Swallowing a laugh, I ignored Flo. “You guys deserve a break in the sunshine. How warm will it be?”
“Warmer than New England, that’s for sure. Two weeks of bikinis and blender drinks.” Gwen’s eyes were brimming with excitement, but a shade of guilt crept in. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll have my phone with me in case you need me while I’m gone?—”
I shook my head. “I won’t.”
“But—”
“I’ve got it, Gwen. The store basically runs itself. I can easily handle the inventory orders, plus my client list for a few weeks.”
Though, it must be said, my client list was growing bigger and bigger every day. Since I’d arrived in October, I’d built a steady stable of regulars. I was booking months in advance, these days — and raking in enough tips to keep Socks in stuffed squeaky toys for the next decade.
Not that I needed the money.
I didn’t even need to work, anymore — not if I didn’t want to. The death of my uncle had opened up a whole wide world of financial possibility.
After years of scraping by, living in mildewed motel rooms and scrimping to afford the basic necessities, it was nice not to have to read price labels at the grocery store. No more guilt trips over buying clothes for myself — new clothes, not thrifted ones I had to tailor.
Admittedly, I did still enjoy the occasional afternoon of thrifting. Whenever I hit the local stores, Gwen was an eager shopping partner, helping me find my style. Under her expert tutelage, my half of Cade’s closet was now stocked full of new dresses, pants, shoes, shorts, and sweaters.
Cade’s closet.
He’d be mad if he heard me calling it that. He was constantly correcting me.
Our closet, beautiful. This is your home, too.
I’d officially agreed to move in after the Adrian kidnapping attempt. It was probably too fast, and probably seemed insane to most people… but to me, there was no point in putting off the inevitable. The fact of the matter was, I loved Cade. I wanted to be with him. Not just temporarily — forever. There was no doubt in my mind we were eventually going to live together. Delaying that move felt arbitrary to both of us.
So, I moved in.
Though, sometimes, I still had sleepovers at The Sea Witch with Gigi, just for old time’s sake. Lord knows I wasn’t about to drive after indulging in her limoncello. Especially not in my fancy new wheels.
Last month, Puck had set me up with one of his souped-up, special-edition luxury models. It had a zillion features —zero to sixty in two-point-eight seconds!— but I didn’t really care about that. All I knew was, it was black, it was sleek, it wentfast,and it never broke down. It was the first big purchase I’d made, after getting access to my bank accounts. A celebration, of sorts, to close out that drawn-out saga.
I would’ve liked to sort out the mess that was my uncle’s estate over the phone, but quickly learned that would not be possible. I had to go to Florida in person, provide several forms of identification, and make multiple sworn statements to the stern bank officers that I was not, in fact, a grifter trying to impersonate one Imogen Warner, and was, in actuality, the real Imogen Warner with the documents to prove it.
I’d flown down to Orlando in late November, just before the Thanksgiving holiday. I hadn’t been back to Florida since I left ten years prior. I’d insisted I would be fine going by myself. That it was a long time ago, and I could manage on my own. Still, I’d never been more glad to have Cade Hightower’s warm hand laced with mine as that plane touched down on the tarmac.
He spent four days helping me sort through the financial stuff, getting my uncle’s gaudy mansion listed for sale with a shark of a realtor, and helping me dig through the storage unit his “contact” had found by snooping through the estate records.
It was at the outskirts of town, in a creepy industrial park I wouldn’t have felt safe visiting on my own. Cade snapped the padlock off with a pair of bolt cutters and heaved up the rolling door so we could enter. I hadn’t known what to expect.
Dead bodies?
More financial statements of secret accounts?
Thousands of VHS tapes of myChild Clairvoyantepisodes, recorded for posterity?
Instead, inside I found a time capsule of my life from ages zero to five. My life before my uncle came into the picture. My life with my parents.
It was all there. The pictures — in gilded frames and thick books and paper pharmacy envelopes. In undeveloped rolls of film. In stacks and boxes. Pressed between book pages. Blown up on canvases. So many photos, it would take a lifetime to get through them all.
Mom and Dad, young and in love, on the beach with their toes in the sand.
Mom sitting at the chipped kitchen table, a look of concentration on her face as she flipped tarot cards from a familiar deck.
Dad chopping wood in the backyard, axe in hand.
Mom and Dad on their wedding day.