Happily and Madly

by Alexis Bass

  “Probably not. I mean, you know what they say about downtown Cross Cove?” He pauses for effect. “If it’s not Main Street, it’s minor.” He looks like he expects me to laugh at this, so I do.

  “But he’s still missing.”

  He does the half shrug again. “So I guess it wasn’t his buddies that picked him up after all.”

  I smile at the boy, and he smiles back. He asks me if I’ll be at the party on the Fourth, tells me the shop will have a stand and he’ll be working it. I lie and tell him I’ll look for him.

  I step out into the sun and walk with Chelsea back to meet Trisha and George so we can return to the beach house.

  “Edison will be there,” she says, her voice full of delight. “He’s back, and he’s coming for dinner.”

  I remember what Archaletta said to me the last time I saw him—the last time anyone saw him: All that money. Who could stay away? I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

  He’d laughed and coughed, and his eyes were lost and faraway like they were fading.

  He’d said, It’s a curse, though; I hope you know that.

  And now I really do.

  As we travel back to the beach house, my nerves are jumping and the pit in my stomach is growing deeper the closer we get.

  Edison’s waiting for us outside, waving at us as we pull into the driveway. He’s smiling and his hair is windblown and his tan is setting in and his eyes are bright with an excitement that I know is mostly because of me, and for a moment, I forget that he’s as much of a liar as I am, except his lies are shielding millions of dollars; his lies are holding people in power and covering up death.

  I am not the dangerous one, Archaletta had said.

  No one will ever find him, was what Edison said.

  I follow behind Chelsea as she runs up to greet him and watch as she gives him a giant hug. I thought I was being clever and that between the agents and Edison, I’d gotten all the secrets I needed to uncover the truth, but I was very wrong.

  Chapter 50

  I expect to be angry when I see him at the half-built house that night. He is standing by the stairs, waiting in the lantern light, and the moment I’m through the door, he’s surrounding me, a hand behind my neck, the other pressed into my back. I see a flash of his face before he kisses me—a fixed expression of desperate relief. I can feel in the firm press of his lips, the way his fingers grip my shirt, how much he has hated the days we spent apart, how glad he is to have me with him now.

  “I can’t stand being away from you,” he says, his voice muffled against my neck. All I can do is nod. I’m holding on to him so tightly my hands are throbbing.

  By the time we are upstairs, lying side by side on the blanket and the tarp’s been pulled away, letting in the summer breeze and the moonlight, I wish he was Finn again, full of mystery, the kind that kept me guessing. Not like this quiet deception from both of us, where being with him and ignoring everything else is the most delicious form of denial.

  But I can’t forget what the boy working at the ice cream shop told me about Archaletta, his last moments. Maybe the agents are closer to discovering the truth behind Dr. Alic than they think, now that they have uncovered the business of the Duvals and Stevens. I brought the tracker with me tonight, but I didn’t turn it on. If I did, would that summon them? Or would they only start watching me, monitoring my whereabouts? Maybe they would know to come here tonight or any other night when I might meet him like this. I don’t want them to know I’m here. I like that the rest of the world is out there, and Edison and I are alone in here.

  “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?” I say, thinking of that evening when I wanted him so badly it felt like I was vanishing. “I guess, you can go wherever you want, can’t you?”

  “I can’t go anywhere whenever I want.” He readjusts next to me and I take it as a sign he’s said something he wishes he could take back. “But I liked Europe. I liked being far away. Sepp wants to go to South America next. It’s his favorite.”

  “Is there any world where I get to come with you?” I ask. I’ve never been outside of the country, but I can imagine being somewhere far away with Edison, somewhere unreachable, that would be so unrecognizable and unfamiliar to us, that we really could let go of the secrets we’re holding, leave behind the danger we could be in. We wouldn’t have to pretend to run away; we’d really do it.

  I can tell by the way he breathes out that he’s smiling. “I think there is. One day. You and me.”

  “When it’s safe?”

  “Hey.” He rolls on his side and looks down at me. “Not ‘when it’s safe.’ It’s already safe for you and your family. You understand?” He waits for me to nod. “One day when this is all behind us, is what I meant.”

  I think of what he said in the cottage when I asked him about what he knew and his answer was, “too much … enough that I’ll never get away.”

  “Are you safe?” I sit up on my elbows and he lets his arm drape over my stomach.

  “I’m always safe.”

  The money protects him, as long as he does what’s required from Oswald and Warren and Karen and Stevens. And Sepp. He was in danger on the island because of what he was doing for all of them.

  “Are you afraid of them?” I ask.

  He’s surprised. But he’s careful. He lets the shock pass over his face for only a second. His mouth turns down. His eyebrows lower. He looks away. I reach up and grab his chin, force him to look at me.

  “Are you?”

  “No,” he says with no hesitation. “The Duvals saved me.” He focuses his attention on the string of my sweatshirt, twisting it between his fingers. “After what I saw they didn’t have to take me in, but they did. They made me one of them. They took care of everything after my mother died. They’ve always been there for me.”

  “What did you see?”

  He pulls tighter and tighter on the string, until the fabric bunches around my neck. “Hey,” I say. He’s smiling. He lets go. “I saw them at the quarry,” he says. “Making the cement.”

  It mimics the story Oswald told me about how they discovered Edison when he was young. But now there are obvious pieces missing. “I don’t get it,” I say.

  He leans down and kisses me. “Because there’s nothing to get.” I roll onto my side, so we are lying with our knees touching, staring into each other’s eyes instead of at the sky.

  “I don’t want to let them down,” he tells me.

  “Why do they trust you with so much?” They put him alone on the island; they’re using him to keep George close—this kid they found at their quarry. It doesn’t make sense.

  “The same reason I trust you. I just know I can.” He moves forward and kisses my neck, right below my jawline. “Can’t I?”

  I nod into him. I shrug down so we’re nose to nose and he has nowhere to look but right in my eyes. “You’re the one with the secrets.”

  You have them all, I expect him to say, a syrup-sweet lie, but that’s not what he says. “One day I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Tell me now.” But I know he won’t. I know he’ll kiss me instead. He’ll take my hands and circle his arms around me, repositioning us so we’re looking at the sky. That’s exactly what he does and all the while I’m wondering if it’s equal between us now, since I am keeping so much from him, too.

  I take a chance and ask about the one secret that’s going to keep me awake at night, leave me restless with agitation during the day. “How did Archaletta die?”

  He gets very still beside me. “No one told me,” he says. It must be a gamble for him, to know how much to trust me, what he can reveal to me without going too far. And maybe it’s because he can feel how much I care for him that he said, “No one told me,” instead of denying that Archaletta is dead altogether. He’s trusting me not only to keep his secret, but also to understand that if no one told him, he truly doesn’t know.

  In this moment, I hate not being able to come clean and tell him what I’ve been
through with the agents, what I saw on the recording. But he’s still with the Duvals; he still did what they wanted to protect Senator Stevens; there is still more he’s covering up.

  “It’s late,” he says. “Do you have to go?”

  “No,” I say, wondering if this is a test to see if he’s gone too far now that he’s told me something that should scare me. “No, I don’t have to go.”

  He kisses my temple, the place easiest for him to reach, and his arms squeeze tighter around me. We’re quiet as we stare through the skylight. And when we see the shooting star, I wonder if we’ve both made the same wish.

  Chapter 51

  When I wake up the next morning, it is just another day at Cross Cove. Chelsea humming to herself as she curls her hair. George watching the news while he drinks his coffee. Trisha playing peekaboo with Phoebe to make her laugh.

  We all have lunch together on the screened porch. Phoebe chooses me to hold her after she’s done eating, leaning in my direction with her arms stretched out. I stand in the sunlight with her as she pulls on my hair and pinches the sides of my arms, giggling and shouting the whole time. She is strong and excited, and this makes me glad.

  A little after noon, we cross the cove. Chelsea is eager, not at all trying to hide how much she missed spending time at the Duvals’ beach as she runs off the dock and jumps into Edison’s arms. Oswald, Warren, Karen, and Sepp are there waiting for us. I think we all missed it, the beach games, the lounge chairs, the fluffy towels, the ease of being here.

  It doesn’t look any less luxurious than it did when I didn’t know how the Duvals made their money. But I do wonder if what they’ve done haunts them, if they have to run away to Europe or South America the way Edison does. If they can see the blood on their hands or if the money and comfort is truly enough and they believe in their souls that whatever they had to do was worth it.

  Edison is quieter than usual. He didn’t sleep, not a wink; the wind blew the tree branches right against his window, and the tapping kept him up all night, he claims.

  I couldn’t sleep either.

  This makes Chelsea extra chipper, like her good mood will douse us all in her sunshine until we glow as brightly as she does.

  We play badminton, we swim, we lie in the sand with our feet in the surf.

  Katherine Ellis and her brother Michael come by, and Sepp is on his best behavior, slapping his knee while he laughs at Michael’s mediocre jokes, paying Kath compliments left and right, and doting on her: dipping her sandals in the water before she puts them on after they’ve been lying out on the dock, getting hot with the sun, holding her iced tea as she takes a turn flying the drone. Warren asks how their father is doing and Michael launches into some story about his father spending the week in Atlantic City and drunkenly tossing his chips in the air after winning a high-stakes game of blackjack.

  “What does your father’s company do?” I ask.

  Sepp laughs. “Ellis Exports, take a wild guess, Maris.”

  George speaks up. “They handle distribution and equipment transportation for Goodman Pharmaceuticals.” He nods at Kath. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Goodman Pharmaceuticals has their own distribution center,” Kath says. “We take care of their special shipments. But we’re a primary distributor for many other wholesalers.”

  “And you work with the Duval Cement and Gravel Company?” I say.

  “They are not one of our clients currently,” Kath says.

  “Maybe one day.” Sepp nudges her with his elbow. “Now that Kath is the head of their logistics department.”

  “We’re all very excited for her,” Michael says. His voice is so deadpan I can’t tell if he means it, though I don’t detect any animosity from him either, if he is jealous of her position at the company.

  “I’ve still got a lot to learn,” she says, downplaying it in a way that makes me think he might be.

  “Don’t be modest,” Sepp says to her. “You’re doing great.”

  “I have appreciated your help,” she tells Sepp, lowering her voice. “Your advice.”

  He leans in toward her, as close as he can get without touching her, and her smile is as bright as the sun.

  Michael and Kath don’t stay for long. The moment they leave, Sepp downs a vodka tonic and falls groggily onto a lounge chair.

  Sepp comes off careless and flippant, but I’m curious if it’s ever too much for Sepp to bury what they’ve done and put on a smile, to carry on with whatever agenda will lead to the biggest paycheck or keep Senator Stevens from losing his power. If that’s why he drinks so much; if that’s why he’s so good at distracting himself with jokes.

  When he peels himself off the lounge chair to get a refill, I ask him if he wants to take the boat for a spin. He seems glad for a reason to leave the beach. I am, too, to be honest.

  Sepp lets me drive so he can lie back and close his eyes and sip on his drink. I steer us far enough so we are away from the beach, but not out so far that we’re in the middle of the boat traffic in the bay.

  Chelsea and Edison are miniature people walking along the surf.

  “Stop torturing yourself,” Sepp says, nodding in their direction, noticing I’ve been watching them.

  “I’m not.”

  He laughs like he doesn’t believe me.

  “It’s a beautiful day.” I change the subject.

  “It’s paradise, Maris. Every day is fucking beautiful.” He finishes his drink and roots around in the cooler for a beer. He drinks it too fast, and it drips down his chin. He lets out a belch.

  “It’s a good thing Kath’s not here to see you in all your glory.”

  He smiles, wiggles his eyebrows up and down. “Are you jealous?”

  “At least with me, you don’t hide who you are.”

  He laughs, loud and deep. I look back to the shore as goose bumps creep up my arms, thinking of all the things Sepp does hide. “If you have something to say, why don’t you go ahead and say it?”

  “Are you with her for any reason other than because your family approves?” Like the reason Edison is with Chelsea. My heart races, but I keep my voice steady.

  He shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” He finishes his beer and says, “You know what? Fuck off, Maris. I’ve had enough of your holier-than-thou commentary about me and Kath, your insistence that I’m somehow putting on a show for her and lying to her. And this is all very rich, by the way, coming from you—the one going behind Chelsea’s back all summer.” He tosses the empty beer can in the corner of the boat. “Are you with Kath and me every second we’re together? Do you understand what we’re saying when we’re talking in French?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Damn right, fair enough. This is something you have no idea about; you couldn’t even begin to understand. You don’t know what it’s like when it’s just her and me.” He bends forward and fumbles with the lid on the cooler. I nudge it open all the way for him. He nods at me, and though he doesn’t say thank you, I can see he’s already softening toward me, maybe even feeling sorry he got so worked up.

  “So what’s it like, then? Between you and Kath?”

  “I’ll have you know she could drink me under the table if she was in the mood to do so and that she does nothing but curse when we speak French.” Sepp looks straight ahead at a group of boats trying to anchor next to each other, the people in each boat motioning for the opposite boat to stop, stretching out their arms like they can reach one another, then giving up and jumping into the open space between the boats and laughing when they hit the water.

  “It’s great,” he finally says. He rubs his eyes and looks at me. “It’s perfect.”

  “Then why do you seem sad?”

  I think he’s going to deny this, throw a joke my way. He turns his head so I can’t see his face.

  “Maybe this is just how I am.”

  I join him on the bench seat, and he scoots over to make room for me. We watch the boats and the people; we don’t s
ay anything else. He slings his arm around me, and when I turn to look at him, he doesn’t look at me, but he does let a small smile spread across his lips. He knows I am watching. This is what he wants me to see.

  I think I do believe him when he says he likes Kath and likes the way they are together. I think it’s the Duvals who want him to be a certain way, who think Sepp needs to hold himself back in order to keep her impressed. And I think he knows that whatever is between them isn’t real, even if he’d like it to be.

  Before we go back, Sepp kisses me on the forehead. “I can’t stay mad at you,” he says, his voice as light and carefree as his expression, his disposition as sunny and perfect as the day.

  Chapter 52

  We have dinner in the grotto that night. All the adults are a little overserved; Oswald’s laughter a little freer, Karen’s eyes a little heavier, Warren’s stories a little more exaggerated. George hoots at everything and repeats things he said ten minutes ago, though no one else seems to mind. Sepp turns clumsy, and when he knocks over his full drink, spilling dark liquid down the center of the table, I volunteer to help him to bed. I know the line that’s going to come out of Edison’s mouth before he says it.

  “Let me help you.”

  Chelsea asks if there’s anything she can do. Sepp laughs heartily. He has one arm over my shoulder, the other over Edison’s, and as we attempt to steady him while he walks, he starts singing, “It takes two, baby.”

  Oswald, Warren, and George all find this hilarious.

  Edison and I shuffle Sepp into the house. We move past the tall windows letting in the light from the outside and up a flight of stairs.

  “You got him?” Edison says. Sepp is leaning on us to make it up the stairs. His head is bobbing like it’s too heavy for him.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Sepp mimics.

  We move in zigzags, laughing, down the dark hallway, a few narrow skylights making the darkness more gray than black, so it’s possible to see the outline of the hall. We lead Sepp through the third door on the left. We attempt to ease him onto his mattress, but he falls forward, flopping down on the bed. He kicks off his shoes and mumbles as he scoots forward and buries his face in the pillows.