The Key to Anchor Lake ✓

23 : Blaire

B L A I R E

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Taking some time with Sukie has turned into three nights in her spare room, after I sent a short text to Elizabeth to tell her where I was and promptly turned off my phone. I didn't see her when Sukie drove me back to pick up a few more clothes, and I've tried to push the photo out of my mind until I can face my aunt. I've eaten better in the past couple of days than I have in almost a month, filled up with Sara's chicken casserole and her sukiyaki, her lasagne and her oden.

It's impossible to go hungry in Sukie's house, where the fridge is always well-stocked with her mum's homemade soba noodles and onigiri rice balls, and I feel refreshed on Saturday after three suppers with Sukie and her mum, and two lunches with Sara alone.

It could have been awkward, but it wasn't. After Elizabeth, it was a relief to sit with someone who was interested in making conversation, who wanted to hear about me and who talked freely when I asked questions. We never strayed too deeply, never venturing into the murky waters of loss, and the past nights have been two of the most restful in recent memory.

Apparently, since the book club was started, it has strayed from being a strictly Mondays-only affair, and today we're hosting in Sukie's back garden, the weather finally nice enough to sit outside without four layers. After days of grey and rain and breeze and chill, the sun has come out in full force and the sky is starkly blue, the temperature shooting up from single figures to nearly twenty degrees.

Sara's made the most incredible iced coffee, with rich condensed milk, and frozen coffee instead of ice cubes, and I feel the best I've felt in weeks. It's an alien feeling, and a niggling sliver of my conscience tells me that I shouldn't feel good, that I should feel guilty about not being sadder, but I'd rather listen to Sara. She told me to revel in the good moments, enjoy the slices of peace and tranquillity, because there's no knowing when it will return.

It's good advice, and I find myself smiling at the sky when Cat, Niko, Olga and Jacob arrive. Okay, maybe the smile dips a bit when I see Jacob, but his existence isn't enough to drag me down right now, especially not when Niko grins at me and fills a glass, clinking it against mine, and Cat squeezes my shoulder as she takes a seat next to me.

I've found my people. It's taken me nearly twenty years, but I think I've finally found my place in a niche little community, slotting myself into a hyper-specific book club in the smallest town I've ever been too.

"Hey, I have a question," I say once everyone's here and everyone's settled, and I shade my eyes with my hand to look at the group. The sun is right behind Olga, turning her curls into a halo.

"Fire away," Niko says.

"Is there, like, a master list of all the people who died? Does Mary mention specific names?"

"Sometimes," Sukie says, topping up my glass before she fills her own. "I think she pretty much mentions all the names that she could find. All of the smaller tragedies, like the children who died in the storm, and all of the recent ones. For some of the really old ones, or the really big ones – like smallpox, and Spanish flu – she tends to either talk more generally, or pick out a few names that she found record of."

"Do you have all the names?" I sit up a bit straighter, almost dropping my coffee when my hand slips on the ice-cold condensation coating my glass.

Sukie purses her lips and taps her fingers on the table. "I probably do, in all my notes. I can go through and find them for you? Have you got a theory?"

"Nothing solid. I can't stop thinking about the dedication, though. It has to be in the book somewhere. It has to mean something."

Jacob wrinkles his nose. "I'm sure we'd have figured it out by now if it did."