I scramble out my driver’s door, boots splashing in a deep puddle as I do. But I’m determined to seize this chance. If this woman knows Parker, if he’s really here, this might be my only shot at finding out.
The mailman passes me first, flashing a casual grin as he strides down the walk. The woman on the porch still struggles to juggle her toddler and the stack of mail, clearly mid-departure.
“Excuse me,” I call, somewhat breathless, and she drops the mail. “Sorry—here, let me get those.” I dart forward, scooping the dampened letters from the porch boards.
She sighs, visibly flustered. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for an old friend who lives here. His name’s Parker.”
Her eyes narrow. “Sorry, your friend’s not here,” she says, rocking her fussy toddler while she tries to find a specific key on her ring.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I press, stepping aside to give her space.
She squints at me again. “There’s no Parker in this house.”
“Parker Lane? Or… maybe Meredith Lane?” I ask, softening my voice.
She pauses, tipping her head back in thought. “Oh—you mean the old owners. They moved months ago. Sold the place to us.” Her toddler drools on her shoulder.
If Parker’s not here, and they really did move… could they have moved back to Blair?
“I know it’s a long shot,” I push gently, “but do you happen to know where they went? I’ve been trying to get ahold of him. He changed numbers, and… I just moved back to Seattle. I’d love to reconnect.”
I look down at my feet and pinch my eyes shut, furious I didn’t plan a better lie. I look like a stalker.
“I never met them. But I’ve got their new address somewhere.” She flips through the stack of mail I handed her. “They never forwarded their mail. We still get their crap all the time.”
She thrusts part of the banded mail bundle toward me. “Here. You can hand-deliver them if you want. I’m tired of playing post office.”
Before I can respond, she pushes her child out toward me like an offering. “Can you hold her a sec while I grab the address?”
“S-sure,” I stammer, stiffening as the squirming weight of her little girl lands in my arms. The baby stares up at me with solemn, oceanic eyes, another plop of drool running down her chin. “Hi,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m Amelia.”
The little girl blinks.
Her mother returns with an index card, scribbled in blue ink. “Here’s Meredith’s new place. And the rest of their mail.” She deposits the items into my free hand without ceremony.
“I’ll make sure I get these to the Lanes,” I say, exchanging her baby for the stack of mail.
The woman shrugs, proving that she couldn’t care less about who I am and what I have to do with the old owners of her house. She watches as I walk down the steps, then calls after me.
“Tell them to forward their address already.”
I turn and send her a nod, knowing I certainly won’t be doing that.
Trying to keep a casual demeanor, I walk to my car and don’t look at the index card until I’m in the driver’s seat. But when I do… I can’t believe it. The card, supposedly holding the new address of Meredith and Parker Lane, lists a home in Blair, Washington. A home on Little Mountain Road.
The same street as Mom’s.
34
IMOGEN
Fog creeps across the Holloways’ charming green estate, the exterior walls seeming to drink in the porch lights. Though I can hardly see the porch itself, like the world ends where their front door begins. The windows are lit, proving someone is inside. I don’t see Rory’s car in the driveway, but I hope Mara and Emmett are home.
I cautiously climb the steps, ensuring I don’t slip, or step wrong, the wind battering rain against my back. Wrapping my hood tighter, nose going numb in the cold, I reach out and ring the bell. When the door opens, Emmett stands on the other side in an old flannel, a dishtowel looped in his hand like I caught him doing chores.
“Imogen,” he says cheerfully, moving aside. “Uh. Come in. Rory went down to our office with Mara. But you’re welcome to wait for him.”
