Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,1

up the box, I tucked my failed presentation behind the nearest trash can. I stepped outside, fully expecting a piano to drop on my head.

When the only thing that hit me was the humid heat of Houston in late March, I made my way to the parking garage, ignoring my phone as it continued to ring and ring in my purse.

It was shockingly easy to dismantle the life I had built here for the past two years. The job and boyfriend were already taken care of. My fridge was perpetually empty, save for a shelf of mostly expired condiments and some cheese sticks. I left them, along with my cheap IKEA furniture. The apartment manager was surprised but happy to take a wad of cash to dispose of anything I left in the apartment. So happy, in fact, that I likely overpaid her.

My lazy orange cat was more than happy to move to the apartment next door. He already spent half his time there anyway. Whenever I had let him out, he made a beeline for Ms. Hill’s apartment. Ollie, the big traitor, often came home smelling of tuna.

“Are you sure?” Ms. Hill asked, already hugging Ollie to her chest, his orange and white stripes contrasting with her pink floral nightdress.

“I’m sure. Family stuff, you know.” I waved a hand, not willing to share any more than that.

She clucked her tongue in understanding but was already shuffling back into her apartment with Ollie, whose purr rivaled the sound of a car motor. I shouldn’t have felt as rejected by my cat as I had by my boyfriend. But there it was.

“I’ll miss you too,” I muttered.

And then it was just me, a few rolling suitcases, and my grief.

2

The drive from Houston through Louisiana is a long stretch of highway that alternates between boring and weird. The rice fields and swampy forests were broken up by casino billboards, adult video shops, and gas stations boasting things like live circus animals.

A few hours into the trip, I stopped at a park to use the bathroom and hold baby alligators. Why not? I did not plan on driving this stretch of road again. Texas and I were done. Over. Finished. It wasn’t me; it was Texas. So, when else would I have the chance to hold baby alligators?

It was oddly underwhelming, standing in the small visitor center, holding what looked like a large black and yellow lizard in my hands. I swore that his cold eyes appraised me with reptilian judgment, like he knew my nana was dead, and here I was holding a baby alligator at a glorified rest stop.

After handing the little alligator back, I called Ann from the parking lot just to let her know that I’d be getting in late tomorrow night. I needed a place to stay and hoped she would offer so I didn’t have to ask. It wasn’t like I really wanted to stay with her, but I figured maybe just for the first night it would make sense.

“Where are you staying?”

Apparently, not in her guest room.

As if reading my thoughts, Ann continued, “You remember we split Sophie and Camille into separate bedrooms. It’s supposed to be good for their independence.”

“Right. How are they doing with everything?”

Ann sighed. “They’re taking everything in stride. As much as they can.”

I wondered what that really meant. The twins were in fourth grade, just nine years old. I lost my other grandma—Dad’s mom—when I was around that age. She had always seemed stooped and ancient, and I remember feeling guilty that I wasn’t terribly sad. Nana had been so full of life. I was still shocked that she was gone. Part of me didn’t believe it. I wondered if the girls felt the same way.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said.

There were hotels, but I also had a key to Nana’s house. As painful as it might be to stay in her space, it would be good for me. Plus, someone would need to go through her things, and I didn’t want that to be Ann.

“Nana’s house is in bad shape,” Ann said, again like she was reading my mind.

“It’ll be fine. I figure we’ll have to clean it out anyway.”

“No, it’s in really bad shape. You won’t want to stay there.”

“What does that mean?”

She paused before answering in her careful, measured tone. “Nana became something of a hoarder in the last year. And the house is falling apart.”

It couldn’t be that bad. I had visited Nana last Christmas. It was