Her smile twisted when he failed to hide his sceptical expression.
‘I watched my grandfather lose his memory,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s why it’s important to me to help people hold memories for another. I think sometimes that’s all we can do.’
‘You don’t think sometimes people hold on to things for too long? Everything eventually wears out as things rot or break—either way, they’re rendered useless. Don’t they just become a burden?’
‘You don’t have to keep hold of everything, Ash. You get to choose. Keep what matters and let go of the rest.’
He rested his head back against the chair. ‘You make it sound easy.’
‘You treasure these games now you’ve found them again,’ she pointed out. ‘You wouldn’t part with them now.’
She was right, of course. Aside from Merle herself, they were the best thing about coming back. His mother was the reason he’d stayed away so long, but she was also the reason he’d returned now. He’d needed to see the place one last time. To say goodbye. For all of his teasing, Merle’s words had an effect on him and he found himself seeing things from her point of view. There ought to be more here than those games of his mum’s. There should be her personal papers and effects. The things he should have taken care of so much sooner.
‘You really don’t have anything of your own you treasure?’ he asked. Surely someone who put sentimental value on things had something she prized?
‘I once had a gorgeous copy of Jane Eyre. I got it at one of the car boot sales I went to with my grandfather.’ Reminiscence softened and warmed her brown eyes. ‘It wasn’t exactly a first edition but it was old and lovely and had the nicest inscription.’
Ash frowned, confused. ‘The inscription was from your grandfather?’
‘No, I bought the book. The inscription was to someone else—the previous owner, I guess.’
She’d treasured a book that had been gifted to someone else?
‘I know it sounds weird.’ She laughed sheepishly at the look on his face. ‘But it had obviously been treasured; it was in such perfect condition and it had been gifted with love. I didn’t think it should just be thrown away.’
‘You think the book itself was imbued with importance?’
‘For me, yes. It deserved to be treasured—for itself, for the care between the two people. It shouldn’t have been forgotten.’
‘You don’t think it stayed perfect because no one picked it up? Maybe it was put on a shelf and ignored for decades?’
‘Why do you need to destroy my dreams?’ She shot him a baleful look. ‘Why can’t I believe?’
He felt bad for suggesting it—but he doubted that the pristine condition of her book meant it must have been treasured. He’d long ago discovered that perfect facades, perfect stories, often hid horrible lies. But Merle still believed in generosity and sincerity, in humanity and kindness. She was genuine. And she believed in the gift of love from one person to another, even though she’d been neither a giver nor a recipient of much herself. For all of her self-protective measures, she was a romantic. And that tendril of doubt, of hesitation, turned to a touch of remorse.
‘Did you like the actual story?’ he teased. ‘Did you even read it?’
‘Of course I read it and I loved it.’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘Jane had a tough time, but she was strong and true to herself.’
‘So you still have it?’
She nibbled her lip and put the bowl down on the table. ‘I took it everywhere with me. I was sixteen and okay, yes, I was idealistic. It was just Grandad and me and I guess I was lonely and it became like a talisman of something...’
Of hope? Ash couldn’t speak for the sudden ache in his chest. Concern for her grew, because he knew too well that things rotted and relationships were ripped away. That was reality. So something bad had happened to her lovely book. ‘What happened?’
‘I got a little lonely and made a fool of myself with a guy in my class. He started paying attention, acting as if...’
Ash tensed as she shrugged sheepishly. He had the horrible feeling he knew where this was going.
‘I was gullible.’ She confirmed the basis for his anxiety. ‘I was easy pickings for a guy like him.’
‘Like him?’
‘Good-looking, popular...he had everything.’ She frowned. ‘Though I know he probably didn’t, no one has everything all of the time.’
‘Not even us privileged rich boys?’
Her smile quirked. ‘He was curious about my book. I didn’t realise people had noticed that I always had it. That they wondered about it. I was just oblivious to all that. He asked to borrow it. I’d inspired him to read it, apparently. I was flattered and I didn’t want to deny him. Maybe he didn’t realise how precious it was to me.’
‘Don’t let him off lightly, Merle,’ Ash muttered. ‘He knew.’
And Ash knew how it was to be young and thoughtless.
‘Yeah. They all did.’ She looked at him sadly. ‘There was a clique, you know? I asked for it back days later. He laughed even as he said sorry. He said he’d lost it. He’d put it in his sports bag and it must have fallen out or something.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
She shook her head. ‘I think they just wanted to know what it was and why I always had it. Maybe they thought it might’ve been a secret diary and they wanted to mock my innermost thoughts. Maybe they were just mean.’
It hadn’t been a precious diary, but it had mattered as much. She’d cared about it.
She’d given the idiot something that was precious to her and he’d trampled it—crushing her fledgling trust in the process.
