Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“I know it was here,” I said. “I know it was.”
“We’ll find it.” Lars rubbed my back. “It’s got to be somewhere, Princess.”
I nodded. “You promise you didn’t decide to get rid of it without me? I wouldn’t be angry. Well...maybe a little. But I need to know.”
“I promise.”
“Okay. Let’s check out the dining and living rooms. Just in case.”
We searched the house for over three hours. Cheese and crackers fueled us through the first half of the hunt. While a sushi delivery provided sustenance for the latter. And all the while, Kat sat on the front door mat watching us with her all-knowing feline eyes.
I couldn’t just let it go. The divorce certificate had been a black cloud hanging over our heads for what felt like forever. It had to be in the house somewhere. It couldn’t just disappear. Surely. Maybe one of us sleepwalked and hid it somewhere. Or we’d unknowingly been under the influence of a hallucinogenic and... I don’t know. We rifled through cupboards and checked coat pockets. We examined my office and the kitchen and...nothing. Not a damn thing. Even my purse got upended and inspected.
“It’s just gone,” I said finally, slumped on the sofa. “How is that possible?”
Lars grunted beside me.
“You’re admitting defeat?” asked Tore.
He sat on the ground with Cleo’s feet in his lap. His thumbs dug into the soles of her feet. I could use a foot rub. The lifting and moving and searching had worn us all out. We’d even checked the attic. Despite there being little chance of it somehow having made its way up there. There were no new footprints in the dust since the last time Lars visited the space months ago. Back when the divorce certificate made its first appearance. Back when this all began.
“We’ve looked everywhere,” said Cleo.
“I just wish I knew what happened.” I sighed. “If someone broke in, why only steal that? It makes no sense. My purse and cell and laptop are all still here.”
“That thing has never made sense,” said Lars.
Cleo sighed too. “No one has benefited from you two seeing that certificate.”
“No one but them,” added Tore.
“True,” Cleo said, and nodded. “They mightn’t have gotten together without it.”
Kat the cat sauntered over and jumped onto Lars. Curling up in a ball and promptly falling asleep. She was a female who appreciated a good nap. And who could blame her? I would sleep well after all this too. Once we cleared off the bed and put on fresh sheets.
“I don’t know,” said Lars. “I can’t explain it. That thing has always messed with my head.”
“Seems it disappeared as mysteriously as it appeared,” said Cleo. “What do you think Miss Lillian would say?”
“Hmm.” I pondered the question. “Perhaps that its message had been received.”
“Like destiny decided it was no longer needed?” asked Cleo.
I nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“You fixed fate, huh?” Tore mulled it over. “Makes as much sense as anything. You two have sorted out a lot of shit...”
Lars’s gaze changed from determined to bewildered, and back again, over the course of the night. But bewildered won in the end. He picked up my hand and kissed my knuckles. “If you want to keep looking, then that’s what we’ll do. It’s up to you. What do you say, Princess?”
I rested my head on the back of the couch and stared into his eyes. He was the future I wanted. Right there beside me. And I trusted in us far more than I trusted in some cryptic piece of paper. “I say we let it go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said with a smile. “That’s good enough for me.”
Epilogue
Ten Years Later
December 4
“Mama,” hollered Ingrid. “I’m hungry. Can you give me some cheese?”
“Your child is part mouse. Are you aware of this?” I asked my husband. To our seven-year-old daughter I replied, “I didn’t hear a please.”
“Puh-lease.”
“And you’re eating an apple with it.”
She groaned and made gagging noises—as you do when you’re a small child being threatened with fruit.
“I’ll get it.” Lars smiled and paused the Seahawks game. “Ingrid, your mother and I would like to know if you’re a mouse? What do you think?”
“She does live in the attic,” I said. “It’s a fair question.”
Ingrid giggled and squeaked.
“What do you think? Is your sister part rodent or just overly fascinated with aged dairy products?” I asked the small boy child attached to my left boob. “Look who I’m talking to, your whole life revolves around milk.”
As soon as news of the baby reached our eldest child’s ears, she started her campaign to relocate to the attic. The nursery took over the second bedroom and my office was now a corner of our bedroom.
The truth was, our family had outgrown this house. While Lars hadn’t said a thing, I knew he was waiting for me to broach the subject—and I kept avoiding it. Leaving Aunt Susan’s place was going to hurt. It had been my home for a long time, but we didn’t necessarily have to move far.