Free Lorelei's Secret by Carolyn Parkhurst

… project?’ he asks. ‘The one with the dog?’
    ‘Yes,’ I say, perhaps too brightly. ‘It’s going quite well.’
    He doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘That’s great,’ he says, after a pause. ‘You know, Eleanor and I have that little beach house in Rehoboth, and you’re welcome to borrow it if you’d like. It might do you good to get away for a while.’
    I think about it. Early morning walks on the beach with Lorelei running ahead of me, evenings bathed in the scent of sea air. It’s not an unwelcome idea.
    Matthew goes on. ‘The only thing is,’ he says, ‘Eleanor’s allergic to dogs, so you wouldn’t be able to bring Lorelei.
    But you can always board her or something for a week or two. Julia has dogs; she might be able to give you the name of a good kennel.’
    Of course, I think. Of course. ‘Thanks anyway,’ I say.
    My voice sounds thin and brittle as glass. ‘But I don’t think I can leave my research at this particular point.’
    Matthew nods, looking down at the floor. ‘All right, then,’ he says, turning toward the door. He looks stricken.
    I soften a bit.
    ‘Really, I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I’m sure this whole thing sounds crazy to you, but I really think there’s something there. I feel like I’m on the verge of something important. I just need some time to work it out.’
    He smiles doubtfully, but at least he’s meeting my eyes.
    ‘Just imagine,’ he says, ‘what it will mean if you succeed.’
    He pauses thoughtfully, considering it. ‘Well, I’ve got to get back to the meeting. Keep in touch, okay?’
    ‘I will,’ I say. ‘Give my love to Eleanor.’
    I gather up the things I need and prepare to leave. On my way out, I notice a scrap of pink paper that has, apparently, been slid under the door. I pick it up. It’s a While You Were Out slip. Scrawled across the top it says, ‘Your dog called.’
    In the message space below, there are two words: ‘Woof, woof.’ I crumple up the note and throw it away.
    Back at home, I pick up Lexy’s sweater from the bedroom floor and hold it to my face. I wonder what she would think of the turns my life has taken. Lorelei wanders in to greet me, and I give her a little scratch behind the ears.
    ‘Where’s Lexy?’ I say to her. She looks up at me sharply.
    ‘Go get Lexy,’ I say. And all of a sudden, she’s off, running wildly from room to room. I watch, heart-struck, as she charges through the house, sniffing in corners and barking.
    ‘Lorelei,’ I call after her. ‘No! Stop it, girl! Quiet! Come!’
    I run through every command she knows. But it’s no use.
    I can’t stop her, not now that I’ve spoken those magic words. Around and around the house she runs, searching and yowling for what she has lost.

12
    The first time I asked Lexy to marry me, she said no. It was early December, about nine months since we’d first met, and we’d gone away for the weekend. We were staying
    at a small inn on the beach, and the day had been rainy and blustery. We’d spent most of our time inside, with the fireplace lit, playing board games and drinking wine.
    Now, as we lay in bed, Lexy reached over and picked
    up a felt-tip pen from the bedside table and took hold of both my hands. ‘This is what you give to me,’ she said, and she began to write. She started on the backs of my hands and then turned them over to write on the palms.
    She covered my hands with words. ‘Square eggs, she wrote, and beaches in winter. Your lips on my neck and a week of appetizers, and really bad music. She wrote, Coffee milk, and Scrabble and flowers that look like the devil. By the time she had finished, there was no space left at all.
    ‘Now it’s your turn,’ she said. She gave me the pen and offered up her hands. I didn’t know what to write. Hunger, I thought, and fullness. A feeling like wings inside me. The days and the seasons and a dog with a rough velvet hide.
    But instead I took her hand, and writing upside down so she could read it, I