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“Absolutely, thanks, Brenda.”
Winking, she turns with a happy jaunt in her step. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she is seeing someone new. The way she’s been this week, all giddy, checking her phone constantly…and I swear I caught her snapping some flirty pictures and sending them. But we are still fairly new as friends, and I don’t want to overstep.
Tonight, I have plans to do some more research on my grandfather and my parents. There’s been this hole, it feels like, inside my chest since the day I found out about him, and even more since I’ve been here. It’s made it hard to truly settle into the space and get comfortable. I feel like a ghost roaming the halls—an unwanted ghost. Even though Jack and Brenda have both assured me that JD would never think that, I can’t help it. Feeling unwanted is all I’ve ever known. Projecting that onto everyone and everything is sort of a habit for me now.
The most I know is he was well known around town, basically a celebrity. He was ridiculously wealthy, and he was my mother’s father. I don’t know who my grandmother was either. She died before Jack even got to meet her. Why not leave this all to my mother? Really.
Sure, they didn’t talk, from what Jack has said, but neither did we. So why? There has to be a reason, and I don’t think I’ll be able to let it go until I truly know the real reason. Don’t I deserve that? To know who I am? Where I came from? Why someone never helped me out of the world I grew up in? Can’t I be afforded that, at least? Everyone deserves to know where they came from so they can find where they belong. Wandering aimlessly without any idea of who you are is isolating; it’s lonely. It’s heartbreaking, and I just want a moment for my heart to slowly heal, the cracks to bind together gently, so that I can start to find myself.
But now, Theo is in the mix. How did I get here? In less than a month, I’ve been left with a house, millions, got a new job, and now know a man who wants to have an intense sexual relationship. I would say friends with benefits, but that would indicate that we know each other personally on a deeper level, and we don’t. This is going to be purely physical.
Is this part of me feeling lost? Am I doing this because I want to have this type of relationship to find myself, or am I trying to fill a void? Maybe both? All this thinking has my head hurting, bringing on a throbbing migraine. Good thing I only have a few hours left of work, and then I can get home and take it easy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HANNA
“Did Jack give you a key to this door?” Brenda asks, standing at the opposite end of the hall from the master bedroom. She jiggles the handle, and I shake my head.
“Nope, he said he gave me everything that was left.”
“What if there are dead bodies on the other side?” she questions, smiling.
“Ha-ha,” I mock. “Can you take this seriously and come help me look through these boxes?”
Sighing, she walks to me. “Yeah, I guess. I just think it’s weird that this door is locked and there is no key.”
I thought this too, but I assume it’s somewhere in this house. “It might be in these boxes. I pulled them out of the attic yesterday and wanted to take a look through them. Maybe there will be some useful things in here.”
“Yeah, like the key to the morgue over there.” She nods toward the locked door she was just at.
I giggle. “Seriously, you watch too much true crime television.”
Lifting her shoulders, she shakes her head. “You say that now, but one day, I could save your life if you ever go missing. Laugh it up. Make fun of me—I’ll remember it.”
Her sense of humor is my favorite thing about her. I’ve never had a friend like Brenda, and that says a lot, since it’s been less than a month.
“Bills. Paperwork and just useless stuff. I can’t find anything about me. Not even one picture.” I huff, growing angry by the third box.
“Maybe we should throw in the towel and do something else. You will find something, okay?” Placing her hand on my forearm, she rubs the skin reassuringly with her thumb.
“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks. Sorry, I feel like any time we hang out, it’s been nothing but pity stories and treasure hunting for said pity stories.” Standing, I move the boxes and line them up in two different stacks—a completed one and what I still need to sift through.
“I don’t mind. You are like a real-life unsolved mystery.”
“Ugh, rude.” I shove her shoulder, and we both laugh.
