The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,11

I’ve been able to find, that’s how the NSA does it. Anyway, I’ve tried. There’s nothing more I can do in regards to his cell phone. And everything Olynyk provided of any real significance was almost a year ago. Yet, I keep paying him.”

“Because you’re hoping he’ll eventually find a thread you can use to unravel the whole mystery.”

Autumn bit her lip. “Yes. But am I letting my attention be diverted when I should be giving it to the kids instead? Am I throwing away money on a dream that will never come to pass? I need to know whether I should be chasing it.”

Mary heard the anguish in her voice. “I wish I could answer that for you. But only you can decide. It’s whatever you can live with, right?”

Autumn adjusted her sunglasses. It was too late in the day for there to be much glare, but she probably felt safer behind them. Mary understood the need to have a buffer of some sort once in a while. “I told Olynyk to continue to search for the rest of the month. Then I’m done. I have to make myself let go, have to stop letting Nick’s disappearance tear our family apart.”

“You’ve done all you could,” Mary said softly. “You’ve worked night and day, investigated every lead, spent a fortune.”

“I have, and yet...is it enough? There’s always more I could do. The items that remain just don’t come with much likelihood of being worth the time, angst or money. And my children deserve to have at least one parent fully present. At this point, to continue searching almost seems—” she wrinkled her nose “—selfish, I guess. That I’ll be indulging my own broken heart and thirst for the truth over what would be best for them.”

Mary studied her daughter. The golden brown of her eyes, hidden behind those sunglasses, as well as her long, dark hair came from her father. But the oval shape to her face, the way her eyes turned up at the outer edges and her prominent cheekbones were Mary’s. So was her thin build. She looked far more delicate than her own children. Taylor and Caden had Autumn’s eye color and the same thick, wavy hair, which Taylor also wore long, but those features were paired with their father’s stubborn jaw and sturdy build. “What would Nick want you to do?”

She folded her arms atop her knees, rested her chin on them and stared glumly off for a while, presumably at the ocean and her children—although it was hard to tell because of the sunglasses. “He’d want me to take care of the kids. He was generous that way.”

“But...” Mary could hear the hesitancy in her voice.

“As soon as I decide that’s the course I should take, I think...what if he’s alive? What if I’m giving up just a few weeks or months too soon? What if I could’ve found him if only I’d kept searching?” She gestured emphatically. “The possibility nearly drives me insane, keeps me chasing my own tail.”

Mary adjusted her dress while taking a moment to decide how best to approach what she wanted to say. “I can’t tell you how he’d feel,” she admitted. “But I can tell you how I’d feel if I were him.”

Autumn looked so tragic and forlorn sitting there on the beach with the wind whipping at her hair. “How’s that?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be sad, lonely or filled with regret. I’d want you to rebound and embrace the life you have, enjoy every moment of it. And I would want you to be available to Taylor and Caden.”

A tear slid from beneath Autumn’s sunglasses. She dashed it away with notable impatience, but then she sniffed and said, “Thanks, Mom. I’m glad we came.”

Mary smiled at the one person who had, once upon a time, been her only reason for living. “So am I.”

3

Is everything okay?

Nick? Are you there? Can you answer me?

I thought for sure you’d check in by now. Are you all right?

Please, babe. I’m going crazy. Answer me.

Seriously? You can’t even let me know that you’re okay?

WTF?????

What do I tell the kids? They’re asking about you, can’t reach you, either.

This can’t be happening!!! Where are you?

Unable to sleep, Autumn sat in the window seat of the dormer that served as the only window in the small studio above her mother’s garage, scrolling through the text messages she’d sent to Nick a year and a half ago. They started out conversational and friendly, quickly turned