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Chapter 8 — The Notebook

Arthur waited until I had stopped crying before he spoke again.

“There is more, Nora.”

I looked down at the little red dress in my lap.

I was afraid to ask.

“What more could there possibly be?”

Arthur nodded toward the leather-bound notebook.

“Julian wanted you to read that before you looked at the deed.”

My fingers felt numb as I picked it up.

The leather was cracked with age. The corners were worn smooth, as though Julian had carried it everywhere for years.

When I opened it, I found page after page of handwriting.

Some entries were only a few sentences.

Others filled several pages.

The first page was dated forty-four years earlier.

I began to read.

Lily is gone.

That was all.

The next page said:

I keep expecting to hear her running down the hallway.

Then:

Caleb won’t talk to me.

And beneath that, written much more heavily:

I should have saved them both.

I stopped reading.

“Arthur…”

He lowered his eyes.

“Keep going.”

So I did.

Over the next hour, I learned things Julian had never told me.

After the fire, his wife had blamed him.

Not because he had caused the fire.