Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(106)

“Seriously,” I said, staring at the text. “Is beca bacon? If you’re offering to take me out for breakfast, the answer is yes, even though it’s already lunchtime, because I had a really disappointing breakfast today.”

“Bacon is beicon,” he said. “Here, open your packages.”

“We should get out of here,” I said. “Kelly wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me, and neither was Debbie at first, though I think I won her over.”

I glanced at the packages—both addressed to Ms. Susannah Simon. One of them was a large next-day air priority box, the other a legal-sized padded envelope, stamped “Deliver by Hand”; return address, “Slater Properties.” It felt lumpy, as if there might be something small and jagged—such as keys—inside.

I looked up at Jesse in wonder. “No,” I said, hardly daring to believe it. “So soon?”

He shrugged again. “One of us must be very persuasive.”

“Or intimidating,” I said, tearing open the envelope.

Sure enough, there was a set of keys inside, attached to a plastic key fob marked “99 Pine Crest Road.” There were also a number of documents requesting my notarized signature. But one of them was a deed, with my name typed in as the owner.

Finally, there was an astonishingly brief note from Paul, scrawled in his execrable handwriting on Carmel Inn stationery.

Suze,

Here are the items you requested.

No matter how much you might hate me—or who you marry—I will always be here for you. You know how to reach me if you need to.

You’re a worthy adversary, Simon.

I suppose that’s why I always have, and always will, love you.

Paul

Jesse stood reading the note along with me over my shoulder. I’d seen no reason not to let him, since I’d had no idea it would contain anything like the sentiments it did.

As soon as I got to the last lines, I began to blush.

I reached out to crumple the note into a little ball, but Jesse stopped me, tugging it from my hand.

“No, why?” I asked, attempting to snatch it back. “He’s such a—” The words I used to describe Paul were ones I doubted Miss Boyd had ever uttered, much less heard of, even during her undoubtedly rough and memorable ride from Boston out west.

Jesse, shaking his head, tucked the note into the back pocket of his jeans.

“It’s good to hang on to things like this,” he said matter-of-factly. “You never know when they might come in handy later.”

“Oh, and you accused me of being possessed by the dark side?” I said. “And if this is the surprise, it wasn’t a very good one. I already knew he was sending this stuff over.”

“That wasn’t the surprise. You still aren’t thinking very hard. Shall we go?”

“Go where? Breakfast?”

“No. To inspect our new home.”

My heart leapt. I put my arms around his neck. “Our new home? Are you serious, Jesse? You really don’t mind living there?”

“I seem to be destined to do so. But one thing I will not do, Susannah, is sleep in the room in which I died.”

My room. The best room in the house, with a huge bay window (complete with a window seat that my stepfather, Andy, had lovingly built for me) that on clear days had a view stretching straight down to Carmel Bay, with an attached full bath in which Jesse had once bandaged my feet. It was the first time he’d ever admitted he’d hoped to become a doctor, but his father needed him too much on the ranch ever to have allowed it.

Now all of Jesse’s dreams were coming true.

Maybe mine were, too.

That’s what I came to tell you, I couldn’t help remembering Lucia had said when I’d assured her everything was going to be okay.

“Maybe we should wait until we see what the realty company did to the room while they were staging it to sell,” I said noncommittally. “I highly doubt they kept the forget-me-not wallpaper, or those frilly curtains my mom picked out. Maybe they turned it into a craft center, like Debbie’s.”

Jesse dangled the keys to my car in front of me. “Let’s go find out. Don’t forget your other package.”

I glanced at the next-day-air package. “Is that my surprise?”

He rolled his eyes behind the sunglasses. “No.”

We swapped cars. It was good to be back in the Land Rover, though it turned out the drive to the Carmel Hills from Casa di Walters was not short, especially on the last sunny Saturday before Thanksgiving. Traffic was terrible, and though there were no stoplights, I had plenty of stops of other kinds—mainly tourist related—to examine the next-day-air package Jesse had left on my passenger seat.

I didn’t recognize the name of the sender—a woman in Arizona—but I tore it open anyway.

I was shocked when I saw what was inside:

My boots. The black leather platform boots I’d lost in the online auction the other day. My perfect non-compliant deceased person butt-kicking boots.

How was that even possible? I’d been timed out of the auction when Lucia had ransacked my office. I hadn’t been able to submit my final bid, let alone type in my name or payment information. Maximillian28 had slipped in and stolen them out from under me.

There was a note tucked into the box, but I wasn’t able to grab and read it (since I was trying to be a good driver) until I pulled up in front of my house—our house.