by Kilby Blades
“Moving to New York did fix my life,” Shea pointed out, a bit defensively. “The suburbs in the Midwest are not where I was meant to live.”
But even as she said it, she turned Kendrick’s words over in her head.
“You’re feeding into transactional thinking,” he protested in a quieter voice. “Moving to New York was just a symbol. Setting foot on Manhattan didn’t instantly get you what you wanted. The divorce is just a symbol, too. I’m not saying it’s not messy. But Keenan is just an idea. Putting too much stock in milestones has always been your mistake.”
Shea quieted then—thinking—knowing the moment he said it that it was true—maybe the truest pattern of her whole life. Moving to Manhattan had been designed to fix the matter of her domineering father. Marrying Keenan had been designed to remedy the struggles of New York. Becoming Kent had been designed to deliver joy and companionship as she endured a lonely marriage. Getting a divorce was meant to correct things after the smaller fixes ceased to suffice.
Tears sprang up to Shea’s eyes but didn’t fall. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
There was something liberating in admitting it. She’d come to Sapling to start over, but somehow, she felt even more in over her head.
“That’s the part you have to learn. But you won’t learn it waiting for a judge to give you a piece of paper. It’s about living better, and deprogramming every lie that marriage taught you to believe. And, trust me, I get it…”
Shea raised an eyebrow and gave a tiny smile through her sniffle. “You went through a divorce you forgot to tell me about?”
“No…” he smirked for just a second before his face turned serious. “But I struggle with some of this, too, because of my own lies that somebody taught me that I have to unlearn. Leaning on my friends when I need them and not keeping so many secrets and not punishing myself by being alone don’t magically come after I hit some milestone. They’re things I have to practice every day.”
Not for the first or even the second time, Shea wondered what she would have done these years without Kendrick. Everything about this day left her feeling blessed. She was still processing all of it—still processing the fact that a dozen friends had all rallied around her, conspiring and executing in grand fashion to run her ex out of town.
“Speaking of secrets…” Shea’s smile was curious. “I thought you were mister straight-and-narrow. Some of the things you did today weren’t strictly on the up-and-up.”
Kendrick shrugged and motioned to himself. “I told you about my dark side and what your Kendrick character should be like, remember? Modern-day Robin Hood? Superhero assassin?”
Shea’s eyes went wide. She expected Kendrick to laugh, only he actually looked vulnerable for once. She let out a surprised breath of air she didn’t know she’d been holding. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything,” Kendrick said quickly, all humor gone from his voice. “Literally. Let everyone keep thinking I’m a programmer.”
Without preamble, Kendrick shifted his attention toward his phone, which still lay on the sofa, and which must have vibrated because Shea didn’t hear a sound.
“Old boy drives a Tesla?” He suddenly wanted to know as he studied something on the screen.
At the mention of Dev’s car, Shea’s heart rate spiked. Without waiting for an answer, Kendrick turned the face of his phone landscape-wise so she could see. A still image of Dev’s whole car and another one of his license plate were stacked still shots on one side of the screen, and what Shea could only assume was a live stream of his car moving up the driveway was on the other. She blinked, not that she needed to in order to see. It all appeared in astonishingly clear resolution.
“Alright…now all your spy shit is freaking me out.”
He just shrugged and began to rise. “The rest of it can wait.” Kendrick motioned to his phone. “The conversation you need to have with Dev, cannot.”
The reality of facing Dev sent Shea’s heart rate racing. She still felt unprepared even though she’d rehearsed what she’d say to him a dozen times. She wanted him back—desperately and officially. She knew that part of him wanted her, too. But how did she handle the part of him that might have still been furious about her lie?
Kendrick was already halfway to the door before Shea had the presence of mind to kick into gear and follow.
“Wait! Where will you go? I can’t kick you out of your own house.”
“You’re not kicking me out. I’ve got a chopper waiting. I’ve done what I came to do. And I’ve got a brunch date tomorrow morning in New York.”
Kendrick took a look around the entryway, as if surveying the house, before looking back to Shea.
“This place suits you well. Something about you has never been for the city.”
Of all he’d told her about herself that night, it was that which surprised her the most. His eyes took on a familiar knowing.
“I think that’s what made me realize things could never work between us. You’ve always been searching for something you were never going to find in New York.”
It hit her with a pang of bittersweet—not for what was never meant to be between she and Kendrick—for all the years she’d never given him credit for knowing her so well. It gave her her best flash of hope all day. Even better than watching a thoroughly intimidated Keenan be escorted away was this sure sign that life still hell delicious surprises in store.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
Kendrick just gave her hand a little squeeze, kissed her forehead, and opened the front door. Dev was just getting out of his car, looking as run through the wringer as Shea felt. As Kendrick and Dev passed each other on the short pathway that led up to the door, something passed between them in a long look Shea didn’t understand. When they exchanged a knowing handshake, she suddenly did.
39
The Restart Button
Dev
Dev wasn’t even sure that he should be there—not in the state he was in: wrung-out and shocked and still so exhausted he’d barely been able to drive straight. Still, when he’d left number one after using what mental energy was left to read the transfer contracts Don Packard had brought, his car hadn’t taken him down the river to his own place, but up the mountain to Shea’s.
She looked tired, and scared and sentimental as Kendrick walked out the front door, but her gaze wasn’t cast upon her departing friend. Every measure of emotion in her eyes seemed to be for Dev. And she didn’t come forward—just stayed rooted to her spot inside the front door even as Butters came barreling out excitedly to greet him.
Still not knowing what he would say, Dev strode slowly and stopped outside the threshold, feeling that he needed to ask to be let in. He didn’t feel worthy of asking for anything after the angry way he’d left her that morning. He still didn’t quite know how to apologize. What he wanted to say was that she was beautiful, and he loved her and that he had no idea what she wanted, but that he wanted her to stay. But none of that came out yet, because this felt like starting over. And he needed to know where he was supposed to begin.
“I don’t even know what to call you,” he said gruffly, hearing the fatigue in his own voice. His eyes washed over her lovely face. He wanted to take off her glasses and smooth her knitted brow and kiss the corner of her mouth and whisper to her gently that, if they just stayed together, everything would be okay.
“That part doesn’t matter.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, like she’d been yelling at somebody or crying.
“I don’t care what you told me at the beginning,” he said. “I just want to start over with the truth, right now.”
He watched as she took a shaky breath. At that, his heartbeat sped. Because he honestly didn’t know what to expect. He thought he’d pieced together the story—stolen money from Keenan a matter of necessity to escape her marriage; a false identity as a matter of necessity to do the same.
But what if there was more? What if she had inve
nted other aspects of her persona? What if she really was pregnant or had a long, lost child? What if, now that her divorce from Keenan seemed imminent, she would disappear off to execute on the next phase of a larger plan? What if, now with her cover blown, she’d leave Sapling as fast as she could and fly back to New York tomorrow?
“My name is Shante Summers,” she began. “My parents named me after my aunt. My little cousin could never pronounce my name when he was little, and since there was already another Shante in my family, everyone called me Shea.”
Shea’s hand shook a little as she extended it to Dev, literally introducing herself, as if for the first time.
Dev took her hand. It engulfed hers the way it always did when he took it, pumping it slowly as he would during a regular greeting. Only, at the moment when it would have been timely to let their hands separate and fall back to their sides, Dev refused to let hers go.
“Elle Winters is what I changed my name to when I came to New York,” she began again slowly. “I wanted to reinvent myself. When I married Keenan, it became Elle West. When I decided to leave Keenan, I went back to Shea Summers because I have old ID to prove who I am in an emergency and because Keenan never knew me by that name.
She didn’t break his gaze but took the kind of shallow breath that told him she was mustering her courage. She took a tiny step closer to him then.
“Everything I told you about growing up in my dad’s restaurant is true. So is everything I told you about disappointing him. But there’s another reason why I know food so well. I do have a film degree from NYU, but I’ve never really worked as a screenwriter. Back in New York, I was a food critic for The Times. People called me Kent.”
A lump that felt like it had been in Dev’s throat all afternoon swelled at seeing her anguish. It reminded Dev that the burden of secrets was borne by all of those involved. He let his thumb rub the tops of her fingertips as he held his tongue from speaking, no longer sure who needed this more: him or her.
Shea’s eyes began to shine a little and she took a shaky breath. When she began again, she talked much faster, like something urgent, and frantic, had taken over.
“I didn’t tell you the whole truth about Keenan because I didn’t really want to think about him, let alone seem obsessed with my ex when I’m with the guy I like. Plus, talking about him doesn’t exactly cast me in the best light. I mean, what kind of idiot gives her husband that kind of control? And why would someone like you want to be with a girl like—”
“Shea.” He cut her off. “What do you really want? Not six months or two weeks ago—but now? Your lawyer said what happened today made your divorce as good as done. For all I know, that means you’re leaving town.”
Dev didn’t consider it to be a good sign when all the tears that had threatened to spill over finally flowed down her cheeks. This seemed like it was shaping up to be the part where she let him down hard—where she told him how much their time together had meant, but that they were on different paths. His mind flashed to Delilah and how she’d been right the first time about him and unavailable women; and how she’d been dead wrong the day before, when her talk about he and Shea being meant for one another had given him false hope.
“Dev—" Shea whispered haltingly. He had no right to be upset. All along, he’d known she was there temporarily. Only, he’d thought he had more time.
“All my life, all I ever wanted was to get away. I thought New York was gonna be my launching pad to the world. It was supposed to be this stepping-stone and, instead, it turned into a prison. And I told myself I was never gonna be tied down again. But being here doesn’t feel like being tied down—it feels like living my life and being free, Dev Kingston, with you.”
For only a second, Dev rode high on the words he’d been desperate to hear. The longest moment of his life had convinced him of her imminent rejection. He’d rejoiced when that hadn’t come, then bristled when she spoke the Kingston name.
“You know the most fucked up part about all of this?” Dev’s hand still held hers tight, but he swallowed a sob and bowed his head. “My name isn’t even Dev Kingston. All this shit I’ve been giving you about knowing who you really are, and I can’t even say the same.”
Shea frowned in confusion, then squeezed his hand tighter as she took in his distress, sniffing back her own tears in order to look at him. He waited for her to ask the inevitable questions—the why’s and how’s—it still felt too big and complicated for him to explain. But instead, she reached her free hand toward him until her cool fingers touched his face, wiping away tears he didn’t know had fallen. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so raw. But something in her look gave him hope—the way she smiled a little and blinked up at him with her big, brown eyes.
“I don’t care what your name is, as long as I can call you mine.”
40
The Epilogue
Shea
“Dad?”
Shea’s single, choked-out word was met with utter silence, though she was certain it was her father who had picked up the phone. Some three months before, she’d sent a letter, then an email when the letter had gone unanswered. It seemed right that today, of all days, she should call.
“Happy Birthday,” she said quietly.
She waited for either of the two things her father might do, to happen: he would either give her shit for calling or hang up the phone. That was how it always was with him—no kindness given freely. Even the courtesy of a conversation was one he would set her up to earn.
“You haven’t called me on my birthday in ten years,” came a voice that sounded slower and rougher than she remembered.
Give me shit, it is, Shea thought to herself.
The fact that she’d even gotten him talking was a tiny victory. Her mother—who had at least been responsive—had clued her in to the fact that he might.
The letter had been addressed to both of them, even though everyone knew the source of their rift: Shea and her father’s chronic inability to get along. But Shea had been largely estranged from her mother all those years as well.
While her dad had been domineering, her mother had been passive. It had always struck Shea that standing idly by while her daughter was forced to take crap from her husband made Dawn Summers complicit in the family discord. Coming to terms with the dysfunction in her own marriage since starting therapy months before found Shea thinking about her mother a lot.
“I think that’s about the same number of years it’s been since you’ve called me on mine.”
With Jerry Summers, one had to give as good as she got.
“That mean we ain’t been getting older?” he asked.
It was as much of an olive branch as she was ever going to get. Defaulting to banter was a sign that he would keep it light. But this was part of a pattern—one that let them avoid saying what had to be said. Beating some topics like dead horses while avoiding others completely was what always got them in trouble. A desire to break the cycle was why Shea persisted.
“No, Dad…” She took a shaky breath. “It means it’s been ten years too long since we’ve talked.”
Shea didn’t need him to provide testimony for her divorce case anymore. Keenan had agreed to settle three days after he left Sapling. Said agreement involved a gag order preventing Keenan from ever revealing Kent’s identity. It also included a mechanism similar to a restraining order instructing him to stay away from Shea. In turn, Shea had agreed that the fourth-degree stalking charges she had filed could be sealed in court records until and unless he violated the agreement. The divorce had been final for months.
The ball’s in your court, Dad.
Shea wouldn’t be the one to break their awkward silence. If she did, then nothing would change. Her father didn’t speak for a long minute, and she didn’t know whether he would. Standing up from her office chair, Shea walked to the window and peered down from the second floor, through the glass toward where Dev stood by the grill. He had tongs in hand and he split his at
tention between turning meat and talking animatedly with Donovan Packard.
If any silver lining had come from the explosions at the mills, it had been Dev’s reunion with his father. Though, the first six months had brought ups and downs. There had been a flurry of law suits against Packard Industries and a conviction for Don Jr., who plea bargained for lesser charges and ultimately avoided prison. Being on opposite sides of the same case when legal proceedings were underway had made it tricky for Dev and his father to even talk.
“Your mother says you’re living in Colorado now,” Shea’s own father finally said.
Something inside her swelled. It was halting and awkward, but it was a start.
“We live here part of the time. The rest of the time, we travel.”
She wouldn’t mention that Dev had never sold The Freshery or The Big Spoon, or that Shea was still involved with the latter. It was too soon to tell her father that she consulted to a restaurant. She didn’t manage day-to-day operations but she hired chefs and helped curate the menu. Sapling had really made it onto the map when Cella Dawes had blogged about the food at The Big Spoon that winter. She’d rented one of the Hamren houses as part of a romantic getaway with her boyfriend, Max. It had revived tourism in Sapling which, in turn, had revived morale. Business in every shop on Oliver Street was good.
“You always did want to travel…” he trailed off.
“I wanted a lot of things,” she said.
He heaved a sigh so deep, it reminded her how much he had aged. She wondered whether he was even in good health.
“Seems like you got yourself together.”
Shea couldn’t decipher the tone in his voice well enough to decide whether it was a compliment or a slight. In her letters, she’d shared some of what she was doing.
“Maybe I just needed time to make my own mistakes,” she replied.