Spells for Forgetting(49)

I pulled the phone from my pocket and found Eric’s number. The ringing made the ache in my head throb as I filled in my name on the first line of the form.

“Still alive?” he answered, the sound of his voice drowned out by the background noise.

“Still alive. Where are you?”

“Waiting for a client. I meet this guy at coffeehouses because he has a thing about offices,” he said, annoyed. “Too corporate. Makes sense except this guy is as corporate as you can get.”

I laughed. “Bet you’re wishing you’d listened to me when I told you to go into civil rights law.”

“If I had, I’d be living in my car right now.” He scoffed. “What’s up?”

“I’m having a problem getting ahold of the deed for the cottage. It’s not at the house and it’s missing from the records office.”

“Missing?”

“You’d understand if you saw the place.”

“Got it.”

“I’m at the county office in Seattle trying to get a copy, but they have to mail it. All right if I just have them send it to you?”

“Sure.” A scratching sound cut over his voice. “I’ll take a look when it arrives and give you a call.”

“I can just deal with all of this from there, right?”

“If by you, you mean me, then yes. It’s not as simple as just selling the house if it’s in your mom’s name. You’ll have to probate it, prove she’s deceased, all of that.”

“I found someone to handle the sale.”

“Good. We can do it all remotely as long as you have the paperwork. And I’d get whatever you want out of the house now so we can have someone go clean it out, unless you sell it furnished.”

The thought of the house sitting empty, with all of the furniture gone and my mom’s things missing, made my throat feel dry. We hadn’t lived there in a long time, but it still felt like a place she existed. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“I’ll text you where to send it.”

“Thanks.”

I dropped the phone into my lap and finished filling out the request form. When my phone buzzed again, I copied down the address Eric sent and signed my name.

But my hand slipped as I went to lift the pen, and the black ink pooled on the paper as I stared at it—the name. I’d been August Somerfield for so long that I hadn’t even thought about it in years.

But that’s not the name I had written. I’d written August Salt.





Twenty-Eight


    EMERY


I sat before the fireplace, holding the letter in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Eloise’s words stared back up at me like a riddle I’d never have the answer to.

I didn’t know what happened that night in the woods. What I was sure of was just how much power was in this letter. If I gave it to Jake, I knew exactly what he would do with it. In minutes, he’d be on the phone with the Seattle Police Department. It would be a match to strike in his attempts to go back and right his own wrongs. Fix what he’d broken. In the process, he would destroy August and the life he’d found outside the island.

I swallowed hard, imagining it.

I hadn’t craved freedom the way August had when we were growing up, but I’d craved space. Possibility. I hadn’t dared to dream it until the day he first asked me to leave with him and then it became an all-consuming thought. For the first time in my life, I had no idea what may lay ahead, and I found the feeling intoxicating. After eighteen years of knowing exactly what the future held, I wanted more than anything to take a path with no visible destination. I wanted to take it with August.

In the end, he was the only one who got what we wanted.

Eloise’s handwriting moved over the paper in patient strokes, but I could swear that the pain of what she’d written was visible in the script. My thumb ran over the address in the top left corner as I read it again. For years, I’d have given anything to have an address. A phone number or an email. Anything. All that time, it was right here.

Nixie was right. We would never know the letter’s meaning.

I held it to the light and the warmth buzzed under my skin, making the shadows in the room swirl. Before I even realized what I was doing, it was drifting toward the flames. Like the weight of the air was pulling it forward, my hand following. I breathed slowly, watching the fire lick at the corner of the paper, and a single thread of black smoke appeared as an ember ignited. But just before the page caught, the faint sound of a heavy knock echoed through the house, making me freeze.

I blinked, staring at the letter, and the heat on my skin was instantly replaced by a sharp chill.

What was I doing?

I looked around me, confused. The light from the fire danced along the walls as I set down the wineglass. I’d been seconds from burning the letter. But I couldn’t remember even thinking to do it.

Another knock rang out and I stood, pulling the paper inside the blanket. I crept across the floor, holding my breath as I came around the corner of the hallway. I knew as soon as I saw the shadow on the glass. The shape of his jaw. The curling ends of his hair.

August stood beneath the swinging porch light, looking out at the dark road. When he saw me through the window, his gaze ran from my face down to my feet in a way that made me feel unsteady.