I close my eyes. “I don’t know. . . . What about . . . ?” Why didn’t I meet Collin that day near Miss Higgins Academy instead of Dex? Why wasn’t it Collin who drove up beside me on the sidewalk?
“Penny, he’s with another woman now,” Collin says. It’s the truth, but the words sound harsh and vulgar somehow. “Don’t you see?” His eyes are bright and urgent; they plead with me to understand. “Don’t you see that you deserve so much more?”
Tears spill from my lids, and Collin swoops in to dab them with the handkerchief from his pocket. I’ve longed to hear him say these things, to profess his love to me, the same love I have for him, but now, standing in the face of it, I don’t know how to respond; I don’t know how to behave. The situation calls for a next step, but I’ve forgotten how to walk. I can’t even crawl.
“I’ll give you some time,” he says. “I know it’s a lot to consider. But promise me you will consider it.”
“I will,” I say softly. A drop of water hits my cheek, and at first I think it’s a tear, but then I notice that gray clouds have rolled in overhead.
I hear the streetcar’s bell in the distance. “If we’re fast we can catch the trolley home,” he says.
I didn’t bring an umbrella or even a scarf to cover my hair. “Let’s go,” I say, taking his hand.
We don’t say anything on the ride home. I just look out the window, listening to the clickety-clack of the trolley. I have Collin’s heart in my hands, but it comes at a very high price.
Gene’s outside smoking a cigarette as we walk down the dock. He tips his head at us as we pass, then extinguishes the butt under his foot and kicks it into the lake. “Collin,” he says, “there were two men in suits here looking for you a moment ago.”
Collin’s eyes widen, and Gene regards him curiously. “Anyone you were expecting?” Gene asks.
“No, no,” Collin fumbles. “I, I’ll just go see.” He glances back up to the street as if he’s considering whether to dart back to the trolley. My chest feels tight. I want to place my hand on Collin’s arm and ask him what’s concerning him, but Gene is watching us closely.
“Well,” I say. “Collin was just walking me home.”
Gene nods at us as we make our way down to my houseboat. As we turn to my deck, I steal a glance toward Collin’s houseboat. As far as I can tell, no one’s standing there.
“What was Gene talking about?” I say. “Who would be looking for you?”
Collin shakes his head. “Don’t you worry,” he says, kissing my forehead quickly. “It’s probably nothing.”
But I can tell by the look in his eyes that “nothing” is far from the truth. A dark shadow has fallen over Boat Street, and I shiver as I slip my key into the door.
Chapter 22
ADA
The next day, I decide to sort through the contents of the chest in the living room again. Maybe I’ve missed a clue to Penny’s story. I open the lid and look carefully, which is when I notice a flap on the side of the velvet lining that I didn’t see before. I tuck my hand inside the fabric and pull out a black-and-white photo of a beautiful blond woman. She looks like a Hollywood actress, and then I realize that . . . she is. Signed in the right-hand corner is the name Lana Turner.
How strange. Were the Wentworths friends with Lana Turner? I open up my laptop and do a Google search for “Wentworth” and “Lana Turner,” and I gasp when something comes up. It’s a scanned article from The Hollywood Reporter, dated 1959. “Seattle Artist Paints Iconic Mural in Home of Lana Turner.” I squint at the grainy photograph that accompanies the article and make out the actress in a light-colored dress (or is it a nightgown?) with her arm tucked around Dexter Wentworth.
Poor Penny. She must have been so lonely here, so sad, knowing her husband was having an affair. I remember a black-and-white Lana Turner film I watched while on bed rest during my pregnancy with Ella. James had brought home a stack of old movies and Chinese takeout after work. I’d been on the couch for four months, and my scheduled C-section was only days away. To think that the doctors had encouraged me to abort. My cancer was stable, and the tumor would be removed during a full hysterectomy after Ella’s birth. I turn back to the autographed photo of the glamorous actress. Cancer almost seemed like easier competition than a Hollywood star. Is that why Penny disappeared?
I look up when I hear a knock at my back door. I see Alex on the deck, and I smile, instantly wishing I’d taken the time to freshen up after my paddle that afternoon. “Hi,” I say, opening the door.