Page 77 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
I head for the bar, where Vik waves me over, a drink already waiting for me.
He eyes my attire. “Your tux is better than mine.”
“I’ve told you, you need to own one.” This is helpful. Distraction is helpful. Vik’s a charmer and always good for a chat.
“I do own it, you little brat,” he says with a smile.
“Brat? This is the thanks I get after I saved your life?”
“Are you still on about that?” He bows obsequiously. “Thank you, thank you, a thousand thank yous.”
I laugh. “I require a thousand more, don’t you know?”
The heaviest sigh in the world falls from his lips. “Lord help me. I’ll never get over this life debt.”
I stare at the ceiling, considering. “No. You probably won’t.”
“In that case, I see no reason not to add to it by asking for your jacket.”
I look at him like he’s gone mad. “Why do you want my jacket?”
“I like it better. I want to wear it when I accept my award.” He nods to the stage in the adjoining ballroom. “Do an old man a favor, will you?”
“You’re not that old. And I don’t think we’re the same size.”
He proffers a bicep like he’s Arnold Schwarzenegger. “I’ve been pumping iron.” He waggles his fingers. “Hand it over.”
The woman I love is taking a job that’ll make it damn near impossible to see her. The last letters from Edward and Greta are gone. And an old man I don’t know led us on a wild hunt for who knows what reason.
I knock back my whiskey, shrug, and take off my jacket. “Here you go.”
His lips twitch as he removes his and hands it to me. It’s heavier than I expect. “A thousand thank yous,” he says.
He slides his arms into my jacket, and it’s a little big, but he salutes me and turns on his heel, then pauses to say, “Now don’t snoop in my pockets.”
He heads into the ballroom, and I follow, grabbing a seat at a table in the back where Presley can find me. I glance around, and she’s no longer in the lobby. Daniel must be chatting her ear off. Another look around, but I don’t see my mom either.
Hmm.
Well, there’s one more thing to do.
Find out what the hell is weighing down this tux.
I pat the material, sliding my palm over the satin lining on the inside jacket. Something round and circular sits inside the pocket. That’s odd.
Well, there is that saying: follow the path that points to curiosity.
Perhaps I should.
Yes, I will.
I reach inside and find metal.
I take it out.
It’s a compass with a latch on it.
And the inscription . . .
“It’s just folklore.”
37
Hunter
I do the logical thing. The emotional thing. The only thing.
I open that goddamn compass.
Guests mill about, looking for seats. No one will notice.
I flip it open, and my heart stutters.
Paper. Letters.
Yes.
I glance around once more for Presley, but she’s nowhere to be found, and I have to know. I’ve always been a curious bastard. What’s in the box, what’s down the path, what’s over the hill?
Gingerly I open the tightly folded sheet of paper and read the salutation. This is the buried treasure I was looking for.
* * *
January 1923
* * *
My Dearest Greta,
* * *
It is time. We have made all the arrangements. We have handled all the transactions. We will arrive during your Valentine’s show in Chicago next month. When the show ends, Jack will take Baron for a drink, ostensibly to discuss business, one circus man to another.
* * *
You must be ready.
* * *
While they are out, we will depart on the last train.
* * *
Please forgive me if I sound businesslike and too serious, but I can’t emphasize how critical the timing is. We must go immediately. There will be bedlam once we’re gone. I rely on you, wholly and completely, to do your part.
* * *
I know you will. I have all the faith in the world in you.
* * *
By the way, have I mentioned I cannot wait to see you again?
* * *
Be prepared to be adored every day for the rest of our lives.
* * *
I am only ever yours.
* * *
Edward
January 1923
* * *
My Dearest Edward,
* * *
Adored, you say? I am willing indeed.
* * *
And I am yours, wholly and completely.
* * *
But to your point. You are not too serious. You are exactly as serious as one must be in this situation. And I promise—you have my undying word—I will do my part as I have always done.
* * *
Everything will be ready.
* * *
We will be at our trailers. Bags packed. One each. Only essentials. When you give me the word, we will go. We will run, faster than we’ve ever run.
* * *
Don’t you worry—I am a master of timing, and I won’t get hurt.
