Page 60 of Postmarked December

“How were you to know? I was the one talking to him, and I couldn’t even see it.” She tossed the tissues into the trash can. “The thing is, I could deal with there being a book about Toby. I don’t love the idea, and I know Toby would hate it, but it’s about being lied to. I was so excited to feel something other than grief that I think I’d have believed anything.” Her throat began to close as a lump formed. “I actually wrote to Toby in my journal that just when I was starting to move forward, his notes would pull me back to my old life, and I’d miss him all over again. There were moments when I actually wanted the notes to stop for Nick. I was willing to push Toby’s memory away for someone I met over a weekend. What kind of person does that?”

“You’re being way too hard on yourself,” Marion said.

“Am I?”

“Yes. You wanted the notes to stop because you were giving yourself the chance to move forward, and that’s a difficult task given how devoted you were to Toby. It actually shows an incredible feat by you to take a leap when you weren’t sure what was next—and moving without planning is something you always struggle with.”

“Thank you for talking me through it,” she said with a sniffle.

“Of course. Do you want me to come over?”

Heather looked around at the mess. “I don’t know. I still need to unpack… But thank you for offering.”

“Are you going to confront Nick?”

“I might have to if I want to try to keep this book from coming out.”

“If you need me for support, you call me right away,” Marion said. “Do you think it’s safe to confront him? If he’d lie to your face, would he be capable of anything else?”

“I can’t imagine he’d hurt me in any way.” But if she were being honest, she didn’t know. She didn’t know Nick at all, apparently.

“I’ll keep my phone on me,” Marion said. “Call immediately if you need me.”

“Okay.”

They said their goodbyes and Heather found herself alone once more. With a deep breath, she began picking up the house, her every movement as if on autopilot. She started with the food from the cabin, unloading bags and putting things away in her pantry. When she got that done, she unzipped her suitcase and made piles of dirty laundry.

As she loaded the washing machine, she couldn’t help but consider the two extremes of her holiday. Thank goodness for Toby’s notes. Had she dealt with the disclosure of this book without having Toby’s quiet support and outpouring of love, she might not have made it. Although she was still brokenhearted, Toby had saved her because she knew that, while the rest of the world seemed cruel, he’d been with her even in death. He’d always be with her—the notes were her one truth this Christmas.

Chapter Twenty-Six

By midday, Heather had finally stopped crying. The house was clean, and she’d finished the last load of laundry. She’d managed to keep down a couple crackers, but her stomach was unsettled after everything she’d dealt with.

Nick’s address sat on the coffee table. She stared at it, hollow and empty. How could he have been so cold? He’d made her feel comfortable and, by the flight home, she’d fallen right into his hands. Had he stalked her prior to the flight, following her around town? Did he know where she lived? The idea gave her a shiver.

Well, two could play at that game. She stood up and got her keys and phone. Then, with an angry swipe, she grabbed his address off the table. Time to snoop and see what Nick Monroe was up to. And maybe, if she could muster enough courage, she’d confront him.

She left her apartment and headed for Nick’s. With the address in her navigation, directions chirping away, she called Marion.

“I’m en route to Nick’s,” she said.

“Sure you want to go by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m irate enough to take him down.”

“I can see the headline: ‘Local Librarian Goes Rogue.’”

Even in this awful situation, Marion could get her to smile—if only briefly.

“I need to see him now I have a full understanding of his motives. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

“What are you going to do when you get there?” Marion asked.

“I don’t know. Right now, I want to see where he lives, if there’s any evidence of him having a dog and living the way he told me he did. Although, I don’t know why I care. If he lied about what he was writing, it doesn’t matter if the rest is a lie.”

“Why check then?”

“I guess some part of me wants him to be a good guy, even though I know he isn’t. At the very least, I’d like to see him cuddling his dog—so I know he isn’t totally heartless. It’s ridiculous, I know.”