivers. “Eerily familiar. It’s like I went back in time.”
I smile sadly, recalling Ladybug’s distinctive, uncontrollable giggle. “Speaking of going back in time, have you heard of a group in town called the Diner Detectives?”
“Yes,” she says. “It’s like a club for amateur sleuths. They like to revisit unsolved mysteries and see if they can succeed where detectives failed.”
I pause for a sip of wine. “Their latest project is the fire at Tart and Soul.”
Her eyes widen. “I didn’t realize there was any mystery left to solve.”
“I didn’t either. But take a look at this.” I pull up both the Landing Pad post and retrieve the email from Daniel Bartok out of the trash. “He claims there’s ‘new evidence.’”
“Oh my God! Are you going to meet with them?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Her eyes are bright with excitement. “Whatever they have could clear your name once and for all. Wouldn’t it be a relief after all these years to know that it wasn’t your fault?”
“I guess,” I hedge, chewing my bottom lip. “You really think I should do it?”
After a ticket prints at the computer behind her, Yasmine pours two flights of wine. “I would. Haven’t we run from the past long enough?”
While she delivers the order, I mull over her words. Is she right? Have I run from the past long enough? I think about what Everett said too—what’s the harm? The worst that could happen is that the evidence supports the accepted truth: that my carelessness caused the fire.
But what about the best-case scenario? What if, by some miracle, there is evidence to support the idea that something or someone else might have caused—or even contributed to—that explosion?
My friends are right, I decide, tossing back the rest of my wine. And whether it’s the liquid courage or my determination to finally face the past, I put down my glass and pick up my phone.
To: Harts_Landing_Bartok@
From: Mila@
Re: Interview for Diner Detectives
Dear Daniel,
Thanks for your email. I’d like to meet and learn about the new evidence you’ve uncovered. Please let me know when you’d like to talk.
Sincerely,
Mila Ferguson
“I did it,” I tell Yasmine when she returns. “I emailed the guy back and said I’d meet with him.”
“Eeeeep!” Yasmine claps her hands. “This is so exciting! Can you imagine if what they have changes everything?”
I put a hand over my stomach, which feels like I’m cresting a steep drop on a rollercoaster. But it’s a good feeling. A feeling of anticipation. Of hope. “I could use some change. And maybe some more wine.”
“You got it.” She pours me another glass. “So I want to ask you something, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Ask away.”
“My mom heard you got married and divorced fairly quickly.” It’s not actually a question, but I hear the curiosity—and kind concern—in her tone.
I nod and take a swallow of wine. “True.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I think the whole disaster was the kick in the ass I needed.”
Yasmine looks interested. “How so?”
“I have to learn to love myself before I love someone else.”
She taps her glass to mine again. “Amen.”
“Which was why I’m not supposed to be dating right now. I’m taking some time to figure out who I am and what I want when I’m not trying to please someone else.” Are my words slurring slightly? My lips are warm from the wine. Maybe a little numb.
“I think that’s really smart.”
“I think so too, but…” My thoughts wander to Everett’s wide shoulders and brown eyes. His crooked grin and sun-kissed skin. His deep, sexy voice.
“But what?”
I take another long swallow. “There’s this farmer.”