“I’ve said I want to go freelance, choose the articles I feel passionate about, maybe free up some time for jewelry making. I know I don’t want to do the How Did You Meet? segment anymore. I’ve had enough of chasing other people’s love stories.”
Ted squeezes my shoulder.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to find passion in your work again,” says Ilídio, giving me a wink.
As we’re talking, a green car covered in hedgehog stickers pulls into the drive at Sans Ennui.
“We caught you—you haven’t left yet!” Monica calls, as she climbs out of the driver’s side. I see Sue sitting in the passenger seat and I jump over the wall to meet them.
“You didn’t need to come and see me off,” I say.
Sue opens the passenger door, and I help her out.
“Have you got it?” Sue asks Monica, who hurries around the car holding a small wooden box. She hands it to Sue, who presses it into my hands.
“We wanted you to have this,” she says, nodding her head toward the box. “Our father’s tools—his engraving kit. When you said you made jewelry, well, we thought it would be nice for them to be used again. They’ve sat unloved in this box for eighty years.”
I open the lid to find a set of wooden and steel tools: pushers, burnishers, and gravers, all perfectly preserved.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “They look too precious to use.”
“They’re tools, they were made to be used.”
“Thank you, thank you both,” I say, wrapping an arm around each of them. Then I pull back, remembering I have something to tell them: “I found something, in Dad’s box—a letter he wrote to me, a mixtape he made. He was planning to make me one every year.”
“That sounds like him,” says Sue, nodding slowly.
“And the coin,” I say. “He did mean for me to have it. Gran said he sent his half to me. He wanted both parts to stay together.”
Sue reaches out to find my hands. I take them, and she squeezes my fingers gently. It’s as though she’s telling me she doesn’t need to be convinced.
“It is your coin, Laura.” Then she pauses, closing her eyes. “But don’t hold on to these things too tightly. Objects only hold the meanings we give them.”
There is a pained look on Sue’s face—regret, remorse? I move our hands gently up and down together, an acknowledgment that I know what she is trying to say.
* * *
*
At the airport, Ted parks the cab and walks me into Departures. He’s not taking the boat back for a few more days.
“So, I’ll see you in London then,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug.
“I hope so,” I say, taking a last inhale, savoring the smell and feel of his neck.
Pulling back to look at each other, we both grin. I don’t want to leave yet, to walk into the cold—anywhere without the warmth of his gaze.
“I didn’t pay you,” I say with a gasp, remembering the fare we agreed last week.
Ted laughs.
“I think I can let it slide.”
“No, I want to pay you,” I say, feeling it as a point of principle.
“You can buy me dinner in London,” he says, reaching out to take my fingers in his.
“What about your tip?” I watch his face, trying to memorize every inch of it. “I always tip my cabdrivers.”
He raises his eyebrows, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. Then, I remember my grandmother’s words—don’t hold on too tight—and before I can overthink it, I take the coin from around my neck, unclip half from the pendant, and give one piece of the shiny ha’penny to Ted. He takes it but looks at me with eyes that say I can’t, it’s too much.
I close his hand around it.
“You can give it back to me when I see you; just hold on to it, for now, keep it safe.” Before he can object, I kiss him on the cheek, then turn and head toward security.
“Laura!” he calls after me, and I swing back around. “Don’t go picking up another man’s luggage anytime soon, will you?”
“I’ll try not to,” I say, with a wink, and then, swinging my hair as though I’m in a shampoo commercial, I stride off toward the departure gate. Reaching a hand up to my pendant, I feel the empty space; where once there was a whole, there is now only a crescent of coin. I am leaving the island lighter than I came, in so many ways.
LAURA LE QUESNE’S GUIDE TO JERSEY BEACHES AND BAYS
Best Bay to kick off your shoes—Bouley