26. Trunk of Secrets
Courtney
Ihadn’t been able to gather the emotional strength to move from my position against the door when a quick rapping against it rattled my brain, forcing me to stand and answer it. I reluctantly open the door to wide-eyed Elsie, her head turning side to side on a swivel as she waits to be let inside.
“Are you okay?” I question in a meek voice that has gone hoarse from crying. Between Elsie’s frantic behavior and her cryptic texts, you would think someone had put a hit out on her or something.
“I’m fine. I just don’t normally walk anywhere after dark because, you know, the witch. Sorry! I know she might be your relative but she still freaks me the heck out.”
My relation to Martha Brant is the last thing I want to hear about right now. A small part of me blames her for this fucked up situation I’ve found my way into but deep down, I know I just want to blame anyone but myself. I roll my eyes at her superstitious nature but step to the side, allowing her inside the house. She wastes no time getting through the doorway and lets out a quiet sigh of relief when I close and deadbolt the door behind her.
“So what’s the 911?” I try to act casual as I pass the spot on the floor where I had spent the last half of an hour falling to pieces. I super glued myself back together in Elsie’s presence to try to hide the agony but I’m still so fragile, that a mild gust of wind would send my shattered pieces right back to the floor.
“So at work tonight- Oh my God, are you okay?!” I had done a decent job of disguising my emotions but my puffy eyes and a traitorously pink nose gave me away. My act wouldn’t have lasted long anyway, Elsie had become too close of a friend not to be able to see the signs of my distress. I had never felt this level of betrayal in my life, not even when Carter had broken up with me, I can only imagine how much of a wreck I look based only on how I’m feeling internally.
Elsie’s thin arms wrap around me in a tight, sisterly embrace. To my surprise, I accept the comfort almost immediately, hugging her back tightly. I’m not really the type to accept comfort or physical touch, but it’s clear I need some support right now. The ugly tears are now back with a vengeance causing me to crack apart once again, revealing my distraught and wounded center. I don’t want to cry on Elsie, she has her own struggles and I don’t want to be an added burden on her. But right now, it feels like my whole world is burning from the inside out.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Elsie coos softly as she holds me tenderly against her bony frame. She doesn’t bother asking what I’m upset about, allowing me to tell her in my own time, which I am hugely grateful for. We stand together as she strokes my hair and I silently sob into her shoulder. I manage to regain my composure enough to stifle the waterfall of tears.
“I’m sorry to cry on you, Els.” I sniffle as I pull away from her, swiping at the salty tears.
“Don’t be,” she offers me a pitiful smile before her small eyes drop to my shoulder.
“It just makes what I’m about to tell you even harder.”
I give her a look that screams, “Kill me now.”
Elsie and I sit on the new couch I purchased two days ago when my life in Havenwood was feeling a lot more permanent. After our hug, the barista had scurried off to the kitchen and concocted two chai lattes, which I’m more thankful for than I care to admit.
“Alright, you’ve procrastinated as long as you can. Tell me what’s going on,” I urge as Elsie sinks into the cushion beside me, her gaze still hesitant to meet mine. She takes a deep breath, searching for the proper words; seemingly having found them, she turns her entire body towards me. She searches for bravery in her latte before letting out her breath.
“Soul and Starr were at Mystic Brew today,” She starts slowly, her knuckles turning white around her mug. Great, I groan internally. Starr is at the top of my list of people I do not want to hear or think about today.
“I overheard the two of them talking. I could only hear parts of the conversation over the coffee grinder but based on what we talked about, about the mayor luring you here and the discovered remains and the custody battle over them?” She reminds me as if I could’ve forgotten. I just nod, not wanting to take my sour mood out on her. “It just all makes sense now!”
“What makes sense, Els? What did you hear?” I ask, putting her back on track. She twists her cinnamon ponytail around her fingers anxiously before speaking in rapid-fire; as if ripping off a painful but necessary bandage.
“Starr said that sooner or later you would realize the mayor was just using you and that you’ll be crying your way back to Hollywood before November 1st.”
I press my lips into a firm line to prevent them from quivering. Starr knew that Finn was using me and that’s the final confirmation needed that Finn is a willing participant in this scheme. That is the last nail in the coffin of Finn and I’s relationship and I’m livid that Starr fucking Iglesias is the one to hammer it in.
“Even Starr knew about his plot and I was completely blind to it. I’m such a fucking idiot,” I huff out a hoarse breath, dipping my head into my hands and once again letting the traitorous tears fall. Elsie rubs my back as she racks her brain for the proper comforting words.
“No, you’re not. There’s no way you could have known. Starr and Finn have a past together; I’m sure that’s how she found out. There’s no way you could’ve known.” She repeats, rubbing circles into my upper back. For being so young, Elsie is great at bringing solace. It makes me wonder what her life at home looks like with her dad and grandma. Is anyone ever there to comfort Elsie when she needs it?
A loud squeak from upstairs sends the barista back into fight-or-flight mode as she clutches a couch pillow to her chest, her brown eyes darting wildly around the room. Her insane reaction to Olive’s squeak almost pulls a laugh out of me despite my misery.
“Relax,” I sigh, tucking a caramel strand behind my ear and heading to the kitchen. “That’s just Olive; she wants her strawberries.”
* * *
I crawl up the stairs with Elsie clung to my back, still terrified that the noise she heard wasn’t a bat but instead, a 300-year-old witch coming to eat her. She had requested a flashlight, citing that witches were afraid of light. I happily provided her with one, demanding that she stop being such a pussy in exchange. She did not like that much.
I open the slim door leading to the attic and proceed up the narrow stairs, not paying attention to or caring if Elsie is brave enough to follow. Admittedly, caring for another living thing is a great distraction from everything else imploding around me, even if that living thing is a prima donna bat squatting in my attic.
I remove the previous bowl of bananas I had brought to Olive yesterday and replace it with an offering of strawberries. I had done this multiple times since moving to Havenwood, it had become part of my routine but just like everything else in my life, this too, feels different. It feels numbered because I know that I’ll be leaving soon.
The little whiner must have been hungry because she glides down from her position in the rafters to ravage the newly placed fruit bowl almost immediately. Elsie squeals as Olive sails past her face, flailing her arms dramatically as if she’d seen a bee.
“Ew, ew, ew!” she chants as her arms swing wildly around her head, causing her to drop the flashlight she’d been holding. The flashlight lands a few feet away from us, its beam highlighting the disregarded trunk in the corner. Given everything that had occurred over the last few weeks, I’d completely forgotten about the trunk and its mystery contents.
I walk past the barista and towards the old box, my curiosity once again peaked by it. Elsie steadies herself and, upon seeing Olive eating out of the strawberry bowl contently, finally chills out. I squat down to examine the trunk’s lock as Elsie diverts her attention to me.
“Woah,” she gawks, taking up residence beside me, “that looks mega old.”
I reach out and give the top a firm shake.
“Locked,” I snip, still riding the unpleasant emotional waves of the day. As I demonstrate the box’s impenetrability, my fingers brush against something I hadn’t noticed the last time I examined the trunk.
“Elsie,” I call to her, not removing my fingers from the raised ridges of the trunk. “Can you bring that flashlight over here?”
She pops up from her squat and retrieves the light, bringing it over and shining it directly where my fingers were lingering. I remove them and Elsie and I share a look of shocked disbelief. The raised markings I felt on the trunk are initials marking the box M. A. B.
“Oof,” Elsie shutters, grimacing at the initials. “I told you the witch had something to do with this.”
I sit back on my heels, studying the three raised letters in disbelief. Elsie’s head is once again on a swivel, scouring for any signs of paranormal activity.
“I believe in cosmic energy, the butterfly effect, and even zodiac bullshit as much as the next California girl,” I say, shaking my head skeptically. “But there’s no way that I learn that I’m a descendant of Martha Brant and discover her initials in my attic on the same day by coincidence.”
Elsie studies me hesitantly, knowing me well enough by now to know where this is going.
“You don’t have the key to the trunk, do you?”
“Nope,” I pop the P, a nefarious smile mounting on my face.
“But we’re going to go find it?”
“Yep!” For the first time today, I feel my spirit lighten a bit with a sense of adventure.
“Where is it?” She winces, already knowing the answer and not liking it.
“I don’t know for certain but I have a really good guess.”