He nodded. "She was just telling me she feels that she has never fit in and that she is meant for something more."
The way he turned the conversation placed the ownership of the words into her hands. Though he was the one who asked the questions and guided her to her admissions, he offered the power back to her. He held her up as the one in control. The woman's eyes widened, and she nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course. It is so clear." She took both her hands in hers. "You see, most people are the same. They have their roles, and they live their lives without ever wondering if there's something more. For nearly all of them, there isn't. But there is a very select few, a precious chosen number, who know there's more. It is up to them, up to us, to prepare the way for achieving what is possible."
The door opened again, and an older woman walked in alongside a tall man with streaks of gray through his hair.
“Lucas,” he said, his voice filled with respect for the older man.
Lucas stopped when he saw her.
"It's you," he said.
It took her aback. She looked at the others before looking into the older man's eyes again.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"You. I would know you anywhere. We've been waiting for you, Sister Abigail."
Chapter Seven
Now
I went to the management office with my father one time before leaving Sherwood. He was in the process of buying the house near school and knew we didn't need my grandparents' house anymore. But he wasn't going to get rid of it. I didn't fully understand it at the time. The older I get, the more sense it makes. We were always running when I was young. It felt like something they were doing to me, that somehow I was the reason for it. Now I recognize they were running just as much as I was. It might have been their choice, but that doesn't mean it wasn't hard on them.
Keeping the house rather than just selling it was his way of holding on to something. Sherwood was an anchor for him as well.
Very little has changed since coming here with him. That day he was making arrangements for the company to care for the house and find renters. I waited outside the private office, reading slightly outdated magazines and subtly listening in to the conversations going on around me. I could only hear half of the phone calls, but my mind filled in the rest.
My curiosity and imagination sometimes got me in trouble, but it also kept me entertained. I didn't recognize it in myself then that I was already focusing in on details, drawing out hidden elements of what I observed, and retaining them. It would become invaluable for my career. That afternoon it just introduced me to the surprisingly complex web of Sherwood's romance world. Including one secretary's affair with the wife of one of the owners.
That's the one I was always interested in finding out how it all turned out. Not well is my assumption, but stranger things have happened.
I park in the parking lot that looks essentially the same as it did that afternoon. Not that terribly much can change about a parking lot. The layout and minimalist decor of the office also looks the same. But it immediately strikes me that the space doesn't look worn down or tired, like it needs a refresh. Instead, it looks carefully maintained, consistent, and predictable. There's a subtle underlying message in that. This company is reliable. You can depend on them to take care of your property and never surprise you.
One of the women at the handful of desks taking up the front portion of the building looks up as I walk through the glass door. She smiles.
"Hey, Emma. It's good to see you," she says.
I very highly doubt the sincerity of that statement. I was in two classes with her in high school, and there was a brief rivalry over Sam. At least, she engaged in a brief rivalry. I barely acknowledged she was even around until the rumors got vicious. We moved again only a few weeks later. I'm guessing she's one of the people who pushed my existence out of their minds and barely remembered me until I got back and people started talking.
"Hi, Pamela. I got a message from Derrick yesterday asking me to come in. Is he available?" I ask.
She gestured toward the partially closed office door at the back of the room.
"Should be right in there. Go ahead back. How's it been being back? Everything okay with the house?"
I had taken a step toward the office, but I stop and look back at her.
"The house is fine. Still getting used to a few changes and things, but it's pretty much like I remember," I tell her.
"And you're… feeling better?" she asks.
Her head tilts slightly down, so she peers at me through the tops of her eyes. It's the kind of look someone gives you when you're having a conversation they think is secretive, but is just awkward.
"Feeling better?" I ask.
"Well, yeah," she says, resting her elbows on the desk and leaning a little closer. "I heard you came back here because… well… you know."
Her mouth pulls into a thin line, and her eyes widen briefly. The universal expression for someone who wants to say something but doesn't want to say it. I cock my hip and cross my arms over my stomach.
"Actually, no. I don't know. Why is it I came back here?"
Pamela shifts in her seat. "I just heard that case you did earlier this year really got to you. That it broke you down and maybe you weren't… all yourself anymore. So, you came here to put the pieces back together."
Part of the motivation for the change of venue for Jake Logan's trial was my identity being leaked and the disruption that ensued. It didn't surprise me. It was most likely going to come out eventually anyway. It's the death threats I could do without. The police suggested it gave some explanation for the intruder in my house, but I doubt it. The strange issues started well before my name and picture got attached to Jake's case. But the link obviously did its work in the rumor mill. Pamela is looking at me like she's trying to needle something out of me for book club gossip fodder.
"I came here because the sheriff asked for my help after Alice Brooks, Caleb Donahue, and Eva Francis were kidnapped," I tell her firmly. "Excuse me."
Without giving her a chance to respond, I stalk through the lobby to the office. Derrick Marmion looks up from his desk when I rap lightly on the door.
"Emma, hi," he nods, gesturing at the chair across the desk from him. "Thanks for coming in. Have a seat."
"Hi, Derrick," I say as I lower myself into the chair. "I got your message yesterday. You sounded kind of concerned. Is everything alright with the house?"
"Everything is fine with the house," he reassures me. "At least, as far as I know. Have you had any problems while you've been back?"
"Just a few minor little things. Nothing to be worried about," I tell him.
"If there's something wrong, we'll take care of it. That's why we're here. I can get you in touch with our maintenance team, and they'll schedule an appointment to come—"
I hold up my hand to stop him. "Really. It's fine. But thank you for the offer." Clancy back in Feathered Nest was perfectly nice, but the thought of another maintenance man coming into my house isn't something I'm too keen on right now. "If the house is fine, why did you need me to come up here?"
"Unfortunately, it looks like there's a possibility there might have been an attempted break-in at the storage unit," Derrick says.
My mind sifts through all the ambiguous statements to try to figure out what he's talking about. I shake my head, not coming up with anything.
"Storage unit?" I frown. "What storage unit?"
"Your father didn't tell you about it when he transferred control to you?" he asks.
I shake my head again, swallowing down the emotions that question brings up. The papers transferring ownership of the Sherwood house to me weren't with the other papers I got when my father disappeared. They showed up later, sent by the management company without pomp and circumstance as if it were completely normal for an eighteen-year-old to suddenly have control over a rental property. In so many ways, it was even harder to look at those papers. The house near college could be a gift. An investment into my burgeoning adulthood. But my father loved the house in Sherwood. Holding the deed to that in my hands and seeing my name on it was terrifyingly final.