7. Renee
RENEE
“Okay, take a left here, and...”
Finally, I see it, a large sign on the side of the road, Welcome to Remarque printed in faded letters on the peeling paint. My heart skips a beat, and I shoot a look over my shoulder. The road is silent in either direction, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t on our trail.
I am still reeling from what happened back in the hotel. I never could have imagined that chasing down my grandfather’s legacy like this would lead me here, on the road in the middle of the night, this man at my side, insisting that we can still find what he left for me to discover in this map.
I still don’t know what is waiting there, but it’s clearly important enough for this man to pull a gun on me after he tracked me to that motel room.
I’m not even sure how he figured out where I was staying.
He must have tracked my car when he realized that the notebook wasn’t in the wardrobe anymore, and followed us all the way out here.
Even the thought of that makes me feel vulnerable, and I shift in my seat, not entirely sure how to feel.
“We’re here,” I remark, as I glance around, the town seems so nondescript, after all the time I have spent tracking it down. Beside me, Drew reaches over to squeeze my leg, as though he is all too aware of what is going on in there.
“Not far now,” he assures me. I sink back into my seat, closing my eyes, letting out a sigh.
“I just don’t know about this,” I murmur to him. “I mean, he said that it belonged to his grandfather, this notebook. What gives me the right to find what he was trying to hide there any more than he did?”
“It’s not a matter of who deserves it more,” he replies, cocking an eyebrow. “It’s a matter of who gets there first. And besides, no way to know if it’s even his grandfather he’s talking about. Could be something he’s making up to try and guilt-trip you.”
“I guess,” I mutter. And then, out of the window, my eyes widen when I catch sight of it. “Wait, that's it! The river! Pull over.”
He draws the car to a halt at the side of the near-empty road, and we climb out, I pull up the picture of the map on my phone, squinting down at it and looking around.
The mountains stand high behind us, towering over the small community, and there are a scattering of buildings along what looks to be a run-down main street.
And, just beyond it, there is a cluster of trees, on a small town square, that sits right at the edge of the bend of the river. My heart skips a beat.
“That’s it,” I murmur. For a second, I just stand there, no idea what to do, no idea what to say. But then, I feel his hand on the small of my back, and it brings me back to the moment, and I know exactly what I have to do.
“Come on,” I tell him. “We don’t have much time. He could be here any minute.”
He moves behind me, as though protecting me from anyone trying to sneak up behind me; we might have only known each other a few days, but he is already so protective of me, like I’m something he doesn’t want to lose.
I trace my footsteps along the river, trying to match them to the scrawl on the map, and finally, I come to a halt next to a small copse of trees, staring at the ground below me.
“This is it,” I mutter, stooping down and planting my hand against the earth; the grass is smattered with morning dew.
A rush of emotion courses through me.
There might be nothing at all here, but yet, I almost want to linger in the possibility a moment longer. To live in a world where there is still something left to uncover about my grandfather, after everything we have shared.
“You want me to start digging?” he asks, kneeling at my side. And I nod. I need to know what lays beneath the ground. Whatever it is, I have to see it.
He sets to work, heading back to the car to grab a couple of tools and clearing away some of the dirt with his hands.
I watch as he works, his palms moving with confidence as he pulls up the ground beneath us.
I realize I am holding my breath as I search the overturned earth for something, anything that might explain why we have been summoned here.
And, for a long moment, I think that it is nothing but a wild goose chase.
Suddenly, a solid thud emerges from beneath the earth, and Drew brushes aside the last few crumbs to reveal something. My eyes widen.
Oh, my God. There really is something here.
“What is it?” I whisper, not even sure if I want to know the answer. He reaches in, tugs at it a couple of times, and finally eases it free, turning it over in his hand.
It looks to be a small, steel lockbox, the kind that my grandfather might have used to store a day’s takings back at the antique shop.
He holds it out to me, and I lift it to my ear, shaking it slightly to see if I can tell what’s inside.
“That mean anything to you?” he asks, and I shake my head. I run my hands around the sealed box, and find a small lock dangling off one side. It’s crusted with dirt, but still doing its job, hanging on to keep the thing closed.
“No idea,” I admit. I shake it again, and this time, I can hear something thudding against each side, something heavy that fills the whole box.
“I could try to break it open.”
I shake my head.
“No way,” I reply. “If it’s been in there a long time, it’s going to need careful handling so we don’t break it. We have to find the key.”
“You think it’s somewhere here, too?”
I grimace.
“Whoever put it here, they would have been crazy to keep the key right along with it,” I reply, frowning as I weigh the box in my hand. I don’t know what the hell this is, but curiosity tugs at me like a bow on a string.
I need to know. I have to know.
I rack my brains for where that key could be. I have no idea who in this town might have known the man who buried it, and my head swims as I try to piece it all together.
I can feel Drew looking at me, and then, something clicks. I turn to him, grasping his hand urgently.
“Drew, do you remember the house where you picked this up?”
He frowns.
“Why?”
“Because that’s where I think the key will be.”
He leans back on his haunches for a moment, casting his mind back, his eyes half-closed as he tries to recall.
“It wasn’t far from here,” he replies. “Some old cabin on the edge of town. There can’t be that many people living here, if we go looking?—”
“Come on,” I insist, rising to my feet, the box under one arm. “He’s going to get here soon if we’re not careful. We have to get moving.”
And, with that, we make our way back to the car, and he takes the wheel once more.
I stare down at the box on my lap, wondering just what it might contain.
And just how far I’m willing to go to find out.