Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,52

ones involving Mom, and the times she had stayed rather than dropping me and Ann off. I could remember waking up to use the bathroom, my eyes bleary with sleep, and hearing Nana and Mom arguing in hushed tones. The sound of breaking glass, the slamming of a door. A car driving away.

We heard the same soundtrack at home, only with Dad’s deep voice rather than Nana’s hushed tones. Mom and Dad didn’t try to whisper at home. Those nights, I dragged my sleeping bag into my walk-in closet where the sounds of my parents’ arguments were muffled by my dresses, pants, and coats. There was nowhere to hide at Nana’s cottage if I’d wanted to do so.

As always, those memories of Mom left me feeling heavy and restless. It resurrected the guilt I lived with, the one that never really went away.

I was relieved when my phone rang near lunchtime. My stomach was a vacuous pit and my back ached. Not to mention the lead feeling of my soul. I startled at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes red-rimmed and dull.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Firth, this is Joan from Revia.”

I trailed a hand through my hair, a flurry of emotions tangling in my belly. Atlanta. Working at Revia had always been a long-term goal. It was the dream job, the white whale. I’d never been looking at the same time they’d been hiring. Until now. Last night after Chuck left, I’d started back up with the job search and was shocked to see an opening at Revia. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. That had to be good, right?

“It’s great to hear from you. Especially so soon.”

Joan laughed. “We’re very … motivated. Especially when we find a candidate who is such a good fit. We would love for you to come to Atlanta for an interview.”

The city had excited me the few times I’d driven through. Houston might have been bigger, but it was a slow spread of a city, where Atlanta felt more centralized, fast, and bright.

“I’d love to.”

“How about this week?”

“I’m totally free.”

And a few minutes later, I had set up an interview at my dream firm in a city that excited me. The heavy cloud of dread and memory began to lift, ever so slightly. But not fully. Not enough.

I went back to sorting through the past.

I had just unloaded the last boxes at the local thrift store, Classy and Sassy, when my phone buzzed. I wiped sweat from my upper lip with the back of my hand, expecting a message from Ann. I’d agreed to pick up the girls late this afternoon and take them out for dinner.

Instead of Ann’s number, it was a text from someone not in my contacts.

Unknown: I have some time today. I’d like to meet with you to go over plans.

It wasn’t Emily. Her number had been programmed into my phone the day we met. I also had Jackson’s, plus the Three Terrors. The only person who might want to talk plans might be …

Unknown: This is Alec. In case it wasn’t obvious.

I wasn’t quite prepared for the cocktail of emotions swirling in me as I stared down at my phone. Before yesterday, ninety percent of what I felt for Alec was dislike. The other ten percent was made up of pure physical attraction, which I couldn’t be held responsible for. He was a handsome man, objectively speaking. And when he wasn’t actually speaking.

But after everything that happened yesterday, my feeling shifted to something like forty percent dislike, forty percent confusion, and twenty percent attraction. I preferred the straight-up dislike to the new confusion.

Me: Not sure. I’m watching my nieces.

Alec: Bring them if you have to. I can tolerate children. Assuming they aren’t total monsters and can sit still for at least thirty minutes?

Monsters? This man was a total charmer. I snorted.

Me: They wouldn’t be the monsters in this scenario.

Alec: I never pretended to be anything else. A Bitter Cup. 5:30.

I bit my lip over a smile. My fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before I replied.

After the weirdness of yesterday, I did and did not want to spend more time with Alec. Part of me was curious to see if we would have more of the weird nonverbal communication thing. More than likely, we would be right back to sparring. Yesterday, Alec was still an arrogant jerk, but he also stayed all day to help me. At times, he was mildly pleasant. I could tell that my dad liked