25. Skeletons in the Closet
Courtney
“Now we’re waiting for the results to come back. As long as my DNA matches Martha’s to a certain percentage, I have the legal right to choose for her remains to be kept here in Havenwood.” I finish the story to an intently listening Elsie, her bright brown eyes widening and narrowing appropriately during my recounting of events. For the last twenty minutes, she’s been hanging off every word that leaves my mouth, yet now, as I end my story, she sits there silently. Her freckled face warped into an expression I can’t read.
“What?” I laugh dryly, nursing the now lukewarm oat milk mocha in front of me.
“I don’t know, nothing.” She shakes a thought from her head before anxiously looping a finger through her cinnamon hair. I sigh; my patience for avoidance and half-truths feels very short these days.
“C’mon, Els.” I encourage, curious as to what cat is holding the barista’s tongue for the first time ever. I watch her rake her bottom row of teeth down her thin top lip, contemplating an unpleasant thought.
“It all just seems too… convenient, I guess. Thought out? Planned? Intentional?” My stomach tightens as Elsie voices the very same concern that has been plaguing me since allowing Milo to swab my mouth three days ago. I had barely left my bookshop since then, choosing to avoid the harsh truths staring me in the face and instead bury myself in renovations, hence why Elsie is just now hearing this all for the first time. I had avoided her too, knowing she’d be able to sniff out the bullshit quicker than anyone.
“What do you mean?” I ask, attempting to keep my voice even despite my blood’s rising cortisol levels.
“Think about it. A few months before you move here Milo and the mayor find the witch’s body.” I have half a mind to correct her and tell her that Martha wasn’t a witch but I remind myself that my correction would do little to help my ancestor’s image. Ugh, look at me, getting defensive over a potential relative I never even knew.
“And once you’re here and head over heels for Finn, Milo randomly discovers Martha’s maiden name was Berrycloth and that you’re the magical key to saving the town?”
“Honestly, when you say it like that, it makes it almost impossible to deny that this wasn’t a trap,” I bury my face in my hands, a stressed growl escaping from me as I rub my eyes. Suddenly, I find myself wishing that there was a shot of whiskey in my coffee. Or two. Or three.
Elsie places a comforting hand on my shoulder, her expression telling me she has no idea how to comfort me.
“But Milo couldn’t have orchestrated my breakup with Carter; he did that all himself and that’s what prompted me to move here. Well, it was the main reason.” I remind her.
“True,” she agrees thoughtfully. “Why did you pick Havenwood out of all places anyway?”
I think back to those random emails and my stomach drops to a new low I didn’t even know existed as I consider the fact that they might not have been so random after all.
“I had gotten several emails about Agnes’ rental house and the crazy low rent, all from different spam email addresses. I kept blocking them but every time I did a new one would pop up.” Elsie’s ears prick up as I explain, clearly coming to the same hypothesis as me.
“What if they sent you those emails to lure you here?”
“They?” I crease my brow, looking Elsie over skeptically. I understood that we were accusing Milo of scheming but who else did Elsie suspect to be in on this plan? A soft kiss on the crown of my head abruptly ends our conversation. I jump slightly out of shock and turn around to see a soft face and a pair of icy eyes staring back at me.
“Sorry,” Finn apologizes sweetly, resting a protective hand on my lower back. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is calm but something about his demeanor is off, just as it has been the last few days. He’s nervous, antsy even. He reminds me of a jack-in-the-box, one twist of the knob away from springing.
“Speak of the devil,” Elsie mutters just above a whisper before shielding her face with her coffee cup. She reemerges from behind the white ceramic mug, wearing a tight-lipped smile that is miles away from genuine. She and Finn exchange greetings. Elsie’s brown orbs knowingly flick to mine and the world slows as I finally catch on to her meaning. She thinks Finn is in on this plan.
Is Finn capable of lying and deceiving me to save his precious town? My own answer nauseated me.
After an awkward and strained conversation with Elsie, Finn and I leave the coffee house and head toward my bookstore. I had managed to use bookshop renovations to distract myself from the weird tension between Finn and I over the last couple of days. But it still feels like he’s walking on eggshells around me and now I finally understand why. There really are no coincidences in this world or perfect men.
I look around my quaint store as we enter, admiring our handiwork. My new bookshelves are due to arrive tomorrow, a prospect that had once excited me; now, my brain is heavy with a million other things to even care about stupid bookshelves. I stare blankly out the bay window at the breezy late October day, questioning whether or not it had really been less than a week ago that Finn and I had conducted less than holy activities in this very spot. That interaction had been my first sign of confirmation that my feelings for Finn were reciprocated but now I’m unsure how genuine those feelings are.
“Courtney?”
“Hm?” I hum back distractedly. Shit, had Finn been talking to me? I’d been too caught up in my own thoughts to hear him. What had he said? Whatever it was, it was probably a lie.. I know it isn’t fair to label Finn as guilty without giving him the chance to defend himself but the evidence had already begun to pile against him and I can’t deny the obvious truth much longer.
Finn takes a concerned step toward me, his delicious scent of spice and cedar wood dancing on the air around us, effectively intoxicating me. I close my eyes and allow myself an inhale of his sweet, tempting aroma. He might be a liar but he’s a damn sexy one and I can’t blame my body for the way it reacts to him.
“What’s wrong, baby?” His deep voice is laced with genuine concern, confusing both my brain and my hormones. I force myself to look up at him through my lashes, my bottom lip popping out in a subconscious pout.
“Hold me,” I instruct, giving into the side of me that needs comfort and, despite being skeptical of him, knows Finn is the only one who can properly provide it. He doesn’t ask questions; instead, he reacts instinctively, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. I press my ear against his firm chest, using the soft beat of his heart to help clear my head and soothe my thoughts. I might be doubting him and he might be the reason for my distress but he is still the only person who can bring me any semblance of solace. I feel the tears prick at my eyes as I mentally rehash Elsie and I’s conversation, unsuccessfully trying to find any holes in her theory.
“Talk to me,” Finn runs his large hand into the hair at the nape of my neck, gently circling his fingers along my roots in a soothing motion. I don’t even know where to start. I lift my head off his chest and look up at him through watery vision, a look of worry overtaking his handsome face as he spots my tears. “Courtney-?”
Before I can begin any sort of interrogation, Finn’s cell phone chimes loudly from within his pocket.
“Answer it,” I instruct with a nod. He shakes his head, attempting to speak again but I don’t afford him the opportunity. “Answer it.”
Finn’s eyes search mine for a beat before he resigns to retrieve the device, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear without bothering to check the caller I.D..
“Hello?” A beat passes as he listens to the person on the other end of the line speak, a look of hesitation crosses his face. “Okay.” He responds shortly and snaps the phone closed. My breath hitches as his expression hardens from concern to solemness, his icy orbs tracing over my face.
“That was Milo. He says we need to get down to the historic center.”
My stomach triple somersaults as I read between the lines. It’s time to figure out whether or not I am related to the town witch.
* * *
The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.
I sit at Milo’s desk above the main floor of the historic center, pleading with my internal organs to quit doing the jig they’d been doing since Finn got the call. Finn stands behind me, leaning against the wall stoically with his arms crossed in front of his chest. I can feel his eyes bouncing nervously between Milo and myself but that’s the only indication of his emotions that he’s allowed to break through his collected surface.
Milo stands facing both of us, repeatedly smacking a manila envelope against his palm, carefully eyeing us. It’s easy to see he is nervous as well. Not only does his home hang in the balance, but so does his career. I imagine it would be quite embarrassing for an anthropologist to make an amazing historical discovery such as finding long-lost remains just to have that discovery snatched from you by a more qualified and funded establishment.
“Results are in,” Milo announces theatrically.
Finn scoffs and crosses the floor, snatching the envelope from his brother.
“You’ve been watching too much Drag Race again.”
“I resent that.” Milo’s hazel eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, feigning a wounded ego. Finn slides a finger under the lip of the envelope, breaking the seal. He hesitates as his eyes flick to mine, a look of sorrow mixed with anxiety perforating his perfect blues. He looks at me as if he knows, regardless of whatever answer is in that envelope, that our relationship will change drastically after the results are read.
He studies my face like he’s attempting to commit it to memory, his unyielding attention causing me to catch my bottom lip between my chattering teeth. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he takes a harsh swallow, opening the envelope and retrieving the white page from within. My heart feels like it might explode from how hard it’s beating against my ribs as he silently reads the results, like a caged animal desperate for its freedom.
It’s now, in this moment, that I know I have to decide what I’m going to do upon hearing the results. If it comes back positive for a match, it will confirm that I was being used from the start, that Finn had prioritized his town over me, and that I truly had no idea how much of our relationship was real and how much of it was an act to get me to comply. Regardless, I would still sign the papers. I would do it out of respect for Havenwood and out of my love for Finn as one last gift to him. Then I would go back to California out of respect for myself. I couldn’t stay here and pretend all is well after my trust had been so viscerally violated and I’d been lied to by a man I love and trusted.
I hold my breath and try one last time, in vain, to convince myself that this is all an impossible coincidence.
Finn’s lips move rapidly, silently mouthing the words as his eyes scan down the page. He finishes reading and his gaze turns to me, a blank, unreadable expression masking his emotions. I feel the oxygen suck itself from my lungs.
“Well?”
“It’s a match.”
Milo lets out a whoop of excitement, throwing his arms around me in celebration. He squeezes me suffocatingly tight as he repeats, “Oh my god! Oh my god!”
Despite the oblivious celebrating happening beside us, Finn and I do not share the same triumphant attitude. Our eyes are locked, just as they have been since he read the verdict. The look on Finn’s guilt-stricken face tells me everything I need to know.
He used me.
I could barely hear anything happening around me. It feels as if a grenade has detonated right beside me, stealing my hearing and drowning out all sounds with a high-frequency hum. I’m having a hard time comprehending my surroundings as everything now has a hazy glow to it - or is it just that my eyeballs are vibrating from pure emotion? I vaguely hear Milo call my name off in the distance.
“Huh?” I force my eyeballs to stabilize enough so that I can see his face and read his lips. He’s holding a long-necked green bottle in one hand and a glass flute in the other.
“I asked if you wanted champagne. To celebrate?” His words come into focus after a prolonged silence on my end.
“Oh. No.” I shake my head, wrapping my arms around my middle for comfort, subconsciously attempting to self-soothe away all the harsh realities falling upon me. Finn lied. He doesn’t love me. I was used. Again.
“I think I should get Courtney home.” Finn’s words are soft but his tone is anything but. He sounds angry, most likely with himself or even Milo. He rises from the seat he had taken to steady himself and holds the office door open for me. I say nothing as I walk through the door and down the spiral stairs, my movements feeling robotic, like I’m on autopilot as opposed to commanding the movements myself.
* * *
We walk in tangible silence, the sun barely peeking over the horizon to light our way back to 2213 Queens Avenue, a place that I will be saying goodbye to very soon. The cold October breeze pinches at my ears as I feel my heart shattering in my chest, completely unable to look anywhere but down at my feet.
As we round the corner onto my street, I sneak a peek up at Finn. His eyes are also fixed on the pavement just ahead of his shoes and not daring to stray. I watch as he nervously rubs at his goatee, looking as if he’s searching to find any sort of justification for his actions, decidedly unable to find one and smartly choosing to remain silent.
He stops uncharacteristically on the front step of my porch as we approach Agnes’ rental. We had practically been living here together since the town hall meeting so his sudden discomfort spoke volumes.
“Um,” I watch as the mayor shoves his hands into his front pockets, his expression pained. “We’ll have to head to Boston as soon as possible. Me, Milo, and you. You’ll have to sign the consent papers in front of the state notary there-”
“You sure know a lot about this process, especially with this all being so random.” My tone is sassy with a hint of accusation but I don’t care right now. I’ve come to my boiling point, my hurt quickly dissolving into anger and I deserve to know the truth. I look up at him. Finn’s gaze is hanging low, not daring to look at me. His face is twisted into a flat expression but I can see the pain right below the surface. Whether he regrets his decisions or not, the bridge is crossed and he knows he’s about to watch it burn.
“Is there something you need to tell me, Finn?” I ask pointedly.
He matches my gaze and for a moment, we just stare at one another in silence, confirming a sentiment I already knew deep down. He opens his mouth to speak, that hidden pain now clearly visible on his face as the words seemingly die on his tongue. My phone chimes loudly from my purse, the noise signaling the end of Finn’s one and only opportunity to explain.
“Goodnight, Finn.” I will my voice not to crack as I push into the house.
“Courtney!” Finn pleads desperately as I slam the door behind me. As soon as the door is shut, I collapse against it, sliding down the unforgiving wood just as hot tears begin to cascade down my cheeks.
Today had given me all the confirmation I needed to know that Finn was part of the plot to lure me to Havenwood. He hadn’t pursued a relationship with me because he was genuinely attracted to me or liked my personality, he did so as a strategic move to get close to me so that I would sign those damn papers. Less than two hours ago, I had plans on moving my life across the country and uprooting my entire career to be with Finn, and now I felt like an idiot. A broken idiot.
Regardless of whether Finn had developed real organic feelings for me during our time spent together or not, it didn’t matter. We could never have a relationship built on a foundation of lies.
I sit like this, with my thighs tucked into my chest and my forehead pressed into my knees, for what feels like hours. Tears are repetitively falling and drying in a vicious cycle when another chime from my phone pulls my attention. I wipe the wetness from my face with my sleeve as I dig in my pocket, retrieving my cell. I have two unread text messages from Elsie.
Elsie: 911
Elsie: I’ll be @ your house in 20