Page 14

Harper

Still six days to go, and we are definitely NOT a package deal

“For two people who aren’t working together, you sure keep arriving as a packaged deal,” Waylon said, rubbing the top of his bald head.

“Yeah, well, she’s quite insistent,” Eve said.

I was mid-scowl when Ember returned with a cup of coffee for Waylon.

“Whatever you say.” He knocked a packet of sugar into his mug. “I’m just glad you agreed to see me again, Miss Hendrix. I, uh…didn’t feel right after you left the other night. Eve can probably tell you that it’s hard to trust in the treasure-hunting business.”

“There are incredibly high financial and personal stakes involved,” I said. “Your hesitation to speak on the matter is understandable.”

“Some of us are more hesitant than others,” he grumbled.

“But that’s beside the point. Listen…what you said about Priscilla falling in love with someone she wasn’t supposed to…

It got me thinking. About this nagging feelin’ I always had.

It never made much sense to me, her running away like that, knowing the diamonds made her such an easy target. ”

Waylon reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, placing a creased photo onto the table.

It was clearly taken on his wedding day.

He looked especially boyish in a suit with a disheveled tie.

The person next to him, also in a suit, was a shorter Black man with a wide smile and a salt-and-pepper beard.

There was a corresponding twinge in my belly at the sight of this. A sensation I associated with ideas that were earthy and magical. A sensation I’d been feeling ever since I’d arrived here in New Mexico.

“This is my sweet husband, Ned. We were married five years ago, but we’ve been together for twenty. He’s…” Waylon cleared his throat. “He’s everything to me.”

Picking up the picture, I swiped my thumb between their matching euphoric expressions. “He’s a real dreamboat, isn’t he?”

“Always has been,” he said with a smile.

Then he handed me a second photo, this one much older, forcing Eve to squeeze in close to peek over my shoulder.

I squinted at the blurry image: two white men stood stiffly next to one another in dark vests, a tie, and large-brimmed hats. They were unsmiling, faces stoic.

“Who is this?” Eve asked.

“Harry Boyle, my uncle. The man who had Priscilla’s locket hidden in his attic,” Waylon said.

“This is from a newspaper article in 1903. Behind him is the general store. The man standing next to him is his business partner, Eugene. Per all that genealogy research my mom paid for, Harry and Eugene owned the shop together. Harry lived in the attic apartment until he died.”

Waylon rubbed the top of his head again. “And, uh…Eugene also lived there with him.”

Beneath the table, Eve nudged my knee with her own.

I brought the picture close, considered the respectable space between their bodies. It was about as opposite from Ned and Waylon’s wedding picture as physically possible.

A feeling of pure tenderness gripped my throat. Was this how they disguised their romantic relationship? Business partners rooming together out of practicality and not love?

“I always felt a strong connection to Harry,” Waylon continued.

“It sounds weird, I know. He’s a distant relative at best. Been dead for over a century.

But he’s stayed part of our family lore ’cause of him owning that store in Haven’s Bluff.

Growing up, I always heard people describe him as a bit funny. ”

My eyes flew to Waylon’s.

“You know,” he said. “Different. Strange.”

“Deviant?” Eve asked gently.

His eyes crinkled at the sides. “One of those permanent bachelor types.”

Eve gave a lazy smile. “Hendrix and I are a couple of permanent bachelor types ourselves.”

His shoulders relaxed down an inch. “Always relieved to know that I’m among friends.” He reached out, carefully took the picture of Harry and Eugene back. “I just hope they were happy. As happy as they could be at the time.”

My throat still ached, crowded with bittersweet emotion. It was the contrast between the abundant joy in that wedding picture—and the howling misery I felt when I looked at Harry and Eugene. Because we had no way of truly knowing if their love stayed protected, if their safety remained intact.

“I was tellin’ the truth before,” Waylon said. “I really don’t know how he came to have that locket. But I couldn’t stop thinking about your theory, Harper. That he and Priscilla knew each other, that he helped her escape. How they would have known each other, though, is beyond me.”

“ If Harry was involved in her escape, maybe the locket wasn’t stolen at all,” I said, my mouth bunched to the side. “Maybe it was a gift.”

Eve made a soft sound of protest. “Why did you pawn the locket? Why not keep it, search for the diamonds yourself?”

The smile Waylon offered us was almost sheepish.

“It felt wrong to me, messing around with a story that was probably a tragedy. Didn’t want that kind of energy in my life.

I kinda assumed that Priscilla was killed in the end, either by her husband or some vigilantes.

But if you’re right, and she and Harry helped each other, well…

that would be one hell of a story, wouldn’t it? ”

I swallowed hard. “It really would.”

He nodded. “I’ll send you that genealogy report.

It’s pretty dry stuff, but there might be something in there that I missed.

And you’ve got my permission to tell Harry and Eugene’s story, if you want.

Me and Ned haven’t had much trouble out here.

And my parents loved him, lived long enough to celebrate at our wedding. ”

Waylon smiled warmly at the memory. “But it’s not perfect, and a lot of these folks think gay people were invented in the 1980s. Might do ’em some good to learn that we’ve been here all along, yeah?”

That twinge of inspiration inside me blossomed like a field of delicate wildflowers in early spring. I felt the soft brush of these new blooms everywhere, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

There was a story there, demanding to be told.

About Monty and Ruby, Harry and Eugene, Priscilla’s desperate flight out West. Pieces were clearly missing, and I still didn’t know what thread tied them all together, but I couldn’t ignore what was happening inside my body.

A feeling I hadn’t experienced in years —and now that I realized it’d been missing, painted a truly bleak picture of what I’d been writing and reporting on all these years.

But that could change, couldn’t it?

Waylon tossed us a friendly wave from over his shoulder as he left. I twisted at the waist, suddenly full of motivation, only to find myself blocked in the booth by Eve. There was a line between her brows, and she looked uncharacteristically nervous.

“What is it?” I asked. “Because I need to go. This changes—”

“Monty called me yesterday,” she interrupted. “She told me she doesn’t want to speak to you and doesn’t want you coming to find her, either.”

I reared back, stunned. “Monty…called you? You know where she is?”

“I don’t. She won’t tell me. She disappears a lot. On purpose. This is one of those times.”

“But…” My mind raced, catching up to the finality of what she said. “You told her about me? Did you tell her what my intention is? That I’m different from the others?”

Eve traced her thumb along her lower lip. “Are you different?”

My shoulders sagged. I knew I looked visibly deflated but couldn’t find the energy to care. The way I wanted this story defied rational explanation—the promotion, my dad’s boasting, the magical sense I had that this was it somehow.

I wanted it the way a deep-sea diver greets the air after breaching the ocean’s surface: ferociously, hungrily. As if I would die without it.

“I wish you hadn’t done that, Eve,” I said sadly. “I really wish you’d let me be the one to broach the topic with her, because I do care about her and the integrity of this story, whether you believe me or not.”

She gave me a look of pure exasperation. “I’m sorry it’s not gonna work out for you. But I can’t let you spin out on a wild goose chase any longer. She said no, and she told me herself that she’s not hunting the diamonds. It’s over. Just accept it.”

I was already shaking my head, trying to push past her in the booth.

“Hendrix—”

“ Please move,” I said sharply, glaring at her. She held my glare, nostrils flaring, but then reluctantly shifted up and out of the seat. I brushed past her, out the door and into the bright sunlight, and knew without even looking she was right behind me.

“I had to tell you. I saw what Waylon’s story was doing to you,” she was saying.

“Saw it inspire you, and I get it, I do. You know me well enough by now to know how much I relate to what he said. Harry and Eugene…they were their own tiny revolution, and I had no idea. I don’t even think Monty knows this. ”

I whirled around so fast Eve crashed into me. I caught her by the elbows, but she was still talking.

“I’m doing the right thing here,” she protested.

“And I had a lot riding on this, Eve. Professionally and personally,” I snapped. “Save your apologies. You’re not sorry. This is the outcome you wanted from the beginning.”

She crossed her arms. “So what was your professional reward for getting Monty to talk, huh? A bonus? A promotion?”

I dropped my eyes to the sidewalk. “A promotion, a big one. Not that it matters. That’s off the table now.”

“Got it. So you don’t care about my aunt,” she said bitterly.

My gaze jumped back to hers. “It’s possible to hold two conflicting truths at once.

I care deeply about your aunt and what the media has done to her.

And I also have a sister that relies on me, who’s relied on me ever since our mom died and my shitty, famous dad left us to fend for ourselves so he could go be a fake hero.

Wanting stability in my life doesn’t make me a bad person, Eve. ”