When she stomps back down to the beach, Redd is not there. There's no surprise about it though, now that she seems to have a better handle on the situation. She crosses her arms and curses out loud.

"I better get that Seurat in the mail tomorrow!" she yells at the sky. Of course, it doesn't answer back. The stars, now out, twinkle softly at her. She kicks at the sand angrily.

She should have trusted her gut. Something was odd about him, and she had known it from the start. But she's not necessarily angry about the art. No. She knows without a doubt she had placed her hands on a genuine article - and even if she hadn't, she hadn't spent too much on it. But there's something between him and Mr. Nook that keeps her mind reeling.

She's never seen him lose his temper, let alone curse the way he did, loud and publicly. Actually, she can't recall ever hearing him curse at all, and she's sure she's tried his patience before. Sometimes on purpose, most of the time by accident. Still, even then, Tom Nook has never raised his voice in the time she's known him. Never.

Had it shaken her? Sure, a bit. But more than that, it made her curious. And furious. She's confident about one thing: this Redd character did something that Nook found unforgivable. Whatever it was, it must have hurt badly for him to react the way he did. She probably shouldn't have pushed him on the subject. He might be right about the rash thing, now that she's properly reflecting back on it.

"You alright, love?"

She turns, expecting Ketchup, or Cheri, and she's ready to immediately explode everything she's feeling, but it's Henry, wide-eyed with a cup of tea in hand. His nightshirt is ruffled, so it's clear he left his home after his preferred bedtime just to look for her. He looks as if he's debating whether he should have even approached her or not, so she has to be wearing an intimidating expression. She softens her face, smiling and stretching out her hand for his.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you were someone else," she says quietly. He seems to accept this, offering a small smile back and squeezing her hand.

"Quite a commotion, wasn't it?"

Jonesy snorts at this. "You could say that," she replies. Henry has always had a very particular way of communicating. But she's always liked that about him. They get along very well together. Despite his eccentric personality at times, she finds him a soothing sort of person. Even now, he hands her the cup, which she was sure was supposed to be for him. She takes it anyways, grateful.

"How is Mr. Nook?"

Jonesy huffs, and Henry ducks to hide a smile. "He's as alright as he can be, I guess. How did the festivities go after I left? I'm sure it wasn't nearly as fun without me around."

Henry notices her deflection, but doesn't pursue it, and she silently thanks him for it. She isn't sure she's ready to talk to anyone about what has just happened, seeing as she doesn't even know for herself. There's no point in gossiping without facts. Henry sits, pulling her down with him. He crosses his legs and sits back, singing softly at the night sky. It's all fine with her. She's always been drawn to the life Henry brought to the island. He sings the same few tunes, over and over (particularly Drivin') but she doesn't complain. Especially now, it fills her mind and leaves her at ease.

"Do you remember when I first met you?" she asks suddenly, and he stops mid-measure, giving her a meaningful glance.

"Yes. I remember thinking you were a complete savage running wild," he responds smoothly, and she elbows him, a mock-hurt expression on her face.

"And I thought you were a complete snob!" she returns. Henry rolls his eyes.

"Having elegance and class does not make someone a snob," he points out, which only makes her snort into the cup. He frowns in concern at this. "If you just sneezed your phlegm into my cup, you can keep it, love. Think of it as a memento from me to you."

"I could say the same to you about my phlegm," Jonesy teases, and Henry shudders, shaking his head. She throws her head back and laughs, and after a while, he relents, shrugging and grinning despite his disgust. He squeezes her hand fondly and they sit in the grass, listening to the stars and the crickets. Jonesy sips at the tea. "This is so delicious, thank you. You always give me the best gifts" she says, leaning on his shoulder. "I think I needed this more than I realized."

Henry grins laying his head against hers. "I figured," he responds gently. "It is good to see you back to your smiling self."

It's silent for a moment more before he continues. "Jonesy, you've been one of my favorite people to get to know on this island."

"Okay, you don't have to lie for me, Henry, I know pity when I hear it," she jokes, but when he looks at her, she knows something is up. She sits up, alert, setting the teacup in the grass, clasping his hands. "You know I love you so dearly, right?"

"I know," Henry murmurs. He sighs heavily. She can see it in his eyes, a strange sort of sadness. He stares at her for several minutes before looking at speaking again. "I… I'm thinking of leaving."

"Because of tonight?"

Henry chuckles, shaking his head. "No, although I can see why you'd think that. But it's something I've been meditating on for quite a bit." He loops his arm in with hers, and she knows he means to comfort her, but she feels as if she wants to puke. Henry was her one calm on the island, and she's not sure how she feels about him wanting to leave, especially right now. A large part of her wants to tell him to stay, to make him not leave. She knows for a fact that if she begged him to stay, he would, just for her. She knows this because she'd do the same, if the roles were reversed.

"What made you start thinking about all that, then?" she asks instead, despite everything. At the end of the day, it's his choice. If he wants to leave, she'll have to accept it, even though it will come with heartbreak.

Henry doesn't quite answer her. "You know," he starts, instead, "when I first met you, I was so nervous. I'd never ventured outside of my town before. Everything in my life had a schedule, was in place as it should be. You were so convincing, though, that I made the move. And I don't regret it. Living here has been an amazing experience."

He nudges his shoulder against hers. "Now, I sort of yearn for another adventure, if you can believe it. The bug has bitten me, and I've been stricken with wanderlust."

Jonesy grins. "So… I can't convince you to stay?" she teases, elbowing him. They both laugh, but it dies down quickly. Henry's eyes are sad, and she can sense he's torn about the decision. But she knows if he's made up his mind to go, she can't be selfish enough to guilt him into staying. She can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do. Henry deserves the world. The least she can do is let him see it for himself.

"I'm going to miss you," she settles on. Just the simple truth.

"Me too," he replies. They're quiet again for what feels like hours, sitting side by side. They settle on small talk, although it feels pointless when the time seems so limited now, but Henry promises he will write and send postcards, and Jonesy promises she will attempt at being more graceful. She wants pictures of wherever he goes, but he must be in the photos as well.

"But of course, love," Henry assures her, winking. "I must make my mark on the world. I'll want every bit of evidence that I've made myself out to be well-traveled."

She holds herself fairly well while he is there, and then cries for a good while when he leaves for the night. Today has gone from bad to, well, worse. She squeezes the teacup in her hands, mind racing, the coolness of the grass seeping through her clothes. It is nearly midnight, and she cannot even think about sleeping when there is so much to think over. Not only have things seemingly gone wrong for Mr. Nook, now a dear friend is leaving, and those are two things she does not like, happening at once. She'll have to put together something for Henry, before he goes. An actual memento. Something that the two of them shared. It shouldn't be too hard. Henry is one for the finer things, but he has a sentimental heart, and the sentiment is prioritized over the prestige. At least for Henry, it does.

The shop is well past closed. Cheri and Ketchup may be awake, but they hadn't really interacted with Henry as much as she had, and she's not sure they'd know exactly how to help her. Besides, if she went now to ask, she knows for a fact they'd ask about what had happened with Tom Nook at the beach, and she does not have an answer, still. And it doesn't look like she'll get one from Mr. Nook any time soon. She is pretty sure if she talks to anyone right now, they'll ask the same questions.

She starts to feel sprinkling over her head. It has been raining a lot on the island lately. She rolls her eyes. The sadness is trickling into irritation, quickly.

"When it rains, it fucking pours, huh? That's what they say, isn't it?" she calls out into the clouds. They only open up more, and there is a heavy rainfall now. She's drenched. She didn't bring an umbrella either, although she doesn't think she is entirely to blame for that. It isn't as if it was in the forecast. Not that she'd checked. She just assumed from the day long sunshine that it would have been fine. Her mistake. She groans.

She knows one other person who is immensely sentimental that she could talk to. Someone who, more than likely, is not aware of what has occurred. She makes up her mind to take a little trip to the museum, despite knowing a five minute question is well on its way of being a five hour question. It's a worthy sacrifice, for Henry.

"Blathers? You awake in here?"

She peeks her head into the office, where Blathers is nestled into the chair behind a large oak desk. He peers up at her over thin-rimmed glasses, a book wide open on the desk. He was clearly mid-read, but she's hoping that this will have him give her a quick and simple answer, and then she can go to bed and sleep the rest of this nightmare day away.

"Jonesy!" Blathers calls, eyes lighting. "You know I'm always awake at this time, my dear."He bookmarks his page, folding his hands over the book. "I'm the nocturnal sort."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course! I'm an open book. But wouldn't you like to get dry first?"

She'd already forgotten about the rain. She shivers on cue, as if Blathers took the spell off of her, and she can feel again. She takes a deep breath, urging herself not to cry. Not here and not now. Crying is useless anyways, and she needs advice, not pity or comfort. Although, Blathers does seem like the type to give an excellent hug. She's not close enough to ask though, so she doesn't pursue the thought.

She nods, sneezing. "That's a good idea, actually," she says, grimacing at him in embarrassment. "You don't happen to have a towel on you in here, do you?"

Blathers chuckles before getting up from his seat slowly, rummaging through the large polished armoire behind him. While she wraps herself in a large old blanket, trying to acclimate her body to the heat, she drops her question about Henry leaving, and is quite proud of herself for not tearing up at all, outside of having to swallow a large lump that's been living rent-free in her throat for the past hour or so. Blathers ends up getting quite into it, but it works out in the end, as he gives quite a few suggestions, and she settles on the idea of creating an oil painting of him. Henry would love to show it off where he chooses to build his next home, and she can already see him displaying it proudly.

Unfortunately, the entire idea of the artistic venue just reminds her of her other dilemma, the one she was trying to forget, and was doing a fairly good job at up until then. She sighs heavily, and Blathers eyes her, the question written on his face.

"I guess I have to tell you the bad news too, then," she admits, crossing her arms and slumping in place. The blanket feels heavy. Blathers waits patiently. She sighs again, and fixes her gaze on the electric fireplace. "I thought I'd found a way to get you some artifacts for your art wing, but… we ran into a slight problem."

"Is that so?" Blathers hums. She can see the disappointment in his eyes and the droop of his mouth. She wants to wither away and rot.

"It's just - I didn't realize the vendor was someone Mr. Nook hated so much!" she blurts. It's apparent; she just cannot keep secrets. But maybe Blathers can. Ironically enough, she trusts that he will. She waves her hands in exasperation, the blanket falling from her arms. "I did get you a beautiful Seurat original - I'm pretty sure anyways - but this Redd guy is a whole scam and half, apparently! At least according to Mr. Nook…"

"Oh- Redd, hmm?" Blathers says. His eyes widen, as if he'd spoken too soon, and he is surprisingly quiet. She knows instantly that he's hiding something, from the way he suddenly just can't seem to keep eye contact with her.

"You know something, don't you?" Jonesy accuses knowingly, pointing at him. Blathers shifts in his seat, attempting to bury his interested face in the book in front of him. He does not reply, but she can see the guilt crawling all over his face. "You do! Spill. We both know how you like to talk about things you have knowledge on, so spill the tea, Blathers!"

"Spill the - what?" Blathers squawks. She doesn't miss how he seems to clutch at his own mug, just near the edge of his desk. "I beg your pardon?"

She plops down on the seat opposite of the desk, throwing her legs over the arm and crossing them. She folds her arms, staring him down. "I mean, tell me the truth,"

"It's not my truth to tell," Blathers replies, taking a sip of his tea. He cocks a brow at her. "And I'm not entirely sure it's your truth to know, young lady."

Jonesy feels herself color at this, but it doesn't deter her. "Well, someone is going to have to tell me," she pushes, despite Blathers' small reprimand. "And I am pretty sure I'm not gonna get it from Mr. Nook."

Blathers exhales softly, surrendering. "To be frank with you, my dear, I really don't know what all went down between them," he murmurs, faraway in thought. He sinks into his chair, his eyes wistful. "I only know that they were close, once. Inseparable, even. You might even dare say that..."

He pauses. The rain is pattering outside steadily, and the hearth crackles lowly beside them. Jonesy waits for a moment for him to continue. When he doesn't, seemingly lost in thought, she leans forward from her chair and puts a hand on his arm.

"Say what?" she presses. She can feel the thick fibers of his sweater under her fingers. "Please. I need to know. I don't like seeing the bossman upset. But Redd seemed like a really sweet guy, and I - it just doesn't make sense. C'mon, Blathers. Help a girl out here."

He looks at her again, finally. "I've already had a rough night," she continues, grinning softly. He slowly cracks a small smile. "I'm a damsel in distress. I need some assistance."

"Well, I… it's just that it was only speculation on my part, really," he begins, and she scoots the chair closer in immediate interest. "But I would dare say that they were… well, for lack of a better word… soulmates."