Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

held laughter. “Sebastian is too solitary for his own good. It would mean the world to him to date someone like you, Leah.”

She metabolized that. “Okay, but what about you? I’ve known you much longer than I’ve known him. You’re important to me, and I’m trying to be sensitive to your feelings.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m fine.”

“Will you still want to hang out with me if I’m . . . seeing him?”

“I’ll still want to hang out with you. Definitely. It’s just . . .” He looked to the side, then looked back at her. “Maybe give me a little more time?”

“Of course. Is there anything else I can do?”

“Let a week or two or fifty pass before talking to me about your relationship with Sebastian.”

“Agreed. Anything else?”

“Blueberry muffins.”

“Blueberry muffins?”

“The next time you bake blueberry muffins with crumb topping, bring me some, and we’ll call it good.”

Ben truly was one of the best guys she knew. “Deal,” she said, relieved.

Connor walked toward them from the opposite direction. He and Ben exchanged a fist bump.

“Ben has a meeting with a parent,” Leah told him, “so it’ll just be the two of us and our swanky packed lunches today.”

“Turkey sandwich for you?” Ben asked Leah.

“Indeed. Veggie, hummus, and ham wrap for you?” she asked Connor.

“You got it. It won’t be the same without you, Ben.”

“I know. I’m the fun one of this group.” He made an amused sound and sauntered off. “I’m trusting you two to muddle through without me.”

Connor opened the break room door for Leah with a flourish. “Shall we?”

Hello, this is Arthur Duncan. I’m calling about the letter you sent to my house. You said you were looking for the lady who used to live here. Tracy?”

“Yes,” Leah answered, pausing midway through the process of unloading groceries from her shopping cart into her trunk. She cupped her free hand over the phone to hear him better. Friday evening dusk hovered over the parking lot. “I’m Leah Montgomery. Thanks so much for calling.”

“You bet. Ah, well, we bought this house from Tracy fifteen years ago now.” Arthur had a thick Georgia accent and a rasp in his tone that indicated age. “She gave me her phone number in case something came up and I needed to reach her. Sure enough, that happened a couple of times. Ah . . . after I read your letter, I checked my files to see if I still had her number. Turns out, I did. I can go ahead and give it to you if you have a pencil handy.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you so much.”

What she actually had handy: the twenty-first century equivalent of a pencil and paper. Leah opened the notes app on her phone and typed the numbers into it as he spoke.

Arthur demonstrated that there were still plenty of people left in the world willing to do favors for strangers. She thanked him profusely, disconnected, finished unloading her groceries, then settled behind the wheel of her Honda. The late October nights had begun to turn cool, so she ratcheted up her car’s heater.

She compared the number Arthur had given her for Tracy to the number Joyce had given her for Tracy and saw that the numbers were different. Hope stirred as she placed a call to the number Arthur had provided.

“Hello?” a woman answered, with a tone both suspicious and slightly sour.

In the friendliest and most appreciative way possible, Leah explained her identity and connection to Tracy.

“Are you the one who sent me the Facebook message?”

Leah winced. “Yes.”

“How did you get this number?”

Leah shared the process she’d followed.

Stony silence.

“I won’t be able to set this aside and move on,” Leah said, “until I’ve done everything I can to find answers. I’d really like to talk with you.”

“I’m not a phone talker. The government listens to everything we say.”

Leah didn’t presume that the government would be interested in this phone call unless Tracy was involved in espionage. “If you’d rather speak in person, I’m willing to drive to meet you.”

Another helping of silence that even Leah recognized as awkward.

“I’m having lunch with my mother tomorrow downtown, near the corner of Edgewood and Peachtree,” Tracy said. “There’s a park across from the restaurant. I can meet you there at 12:45.”

Edgewood and Peachtree—an intersection in Atlanta. “I’ll be there.”

“I have red hair, and I’ll wear a gray coat.”

Three hours later, Sebastian entered his apartment, lowered heavily onto one of the kitchen table chairs, and called Leah. He was so tired he couldn’t think about dinner or about changing out of his suit or even about standing up until he’d heard her voice.

“Good evening,” she said.

Instantly, he started to smile. “Hey. Will you come see me this weekend?” He could drain Isabella’s stomach, repair VSDs, study echocardiograms, and debate what to do about fixing a bad repair done by a hack. But in order to do all of those things, he had to know when he’d get to see her again.

“Actually,” she said, “yes.”

“What?” He sat up straight. “You will?”

She told him that one of the nurses who’d cared for her at Magnolia Avenue Hospital was willing to meet her tomorrow in Atlanta.

Thank God. “My apartment only has one bedroom,” he told her, “but you’re welcome to stay in it. I’ll take the couch.”

“I will not be staying in your apartment, I—”

“I’ll book you a hotel room, then. There’s a hotel across the street and a few doors down from my building.”

“I’m delighted to inform you that I’ve already booked and paid for my hotel room. It’s non-changeable and non-refundable.”

“Leah,” he groaned.

“I learned something from all those non-returnable gifts you sent us.”

“Tell me you’re going to get in the car right now and start driving.”

“I am not. I have to get Dylan squared away with Tess and Rudy tomorrow morning. It will take some time to bring them up to speed because I want to ensure Dylan’s prohibited from situations that involve red plastic cups and teens making out on furniture while I’m gone. I should be there