Chapter 15 #2
“Getting off the court was both the best and the worst thing to happen to me,” he said. Sometimes I think getting hurt like that… I think it was an act of God. His way of bringing me to Jack.
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. I’d never heard Jude talking about God before.
“I’m not heading to Sunday school, if that’s what you’re thinking about. I just felt like there was a kind of… divine push. And I’m super fuckin’ grateful for it. So maybe that’s what that crash was for you.”
“Maybe,” I said. I hesitated, thinking about the conversation I’d had with Seamus about work. “I’ve actually been toying with the idea of maybe… not coming back to the Rolling Hills.”
Jude raised an eyebrow. “No shit!”
“It’s not official, but… I kind of miss the creativity of what I did back on the coast. At the resort, it’s mostly conferences.”
I told Jude about my idea of going into business for myself, and he practically hooted. “Shit Chels, that’s awesome!”
“But I’d be disappointing Cass and Eli. Also… starting a business is a ton of work.”
Jude shrugged. “First, they’d get over it. They’d have to. Second, you’re one of the smartest people I know, Chels. You’d figure it out.”
My heart swelled. This was why I shared things with Jude. He had such faith in me.
Kind of like Seamus.
I swallowed.
The server, a pretty redhead I didn’t recognize came over with the pot of coffee.
“Thanks,” Jude said, giving her a wink, and I swear the girl’s entire body went crimson.
I had to stifle a laugh. But when I looked back at Jude, he was looking into his coffee. “Farrah started her own modeling company. She looks happy.”
Farrah was Jude’s ex. Jack’s mom. The one who’d left Jack with her parents.
“I thought about her recently,” he said as he slurped on his coffee.
He looked down at his food, and I realized it wasn’t just the cipher he’d wanted to talk to me about. He’d been waiting to talk to me about this—he just hadn’t had a reason to bring it up.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, gently.
As the two youngest Kelly siblings, Jude was closer to me than the other three. Even if I didn’t always reciprocate, he knew he could talk to me without me providing judgment or advice, and I could expect the same.
Jude frowned—an unusual look on him. “Apparently she lives in London. I had the insane idea that I should call her. Tell her Jack’s happy.” He grimaced. “She’s never been in his life before. But neither was I until I was sidelined.”
Jude’s injury was his wake-up call. It was what finally gave him the courage to stay in one place and be a father to his son.
I didn’t have kids. My life was less messy. Maybe it would have been easier if I did, though. My future would be that much clearer. Jude’s whole life now was Jack. Jack and the mystery of the ghost at the Rolling Hills. Work was almost secondary.
It wasn’t until we were leaving that Jude slapped his knee. “I almost forgot what I was going to tell you in the first place!” he exclaimed. “Even before the Jamie codebreaker development.”
“Hit me,” I said.
“Nora figured out who Eleanor’s husband was.” His face spread in a giant, beaming grin.
“What?”
Eleanor’s husband—the person who allegedly murdered her—had been a mystery from the beginning.
The Vista Grand had been a popular place for tycoons back before the Second World War.
We didn’t have the old hotel ledgers—they’d been lost years ago—so the only information we had on guests was based on news clippings from the time.
Then I registered the name he’d just mentioned.
“Wait, Nora? You mean the town librarian?”
“Yeah—God, Chels, keep up.” Jude explained that he’d been spending time with Nora, who he’d met at the library’s children’s story time.
Now that he mentioned it, I remember he’d been chatting to her at one of Eli’s baseball games back in the summer.
It turned out she also had an interest in ridiculous mysteries, like the one at our hotel.
It also turned out she and my brother—the most unlikely pairing, given her quiet, almost mousy demeanor—had become friends.
Jude looked almost soft when he talked about her. If I didn’t know better, I would have wondered if there was something else going on between them.
But I did know better, and I knew my brother. He dated, he broke hearts. But he didn’t have crushes.
Finally, Jude glanced at his phone and grimaced. “Shit. I’m late for that staff meeting.” He gave me another stinky squeeze before I could protest.
After Jude left, I stayed downtown for a bit, thinking it would help keep me distracted.
I considered texting Mia to see if she wanted to hang out, but put my phone away at the last minute.
What I needed was to be distracted by moving forward, thinking about my future, not gossiping about inconsequential things with Mia.
We hadn’t talked since I’d returned Lola to her the other day.
I’d tried to hide my injuries, but of course Mia noticed the tear in my pants.
When she’d grasped my wrists, inspecting the scrapes, I’d confessed Lola had gotten a bit rambunctious.
I didn’t tell her about how I’d nearly been hit by a car, nor did I tell her about who patched me up.
I’d kept that to myself.
So, instead of calling Mia, I went window shopping.
Maybe getting some new work clothes would help.
Maybe, wearing new clothes, I could envision what it would be like to be my own boss.
But as I peered through the window of the women’s clothing stores on Arbutus, I realized the idea excited me more than I’d admitted. I couldn’t seem to let it go.
I went inside and selected several outfits from the racks.
As I tried them on, I couldn’t help picture wearing them at my own office, not unlike the one Reilly and Sons occupied.
Small and intimate, in downtown Quince Valley.
Artfully decorated with a bell over the door, sunlight streaming into my office.
There would be event plans posted on the walls, a schedule dotted with the select, curated events I chose based on how much I fell in love with each celebration…
It was silly, but buying the blazers felt like a step in the right direction. A future Chelsea—one who didn’t ache when she thought about Seamus Reilly.
That night, I dropped my bags by the front door, exhausted, and slept for nearly fourteen hours. It wasn’t until the next day, when I got around to putting away the clothes I’d bought, that I reached into my bag and pulled out the paper package Seamus had given me.
My stomach dropped.
Somehow, in the rush yesterday, I’d completely forgotten about it.
All the effort I’d made the day before keeping Seamus out of my head vanished as the feelings from the previous morning rushed back.
How he’d thrust the package in my hand while I could still taste him on my lips; while blood still rushed through my veins, heating up my very core.
I held the package, feeling ridiculous at how suddenly nervous I was—my pulse raced in my ears. It was just a present. A book, probably.
Except when I unfolded the top, my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t just a book. It was a sketchbook—the good kind, with real weighted paper. There was a packet of drawing pencils inside, too.
I sat down on the bed, my heart thudding with emotion. I still hadn’t quite believed it when Seamus remembered.
I turned the blank pages, feeling touched and pained in turns.
It was thoughtful, beyond thoughtful. But the thought of drawing again…
a memory rushed at me, of paint, streaking down a water-logged paper.
Cold rain pressing down on me. A feeling like a knot inside of me, twisting tighter and tighter.
I clapped the book shut. It was a nice thing for Seamus to do, but I wasn’t an artist anymore. I was Chelsea Kelly, event planner. Put-together woman.
But I could at least say thank you. I had his number, after all, on the card Joyce had given me.
With shaking hands, I pulled my phone from my bag. I’d left that in my bag, too. I had no one I wanted to call.
No one except Seamus, and I couldn’t do that.
But when I pulled out my phone, I was surprised to see several text notifications. I groaned. My sister, probably. It was Saturday, and if there was any day Cass and I could hang out, this would be it.
I unlocked my phone, noting that my battery was a single digit. I’d have to charge it in a second. But first, I tapped on my messages.
There was a message from Dad, asking if I wanted to have lunch on Sunday. I’d been putting him off—it was the third time he’d asked, so I typed a quick affirmation before scrolling to the other messages.
Sure enough, there were several from Cass, too.
The first was from sometime yesterday afternoon, and the latest this morning, asking if I wanted to go for a walk today, or go for lunch, or anything really and please could I let her know?
I admired her restraint at not coming over here and banging on the door.
She was giving me my space, just like I’d asked, but I had to give her something.
I typed out a note, telling her I could go for a walk down by the river in an hour. Some time outside would do me good.
I was about to close my messages when I realized there was one more, this one from an unknown number.
My stomach flipped. Somehow, before I even opened it, I knew it was him.
UNKNOWN: I can’t not see you again. It’s impossible.
Then my phone died.