The Scent Keeper(75)

Let me in.

I’d known Rene for all of half an hour, but I trusted him. What he’d said made sense in a way that felt elemental and true. He’d given me back something I thought I’d lost, or maybe never had.

In my mind, my father had always been my father—he’d never been a child. Now, for the first time, I could imagine him as one. Young and scared, left alone. I knew what it felt like to lose a parent, the way it became a hole you fell into and never came out of.

Oh, Papa, I thought. What else don’t I know?



* * *



It was late when I got home; I could hear Victoria in the shower down the hall. I started toward the kitchen, but as I walked through the living room, I saw the light blinking on the message machine, and a longing for home swept through me. Colette and Henry wouldn’t have seen the magazine yet; they didn’t have a subscription, and it would be a while before someone gave them a copy—if they saw it at all. I picked up the phone, dialing through to the voicemail. I was hungry for the comfort of their voices, even if it was only a recording.

The first messages were much like the last ones I’d listened to. Colette relating snippets of life, a funny comment about a summer guest. Keeping in touch, no matter how far I’d gone away. But as I made my way through the fourth, then fifth, then sixth message, I could hear them changing.

Give us a call, darling.

We need to talk to you.

And then Henry’s voice. It’s Dodge, Emmeline. I’m sorry …





THE PARK


I dropped the phone back onto the receiver and stood there, unable to move, to breathe.

I’ll come back, I’d promised Dodge—but I hadn’t, and now he was gone. I remembered him waiting outside on the front porch until I was no longer scared, the way he’d helped me understand my new world. He’d been the only being on earth who knew every one of my stories, even the worst ones, the ones I’d whispered into his fur so no one else could hear. I could still feel the curve of his head in my cupped palm.

I’d found my bright new life here and barely looked back. I’d left him behind—just like I’d left Cleo alone the night the bear came. The pain of it buckled me.

Down the hall, Victoria’s shower stopped, and I realized I couldn’t stand the idea of talking to her, to anyone. I darted into my room, shutting the door behind me. When she knocked a few minutes later, I turned on my own shower so I wouldn’t have to answer. I sat under the falling water and sobbed into my hands, ugly gasps of air—until the water went cold, then freezing, and the bright sting of it sucked the heat from my skin and the thoughts from my brain.

Eventually, I got out, shivering, and climbed into bed. My body shook itself back to warmth, but I still couldn’t sleep. I watched the bright red hours tick by on the clock until finally I yanked off the comforter, dropped it on the floor by the bed, and curled up inside it.



* * *



“You okay?” Victoria said in the morning. She was standing at the counter, her back to me, the smell of hot milk and cinnamon in the air.

“Sure,” I said. I couldn’t tell her. In the past twenty-four hours, my whole world had been overturned, again, and I didn’t know who I was. I felt as if I’d lost not only my dog but myself—both the girl I used to be and the carefully constructed version of these past few months. So many pieces, lying on the ground.

My mother handed me a latte, and took in my still-blotchy face. No amount of cold water or makeup had helped.

“You got in late last night,” she commented.

I looked around her perfect apartment. It was strange to even think of Dodge here. All I could imagine were his nails scratching across the polished wood floor, his fur collecting on the rugs, his food and water dishes cluttering the kitchen. I had luxuriated in the elegance of this place, the effortless feeling of organization and control. Now I just wanted the heat of Dodge’s breath across my bare feet and the mess he brought into my life.

I looked at Victoria. I couldn’t even begin to explain that to her.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I just worked too late.”



* * *



I went to Inspire, Inc.; I didn’t have an excuse that wouldn’t invite questions. Besides, I thought, work might help—when I made fragrances, I was in charge, a feeling that was in short supply right then. If people were talking about the article as I walked through the halls of Inspire, Inc., I didn’t notice. All I wanted was the familiar feel of the bottles, the scents whispering in my head.

I got to my office and sat in my chair, trying to focus. My latest project was for a car manufacturer. The leather smell of new cars hadn’t been real for years; it was just a scent sprayed on the undersides of the seats before delivery. This manufacturer wanted another fragrance, a signature scent that would play off the anticipated smell and promise of something new and exciting. Expensive.

I made myself think about cars—the shine, the metal, the glass and not-leather, the couples with children running around their legs. Did I want smells of home? Of escape? I listened, waiting for the story. Something to make the customers open their wallets, buy.

But there was nothing. Just a dull buzz, opaque as fog. I looked at the bottles, willing them to speak, but they just sat there. Shaking my head to clear it, I started pulling bottles from the shelves and opening them. I could still smell each scent; I knew their properties and could have put them in the proper place on any of Claudia’s charts, but the magic, the voices, were gone.