Page 8 of For Fox Sake

I sigh and chuck it on the bed. Archer bought her that shirt as a gift for Christmas. They are so weird. It must have gotten mixed up in my laundry. What is it with them and raccoons? I don’t understand the fascination. They’re a menace and they look like corgis who’ve gone emo.

“Is this about your dad’s letters?” Oliver asks.

“Yes.”

“What is your plan?”

I’m not prepared to share everything I know, which isn’t much.

My plan is to find the truth, the answers to the questions that have been plaguing me for months.

Did Dad have a second family? Why did he hide this relationship from us? What even is this relationship? Who exchanges letters back and forth for months with a total stranger? If it’s just a meaningless pen pal, why hide it? It’s like he had this whole second life. Why didn’t he tell us? Why didn’t he tell me?

We were so close, especially near the end of his life, when I was his primary caretaker. We talked a lot. About everything. Well, almost everything.

He was one of the few people who understood the one topic I avoided and why.

And I thought I understood him. But for the past year and a half, I haven’t known what to think.

“What about the camp? Don’t they need you?” Oliver’s voice in my ear rips me from my thoughts.

“Finley hired enough counselors to babysit half the kids in upstate New York.” It was always a pity job anyway, since my sister is the majority owner of the property where the kids camp is located, a property that has been in our family forever. Oliver is the other stakeholder and the one who funded the charitable venture.

“Where are you?” Oliver asks.

I scratch the back of my head. “I’m not quite ready to elaborate on that.”

“You know I have the means to find out.”

I snort. I’m sure. He probably has a dozen gray-hat hackers on retainer. “You won’t have to. I’ll be back in a few weeks. This is something I need to do on my own.”

“I’m not going to lie to Piper.”

“I’m not asking you to. You don’t know where I am. You have plausible deniability.”

“If she asks me to send out the search party, I’m not saying no.”

I sigh. I can argue with him, but that will be as useful as arguing with a park bench. “Just don’t do anything until she asks, okay?”

“Fine.” The line clicks.

He hung up.

I chuckle at the phone and then toss it on the bed.

That will buy me some time at least. Hopefully enough time to get what I need and get back to Whitby before my family descends. I had to leave. The walls were closing in. Every time Finley looked at me with that divot between her brow and a frown tugging at her mouth, I wanted to bolt. Or drink. And drinking isn’t an option.

Archer and Finley were constantly hovering, asking if I was okay, searching my face with concerned eyes—not exactly heinous behavior, but I’m twenty-seven years old.

They need to realize I can handle things. That I can stand on my own. I’m not perfect, and I’m not entirely over... everything that’s happened in the past. I’ll never stop grieving, but I’m fine. I’m surviving. They don’t need to hold on so tight. Any tighter, I might crack.

But now that I think of it, leaving with no word except that one Post-it may not have been the best way to stop their worrying. But what else could I do? They would never stand aside while I did this on my own.

I zip my bag closed before dumping it on the floor beside the bed again. The house is small, the bedroom barely large enough to fit the queen-sized bed and dresser, but it’s clean and well maintained.

It could have been a complete hovel and I would’ve booked it. I picked this place because of the property manager.

Ryan Green.

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