Page 28 of One Last Gift

“So,” Hazel said, “how are things going with Robert?”

“OK, I guess,” Cassie lied. “He’s upset at the moment because I’m not organizing the Easter egg hunt.” It wasn’t the same, she told herself firmly. It wasn’t the same as what Tom used to do, and it was Easter, not Christmas.

Hazel was watching her. A little too carefully, Cassie thought. “Have you…” Hazel hesitated, tucking a strand of her ebony hair behind her ear. “Did you ever open that clue from Tom? The one Linda gave you?”

Cassie shook her head, looking at her risotto rather than at Hazel. “I can’t bring myself to.” A part of her wanted to, though. Wanted to know what he’d written, what he’d been planning. But an equal part of her was terrified at the thought, about the grief spiral that might be waiting for her on the other side.

“Maybe you should,” Hazel said softly. “It might help you to—”

“What, move on?” Cassie tried to keep the bitterness from her voice.

“No. Not that. I’m not sure moving on is the right way to put it. Someone like that…” Hazel shook her head sadly. “You don’t just put them aside and step away from them. But it might help you to process, I guess. Or not.” She blew out a breath, picked up her wine. “You don’t have to. But if you want to and you want me with you or whatever, then I’m here, OK?”

They ate the rest of the risotto in relative silence, and when they were done, Cassie went to bed early. She didn’t go to sleep though. Instead she took out the envelope that she’d been keeping in her bedside drawer, so it was next to her as she slept, always within reach. She traced the edges of it with her fingertips, drinking in the sight of his scrawling handwriting. She’d once accused him of having the ugliest handwriting in the entire world—and he’d managed to take that as a compliment, claiming that if it was going to be ugly, it was best to be the ugliest. Like he’d won some sort of competition.

She thought about going to get Hazel. But this first time, seeing what he’d written, it felt like it should be a private moment.

And so, with trembling fingers, she opened the envelope. It wasn’t just the clue inside, she saw. There was something else, something more. A little note. Her gaze rushed over the page, too quick to take in the words, frantic in her need to absorb them. She took a breath, forced herself to slow down, and read.

Happy Christmas, Chipmunk! Are you excited? I’m excited. The hunt this year is going to be so much fun. But I feel like I should warn you—so we don’t have a repeat of the tantrum of ’03 again—that it might be harder this year. You’ll get it at the end though. Probably. Hopefully.

Just don’t freak out if this takes longer than usual, ok? It’s all part of my grand, evil plan.

Underneath that, he’d drawn a little cartoon man with evil eyes, drumming his fingers together, and a little speech bubble with mwahahahaha in it. Cassie felt a little snort of laughter build, then bubble over. It was a terrible cartoon drawing. But just like his handwriting, she knew Tom would’ve been proud of it. She could picture him drawing it, writing the note. Could picture his face as she read it. She would’ve scowled at him, no doubt, demanded to know why, exactly, it would take longer this year—and why he’d felt the need to warn her about it. And he’d shake his head and say something annoying like, “All in good time, Chipmunk.” She could actually hear him saying it, right now, like he was here with her in the room.

She blew out a breath, put the note aside. Then, heart hammering, she picked up the clue. The first clue that would start the hunt to the very last gift her brother would ever give her.

Chapter Thirteen

“What do you mean, you’re going to take the offer?”

Cassie jerked forward from where she was sitting on her double bed, her back propped against the pillows. Tom’s clue, the one she’d opened last night, fluttered off her lap and onto the duvet next to her, and she snatched it back up. His words had been playing on repeat since she’d read it. We’ll stay close this time but go up high…And he knew she didn’t like heights—though really, who did? She was pretty sure anyone who said they weren’t scared when they were peering down at the ground from high up was lying. Her brain had been whirring, trying to figure out where Tom wanted her to go, and she’d barely been able to sleep because of it. But she was trying to focus, trying to put it aside, because she knew she needed to help Linda.

“Cassie love, I just don’t have any options,” Linda said with a sigh. Her voice was groggy, not yet fully awake—Cassie had rung her first thing in the morning, and Linda had always been more of a night owl.

“Of course you have options. There are always options.” Cassie took a breath. “Look, Linda, it might not cover it all, but I have my savings, from my parents, and I—”

But the answer was entirely predictable. “Absolutely not, Cassie. That’s for your future, not mine.”

“But I—”

“No,” Linda said. “And that’s final.”

Cassie wrinkled her nose, but she knew that once Linda decided something, it really was final. The thing was, though, when she’d thought about it she’d realized she didn’t just have her inheritance now: she had Tom’s too, because he’d left it to her in his will. It was less than she would have expected, less than her half—not that she cared about that. She didn’t want Tom’s money, because it would feel wrong, using it. But she hadn’t realized he’d already spent a chunk of his, and she couldn’t help wondering what he’d done with it. Wondering why he hadn’t told her about it.

“All right,” Cassie said. “What about you host some sort of fundraiser in the village?”

“I can’t ask the village for money, love,” Linda said, and Cassie hated how weary her voice sounded.

“Yes, you can! They’d want to help. We could organize some music, put on some food, ask people for donations and—”

“Where, exactly, can we do this? There’s no way I can let anyone near the pub right now—it’s a bloody health and safety risk, I tell you, and I swear the mold is already setting in.” Linda’s voice cracked, just slightly, at the end of her sentence—cracked in a way that might have been easy to hide, if Cassie didn’t know her so well. The sound made Cassie’s heart break—Linda loved that pub. She could only imagine what this was doing to her—seeing it destroyed, feeling like there was nothing she could do. She gripped Tom’s clue, the little piece of paper, tighter in her fist, fingernails biting into her palm around it.

“We’ll do it at the hall,” Cassie said. “I’m sure they’ll let us use it for free, if we explain.”

Linda huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure how much money a little village fête will raise us, my love.”

“Well, we don’t know, do we?” Cassie demanded. “Not until we try.”