The Scent Keeper(58)

“Do you know where he went?”

She twisted the spigot, then looked at my face and took pity on me. “I heard he didn’t even pick up his last check.”

I stood, surrounded by those deceitful flowers, and counted back in my head. Three months. When his letters had stopped.

I’d worried and waited and searched for a guy who didn’t even want to be found. I had been wrong all along, sucked into a fairy tale. Again. In the end, I was just like the weeds in this nursery—something to be pulled and replaced by someone better, prettier.

I was half of nothing.

The hell with you, then, I thought, but the words were more liquid than steel. I wasn’t even sure if I was saying them to Fisher or myself.



* * *



When I got back to my room, I shut the door behind me. I had only thirty dollars left, not even enough for the bus ride back to Secret Cove. Fisher was gone—he’d disappeared when things went bad, cut off his ties to his old life and started a new one, just like my father had.

Salmon always return to the same stream, Fisher’s mother had said. I’d prided myself that I was different. That I had chosen better. But maybe none of us did.

I dumped my backpack on the wooden floor by my bed. It tipped over and the almost empty peanut butter jar rolled out, along with my map. The folds in the paper were ripped from wear, the forty-nine green marks smudged into camouflage. I stared at them for a moment.

Then I took out a red pen and found one more address. Circled it.

Inspire, Inc.





INSPIRE, INC.


Victoria’s company was in a green glass building, set among its brick neighbors like a river running between mud banks. The receptionist at the front desk shot me a skeptical look when I entered, appraising me from top to bottom. I was suddenly acutely aware of what she must see. Old jeans, a faded red backpack with fraying straps. My hair hadn’t been washed in a week because I couldn’t afford the money for a shower. No one had noticed on the bus, but this was no bus.

The woman put her hand on her phone, but then a man in a stiff black suit came up to her desk. Her face opened like a flower, and I was forgotten.

Relieved, I slipped over to a backless leather couch, hidden from the woman by two willowy plants in tall black pots. From this position, I could observe both elevator and entrance. I wanted to see my mother before I told her who I was.

I’d arrived close to lunch. Well-dressed men and women streamed through the lobby. I watched them, and breathed in. The fragrance in the air around me was artificial, but beautifully crafted, a mix of cool greens—grass and water and something else.

Money, I thought, and almost laughed, for the first time since entering the city.

We care, the article had said, right down to the last detail.

An older man came through the revolving door. His jeans and simple shirt, the white hair pulled back in a short ponytail, were all in marked contrast to the sleekness of his surroundings. As he passed, I caught a whiff of what smelled like pipe smoke. It reminded me of the cabin so much it was all I could do not to follow him—but I stayed where I was and waited.

Now that I was here, I realized I wasn’t sure what I thought, or hoped, would happen. I was searching for a woman who had gone on television and begged for my return. But I was also looking for a woman who’d stopped looking for me. I wasn’t sure which one I would find. If she’d even want me.

After what I’d learned about Fisher, maybe my only real hope was that I’d have a chance to decide whether or not I wanted her.



* * *



For almost three hours, I watched the lobby. My stomach started to rumble. I had one last sandwich in my pack, but I didn’t want to draw the receptionist’s attention.

I was about to give up when the elevator doors opened once again and two women emerged. One was young, her white-blond hair cut in a clean line at her shoulders. The other was facing away from me, but I could see the graceful cut of her clothes, all black and white simplicity. Her hair was up, a few dark curls escaping. A fragrance came toward me, honey and amber.

Come find me, I heard it whisper.

I got up and followed them across the lobby, avoiding the gaze of the receptionist. At the revolving front door, the woman with the black curling hair turned to the blonde.

“Do you think you can handle it?” It was a question that only allowed one answer.

“Absolutely, Ms. Wingate. I appreciate your confidence in me.”

Victoria placed her hand on the revolving door. “Good,” she said. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with.” She entered the swish and turn of the door, leaving the blonde in a wake of her perfume. I hurried after Victoria, shoving awkwardly through the stationary door to the right.

“Excuse me,” I called.

Victoria turned, looking me up and down. “Yes?” she said, drawing out the vowel. Her fragrance surrounded me, making it hard to concentrate.

“My name is Emmeline,” I said, barely getting the words out. “I think you might be my mother.”

I heard the sharp intake of her breath. She shook her head, but whether it was in anger or disappointment, I couldn’t tell. “My daughter’s name is, was, Violet,” she said. “If you’re going to try something like this, you should get your facts straight.”