Last Summer(41)

“You told me you lost her in high school and that you blame her father, but you also blame yourself. You didn’t tell me why, only that she committed suicide at your house.”

Ella pulls away her hand. Whoa! She’d told him all that? With a quick glance at the oven clock, she rubs the area where he touched. “It’s late. I should go.”

“You’re welcome to stay here if you don’t want to drive in the dark.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.” She smiles stiffly, moving to the dining table.

“I scared you off. I told you too much.” He follows her out of the kitchen.

“No, it’s late.” But yes, he did scare her. She’s scared of how much she opened up to him. How easily she could grow to care for him. Again, it would seem.

He nods solemnly and backs away, giving her space. “I’ll walk you out.”

Ella packs up her belongings. She changed back into her turtleneck and skinny jeans earlier and left the hiking clothes folded on top of the boots in the bathroom. They don’t feel like her clothes and it doesn’t seem right to take them with her.

“What you said about Stephanie earlier,” Nathan says when she shoulders her bag. He starts walking with her toward the door. “You were right. I wanted a marriage like my parents’. I knew the moment I met her we didn’t have anything in common. But I wanted her to see the world the way I did. A big adventure. She was a city girl who’d never worn a pair of trail shoes before we met. I thought I could teach her to love the outdoors.”

“She resisted.”

“She did, and I resented her for that. Couldn’t she at least have tried?”

Ella senses the question is rhetorical and doesn’t comment. Maybe Stephanie did try, and he didn’t see it because he wasn’t there with her. She follows him into the cold night air.

They reach her car. “Same time tomorrow?” she asks, tossing her bag into the back seat.

“Eight a.m.”

“All right, see you in the morning,” she says, covering a yawn as she settles into the driver’s seat and starts up the car. “Good night, Donovan.”

“See you tomorrow, Skye.” He shuts the door and taps on the window. She eases it down. “Dress warm.”

“Why? What are you planning?” Please not another long hike. While the scenery was gorgeous and the mountain air invigorating, they wasted several hours hiking. Yeah, they talked, and she dictated notes later from memory. But they covered too much literal ground rather than interview ground.

He grins. “Not telling. Drive safe.” He claps the roof of the car and backs away, giving her room to turn around.

“Make sure you leave enough time for our interview,” she yells out the window as she drives off. He’s only giving her one more day.



At the hotel, Ella wants nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and collapse on the bed. But she has work to do—more notes to dictate from today and questions to outline for tomorrow. She also wants to check in with Damien. She’d silenced her phone so that it wouldn’t distract her when she dictated, and later, when they ate.

Launching her phone, she notices notifications fill her screen. A voice mail from Davie, a text from Andrew—he secured funding for Come Over Rover. Boom! With a gazillion exclamation points. He follows up his text with another. Five bomb emojis. He wants her to tell Damien there is a market for “TinderPooch.”

She rolls her eyes. He can text Damien himself.

Speaking of her husband, there’s a missed call from him and three text messages.

Long day ahead. Everything’s going to shit.

Sorry.

Talk tonight? I’ll fill you in.



That must have been the missed call.

She looks at the time on her phone. Nine thirty p.m., six thirty a.m. in London. He’s up, probably already at the office. She calls him and her call goes to voice mail.

She leaves a message. “Hey, sorry I missed you. Call me when you have the chance. I’ll be up for a little longer. Love you.”

But he doesn’t return her call, not while she wraps up her notes and takes a bath. By the time she turns off the lights and settles into bed, he still hasn’t called, so she tries to reach him again only to land in voice mail. This time she hangs up without leaving a message.

Everything’s going to shit.

She knows he’s talking about work, but she can’t help thinking it might have to do with them. Lying on her back with the covers pulled to her chest, Ella stares into the pitch-dark room. She tries not to dwell on the fact she and Nathan barely discussed their previous time together or that spending an entire day with him didn’t unblock her memories. But it did enlighten her.

Until the other night, Damien had never asked her to turn down an assignment. He’d never requested her to cancel or reschedule an interview. Neither has she where his work is concerned.

Rolling to her side, she clicks on the bedside lamp. Warm light bathes the room. Digging through her purse, Ella finds her wallet. Tucked in the pocket is the last note she received from Damien. Since the day they married, he always left her notes. There was no rhyme or reason to them other than to let her know he loves her and that she’s always on his mind. The notes don’t show up often, and there isn’t a pattern as to when they’ll appear. They show up with a new phone or a muffin he picked up for her on his run home. He’ll stick them on her mirror. Good morning, beautiful. And once, she found a folded scrap of paper with a pressed daisy inside the pocket of her coat. Missed running with you this morning. This reminded me of you. Ella had been out late the previous night on assignment and wanted to sleep in. Along the route Damien took was a Victorian home in Pacific Heights. Ella always remarked on the daisy bush in the home’s raised planter. It was full and flowering, the yellow daisies like small rays of sunshine.