Page 21

Claire

Now

I had never planned to sleep with Josh.

He wasn’t even on my radar during the program.

I was so all consumed with Declan that I couldn’t fathom being attracted to anyone else.

And if I was being honest with myself, Josh was entirely out of my league.

Much better suited for someone like Phoebe or Adrien. Someone beautiful and self-assured.

Like the rest of the group, Josh and I mostly lost touch after the program ended, aside from the group message chain. Until one night in Chicago a few years ago.

It was an after-work happy hour, one of the only times my coworkers succeeded at getting me to come out.

The other receptionists at the medical insurance company were all around five years younger than me, most of them using the job to pay their way through college.

It was Christmastime, the anniversary of the day Phoebe went missing was quickly approaching, and I knew the only thing that awaited me back in my apartment was guilt and another sleepless night replaying the memories in my head.

I was ordering at the bar, tacky Christmas lights twinkling above my head, when I spotted him, decked out in a slim-fitting suit that showed off his toned physique and expensive-looking haircut. As soon as he recognized me, he sprinted over and wrapped me in a big hug.

I could hear my coworkers tittering off to the side, probably wondering why such a good-looking guy was interested in me, the office hermit.

He explained that his architectural firm in San Francisco had transferred him to the Chicago office, and I deftly avoided his questions of what I’d been up to in the years since the program.

Instead, we fell into reliving the memories—the good ones, only—of our time in Australia, the scenes overlaid with a nostalgic sheen.

And for the first time in years, I felt like the person I was before that night.

As we ordered more rounds of margaritas, the alcohol and attention warming my cheeks, I realized that Josh made me feel seen, important.

Something that no man had ever done aside from Declan.

That night, we stumbled back to my apartment, falling into bed together.

And it kept happening, even beyond when I knew it shouldn’t.

Neither of us was interested in a long-term relationship.

Too much baggage, too much history unspoken.

We were friends, first and foremost, who just happened to be attracted to each other.

I should have ended it when it first started, and I promised myself I would every time after.

It wasn’t fair to Josh, since I didn’t have feelings for him.

And somewhere deeper, I also recognized it wasn’t fair to me.

This friends-with-benefits thing with Josh could theoretically stop me from meeting someone I really connected with.

Someone like Declan , my mind screamed at me.

But I knew the chances of that were slim, as I rarely left the apartment aside from work and the weekly grocery shop.

But even without that emotional connection, it just felt so good to be with someone who knew me in the before. It made me feel like I was that person again, the twenty-year old, straddling youth and adulthood, with a life of possibilities spread out before her. One she hadn’t yet ruined.

But did I really know him?

Aside from that first night, our encounters usually didn’t involve all that much talking, certainly not about our lives since the program.

Which was more than fine with me, as I wasn’t aching to disclose how I had wasted the last ten years in a haze of grief and regret.

Josh had told me a little about his upbringing as an only child raised by parents who were more interested in their work than their son.

One night, when he came to my apartment directly from some office party, his breath reeking of whiskey, he became emotional talking about a friend from high school, someone who was like a brother to him, who died unexpectedly in a car accident.

But he seemed embarrassed the next time we met, and we never talked about his childhood again.

There’s nothing I can think of that would explain why he would have lied about talking to the police. Or why he would have come all the way back to Australia and not agreed to the AFP interview. I’m still lost in thought when I hear a throat clearing behind me.

When I turn, Declan is standing inside the door to the Inn’s lobby.

“We were thinking about walking downtown, if you want to join,” he says, his hands awkwardly in his pockets.

I hate it, the effect he still has on me.

I feel my breath catch as I remember that night in Cairns, after the group had come back from skydiving.

We’d traipsed to a local bar, the alcohol flowing freely as it always did.

Everyone was happy, adrenaline still coursing through them—except for Phoebe, of course, who was still reeling from seeing Adrien and Kyan get together.

The night was muggy, humidity cloaking the street like a blanket, but Declan asked me to wait outside as the others filed into the air-conditioned bar.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do,” he said. And then it happened, what I had spent weeks aching for. His hands were on my cheeks, his lips on mine, the scent of his sandalwood cologne dizzying. And everything finally felt right.

When we separated, he kept his eyes on mine. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he whispered.

My response got stuck in my throat then, buried under the weight of affection. But we both knew what I wanted to say. Me too.

***

We meet back in the Inn’s lobby an hour later. Kyan’s back to his calm, charismatic self, and there’s no evidence of the earlier incident other than an open chair behind the front desk. Randy is clearly making himself sparse.

When we step outside, the air is dense and arid, and much hotter than earlier this morning. It feels like something’s stirring. The flies seem to feel the same, buzzing erratically around us. I try to force the wildfire warning from earlier from my mind.

We walk in the direction of the clock tower, the center of town.

The full main street is about a mile in length, and back when we were first here, about a quarter of that was taken up with shops, restaurants, and businesses.

Now, it’s far less. By the time we reach the clock tower, our conversation dominated by the weird events of the morning, I can count on one hand the number of buildings we’ve seen in use.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Ellery says. Her tone is sarcastic, with a hint of our shared disappointment.

“Is it too early for a drink?” Kyan proposes.

“Randy certainly didn’t think so,” Josh quips, prompting a few laughs.

“And he is an ideal role model if I ever saw one,” Ellery joins in. “It looked like there was a small café open a few buildings back. Should we try that?”

We all agree, heading back to the squat building we passed moments before.

It’s clear as soon as we take in the smeared display cases housing stale-looking pastries that we’re out of luck in the drinks department, but we take a seat anyway, grateful for a break from the heat, assuming this is the only establishment that serves lunch in this town.

We order bland sandwiches and coffee from an unimpressed waiter who does little more than grunt in our direction.

“If you had told twenty-year old me that I’d come back to this place willingly, I would have said you were full of shit,” Josh says, a small smile playing on his face.

“We really hated it here,” Declan says with a laugh.

“Phoebe more than any of us,” I say. My voice cracks on her name, and I try to cover it by taking a sip of my coffee, which tastes just a touch sour. They all laugh, and I try to join in, but the irony isn’t lost on me. Phoebe is the one who’s been stuck here the last ten years.

My eyes land on Josh from across the table. Other than a grimace after drinking from his coffee mug, he looks perfectly relaxed.

“So,” Adrien says, “I spent some time looking up ways to get back to Sydney today, and I found a regional airport that’s just under ten hours away by car.

They haven’t cancelled flights yet, and it looks like there’s one tomorrow late afternoon.

I say we leave super early tomorrow morning and head there. ”

Tomorrow morning. Something curdles in my gut. I need more time than that to figure out how Nick is involved in Phoebe’s death. And there’s something pulling at me here in Jagged Rock, as if the answer is right in front of me.

I consider trying to come up with a reason for us to stay longer, but I know it’s useless.

No one wants to be here any longer than necessary.

In their minds, we’ve already confronted Nick Gould, that was all we owed Phoebe.

And any attempt to prolong our trip is only going to raise suspicion, which I can’t afford.

I need to make the most of the time I have left here in Jagged Rock to dig up whatever information I can.

“I’m actually not that hungry,” I announce, pushing away my barely touched sandwich. “I’m feeling a bit…off. I’m going to head back to the Inn.”

“Feel better,” Josh says with a smile. “We’ll see you in a bit.”

I catch Declan throw him a sharp glance before I leave.

Back outside, the air hanging heavy around me, I start walking back in the direction we came, formulating a rough plan.

I’ll start by talking to the locals, asking about Nick Gould, about the night Phoebe went missing.

Maybe I can find something the AFP missed.

I’m so lost in my plan that I barely register the sound of an engine sputtering behind me, the crunch of tires on the pavement.

A car pulls up alongside me. A “ute,” the locals call it, basically a squashed-down version of a truck. I keep walking, looking straight ahead, avoiding awkward eye contact with the driver.

I wait for it to continue past me, but it continues to roll, matching my speed. And slowly, the passenger side window begins to roll down.

Something doesn’t feel right. Who would be stopping to talk to me all the way out here? I twist my head to take in both sides of the street. It’s completely empty. Only a few cars passed us the entire time we were walking this morning.

I look back at the café and realize how far I’ve gone in a short time. Too far for the others to hear me if I yell.

The car’s window descends slowly, until I can make out the top of the driver’s head.

Red. A color so distinct it can only belong to one person.

Nick Gould.

I start to run.