Before Ever After

by Samantha Sotto

“The water?”

  “Around the island,” he said. “Did you notice the color of the sea?”

  Shelley remembered the aquamarine that had lapped against Manny’s outrigger.

  Max tilted her chin to face him. “It is the color of your eyes,” he said. “It was the reason I hid there. I built a home on a cliff so that whenever I felt selfish enough to return to you, I would look out onto the water, see the peace in your eyes … and find the will not to disturb it.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Until Paolo found you.”

  “Yes.” Max sat up in bed. “And I knew it was just a matter of time before he found you, too—whether or not I had asked him to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one wants to be alone,” he said. “Paolo would have eventually sought you out to share the burden of his discovery. That’s why I decided that the kindest way for both of you to learn the truth was … at the same time. He needed the context only you could provide, and you needed to come to see the truth in all that I had already told you.” He swallowed. “But there was also another reason.”

  Shelley stiffened. She pulled the sheet over her breasts.

  “I would not have admitted it then,” Max said, “but deep inside I knew that I had asked Paolo to find you as much for my sake—if not more. I realized, however, that if I ever saw you again, saying farewell would never have been an option.”

  “And so you came,” Shelley said, “here.”

  Max nodded. “But how did you know where I was?”

  “You told me,” she said.

  “Told you?”

  “In your letter,” she said. “You wrote that this place is your sanctuary.” The pain caught up with her. Shelley clutched her chest and cried out. She rolled to her side.

  “What’s wrong, luv? Are you all right?” Max sat up and switched on the lamp on the bedside table. A sliver of metal flashed in the light. The silver vial lay next to the eggs and the rest of the contents of Shelley’s pockets. “Shelley”—his voice was laced with panic—“what is this?”

  “A snack?” She smiled weakly. The pain was subsiding now, like a rip that had reached its end. She was drifting away.

  “No.” Max snatched up the vial. “What is this?” He tore its silver cap off. It was empty. “What have you done?” His face crumpled with despair.

  “I made my choice.” Shelley saw a table set before her, and she was being called to sit in front of it. “Gestrin … he was … very helpful.” Her voice was growing fainter with each word.

  “No!” Max cried. “Shelley! Why did you do this?”

  “It will work.” She took his face in her cold hands. “It has to.”

  Max pulled her hands off his face and held her by the shoulders. “When did you take the poison? You need a doctor—”

  “No, please,” Shelley said. “This is what I want.”

  “You would kill yourself … on the word of a madman for the chance to live forever?”

  “No, not for … ever, Max,” she said. “For you. I would die to live for … you.”

  He was sobbing now. “You didn’t have to do this. I would have stayed …”

  “But I wouldn’t have,” Shelley said. “I don’t want to ever have to leave you, Max.”

  “But that’s what you’re doing now.” Max’s voice shook with fear and grief.

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You’re dying, Shelley.”

  “I am,” she said. “But I will make the right choice in the end. I already made it once before.”

  “I don’t understand …” Tears streamed down his face.

  “You made me a widow. I’ve already been torn in half. I chose to live then. I know I can do it again,” Shelley said. “I’m just very … tired … right now …” She closed her eyes. “Let me sleep … just for a little … while.”

  Max gathered her to him. She was growing limp in his arms, but her face remained full of hope. He kissed the secret spot behind her ear. “Good night, luv.”

  “Good night, Max.” Shelley curled into a ball against him.

  He pulled her closer. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  “Breakfast?” Shelley asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. Time was slowing. There were cards being laid before her, pictures of places. Faces. She saw her mother, Paolo, Brad, Max … but not her own.

  “Yes,” Max said, “for tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. Shelley was beginning to forget what the word meant. She just wanted to sleep. She was so tired. She nuzzled closer to Max. A blank Scrabble tile brushed her cheek.

  Tomorrow, she remembered, from the Old English to morgenne, dative of morgen or “morning.” Written as two words until the sixteenth century and then as “to-morrow” until early in the twentieth century. “To morning.” Shelley repeated the words in her head. To morning—this was the direction she needed to go in. She found the strength to speak. “It’s Sunday tomorrow,” she said. “Do you have to ask?”

  “Baked eggs and cheese it is, luv,” Max said, “and tea …”

  Jasmine.

  It was not Shelley Gallus’s top choice for her last thought, but it would have to do. She wondered if there was still time to say it out loud.

  Epilogue

  A sprig of tarragon lay next to broken eggshells on the counter. In the oven, cheese melted into cream. The kettle whistled, calling to a chipped floral teacup waiting patiently on a picnic table set for two. It was Sunday morning.

  Acknowledgments

  I have now come to the part of the book that I believe is the hardest to write. It is difficult because I know that I will never be able to come up with the words to sufficiently express my gratitude to all the people who have helped to put this book in your hands.

  The first ones that I will fail miserably to thank enough are my family.

  Grandma, you never got tired of playing with me when I was little and because of you a part of me will always be the five-year-old who believes in fairy tales.

  Dad, this novel is here because you taught me that things happen twice—first in our minds, second in reality. (So if you feel that you’ve read this before, you know why.)

  Mom, you are the true author of this book. The journey toward Before Ever After began when you told me stories about elephants that loved ice cream and little engines that could. It continued when you bought the “newspapers” I made and told me that my imaginary mice were brilliant. Finally, you patiently read Max and Shelley’s story far more times than the safety limit set by the International Proofreaders Union until it became fit for human consumption. All the dotted i’s, crossed t’s, and well-placed commas of this book thank you from the bottom of their Times New Roman hearts.

  Vince, you braved the first draft of this book and showed me the importance of happy endings.

  Derek and Trina, you challenged me to write a book that you would read. Here it is. No skimming allowed. There will be a quiz later.

  Second, I would like to thank my wonderful circle of friends, both online and off, who have been so generous with their time, support, and happy-dancing bananas. Rez, PV, Pinky, Dino, Johnny, Cathy, Tina, Jebot, Rochelle, Fino, Mutya, Jinggoy, Kris and Jake, thank you so much for enduring countless dinners with me where the menu often featured my endless writing rants and rambles as the starter, main course, and dessert. To my blogger friends and AW family, thank you for sharing this journey with me. Virtual hugs feel just as warm as real ones. Bopet and Cecile, you rock. The photos you shared for the book’s trailers were incredible. Reich, my fellow happy camper, I will never forget the “real” Slight Detour we took together. There’s no one else I would have rather spent a homeless night on a bridge with. And for the record, I owe you a gyro.

  My deepest gratitude also goes out to my amazing agent, Stephanie Kip Rostan. Steph, you were the first person who did not share my last name to fall in love with Max and his chickens. Thank you for staying up late to finish reading his story and for believing from day
one that it was worth sharing with the world.

  And of course, none of this would be possible without my brilliant editor, Kate Kennedy, whose insight, passion, and patience have enriched this novel beyond anything I could conceive. Kate, you’ve taught me so much. Thank you for taking a chance on me and for championing this story.

  I would also like to extend my heartfelt thanks to the wonderful and dedicated team at Crown Publishers who have helped bring this book into the world. Julie, Justina, Chris, and Molly, thank you for your expertise and tireless efforts.

  Finally, I would like to say thank you to the man I married, the coauthor of this great adventure we began fourteen years ago over a couple of beers and a shared love for striped caterpillars and Polgara’s hard bread, bacon, and cheese. You are my before, ever, and after.

  Ad majorem Dei gloriam.

  About the Author

  SAMANTHA SOTTO fell in love with Europe’s cobbled streets and damp castles when she moved to the Netherlands as a teenager. Since then, she has spent nights huddled next to her backpack on a Greek beach, honeymooned in Paris, and attended business meetings in Dusseldorf in the pleasant company of a corporate credit card. Before Ever After was inspired by her experiences living, studying, and traveling in Europe. This is her first novel.