“Okay,first thing’s first,” I pulled out my phone to put on some musicand saw that I had a notification. John had finally replied to mytext.
Are youcoming?
What was hetalking about? My flight wasn’t until Sunday night, but my thumbspunched in the letters of a reply.
Miss mealready?
A speedyresponse popped back.
I always missyou, baby.
My heartfluttered. It may have taken a long time, but John was finallysettling, and he was doing it with me. My grin stretched from earto ear as I began typing back a lengthy reply, telling him about myday and how much I missed him, too. But before I could finish, hetexted me again.
So, are youcoming over or what? Dianna doesn’t get back until Sunday.
Myfingers turned to jelly, and the phone fell to the floor. At thesame time, that familiar anvil dropped in my stomach with aheavy thump and I nearlypuked all over the table in front of me. The silence of the roomrang heavy in my ears and heat filled my face as my heart began torace. My hand grabbed the edge of the table, knees suddenlyweak.
Thatbastard.
I took a fewdeep breaths before retrieving my phone from the floor and begantyping a reply, my thumbs flying across the tiny keys. Fury andrage, fueled by betrayal, coursed through my body but my mind rangthrough for a brief second to tell me one important thing.
Find out whohe’s cheating on me with.
I deleted themessage I’d typed so far and punched in a few new letters beforehitting send.
I’ll come overif you say my name.
I waited, mybody on overdrive as the adrenaline pushed blood through it. Wasthat dumb? Had he realized he’s been messaging me and not someother woman?
I’ll say itnow and I’ll say it again, later, after you scream mine, Emily,baby.
My co-worker?That scum! My fingers trembled as I struggled to type back a finalreply.
Betterdouble-check that, asshole. You’re right, I’ll be home on Sunday,and you better be long gone.
I threw myphone down on the table, not caring if the screen broke, andwandered the house once more, stomping as I went about aimlessly.My life got completely turned inside out this week. My father died,I’d inherited a property along with a slew of garbage, and now theman I thought I loved was cheating on me with the nineteen-year-oldhostess at work.
I made my wayback around to the dining room to let out a fierce, guttural screamas I picked up and heaved the small trunk at the wall. It was theloudest sound I’d heard all day and it fell to the floor where itbusted open, its contents spilling out around it.
I needed adrink.
ChapterThree
After rummaging around in Dad’s liquor cabinetof near-empty flasks, I finally found a half-full bottle ofNewfoundland Screech and hastily put the mouth to my lips. Ichugged down a huge gulp and then let out a gargle as it scorchedmy throat.
“Whoneeds a freakin’ glass?” I tipped back another swig of the rum,glancing down at the mess I’d made, waiting for the liquor to drownmy anger.
Isauntered over to the heap of contents that had spilled from thesmall trunk and sat down, crisscrossing my legs and nestling the bottle ofrum in the nook they created. First, I picked up theoverturned trunk, notingthat the lock hadn’t been broken, just popped open, and I set itaside.
A pile ofdirty red fabric caught my eye next. I pulled it toward me,stretching it out and assessing just what it was. A jacket. Areally old jacket. But, unlike other ancient garments I recall mymother archived, this one didn’t feel so delicate. I rememberedonce, she’d been preparing an old white blouse for display at themuseum, I reached up to touch it and it felt like tissue in betweenmy fingers.
This peacoatstyle jacket was thick, like leather but not. Heavy gold buttonsand clasps lined the center from top to bottom, a wide collarcrowned the top, and the blood-red color of the fabric was stillprominent aside from the visible wear and tear. It brought to minda captain’s jacket, part of the old uniforms characters wore inmovies and on TV, with the funny white trousers and shoes with bigbuckles on the front.
I lovedit. The jacket was definitely coming back to Alberta with me. Igently folded it and set it aside with the trunk and moved on tothe other items sprawled on the floor in front of me. A massivecompass made of brass, it covered my entire palm and appeared tostill work, despite the cracked glass face. A thick, brown leatherscabbard that held a large dagger. I unsheathed the old knife,surprised at itssharpness. The handle was made of light-colored wood, clearlyhand carved or something, with the initials M.L.C. etched into thehilt.
“Cool,”I spoke to myself as I sheathed it and set it aside in the growingpile next to me.
Next, ajournal. Thick and well-loved, the book was bound in black leatherwith the spine held together in a stiff sort of twine. The initialsH.W. was burned on the cover and I wondered why the initials wouldbe different than that of the ones I’d found on the dagger’shandle. I stopped for a moment and looked at the contents as awhole, noting the few silver coins that also sat on the floor, andrealized just what this trunk was.
“This isa pirate’s chest.” A grin smeared across my face. “A real freakin’pirate’s chest.”
As a child, Ialways imagined that the cool things my mother brought home oncebelonged to pirates and other shady individuals. But, as an adult,I looked back on those memories and told myself I was being silly.Now, though… this was proof that I was right. John would flip if hesaw this. I told him all about my childhood obsession and…
“Damnit.” The sting of his betrayal poured over my wounds again, I’dforgotten about him for a brief moment, distracted by my awesomediscovery. I grabbed the bottle of rum from between my legs anddowned a few more mouthfuls. How could I have so easily forgottenthe jerk? I still couldn’t believe he had cheated on me. Wasprobably cheating on me at that very moment, in fact.
But a part ofme, a very small part,
