Parrish

by Shannen Crane Camp

  “Which is why you hide the mirrors?” he asked.

  I felt my stomach drop a little bit that my weird obsession had somehow not escaped his notice.

  “You like to collect old mirrors, which is a perfectly normal thing to do,” he began. “But you don’t display them. They aren’t in your room or apartment. They’re shoved away in a box. I thought at first maybe it was just because you didn’t like them much, but if you care enough about these old things to bring some with you on our trip, you must love them.”

  “How do you even know about all of this?” I asked, though I knew he’d never tell me.

  He just seemed to know everything and I seemed destined to wonder where he got his knowledge from.

  “I just know that you shouldn’t try to hide something you love just because you think it seems . . . less-than-normal.”

  “I’ll stick to hiding my feelings like a normal person, thank you very much,” I responded, half joking but mostly serious.

  Jefferson gave me a sad look.

  “We’re kind of pathetic, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “A little,” I said.

  “I don’t think we’re really affecting our families much by keeping ourselves miserable over them. I think we’re just keeping ourselves miserable.”

  “Unfortunately, I think you’re right,” I said with a nod.

  “You should talk to your sister.”

  “You should talk to your mother,” I countered.

  “Touché,” Jefferson said with a laugh. “Normal or not, I think you are completely and utterly amazing, and your family is crazy if they don’t see that.”

  “Too honest,” I said, though his words made me smile.

  “Sorry, I forgot we weren’t supposed to say what we really think. I’ll have to read more of my ‘how to be a normal, avoidant human being’ handbook.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” I said. “Now that we’ve had all sorts of uncomfortable conversations, should we go back to the hotel room?”

  “Slow down Sade, I have morals,” he said sarcastically.

  “That’s never going to be what I meant,” I responded.

  His thumb was still running a bumpy course over my ribcage, and I could feel his stomach move against mine every time he inhaled.

  “Let’s just stay here and work on the letters a little longer,” he said, his green eyes locked on mine.

  “You don’t have any letters to go over,” I pointed out.

  “Oh well.” He wrapped his arm around my waist, eliminating any space between us so that my cheek was against his neck with my head tucked safely under his chin. The breeze kept us cool as I snuggled against him. “I’m okay with pretending to be a sunshine person for a little longer.”

  Chapter 21

  “Sorry I couldn’t stop Jefferson from following you to the park,” Brighton whispered.

  She was searching my face with an anxious look, probably thinking she’d offended me by her inability to stop the willful Parrish.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” I said with a shrug.

  Obviously I couldn’t say it was one of the best moments I’d had in a long time. That was a bit more honest than I was ready to be right then.

  “I know it’s been kind of miserable hanging around in hotel rooms and living on the road,” Brighton said, “But how are we going to go back to normal life after this? I don’t want to go back to work.”

  “Uh-oh. You’ve been hanging around with the Parrish boys too much.”

  “They do have an aversion to work,” she agreed.

  I smiled at her and grabbed my bundle of letters, ready to start our unofficial presentations.

  “Sadie, do we have any refreshments for our business meeting?” Jefferson asked, his voice taking on a whiny quality. He came and stood much too close to me, putting his hand on my elbow.

  Brighton definitely noticed.

  “Sit,” I commanded, pointing to the bed.

  “So, no snacks, then?” Deacon asked, looking as upset as his cousin. “I’m feeling a bit peaky.”

  “Both of you sit,” I said in exasperation.

  Brighton rolled her eyes at the boys and took a seat on our bed, folding her legs up to her chest and watching me expectantly.

  “I’ve called you all here today to solve a mystery,” I began dramatically.

  “You didn’t gather us here,” Deacon pointed out.

  “I’m trying to add an air of intrigue, thank you very much,” I said, finding that even with the Parrish boy’s teasing, I was in an incredibly good mood for some reason. “But since you guys are ruining my fun, I guess I’ll just tell you what my letters said.”

  “It was a valiant effort,” Jefferson offered. The smile I sent in his direction garnered another odd look from Brighton.

  “Basically, my letters were over a two-month time period, and from what I gathered, Eva was pregnant with Thatcher’s baby . . . or at least that’s what Eva says, although it doesn’t look like Thatcher knew she was pregnant.”

  “It’s like a soap opera,” Brighton said.

  “Pretty much,” I agreed. “Eva wrote letter after letter to Thatcher telling him that she was pregnant. It looks like she followed him from Austin to Boston but was ill when she arrived, so she wasn’t able to go see him. I’m not sure if he even knew she was here, especially since it looks like her letters were never sent.”

  “Someone didn’t want Thatcher to know Eva was in Boston,” Jefferson said.

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  He was quiet for a minute, brow furrowed as he stared at the ground. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

  “What else did you learn?” he asked after a moment.

  “Not much. She just says, ‘I’m getting weaker and fear this illness may have taken root for good,’ which is a little depressing. Whatever was wrong with her wasn’t a common cold.”

  “Poor Eva,” Brighton said, looking down at her hands with a frown. “And she was pregnant on top of all that.”

  I nodded somberly but didn’t elaborate on Brighton’s sentiment. There wasn’t much to say. Whatever situation Eva had been in was a bad one. And what had happened to this baby she’d been carrying? With how sick she seemed in my letters, I couldn’t imagine the baby had ever actually been born.

  “That’s about all I had in my set of letters,” I said after a moment, trying to shake the heavy feeling our meeting had just taken. “That means Deacon is up.”

  As Deacon stood, I almost went to sit beside Jefferson before catching myself and changing course to head for the bed where Brighton was perched. Jefferson looked up at me a little sadly but said nothing.

  “Mine are actually about the same as Sadie’s,” Deacon said. “Eva is trying to get ahold of Thatcher, saying that she’s getting sicker and . . . you know . . . more pregnant. But she does thank him for putting her up in the house she’s staying at and thanks him for hiring a nurse for her.”

  “The Bray’s house?” Jefferson asked, starting to piece things together in that massive brain of his.

  “Yep,” Deacon replied.

  “So Thatcher did know Eva was here?” I asked. “I mean, he hired a nurse to look after her and let her stay in that house.”

  “Does it say she ever actually spoke to him at this point? Or was she just told it was Thatcher who was doing all of this stuff for her?” Jefferson asked.

  “From the way she’s talking, it didn’t sound like she’d seen him since moving to Boston. So I’ll go out on a limb and say she was just told Thatcher was helping her out.”

  “That’s not suspicious at all,” Jefferson said sarcastically.

  Deacon sat down on the bed beside him, apparently done with his chunk of the letters.

  Jefferson then took over the narrative. “My letters mentioned a friend of Thatcher’s. It sounds like after seeing Eva in Austin, he went to Boston to open up a law firm with a ma
n he sailed with on the Queen Mary. But they didn’t stay in Boston for long, because a few months after Eva came here, Thatcher left to New York. I’m not sure if he was opening up another law firm or just moving his original one, but for some reason he left with his new friend Edward Meyer.”

  “That’s the friend he met on the Queen Mary?” I asked, thinking it all sounded a bit suspicious that Thatcher would just leave the woman he loved behind, especially when he knew she was pregnant.

  Jefferson looked down at a letter in his hand then nodded silently. “I mean, I can theorize about what happened, but I’m hoping Brighton’s letters offer a solid answer.” He turned his huge owl eyes on her.

  She took an audible breath, nervous to be speaking in front of us, no matter how comfortable she was with her friends. Any form of public speaking was difficult for Brighton. I thought I was being funny when I stood in front of the group like it was an actual business meeting, but since they all seemed to follow suit, Brighton felt the need to stand as well.

  “I think my letters piece things together nicely,” she said. “We’re still guessing at a few things, but it seems pretty obvious what happened. Eva, by this point, is about to have her baby, but she says in her letters that she’s too sick and she thinks having the baby will kill her.”

  Brighton swallowed at that statement, seeming uncomfortable with it. She bit her lip for a moment before continuing.

  “She says in the letter she’s grateful that Thatcher gave her the nurse and took care of her by proxy throughout her pregnancy, and that she understands why he had to send her away. Or why he left her in the first place, I guess. It sounds like when she followed him to Boston, someone met with her and said Thatcher couldn’t see her because of the disgrace an illegitimate child would bring him and how it would affect his career. But they also told her that he didn’t want to shut her out completely and that he’d put her up in the house, have someone take care of her, and make sure she and the baby were taken care of.”

  “And Thatcher probably said none of this,” Jefferson said. “Because he probably had no idea there even was a baby or that Eva followed him.”

  “Now who’s drawing conclusions?” I asked him with a grin.

  He smiled back at me and I quickly looked away, not wanting to get distracted.

  “She went on to say she was worried he wasn’t getting any of her letters because she hadn’t heard from him since being in Boston and it wasn’t like him to just ignore her.”

  “Bingo,” Jefferson said. “He never knew she was here.”

  “In the last letter she’s only a few days from having the baby, but it looks like Thatcher had already left Boston a while back and she couldn’t follow because she got too sick. But she actually does leave us with a pretty solid clue.”

  “Which is?” Deacon asked, sitting up and holding his breath.

  Brighton looked down at the letter to read our final clue.

  “I’ve begun to worry you’ve missed my letters all along. Perhaps I should have followed you to New York. Livingston and Meyer. It’s such a handsome title, Thatch.”

  “Because with her woman’s intuition, she knew he never knew about the baby,” Jefferson insisted.

  He really wasn’t going to let his theory go easily.

  “Woman’s intuition?” I repeated.

  “Not only that, but she was pregnant, so she had mother’s intuition as well.”

  He said this as if it were a scientific fact and not his own crackpot theory.

  At my raised eyebrows, he narrowed his eyes. “Think about it, Sade. This guy sailed over from England to be with the woman he loved. And then suddenly he just leaves her for no reason?”

  “The reason was the baby. Remember?” I asked.

  “He left her before she came to Boston to tell him about the baby. And I don’t think there was ever a reason in any of our letters for why he left Austin in the first place,” he said. “That Meyer guy convinced him to leave and start a law firm with him. Who knows? Maybe the shady little bugger even said Eva didn’t want to be with him anymore and that’s why Thatcher left Austin in the first place.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.” I didn’t quite disagree with his theory but he had no solid evidence.

  “Either way, I think our next location is this Livingston and Meyer place,” Brighton said. “I’m not sure if the actual law firm will still be there and functioning, but I bet the building itself is.”

  “At least New York isn’t nearly as far as our other locations have been,” Deacon said, sounding optimistic.

  “It’s like three or four hours, right?” I asked. “Give or take.”

  Jefferson instantly looked down at his watch. It was early in the evening and not quite dark outside yet, but we still had a lot of research to do before barging into this law firm.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said.

  “It’s such a short drive,” he pleaded, turning his big sad eyes on me.

  I gave in for the briefest of seconds, but quickly regrouped and held my ground.

  “We’ve already paid for the hotel for tonight,” I said. “Plus we have to give the letters back to Ally, and we don’t know anything about our next location.”

  “And if it is still a law firm, or any business, really, it’s probably closed right now,” Brighton said.

  Jefferson pouted but didn’t argue.

  I tried to dampen the blow. “We’ll take Ally’s letters back tonight and review the investigation tapes from her house to see if there’s anything we might have missed on there that can help us with our next location.”

  I wasn’t quite sure where Jefferson and I stood, since he didn’t seem like the type to have the “define the relationship” conversation, but it felt like I was somewhere between a girlfriend and his mother, which was not a place I wanted to be.

  “Who gets to review tapes?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously like I might try to rob him of the “joy” of reviewing hours of boring tape.

  “Brighton and I will bring the letters back to Ally, since you Parrish boys would just say something inappropriate and make her hate us forever.”

  “Fair enough,” Jefferson agreed.

  Brighton moaned, obviously unhappy about the prospect of human contact.

  “I’ll do the talking,” I assured her. “You just stand there and look pretty.”

  “That’s what I’m best at,” she said.

  Chapter 22

  Brighton managed to get out of “human contact duty” because Deacon had stepped up at the last minute claiming he wanted to go to ask Ally a question. He didn’t really have anything to ask her; he just knew that Brighton was freaking out about having to talk to a stranger, so he did what he could to keep her from the horrors of awkward conversation.

  Of course, that meant I had to talk to Ally with Deacon as my wingman. Deacon Parrish, the amazing woman-fearing man. Luckily, he just stood stock-still during our entire conversation, and when Ally tried to hug him in gratitude for figuring things out, he let out a nervous laugh and practically ran back to the Jeep.

  Now I was stuck with Deacon in traffic because of a fender-bender a few blocks up from us. We weren’t very far from our hotel, but there was no way to get out of the massive clump of stopped cars, so we stared out the windows while I worried about what my attraction to Jefferson said about me.

  It wasn’t that he was an unattractive guy. In fact, if someone didn’t know how weird he was, they’d think he was hot. He had the big eyes, olive skin, and curly hair thing going for him. The sharp features were a plus as well. And I guess he was a pretty sharp dresser . . . or at least he would be if we lived in Victorian England. But still, he was a very attractive guy.

  He was just so odd. And really, if I was being honest with myself, I kind of loved that about him. But I also needed to be normal. I needed to not be the weird daughter at Christmas dinner. I already felt like an intruder at
my own family gatherings with my parents doting on Michigan, and I didn’t need any more reasons to be the outcast in the family.

  Of course, the need for normalcy didn’t really stop me from paranormal investigation; I just “forgot” to tell my parents about that part of my life whenever I saw them. You couldn’t exactly “forget” to tell them about a person, though.

  “You know, if I had a Portal Gun, this wouldn’t be a problem,” Deacon finally said. “Traffic would be a thing of the past. Just blast an entrance portal right in front of the Jeep and shoot the exit portal at the hotel.”

  “Who would shoot the exit portal at the hotel?” I asked, indulging his geekiness for a moment.

  “We’d have done that before we left, obviously, although I’m not sure where you’d get moon rocks at this hour.”

  “You Parrish boys got beat up a lot in school, didn’t you?” I asked with a grin in Deacon’s direction.

  “Actually, I did. Thanks for bringing it up,” he joked. “Although I did manage to get a kiss from Alicia Tyler in grade school by promising to do her homework for a year.”

  “I thought you were scared of women,” I said.

  “I wasn’t until high school,” he responded. “That’s when I found out I should be scared of women. Until then I lived in blissful ignorance of their terrifying ways.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

  He hesitated. “There was an unfortunate incident with a fake note and the girl’s locker room.”

  “Okay, what?” I asked with a laugh. “You have to elaborate now.”

  “One of the guys on the rugby team put a note in my bag, and I thought it was from this girl I fancied. When I went to meet her in the locker room like the note said, I was met with a very shocked and very angry scantily clad girl’s football team.”

  I tried not to, but I couldn’t help myself—I burst out in uncontrollable laughter.

  “Oh yeah, go ahead and laugh it up, but I couldn’t walk for a week after the beating they gave me! Have you ever seen a female football player? They’re strong.”