Page 125 of The Treasure House

“No, you just sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m still crying,” I admitted.

“Where are you, honey?” he asked softly.

The “honey” made me cry harder.

“Hey,” he said in a husky voice. “Hey, hey, hey. Is this because my cousin called the cops?”

I made an uncontrolled little wailing noise. “He did?”

“Yeah. God, sorry. I was calling to tell you—I’m sorry you found out before I could break it to you.”

I dissolved. I hadn’t needed to turn her in? Someone had already done it?

“Where are you, Zoe?”

I told him.

“Okay, don’t go anywhere. I’m with my nieces, but as soon as I drop them home, I’ll come get you.”

“Jake,” I blurted, panicked. “Can you stay on the phone?” I wiped at my face. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone, okay?”

I let out a shuddering breath. “Okay.” I sat there, crying into my phone, in the car at Camden Park, for what felt like forever. Jake made soft, soothing noises and kept calling me honey. I didn’t know if I could have gotten through that moment without him.

Then there was a knock at my window. I jumped a mile.

A gloved hand wiped the snow off the glass and an unexpected face appeared.

It was Marly.

“It’s your grandmother,” I said numbly to Jake.

“Good. I messaged her.” He sounded enormously relieved. “She lives just around the corner from the park. I didn’t want you there alone. I’m still a ways away.”

Marly was bundled up against the cold in a big woolen hat and a puffer coat. She waved at me, trotting around to the passenger side and letting herself in.

“Dear God, it’s wicked cold.” She slammed the door and stuck her gloved hands in front of the vents to heat them up. She brought the dry scent of the winter night in with her. “I hope you don’t mind Jake texted me,” she said, giving me a sideways glance. “Is that him?” She took the phone off me. “Hey, you,” she said. “I’m here now. You drive safe. Don’t go speeding and having an accident in your rush. She’s just fine.” She signed off and hung up.

I hastily tried to wipe my face. I felt naked and bruised and unable to speak.

“I live just around the corner,” she told me, fishing a fresh tissue out of her pocket and handing it to me. “Jake thought you might want to wait for him at my place, out of the cold.”

“Oh no,” I blurted. “I couldn’t.” The last thing I wanted to do was dump my emotional mess on Jake’s grandmother. On Marly. A woman who meant so much to me, even though I’d barely met her. I lived in her house. I’d read the postcards and letters addressed to her. I’d imagined her life so many times. Since meeting her at the school play I’d revised my imaginings from sad, lonely lady to glamorous woman, but she was still vivid to me. She seemed like the kind of woman who’d had a big life, with grand loves and heartbreaks. I still didn’t know what had happened to Freddie de Marche, but judging by the last letters I’d read, it hadn’t ended happily with him. I wondered what had happened next in her life and who she’d married. I wondered if I could learn the secret of how to love, and how to get over love when it broke your heart.

“Of course you can come to my house. I insist. What else are you going to do? Sit out here in a snowstorm and cry?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Marly frowned. “Come on, I’ll give you directions.”

Too wrung out to argue, I let her direct me away from the bay. Her house really was just around the corner. I turned in to a shoveled driveway in front of a small stone house with a shingled roof nestled in thick banks of new snow. Golden light fell through the windows and onto the drifts.

“Come on, we’ll get you out of the cold and Jake will be along soon.”

Marly seemed a lot warmer than the last time we’d met. Before I’d been intimidated by her, but now she was gentle with me, kind. When she opened the door to the house, a billow of heated air enveloped us. Her hazel gaze took in my mute misery, and she gently placed an arm around my shoulders to guide me inside.