Unmissing(6)

“Lovely to meet you, Lydia. You from around here?” She slides her butter-soft hand into mine.

“No, ma’am. From up north originally. Washington State.” I opt not to mention that I lived here, albeit briefly, for three blissful months after Luca and I married. It’ll only beg more questions that I’m not prepared to answer yet.

“No kidding?” Her thin brows rise. “I just moved here a few years ago myself. Came on a whim after reading some article online and fell in love with the place. How’d you wind up here?”

“Looking to reconnect with an old friend.” I press my lips into a tight smile and pray she doesn’t ask me to elaborate. “Guess I needed a change of scenery, too.”

A business card by the register identifies her as Delphine DuBois, intuitive and owner of The Blessed Alchemist. I’ve never met someone who claims to be “all knowing” or anything along those lines, but I do believe people exist who are intuitive. And not in any supernatural kind of way. They’re simply good at reading people—a trauma response.

“Well if you’re coming from up north, I’m not sure the scenery here is all that different from what you’re used to,” she says with a chuckle.

Fair point.

I pause to collect my thoughts. I need to be careful with what I tell her. If she finds out who I am, it’ll be all over town before I get a chance to talk to my husband. I’d hate for him to find out I’m still alive on the five o’clock news.

“I grew up in the eastern part of the state,” I say. “We didn’t have these pretty ocean views.” I keep my answer vague, straddling the truth without giving away too much. I don’t want to lie to this woman, but my personal business is my personal business.

Delphine leans over the counter by the register, pushing an ashy incense tray aside and resting her chin on the top of her hand, and sighs. “Nothing quite compares, does it? It’s almost paradise here. At least for nine months of the year.” She bats a hand. “Anyway, you said you’re reconnecting with an old friend?”

“That’s the plan.” My throat tightens, attempting to choke the words before they come out. “Haven’t seen him in a long time. He’s not expecting me, so he’ll be surprised.”

“Nothing like a good old blast from the past,” she says with a melancholic half smile. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fantasize about running into an ex or two every once in a while . . .”

I don’t tell her my ex happens to be a married father who has long since moved on.

Not sure our fantasies are remotely congruent.

“Unfinished business.” She winks. “I get it. Life is constantly pulling us where we need to go.”

“What brought you here?” I redirect the conversation before she asks another question. “Other than the article you read . . .”

“Needed a fresh start.” She stands straight, dragging in a long breath that lifts her shoulders as she scans the store. A wistful, closed-mouth smile paints her face. “Born and raised just outside Salt Lake City. Never really fit in. It wasn’t until I lost my daughter and my husband in the same year that I decided to start living my truth. We should all get a chance to live before we die, yes?”

“I’m so sorry about your daughter . . . and your husband.”

She toys with an opaque green-black stone hanging from her neck.

“Losing my daughter was devastating. Losing my husband?” Her pale brows rise. “Best thing that ever happened to me. He left me for someone else—a married man from our temple, actually. Last I heard, they’re shacked up in Costa Rica. Guess they needed to live their truths, too.”

All this talk about “truths” sends pinpricks along my arms, but I don’t get the sense that it’s double-talk or that she’s hinting that she knows more about me than I’m letting on. Her eyes are too kind for that, her demeanor too unguarded.

“I’m Delphine, by the way,” she says, handing me one of her cards.

I slide it into my back pocket.

“Do you have a phone number?” she asks next.

Lady, I don’t even have a bed.

Remaining poised, I shake my head no. “I don’t. I’m just getting back on my feet.”

Her brows furrow. “Where are you staying?”

I’ve only been in town a few days. The first night, I slept in a plastic tunnel at the West Grove playground. Night two, I sought shelter in someone’s treehouse. Last night was the post office. I’ve yet to make plans for tonight, but I’ve had my eye on a plaid sofa someone abandoned in the alley behind the organic grocery mart.

“I don’t have a permanent address yet,” I say, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

She reads me for an uncomfortable moment before adjusting her posture. “You looking for a place?”

“It’s on my list of things to do, yes.”

Delphine points to the ceiling. “I rent an apartment above the shop, and I’ve got a spare bedroom I’ve been thinking of subletting. It’d be temporary. Just wanted to get a little extra cash under my belt. Been hoping to do some more traveling, but it’s hard—running the shop on my own. Plus, I have a cat. If I knew everything would be in capable hands, I’d feel so much better about leaving every once in a while . . .”