The deeper I go into his world, the harder it is to find my way out.
All this will make sense eventually. I’ll continue to renovate Cadwallader and search for information about Elias. If I learn about him, maybe I’ll find out whether Josephine was real.
I need answers.
Josie
P.S. Arthur Banes died at Cadwallader. His corpse sat in the dining room for days. You know I like ghost stories, but this . . . I get chills just thinking about it.
From: Josie De Clare <[email protected]>
Sent: Tuesday, July 5, 8:52 PM
To: Faith Moretti <[email protected]>
Subject: The Boy Next Door
Faith, you enquired about the boy next door, so here’s an update . . .
Oliver and I went to the variety store a few hours ago. He picked me up from the manor, that boyish grin—his trademark—plastered across his face. He looked ridiculous, dressed in sweatpants, trainers, and a baggy The Strokes T-shirt.
I still can’t get over his hair. It’s a total mess, worse than my Kool-Aid dye job.
We ventured into Atteberry. (Oliver drives Norman’s vintage motorcycle, which has a sidecar—a tin can of death.) After we bought stuff for his grandparents, we ate dinner at the pub. Bangers and mash with a side of chips, followed by sundaes. We’re health nuts for sure.
Oliver is smarter than he appears. I mean, at first look he seems like an odd chap—the hipster jock sort who usually hangs out at the gyms in Kings Cross. You know the kind.
He reads a lot, though. Suspense novels and cult classics are his preference, but he does enjoy the occasional literature anthology and medical textbook. Did I tell you he’s studying to be a doctor? Yeah, he wants to practice medicine in Atteberry once he graduates. He’s super close with his grandparents and wants to live near them. (I can’t figure the boy out. He’s a paradox.)
A few days ago, I rode my bike to Norman and Martha’s cottage. (Norman said he’d attach a basket to the handlebars.) Oliver was out in the pasture when I arrived. He must’ve seen me coming down the drive, because he sprinted across the field and hurdled a stone wall.
Somehow he crossed the barrier without injuring himself. The feat impressed him so much, he spent a half hour coaxing me to admit his trick was brill.
Oh, he just texted. I’ll finish this update soon.
Josie
From: Josie De Clare <[email protected]>
Sent: Wednesday, July 6, 2:14 PM
To: Faith Moretti <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: The Boy Next Door
Faith, I’m antsier than usual. I woke up in a panic this morning, and I don’t know why. Nothing has changed, at least not really. I haven’t talked to Mum in a while, so no stress there. Oliver and I are friends. His grandparents treat me like family. And renovations occupy my days.
Between hiring a contractor to repair the east wing and overseeing an electrician, I barely have enough time to read in Elias’s study. I want to finish the construction project for Dad. I want to figure out what the heck is going on with the novel and letters and this attachment I have to Elias. The feelings grow stronger each day. I need to put his letters back in that drawer.
I need to remind myself why I came to Cadwallader.
The future will not wait for me to get my act together. In a few months, I’ll go back to London and resume my life. Elias can’t keep me in Atteberry, neither can missing Dad. I must focus. Please tell me to stop obsessing. It’s bad, Faith. Really bad. Each night, I read across from Elias’s portrait so I can pretend we’re two people at a library, separated by books. I wander the manor and imagine his story playing out. And the dreams—oh, I have vivid dreams about him.
Oliver brought firewood (and a reality check) to the house this morning. He saw Elias’s letters piled on the kitchen table. Being the nosey goof that he is, he asked me about them. I can’t quite remember how the conversation went, but he ended up reading the opened letters and several chapters of Elias’s novel. I think we might’ve created a book club.
The similarities between Josephine and me shocked Oliver. I haven’t seen him so excited. It was as though he’d uncovered a mystery, like I was Nancy Drew and he was a Hardy Boy. He then wanted to see Elias’s study, so I took him on a tour of the house.
He investigated every nook and cranny.
Afterward we visited the cottage and used Norman’s printer to scan Elias’s novel into a digital copy. Oliver plans to read it with me. That should help my sanity, right? I mean, treating the book like fiction should prevent me from thinking of it as a love letter to what might’ve been. Thanks for the care package by the way! I took one look at the My Heart Belongs to Elias Roch mug and laughed myself breathless.
Surely I won’t fall in love with someone’s words if I’m not the only one reading them.
Ugh!!! That’s how I feel. One big UGH.
How’s your life? Any news about the one who won’t be named?
Josie
P.S. I’ve decided to study education at uni. I want to be a schoolteacher. Mum will throw a fit when I tell her. (She doesn’t think educators make enough money.) But the vocation seems a good fit for me. Even my dad thought I should teach.
From: Josie De Clare <[email protected]>
Sent: Friday, July 8, 3:47 PM
To: Faith Moretti <[email protected]>
Subject: Plot Twist
Faith, I hope you’re sitting down. If you’re not, please find
