by Alexis Bass
“Is he okay?” I say.
We hear the sound of snoring.
Edison smiles. “He’s fine.”
Edison shuts the door lightly behind him as we return to the hallway. We walk a few feet down the hall, drawing closer to each other with each step, and I know we won’t be able to ignore the electricity in the air between us any longer. Our eyes meet. Sometimes it’s very simple, the way I want him.
He presses me against the wall, kissing me like he is thirsty. I let my hands sneak up his shirt, over his bare stomach. His kisses travel down my neck, and his hands travel past my hips and up my dress.
“Hello?” We hear a voice coming from the staircase. Chelsea. She grumbles as she trips up the last step, her eyes still adjusting to the dim lighting. I duck into the closest room and gently close the door. I listen as Edison says, “Over here.” A glow comes through the bottom of the door like he’s turned on the hall light. He tells her that I’m in the bathroom and will meet them outside. The sound of their footsteps slowly descends until I can’t hear them at all.
I glance around at the room, faintly lit because of the large open window. It takes only a quick scan for me to realize this must be Edison’s room. That’s his navy sweatshirt slung over the back of the chair. And his shoes kicked off in the center of the room. I turn on the lamp next to the bed. His room has abstract paintings hanging on the gray walls. A perfectly made bed, with a red duvet covering a down comforter and dark blue sheets. There is a quilt folded at the end of his bed. I run my fingers over its fabric. It’s an assortment of colors, random and haphazard, a little worn. But beautiful. The way it doesn’t fit in this room, I think it must be something his mother made. I examine the bookshelf and see more evidence of her, photos of the two of them together. She was a woman with a big smile and dark curly hair, and he was a child who looked at her with luminous eyes, like she was the whole world. I can see what came before all this, what he had before the Duvals took him in. Before he lost her. A life that money could never replace.
Now he lives in a castle, but there are gates and a moat and rules he has to follow, conditions he has to meet. Some secrets are traps, he said, and this is his cage.
Chapter 53
The windows of the half-built house are dark when I arrive, but Edison is standing on the platform next to his car.
We drive past Main Street and North Point Beach, even past the lighthouse. It’s quiet as we turn down a gravel road that leads to a peninsula and park. I walk to the end, getting as close as I can to the water before it touches my toes. The night air turns warmer as we edge into July. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. We have a view of the ocean and the sky and nothing else. We can’t hear anything except for the distant sound of waves. It’s us, invisible to the rest of the cove, pocketed away like we’re the only ones who exist. I love him for bringing me here.
“I might have to leave before the summer is over.” He dips his head into the curve of my shoulder. “But maybe, later, after all the dust has settled, if you’re up for it, and it’s something you want, you can spend some time in London.” I spin around to face him. We’ve never made plans before, outside of this place.
I don’t know what to say, but I can’t stop myself from smiling. “I can’t promise no rain.” He glances to the ground, like he’s even a little nervous. “But I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to see you again.” He can’t really promise me anything, the way he could never really promise Chelsea. He’s not free, not really. And this hope Edison has for us is false. I try to remember the girl at the beginning of the summer, who only wanted this cute boy who made her heart race, who didn’t care about sneaking around and didn’t care about Chelsea.
I smile at him, and he takes this as my answer. When he kisses me, it is slow and soft.
He is going to want me to say that I can’t wait, that I believe we’ll see each other again after this vacation is over. I won’t lie to him. Not about this.
“Do you want to go swimming?” I am already pulling off my sweatshirt, my T-shirt, letting my shorts drop, and walking toward the shore, and in a flash he is out of his shirt, out of his shorts, coming up from behind me and grabbing my hand, pulling me faster into the water.
I don’t know what’s coming for us next. If this careful construct of what we have together, a whole summer of nights staying awake and stolen kisses, can sustain time apart, as well as all our secrets.
Probably, this is it, and when he disappears from Chelsea’s life, he’ll disappear from mine, too, and we have to enjoy these moments when it’s the two of us and a calm ocean and a cloudless night sky. We have to make the most of it.
There’s still a chill in the air every time the wind blows, and the water is not as warm as we’d prefer, but he is here, and so am I.
We soak each other with splashes, and Edison lifts me into the air, tossing me in the water. I dunk him. We try kissing underwater, but it’s too dark to find each other and I poke him in the eye with my nose and he knocks his head against my chin, and we always break the surface swallowing water from cracking up. Like this, we cancel out all the worst parts of each other. We are not the terrible things we have done. We are Edison and Maris, full of light and laughter. We don’t have any secrets. We’ve never disappointed anyone. We’ve never lied. We’ve never cheated. We’ve never hurt anyone.
We swim out far enough that the water reaches our necks. I pick my feet up off the ocean floor and let myself float, resting my arms around Edison’s shoulders. We get very quiet. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t even have a guess.
I lean in and kiss him. I hold him close. I stare at him, wishing it didn’t feel like what we have is bound by a rapidly ticking clock.
After we get out of the water, pat ourselves dry, and put our clothes and shoes back on, Edison pulls me close, so I’m slanted against him. Maybe the agents will come for the Duvals, maybe they won’t. Maybe I have to tell myself I’ve done the right thing by taking a risk that could bury the only family that he has left. I twist so I can watch him as his head tips back and he stares at the sky. He is wearing the same expression of abandonment as that night we made the boat go as fast as it could and jumped into the ocean. And I know like I know the feel of my own skin that on Edison’s eighteenth birthday, when he let the horse out, it was not a drunken mistake. He was setting the horse free.
He drops me off at the half-built house, like he always does, since it’s safer that we won’t be seen. But this time I forget my sweatshirt, and as I’m walking up the New Browns’ driveway, I hear a car pull up behind me. I hear a door open. It’s him, waving the sweatshirt I left behind, and I run up to him, taking back the sweatshirt and stealing a kiss.
I am smiling as I walk away. But as I’m about to go around the side of the house to climb up the terrace, I notice the front door is cracked open a few inches.
I walk slowly to the door, panic flooding me. A surge of all the dangerous secrets I carry with me. I am someone who knows too much about the Duvals. I know that Dr. Alic and the senator are somehow linked. And George—if so many of the other Goodman Pharmaceuticals associates were deceased, what makes me think George isn’t in danger of more than just going to prison?
I grip my phone in my hand, ready to call 911, depending on what’s inside. I am ready to scream. I am ready for someone to jump out at me. I pull my arm back ready to hit them in the face.
I am ready for everything, except for what I find.
Chapter 54
George is holding a bottle, and Phoebe is asleep in his arms. He paces in front of the large window that would’ve given him a full view of the driveway, a full view of Edison and me.
I close the door softly behind me. He turns his back to me. This probably simply confirms all the horrible things he already thought about me. I decide to walk away from him, since I know how he prefers avoidance when it comes to me, even when he knows I’ve been getting into trouble.
My foot is on
the first step when I hear him say in a low voice, “I’ll kill him.”
I spin around to look at him, and his face is red and stiff; he’s frowning. This is the face of the father I’m used to. The father who is unhappy and disappointed. The father who didn’t want me to come on this trip finally being given validation for everything he had tried to forget about me.
I’ll kill him, he said—but he doesn’t get off that easy, talking around the issue, focusing his frustration on Edison. He’s never once said to my face how he really feels about me. Actions speak louder than words, but that’s been the coward’s way for him. He probably still tells himself he’s done nothing to me that warrants how I’ve acted because he never yelled at me, never scolded me, never told me I’d done something wrong, only treated me as though I had, and that began long before I ever started acting out. He keeps himself in the dark on purpose. With me, and with what he did for Dr. Alic, the delivery he made. I see the girl again, the fear in her eyes, the way she’d been excited at the start of the recording and facedown in her own vomit by the end of it.
“What about me?” I say to him, my blood boiling. “I did it, too. It wasn’t just Edison.”
“I’ll deal with you later,” he says in a hushed tone, cradling Phoebe closer and moving toward the stairs, using her as an excuse to get out of this conversation. I know how he’ll deal with me. He won’t.
“What are you going to do, call my mom?” I say. “She’ll know exactly where I learned this kind of behavior.”
Now he looks hurt, and that—for some reason—is much worse. Because I’ve never confronted him either. And this is why—because I didn’t want to see the pain I could cause. I covered my ears and left the room when he yelled at my mother. I played the part of the withdrawn, troubled daughter who kept to herself when I’d visited him. All along I knew if I confronted him, he would get to claim me as the cause of his pain and all the things I said would only be stacked against me..
I step aside so he doesn’t have to walk around me to go upstairs. The boat keys are sitting on the long, slender table backing the sofa, resting neatly in a sea-green glass bowl.
When I hear the sound of Phoebe’s bedroom door clicking shut, I grab the boat keys. I charge outside, through the screened porch and down the stairs. I’m not even to the bottom when the first pangs of helplessness hit, and I know that if I keep going down these steps and into that boat, I will have nowhere to go. What am I going to do, drive out into the ocean like Edison does? Scream into the wind? I sit on the steps and press my forehead to my knees. I take deep breaths until I feel steady, until I feel calmer; until I can feel in my bones how it’s closer to sunrise than sunset and I am achingly tired.
When I come back inside, George is standing at the counter sipping water. Like he was waiting for me. His eyes travel from my hand, clenching the boat keys, to my face. He gives me a slight smile. I do not smile back.
“I’m glad you didn’t leave,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. “Destruction can be tempting, I know. Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes sense … but I’m glad you decided not to take off in the boat tonight.”
My eyes sting from holding in tears. Destruction can be tempting, I know. How does he have the nerve to say that to me? As if we’re somehow alike, and the things I did in Phoenix are the same as the horrible things he’s done, the way he went behind our backs and would have been content lying for who knows how long if Trisha hadn’t gotten pregnant. And what he did to get a promotion at Goodman Pharmaceuticals; he couldn’t have assumed what he was doing was harmless when it was a lie. It was cheating. It was the kind of destruction that left someone dead. And if what I did was dangerous, at least I knew the full weight of the risks I was taking; at least I owned them. George thinks he can see through me, but I’m the one who can see through him.
“I know all about you,” I say. “And we’re nothing alike.” I grab my beach bag from the hooks on the wall and let the screen door slam on my way out.
Chapter 55
I don’t drive into the middle of the ocean. I go across the cove. I pull in behind Edison’s black speedboat at the Duval’s dock. I call his phone as I walk through the sand, and when he doesn’t answer, I call again as I’m charging up the stairs etched in the cliff, taking them two at a time.
When I reach the top, I’m out of breath, but I keep going, calling again and again as I move past the garden, past the grotto. There are lights on in the main room, and through the windows I can see figures moving. Warren strolls from the drink cart to the sofa, where Karen is sitting. They are both wearing silk robes over their pajamas, and they have slippers on. They are deep in conversation. There are papers laid out over the coffee table. Warren points to his wrist as he speaks, as if referring to the time, though I don’t think he has a watch on right now. Karen nods, sips her martini. Whatever she says to him has him leaning forward and writing something down. I didn’t think anyone would be awake at this hour. I duck behind the retaining wall and ease myself to the left so I’m hidden by the tightly trimmed shrubs heading off the garden.
I call Edison one more time. “What are you doing here?” he’ll say; there’ll be excitement in his voice, and when I’ve finally made it past Karen and Warren and into his room, there’ll be relief in his expression. I’ll tell him everything: what happened tonight with George, about the agents and their interest in the Duvals because they are searching for Dr. Alic. I’ll give up all my secrets and he’ll give up his. And then I’ll do everything with him that I’ve always wanted to do; I won’t hold back anymore and neither will he. But his phone rings and rings, until it cuts to voicemail again. Instead of leaving a voice message, I send a text: I’m here. Coming to your room now. I’ll be careful not to be seen.
The living room is vacant now. From the mirror hanging over the fireplace, I can see Karen and Warren walking down the hall. They open a door at the far end; they both go through it.
I slip in through the side door, closest to the kitchen. Through the mirror, I can monitor the hallway to make sure they do not come out of the room they’ve ducked into. They don’t close the door. I walk slowly so there’s no way they’ll see a sudden movement out of the corners of their eyes.
Papers containing whatever Karen and Warren are discussing so intently in the middle of the night are spread out over the coffee table. Perfectly readable, if I alter my route slightly. I step cautiously into the living room, moving around the large leather chair. I bend forward and examine the papers. They are blueprints of what looks to be a shipyard or storage units. The label reads: Ellis Exports—East Port. There are arrows drawn roughly around the containers, but they seem too random for me to make sense of. Another sheet of paper has lists of times: a schedule of arrivals and departures. Goodman Pharmaceuticals is named as Shipment Arrivals on July 4th. Tomorrow. This sheet is labeled: Logistics Department. Underneath reads: Katherine Ellis, Head of Domestic Logistics. A loose purple Post-it note lies amidst the papers, reading, “Thanks for taking a look. Let me know if you have any suggestions. Je vous dois.”
A tablet is lying there also. I press my finger to the screen and watch it light up to reveal an accounting ledger. At the top it reads, Liability Transfer. First installment: $300,000. Second installment: $200,000. The number listed as the third installment of $500,000 is recorded as pending. The date listed is July 4th.
My heart beats quickly as I move toward the stairs. I see in the mirror that Warren and Karen are leaving the room down the hall; they are taking their time, talking among themselves. But I pick up my pace, and I crouch to the floor, listening to their voices get louder as they return to the main room. I can’t make it to the staircase without them noticing, so I turn into the first open room. Luckily, with their backs to me and their focus on mixing drinks at the bar, I can carefully open and close the door without them noticing. There is one light on in the room coming from a short green lamp atop a large oak desk. Surrounding me are file cabinets and bookshelves; a
circular red-and-gold rug rests in the middle of the room and behind the desk is a large black armchair. On the wall next to me hangs a Renaissance painting of a young prince with a crooked crown.
The problem now will be knowing when it’s safe to exit this room. I press my ear up against the door and listen.
“Sepp has done well,” Warren says.
“He’s really surprised me,” Karen says.
Their voices are getting louder—so are their footsteps. I scramble away from the door. There isn’t anywhere good to hide in this room. There is no closet, no space behind the shelving, and my only choice is the least ideal. Under the desk. I secure myself in position right as they open the door. I hold my breath. If either of them decides to sit at the desk, they will see me. If either of them steps too far to the left or too far to the right, or gets too close, they will see me. Thankfully, they don’t turn on the overhead light as they enter.
“What do you want to do about this?” Karen says. My view is of their lower halves, cut off at their knees.
“Shred it,” Warren says. “It’s been destroyed in the hospital records and Sepp swears Edison didn’t know what to make of it. Edison doesn’t lie to Sepp.”
“Are you sure?”
They are quiet.
“We’ll have Sepp ask him about it again,” Karen says. “Tomorrow. After.”
“It’s been seven years and we still can’t really trust him. He either needs more to lose, or he needs out.”
“I know.” Karen sighs. “The problem is he doesn’t seem to love anything. She died and he turned heartless.”
They are moving closer to the desk—I can see the ties of their robes; Warren’s hands dangling at his side. Karen is holding a large envelope. If they take even another step forward they are going to see me. It’s a gamble, but I slide farther under the desk. Now, if they happen to turn around and look back after they leave the room, they will definitely see me. But in the meantime, as they walk behind the desk and Karen lets the package she was holding drop into the wastebasket, where it lands with a thud, I am out of their sight. Sweat forms on my hairline and my heart is pounding in my chest. I pinch my eyes shut and listen as their footsteps recede. I hear the door fall shut behind them. Letting all my breath out at once and scooting frantically behind the desk, I am almost noisy. But they don’t seem to be coming back.