Page 43 of Running to You

Eliza

She read the words again, trying to make sense of them. Trying to remember writing them. Folding the letter. Putting it in the mail.

“Listened to you about what?” Eliza asked.

“I didn’t want you to go. It felt like a knee-jerk reaction to”—her head tipped toward Sam—“whatever he did. I didn’t think you should make any impulsive decisions.”

“I’m not impulsive, as a rule.”

“You’re not. That’s why I was so worried. You didn’t usually just discard our advice.”

“Yours and…?”

“Your mom’s, of course. She didn’t want you to go either.”

Huh. Why would Eliza have ignored her best friend and her mother to go off with strangers?

“What was it?” Sam asked. “In the letter?”

Eliza tipped the envelope up and dropped the contents into her palm.

A key.

A simple gold key.

“Does it have any markings on it?”

She didn’t miss the hope in his voice, but there was nothing but a number.

“May I?” He held out his hand.

She dropped the key into it, and he studied it. “It’s small, too small for a house key. Maybe a locker? A safe deposit box?”

“Right,” Eliza said. “In some bank. Somewhere in the world.”

“The postmark is from Denver, if that helps.”

“Oh.” Had she been in Denver? How could she not remember?

A squawk filled the silence.

Jeanette pulled a walkie-talkie from her waistband. “Yes?”

The redheaded grandmother’s voice came through. “You’d better hurry. They’re plotting mutiny.”

“Five minutes.” She put the device back, sighing. “I have to go.”

“Sorry for this.” Eliza stood. “For…all of it.”

Jeanette rounded the desk and pulled her into another rib-cracking hug. “I’m glad you’re here and…safe.”

Eliza imagined her shooting Sam another one of those looks over her shoulder.

“Why don’t you come stay with me?” Jeanette backed away. “I’ll help you figure this out.”

“Oh, um—” Eliza didn’t want to look at Sam. Didn’t want to see the relief on his face. But could she put her friend in danger? How could she keep them both safe and figure out what was going on when she couldn’t remember anything?

Sam wanted to be rid of her, and she couldn’t blame him. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “but I should tell you—”