ALLISON SLID OUT OF BED at six the next morning, pulled on a sky-blue tank top, running shorts, socks, shoes, and a light jacket. Eight miles on the schedule today—after she reached the trailhead, which was 1.7 miles away from her home. No problem. At least physically. Felt like she could do eighteen. But emotionally she was closer to being able to do half a mile. Still, she had to rid her body of the stress of the day before, and the days before that, and try to forget about this weird journal thing for a few hours.
There had been an address. There was no doubt in her mind, and she was far too young to be losing it. Alister Morrison had been there, written in thick black pen along with an address in Preston. Those words were written at the top. She could still picture it in her mind! But when her mom had handed Allison the journal, the words and numbers simply were not there. Impossible. There had to be a reason. Not invisible ink. Maybe it was another kind of ink she didn’t know about that only appeared with heat. But that made no sense. She hadn’t applied any heat in the car yesterday when she saw the name. And why would it be hidden anyway? What was the point of writing your name and address in a journal if no one could read it?
She shook the thoughts from her mind and took off down the street. Allison reached the trail at the base of Tiger Mountain and stopped to stare at the clouds. Heavy with rain but no drops falling. Yet. Allison cinched the hood of her jacket a hair tighter and launched herself onto the trail. The dirt was soft from yesterday’s deluge, but manageable. It would probably mean nine-minute miles instead of seven, but the workout would be just as grueling. No one was on the trail at this time of the morning. On occasion Allison would meet another runner slaloming through the fir trees this early, breathing the crisp morning air, but rarely till the weather grew warmer.
Forty-five minutes later she reached the top of the trail where acres of trees had been cleared for radio towers. She slowed and strolled over to the lookout spot on the north side of the mountain, which gave a 240-degree view. To her west: the rolling forested hills of Issaquah and then Bellevue. To the east: Mount Si and North Bend. She already felt far better than she had upon waking that morning. As if on cue, the sun struck through the clouds in a few places, promising her spring—and hope—was coming.
For the next ten minutes she closed her eyes and didn’t let herself think about her job, her mom, Kayla, the money—nothing except that at this moment she was free of all of it. And then, as if with the flick of a light switch, an image of the journal popped into her mind. With a tiny shake of her head, she opened her eyes. She blinked against the sun, which had taken over at least half of the sky, and sighed.
What was that? Movement in her peripheral vision to her left. She turned and spotted a man seventy-five or so yards away, gazing west toward the Bellevue skyline. His height, his hair, his frame. All familiar to her. Did she know him?
She took a dozen steps closer. Was it him? Yes, no question. Richard. The man who’d been with Alister Morrison that day in the coffee shop. Oh my gosh. Answers. She clipped toward him, but after she’d taken only a few steps, he turned slowly away from her, stretched quickly, then started to jog back down the trail.
“Excuse me!” She picked up her pace.
He didn’t turn, and his jog turned into a run.
“Hey!” Allison called louder as she broke into a run of her own. “Hello!”
The man was already around a corner in the trail, the trees hiding him from sight. By the time Allison rounded the corner, he was gone. No, wait. There he was, at least a hundred yards in front of her. She pushed herself into a full sprint as he disappeared around the next switchback. No doubt she could catch him. She’d slowed since her days on the track in high school and college, but not that much.
But by the time she reached another straightaway, the man was easily 150 yards out. Allison’s sprint faded to a jog, to a brisk walk, to standing still. No chance of catching him, which surprised her. She was no slouch when it came to running. The guy appeared to be in decent shape, sure, but pushing his midfifties. Probably an ex-athlete competing in masters competitions.
The sound of her heart pounded in her ears as she leaned forward, hands resting on knees. Hadn’t he heard her? Seemed unlikely, but why would he ignore her if he had?
When she pushed through her front door an hour later, the smell of muffins filled the kitchen. Allison found her mom curled up on the brown leather chair in the den.
“Did you have a good run, Al?”
“I did.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Her mom tilted her head and gave that funny little smile that Allison loved and hated at the same time.
“How do you know there’s something wrong?”
“Because—”
“You’re my mother. I know. You can tell something’s wrong even when my back is turned.”
“Yes. It’s a superpower most moms have.” Her mom sighed. “But it also comes at the price of worrying about your kids too much.”
“I don’t always like your superpower.”
“Too bad.” Her mom wiggled her fingers. “Speak.”
“Let me get some tea first.”
“Hurry.”
Allison turned and rolled her eyes as she walked out of the room.
“I saw that!”
Her mom laughed and Allison smiled. Maybe her mom really could see around corners.
She heated a cup of water in the microwave as she pulled a tea bag from the pantry. This conversation called for strawberry-pomegranate herbal tea, because she had few doubts her mom would want to hear every single detail about her encounter—or nonencounter—up on the mountain. At the moment Allison would prefer to give only headlines.
The microwave dinged. She brought out the cup and placed her tea bag on top and watched it sink into the near boiling water. She drew in the smell of the tea and closed her eyes. Perfect.
As she settled into the other chair in the den, her mom clapped her knees. “Now tell me.”
“In the coffee shop, the first time I saw the journal, there was a man there with Alister. A guy named Richard.” Allison paused. “I saw him on the mountain today. At the top. No question it was him. But when I called to him, he ran off.”
“Ran off?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know he heard you?”
“I don’t.”
Her mom rubbed her upper lip. “Then how can you say he ran off when he heard you?”
“I didn’t say that. I—”
“Yes, you did. You just said it.”
Allison took a long sip of her tea. “I’m guessing that’s what happened. It seemed that way.”
“You’re sure it was the same man who was in the coffee shop?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Mom, how would I—”
“I don’t mean that.” Her mom waved her hands as if to excuse the comment. “I mean, what do you think he has to do with the journal?”
Another long sip. “I don’t know.”
“Tell you what, sweetie.” Her mom leaned forward in her chair. “Go get your journal. I think it’s a sign, seeing this Richard character.”
“My journal?”
“Yes. The new one.”
“Mom, stop. It’s not mine.”
“Go get it.”
Allison squeezed her lips together. “Mom?”
“And bring it back here.”
“Mom, I—”
“I’ll wait right here till you get back.”
“All right, Mom.”
Her mom nodded as if giving Allison permission to leave. Allison set her cup on the cherrywood stand next to her chair and rose. She grimaced at her mom and strode from the room. She’d set the journal on the coffee table and it was still there, but not exactly in the spot she’d left it. Her mom had moved it. Looked at it. Not a surprise. The journal was captivating.
When she came back into the den, her mom’s head was down.
“Okay, Mom. Now what?”
“I think you need to start writing in it.”
“I told you, it’s not my journal.”
“I know what you told me.” Her mom leaned forward in her chair, and her face turned to stone. “But you should. I feel it deep inside.”
They locked eyes. The gentle countenance Allison had known all her life had vanished. Her mom’s eyes were full of grit.
“Open it.”
“Why?”
Her mom nodded toward the journal.
Allison slowly undid the leather cord that wrapped the journal and let it fall to the side. Then she lifted the cover and fixed her eyes on the first page. Once again there was writing at the top. A name. And an address.
Her name. And her address.