“I do too.”
They continued along the path until they reached the road on the far side of the vineyard. It was dark by then, and the sky was full of stars.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked as they approached her house. “Maybe if we google Jeremy, we’ll get lucky.”
“Sure.”
She led Peter across her front lawn and up the steps to the covered veranda, where she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She turned on the lamp in the foyer and kicked off her sandals. “Come through to the kitchen. Would you like a drink? A glass of wine or something else? I have twelve-year-old scotch and some beer—or coffee, if you prefer.”
“A beer would be great.”
She fetched two bottles of Keith’s from the refrigerator and twisted off the caps. “Let’s go into the den and turn on the computer.”
He followed her to her cozy little workspace off the kitchen, which had been a primary focus for her during the restoration. She’d made sure it had a full wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases opposite the fireplace, which was original to the house.
“This is an incredible home,” Peter said, looking around at the thirteen-foot ceilings and historic millwork. “What year was it built?”
“Around 1783,” she replied. “We tried to keep as much of the original elements as possible when we renovated, but obviously we updated the kitchen. That was a total gut job.”
“You did great with it,” Peter replied as he wandered toward the bookcase. “You know ... you can tell a lot about a person by looking at the books they hold on to. I see you like fiction.”
“I do. I like to read the big bestsellers just to see what all the fuss is about, but I like nonfiction too. Historical biographies, and—pleasedon’t judge me—I like self-help books.” She pulled an extra chair close to the computer.
“No judgment here.” He bent to a lower shelf and pulled out a book. “Is this your yearbook? You went to the same high school as Scarlett?”
Gwen swiveled in her chair to face him. “Yes, I did.”
He flipped through it. “Are you in here?”
Gwen stood and approached him. “Let me see.” She flipped through it as well and found a picture of herself backstage, in costume, during the final performance of the high school musical. “That’s me there.” She pointed.
He looked carefully at her standing arm in arm with a group of cast members. “Following in Scarlett’s footsteps?” he asked with a look of amusement.
Gwen chuckled softly. “Not at all. I was far too shy. I wouldn’t even have tried out if it weren’t for my music teacher, who encouraged me to at least try out for the chorus.” She turned the page. “That’s him there. Mr.Thornby. He was great.”
She flipped to another page, where she found Eric’s graduation picture. “And that’s my husband.”
Peter bent his head to look more closely. “You were high school sweethearts?”
“Yes. He was my first love. I thought we’d be together forever.” The inescapable heartache rose back to the surface, so she closed the book and slid it back on the shelf. “Enough about that. I don’t want to be maudlin.” Itching to change the subject, Gwen returned to the desk and turned on the computer. “Let’s see what we can find out about Jeremy.”
Peter sat down beside her, and Gwen started googling. She typed Jeremy’s full name, along with the wordJuneau. A Facebook page came up.
“Goodness,” she said, sitting forward and squinting at the profile picture of an older man in a small motorboat. “Is that him?”
“Could it be this easy?” Peter asked, sitting forward as well. “Can you zoom in on him?”
It was a private Facebook page for friends only, but Gwen was able to enlarge the picture. “It’s hard to tell, but he’s the right age, and how many Jeremy Mikhailovs can there be in Juneau, Alaska?” She turned to Peter. “What should we do? Send him a message?”
“Let’s give it a try.”
Gwen let her fingers hover over the keyboard while her belly swarmed with butterflies. “I’m not sure what to say.”
They both thought about it, and before Peter had a chance to offer any suggestions, she began to type.
Hi Jeremy. We don’t know each other, but I found a newspaper clipping about the Good Friday Earthquake in 1964, and I’m wondering if it’s you in the picture. It shows a young man who rescued a baby from the sea in Valdez. If it’s you, could you let me know? I’m doing some research about the earthquake, and I’d love to talk to you about it.
“Does that sound okay?” she asked Peter.
