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“A DNA test will easily answer that,” I point out with a shrug.
“If it’s true…”
I grin broadly. “If it’s true, that means your father is the true heir to the Tulley land and titles. But at the very least, this information could serve as excellent leverage should you choose to use it against the Tulleys. Because if you are who I think you are, you’re entitled to something. Your father”—I soften my voice—“is entitled to something.”
Tears glisten in her eyes. “Jesus, Abbey.”
“My advice? Get that DNA testing done. But unless all this”—I wave a hand over the sea of documents lining her table— “is merely one whopping coincidence after another, then I’m confident in everything I hypothesized.”
“If this is all true, then I owe you a debt I’ll never be able to repay.”
I brush that off. “Oh, hush. There’s no debt. This was fun.”
It’s her turn to grin. “Fun,” she echoes.
“You have no idea how much.” I start to gather up the papers, tucking them back in the folder. “I’ll leave these here with you. They’re copies. And you know what? There is one way you can repay me. Call me the moment you find out whether I’m right or not.”
“Absolutely,” she promises.
A few minutes later, I’m stepping out into the cool night air, absently arranging for an Uber to take me back to Notting Hill. A whirlwind of information and chaotic thoughts clutters my mind. And along with the mental overload comes a sense of satisfaction so deep and pure it triggers a rush of tears.
I solved the mystery. Months of turning over stones, digging in every nook and cranny, driving all over the country, setting up camp in the library. It’s all culminated in this moment.
I’ve never been prouder of myself.
But perhaps the most satisfying part is I truly believe everybody got some version of their happily ever after in this story. Josephine may not have chosen Robert, but he got his happy ending, or some semblance of it. He got a family. A wife who I hope cared about him, although based on the Farnham correspondence, Evelyn did seem sweet and kind. I hope she was kind to him.
And Josephine got William. Because as she’d told Robert in her note, her destiny lay with William.Where he goes, my heart will always follow. Most importantly, their son, the product of their love, survived the tragedy. So in a sense, the two of them lived on.
I stand at the curb waiting for my ride, my mind drifting to what Mr. Baxley said in the library yesterday. Our conversation stays with me on the drive home. During my shower before bed. When I slide beneath the covers. It buzzes in my brain for hours, until it’s all I’m thinking about, those last minutes between Josephine and William on the sinking ship.
Our final moments, our regrets. I imagine what my thoughts would be if they were the last I’d ever have. What I’d want to leave behind. Whose hand I’d want reaching out for mine.
Then I exhale. And I know what I need to do.
But first, I have to pack.
52
IT’S QUITE LATE WHEN THE BLACK CAB PULLS UP TO THE AIRPORTterminal drop-off. I’ve nearly drawn blood from the imprints of my nails in my palms during the ride here. The moment the car comes to a stop, I jump out with my suitcase and dart through the automatic sliding glass doors.
Before I left the house, I texted to say I had something important to tell him.
He agreed to wait for me.
Now, every minute that’s passed feels like an infinite opportunity for him to change his mind.
Overhead signs point the way toward the security checkpoint as I jog the waxed concourse, navigating an obstacle course of small children and stalled tourists. Black-suited businessmen and women swinging oversize purses. I’m surprised by the number of energetic travelers I encounter at this hour.
A voice in my head taunts my every hurried step. What if he doesn’t want me to come with him anymore? What if he decided I wasn’t worth the effort? Concluded that he can do way better than some nerdy American with a smart mouth?
But I tamp that shit down. I remind myself that if it’s real, it doesn’t matter how we got here. Only that we did.
As I approach security, I scan the crowd for his face. With everysecond that ticks by, the claw of fear and anxiety tightens its grip around my throat.
Until I spot him by the planter.
Jack’s eyes lock with mine, and a guarded smile spreads across his lips.
