Everything That Follows

by Meg Little Reilly

  There was more Kat wanted to say about them all. She couldn’t ever fully thank them for giving her a chance and a craft. She would benefit from their love for the rest of her life. As Kat wrote, she had to keep reminding herself that she’d done a lot for these people, as well. She didn’t need to beg for their forgiveness, though she felt guilty for so many things. She still felt as if Kyle’s death was a bad omen that clung to her, cursing everything she touched, including the Murphys. But the landslide wasn’t her fault. She didn’t need to feel guilty about it. It wasn’t punishment from a god or a curse that she carried with her. It was just the weight of water.

  Kat didn’t write anything about Kyle. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what happened between them, Sean wouldn’t endanger her. Her involvement in Kyle’s death had been a challenge to his moral compass, but only because it confused his understanding of who she was. Sean was never going to tell. They would never discuss it again and he would never use it to punish her. He was a good guy. Everyone loved Sean.

  In the end, all Kat could say about why she had to leave was this:

  I love you, Sean. And I’m glad to have your forgiveness. Thank you for it. But forgiveness isn’t enough for either of us. We can still want more.

  Kat folded the note twice and slid it under Sean’s door.

  And then she walked away. With the note beyond her reach, she needed to go. There was no reversing things now. She couldn’t reach back and change her mind, edit the story or change the ending. It was done. And it was frightening to consider all that she was walking away from: loyalty, safety, a sense of belonging. But she didn’t regret it.

  Kat couldn’t be in a relationship premised on the granting of her forgiveness. She didn’t believe that there was any length of time that would equalize the power between the two of them, that would erase the feeling that she should be grateful for his forgiveness, that would mitigate his sense of magnanimity for granting it. Forgiveness wasn’t enough for either of them.

  There was also the matter of love. Maybe it was the events of the previous months or maybe it was just the natural progression of things, but Kat wasn’t in love with Sean anymore. She didn’t really care that he forgave her, not in the way a lover should. She told him that she loved him because, in a way, she still did. And it seemed a kinder story to leave him with. Placing the blame for their demise on outside forces was tragically romantic, whereas falling slowly out of love was mundane and insulting. She would never completely stop loving him, but she didn’t love him enough anymore. It was true and it wasn’t true.

  As Kat turned the corner for the main road, she pulled the hood up over her head and took one last look at the house.

  And then, a light in the kitchen came on and a body moved past the window. Sean had been there all along. He’d been there and he hadn’t opened the door.

  It stung, but only for a moment. Maybe Kat wasn’t the only one with reservations about their forgiveness arrangement. Maybe she was just the braver one for saying it and releasing them both.

  Chapter 22

  Hunter slammed the back door and blew onto his cold hands. “The trunk is full. What else do we need to fit in there?”

  Kat looked around his expansive kitchen. The notion that they needed anything was a bit ridiculous at this point. After everything she owned fell into the sea, and she’d been living out of a canvas grocery bag for three weeks, she wanted everything, but she was sure she needed very little. “Let’s take the espresso machine.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, why not.”

  Hunter kissed her cheek and began the delicate process of unplugging and partially disassembling the hulking device.

  Kat watched him work. There was very little for her to do in this project of packing up. It wasn’t her house and she had nothing to pack. She wandered into the living room, then the study and the grand dining room. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, maybe a stray sweatshirt or a book that Hunter would want to take along. Mostly, she was trying to make a mental photograph for the future.

  The beach house would still be here if they wanted to visit. Hunter’s father, the senator whose reelection bid was looking like more and more of a sure thing, would hold on to it forever. But Hunter would never live there again. He’d promised himself that. Neither of them would.

  “You want the little cups too?” Hunter yelled from the other room.

  “No, don’t worry about those,” she yelled back.

  “I’ll grab them anyway.”

  When Kat proposed this adventure to Hunter—after she’d explained her absence, and they’d made love, and any shred of doubt about their rightness melted away for good—Hunter didn’t need to think about it. He said yes immediately. It wasn’t even a real plan, just a vague idea to move away together, and he leaped at it. Because it wasn’t only Kat who needed to start a new chapter. Hunter did too. He wasn’t the bored screwup he’d been six months before. Like her, he’d seen death, and near-death, and he’d been sobered by the unvarnished cruelty of fate and nature. It was all so fucking precarious. He needed to do something.

  “Let’s go to a new place,” Kat had said as they’d lain in bed. “Somewhere with a glass studio, maybe near water...but different water. We can get jobs.”

  “I want to find a kitchen to work in.” He knew this immediately. Hunter already knew what he wanted to do there, wherever there was.

  “It’s not running away,” she’d added. “We can stay in touch with everyone, visit someday. But we can’t live here anymore.”

  Hunter felt it too. The people and the memories and the ghosts of the Vineyard...it was suffocating them.

  They never did discuss what it meant for the two of them, their new status. It felt so natural they forgot to acknowledge it. The rules and routines and labels could come later.

  Kat turned off the light in the study and walked out for the last time.

  They locked all the doors and got into Hunter’s car. It was a nicer car than she’d ever owned and he’d done exactly nothing to earn it. This fact didn’t seem to bother Hunter. It wasn’t his right and it wasn’t his fault. It just was. And Kat believed that he’d paid for this privilege in other ways—not because she thought the world is a fair place or there is some sort of cosmic leveling in the end. There is not. She simply believed that the payments and rewards of this life are more complicated than they seem.

  They drove past the collapsed bluff where the glass studio used to be, through downtown Addison and past the boatyard. Kat had the feeling that she was already looking at it all from a distance, like a tiny scale replica of the town where she’d once lived, familiar to her but powerless now.

  Hunter put a hand on her knee and squeezed. He looked like his old self again, healthy and happy. But he would never be his old self. Neither of them would. A small, puckered scar beneath his left eye was testament to that.

  Hunter pulled down the sun visor and offered Kat a pair of sunglasses, which she accepted. They gave the world a pleasing pinkish glow.

  A man jogged past from the other direction and raised a friendly hand at their car. Hunter did the same. There was an unspoken message among the men, it seemed. This world is ours, and isn’t it grand?

  But Kat felt now that it was also her world—because she was going to make it so. She was choosing to be unbound from the story of her past. The place from which she came did not define her, and the choices she’d been forced to make after Kyle’s death didn’t, either. She was who she said she was. And she was a survivor. And she knew that the only way to survive the next chapter was to forgive herself and to believe this world was really hers. There would be no asterisk by her name. She’d done what she had to and she’d learned from it. And, like Hunter, she was going to fully avail herself of any blessings that came her way. She’d paid for it all.

  Hunter followed th
e ferry workers’ signals and pulled into the line of cars. A man in a Patriots hat came to the window to accept their tickets. Hunter made a comment about the game the night before and they both laughed. And one minute later, the lot of vehicles was weaving slowly onto the enormous ferry.

  Unfazed locals and winter vacationers with carloads of kids drove on, along with a postal truck, a fruit truck and a pickup filled with rusting machine parts.

  A dozen ferry workers went about their practiced dance of directing traffic and unfastening the enormous barge from its port. Every day they did this, for large crowds and small; like castle guards at the drawbridge, they controlled all passage in and out of the kingdom.

  From the passenger seat, Kat felt the final nudging of the boat away from the shore. This time, it felt something like a push. They had officially left Martha’s Vineyard.

  Hunter turned off the car and they both got out.

  They walked along the narrow lanes between parked vehicles, to the rear of the ferry. A bitter wind pushed against their chests as Hunter took Kat’s hand. With her other hand, she held the cold metal rail before them—the only barrier between their bodies and the vast water.

  Their island grew smaller as the boat picked up speed. It would be gone to them in minutes.

  Kat wanted to see every last second of it, to understand the finality.

  But she looked away. She thought for an instant that she could feel Kyle beside her—the way she used to—and she turned to see if he was there.

  He was not.

  And when she looked back at her island, it was already gone.

  Kyle, and the invulnerable tide that had pulled everything in, was behind her now.

  * * * * *

  Acknowledgments

  I’m grateful to all the people who helped bring this story into the world, including my agent, John Silbersack; my editor, Kathy Sagan; my publicist, Shara Alexander; and everyone at MIRA Books.

  I couldn’t have had more fun researching this book and I met some fantastic people along the way. Thank you to the Luke Adams Glass Blowing Studio for your patient instruction. Thank you to the good people at the Martha’s Vineyard Transit Authority, who ferried me around their lovely island and answered my incessant questions. Thank you to The Writers’ Loft of Sherborn, where I spent most of my days drafting this story. I love you, Massachusetts.

  None of this would be possible without the support of my family. To Josephine, Annabelle and Dan (especially Dan): thank you for your sacrifices on this journey. I’m grateful for your love, humor and insights.

  I’m grateful for everything.

  EVERYTHING

  THAT

  FOLLOWS

  Meg Little Reilly

  Reader’s Guide

  Questions for Discussion

  What motivates Kat to defer to Hunter and not immediately go to the police? Do you think their decision to delay is defensible? Is it ever defensible to choose self-preservation over what’s morally right?

  Much of Kat’s perception of justice is shaped by her class and lack of power, particularly relative to Hunter. Does that make her behavior more or less justifiable?

  A major theme of this story is who gets to control the truth and whether it matters at all. Did Kyle’s mother deserve the truth about her son? Can withholding some truths be an act of kindness?

  Sean’s deep sense of morality is admirable, but it also makes him rigid and judgmental. Do you think he made the right choice about what to do with the truth? How would you have handled it differently?

  The setting of Martha’s Vineyard is a strong presence in this story; it’s both naturally striking and culturally unique for its mix of vacationers and year-rounders. Have you ever lived in a place where others go only to play? How do you think that dynamic might affect your feelings about home?

  Kat’s guilt and her quest for cosmic justice drives much of her subsequent behavior. Is guilt ever a constructive force? Do you think she is absolved in the end?

  Memory is a slippery thing in this story as Kat’s memory of the night in question—and of Kyle—warp and change over time. How reliable do you think her memory would have been if she told the police right away?

  The tragic incident in this story is triggered by Kyle’s aggression toward Kat, but he never actually acts on his perceived threats—and we’ll never know if he would have, given the chance. Is Kyle a predator? What did he deserve in that moment?

  In many ways, this is a story about redemption. Kat wants it for herself, but she also ultimately wants it for Kyle, even though she’s ambivalent about whether or not he deserves it. Even Hunter wants it in the eyes of his father. Who deserves redemption in this story? Can we ever be truly redeemed after doing what these characters have done?

  Whether or not you believe in ghosts, do you believe it’s possible to escape the hauntings of our past? Kat and Hunter ultimately decide that their escape has to be physical as well as mental. Have you ever been haunted by a person or a memory? How did you escape it?

  ISBN-13: 9781488079412

  Everything That Follows

  Copyright © 2018 by Margaret Reilly

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