Mari woke at first light, nearly ten hours after she’d gone to bed. She couldn’t believe how hard jet lag had hit her half a week into her time in England, though Carson had warned her that it was normal for her body clock to swing back and forth as it settled into a new time zone. Her multi-hour stroll around the island, followed by paddle boarding, must have kicked her exhaustion into overdrive. Not to mention her concern on Owen’s behalf while she waited to hear how his talk had gone with his grandmother. She’d been so relieved to get his text confirmation that all was well.
The thing was, even as she’d told Owen that coming clean with his grandmother would surely lift the weight from his shoulders, she’d recognized her own hypocrisy. All these years, Mari had deliberately kept her secret fascination with Elderflower Island from her parents. Now that she was here, and it was even more wonderful than she’d anticipated, she knew she couldn’t keep it secret for much longer.
And as she stood at the bedroom window looking out at the still deserted street below, she could no longer deny the truth: She never should have kept her dreams a secret. Choosing to play it safe by keeping her true desires quiet for so long was only going to make things worse now. Her mother would surely feel blindsided by the news that Mari was seriously considering turning her dreams of living in England into reality.
The easier choice would be to continue telling herself that she wanted to have all the answers before she sat Donna down for a big, potentially life-changing conversation. It was what she’d said to her mom on the phone, after all, that she needed time to think things through. But Mari knew that was just more of the same avoidance she’d been practicing her whole life. She’d vowed not to do it again. And she’d meant it.
She walked barefoot out of the flat and into the store to let out Mars. Then she went back upstairs, flicked on the kettle, and brought her laptop over to the kitchen table. Her mother would be asleep in California, but if Mari sent an email now, it would be waiting in Donna’s inbox when she woke up.
Mari logged into her email, opened a new message window, and didn’t let herself overthink as she typed:
Mom,
Hello from Elderflower Island! I know I said I needed some time to think, but I really do want to speak with you about things as soon as you get this email. Life in England has been an adventure so far. I got a chance to explore the island a bit yesterday. I even went out on a paddle board on the Thames with some new friends!
I’m looking forward to filling you in on all the exciting developments. I’ll look forward to getting your call.
Love,
Mari
She hit send before she could change her mind, given that it was unlikely her mother would be pleased to hear of the exciting developments in Mari’s life since arriving in London.
Before she closed her computer, she wrote one more email.
Carson,
I’d say I hope you’re not working too hard, but I know you are. One day soon, I’d love for you to come to Elderflower Island for some rest and relaxation. You’d love walking the trails and rowing the river. And, of course, you’d have a fantastic flat to stay in while you’re here.
If you’re wondering if you read that paragraph right, you have. Despite some less than great news about Charlie’s finances, I’m seriously considering trying to make bookstore ownership work. I don’t know yet if the numbers will add up so that I can actually pull it off, but I can’t help wanting to try. You’re probably laughing as you read this, because you always knew what I wanted, didn’t you?
Big hugs from London,
Mari
After sending the email, she closed her laptop, then made a pot of tea and spread lemon curd over a scone. From the kitchen table, she could see the river coming to life outside the window. Though the sun had risen only fifteen minutes earlier, there were already a good half-dozen people on the water in sculls and kayaks. The street was still mostly empty, but there were people biking and running along the riverfront path in Twickenham and St. Margarets. The birds were also out in full force, flying from tree to tree, periodically diving down to capture worms from the shoreline.
She could never look at this view and take it for granted. The coast of California was stunning, but it had never moved her the way this quintessentially British setting did.
All the more reason to solve the issue of more unexpected bills. She could cover them with her personal savings, but as an accountant, she knew keeping that money as a cushion would be better. Perhaps Charlie had a stash of money she hadn’t yet found?
If there was any chance of that, she needed to go through the rest of Charlie’s things.
Yes, she still had to clean up the rest of the bookstore. But that could wait a little longer while she looked inside the antique chest in the corner of the living room and the boxes in the back of his closet.
Purposefully, she walked into the living room and moved the hand-thrown bowl from the top of the old wooden chest. It was such an imposing piece of furniture that she would have instinctively used it to store things that were important to her. But the last thing she expected to see upon opening the heavy lid was a stash of file folders. It was the strangest filing cabinet she’d ever come across.
Somehow, though, this fit the Charlie she was coming to know to a T.
Pulling out the dozen folders, she thumbed through the papers inside. The good news was that they contained local and national company licenses, which would certainly be helpful to have on hand. Unfortunately, there was no buried treasure beyond that. Certainly no stash of cash to pay off his bills.
Okay, then, she’d have to look in the beaten-up boxes in the back of his closet. Though it seemed an unoriginal hiding place, it still couldn’t be overlooked.
Despite having already spent an evening with Owen clearing Charlie’s things, it wasn’t easy to go back into his room. Though she had only faint memories of her father, the scent of his cologne from the bottle on his dresser—a brand she now knew was called Green Irish Tweed—was one that immediately made her think of him.
Mari pulled the two cardboard boxes out of the closet and set them on the bed. Lifting the cover of one, she was surprised to find several smaller boxes inside.
What had she just discovered?
Carefully, Mari opened the biggest box. Inside was a porcelain doll, wearing a pretty outfit complete with hat, gloves, and shoes, almost exactly like the one she’d gotten for her fourth birthday.
In another box was UNO, one of her favorite card games. She’d started playing it when she was five.
The next box held Twister, which she and Carson had played endlessly when she was six.
One after the other, she laid the contents of the boxes on top of the bed. Each item was exactly what she would have wanted for her seventh birthday, or her tenth, or her thirteenth, or her eighteenth. All the way down to the final gift: a signed copy of one of her favorite stories, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.
Her father hadn’t seen her since she was three…and yet, from all these birthday presents that he’d never sent her, he’d still known her so well.
Grief at all the time they’d lost—not only the birthdays they hadn’t celebrated together, but also the normal, day-to-day moments—warred with another bloom of hope inside her chest.
Yesterday’s bills had been a blow. But though nothing inside these boxes would help pay them, they were exactly what she’d needed to find to give her another much-needed boost.
She still didn’t understand why he’d stayed away, but at least she was beginning to see a path to forgiveness.
* * *
After making her big discoveries, Mari decided to take a little breather by burying her head in the History section in the bookstore. The hours flew by as she transformed it into an enticing area for history buffs to browse for hours on end.
It wasn’t until her stomach let out a massive grumble that she realized it was two hours past noon. She should really find something to eat soon, perhaps even popping into the pub across the street. But just as she was about to head up to the flat to grab her purse, she noticed that a side table with a red wool throw over it was actually a small file cabinet. She had overlooked it several times already. Only the fact that the throw was slightly askew and showing a full metal base had made her wonder what kind of table could be beneath the cloth.
Mari had given up hope of finding a filing cabinet anywhere in her father’s place of business. On the one hand, she could appreciate all he’d managed to accomplish with his easygoing business management style. Not only was the store clearly well respected and well loved, it had also been in business for twenty-five years. On the other hand, one of the reasons Mari enjoyed her work at her stepfather’s accounting firm was because she was innately organized. She loved lists—making them, and checking things off them. She also appreciated order. Making a plan could be nearly as much fun as executing it. Tonight, once she’d exhausted her search of the store and flat, she would sit down and start making a point-by-point business, marketing and promotion plan to reopen the store.
It hadn’t escaped her that the only people to come by since she’d arrived had been Owen, Alice, and the mail carrier—there was not a customer in sight. Once she’d paid off the bills and assessed her finances, she would list each and every thing she could do to get the word out that the bookstore was open for business, with word-of-mouth, social media sharing, and other inexpensive marketing methods at the top of her list.
The wool throw was dusty, and she sneezed as she took it off. She carried it out the back door to a narrow cobblestone alley and snapped the blanket in the air several times to shake off the dust.
A few fluffy clouds moved slowly overhead in the bright blue sky. Birds sang as they flew between treetops. And yet, when she breathed in deep, she could smell a hint of coming rain. Everyone in Southern California believed they had the best weather, that blindingly bright sun was all it took to be happy—but Mari would take London weather any day of the week. True, she hadn’t experienced a rainstorm or impenetrable fog yet, but she had a feeling she was going to enjoy them both.
When she was satisfied that the throw was dust-free, she folded it up and went back inside. With the blanket on a nearby chair, she opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet. But instead of holding files, it was stuffed full of black hardcover notebooks. The kind artists drew in.
Curious, Mari lifted one out and opened it.
On the first page was a drawing of a little girl holding hands with her father. They were walking in a grove of chestnut trees. At the top of the page, in dark lettering, were the words Playing Conkers with Mars.
Even if she hadn’t seen her nickname, she couldn’t deny that the little girl looked remarkably like her as a young child. And the man had to be Charlie.
Mari’s hands shook as she turned the page and realized the drawing on the first page had been intended as book cover art. Within the journal was a beautifully illustrated and written children’s story about a man and his daughter collecting conkers to play a game together.
She’d been looking for buried treasure.
What she’d found was beyond her wildest imagination.
She was only halfway through the first journal—how many stories had Charlie written, and were they all about the two of them?—when her phone buzzed. Still stunned beyond belief by what she’d just read, she pulled it out of her pocket on autopilot.
Her mother’s name and face were on the screen. Even though Mari had emailed to ask Donna to call as soon as she woke up, Mari knew she couldn’t talk to her now. Hours ago, when she’d been sitting at her laptop sending the note, she hadn’t known the truth of just how deep Charlie’s love for her had gone. Now that she did, how could she possibly have a rational conversation with her mother when she hadn’t yet processed this latest revelation herself?
A knock at the front door gave Mari the excuse she needed to put the phone back in her pocket without answering it. And when she got close enough to the door to see through the window, though she had never met the person standing outside, she recognized her immediately.
Mathilda Westcott.
Mari’s heart beat even faster as she unlocked the door. “Hello.” She felt her lips wobble as she tried to smile at Owen’s grandmother. The other woman hadn’t yet had a chance to speak when Mari held up the book. Mathilda was one of the only people who might understand just how big a deal this was, given what Owen had said about how close Charlie and Mathilda had been. “I found this. Charlie wrote a children’s book. About the two of us. There is a whole stack of these stories.”
Mathilda came in and closed the door behind her. “May I see it?”
Mari handed her the notebook. The older woman’s hands were far steadier than hers as she opened it carefully.
Mathilda had read only a few pages when she closed the cover, gave it back to Mari, and opened her arms wide. Mari didn’t think twice before walking into them.
“My darling Marina.” Owen’s grandmother held on tight and didn’t let go for a long while.
Not that Mari wanted to pull away. She desperately needed someone to talk to about Charlie’s journals—but more than that, it was as though Mathilda Westcott had known this and magically appeared right when Mari needed her most.
Almost as though Charlie had sent her himself…
“Why don’t you come back to the cottage with me? I’ll text Owen and ask him to have a pot of tea waiting for us. And then when you’re ready, we can finally get to know one another.”
Mari couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do right now than drink a cup of steaming tea in a cozy cottage with Owen and Mathilda as she tried to make sense of the way everything in her life had turned upside down since arriving on Elderflower Island.