Happily and Madly

by Alexis Bass

  I don’t know what to say, but I take both his hands, squeeze them tightly in mine. You’re free now, I want to tell him. But I can see on his face that the price of his freedom is intense grief.

  It’s Trisha who comes for me eventually. Edison has nowhere to go, so when she opens the car door, she motions to both of us to get in the back seat. She gasps and reaches out when she sees us, Edison with the cut on his face, his arm in a sling, and me, eyes red and tired, bruises blooming all over my body. But she doesn’t hug us. She puts her hand on our backs as we climb into the car.

  The New Brown beach house is quiet when we enter and there are suitcases lined up by the front door. My navy duffel is packed and stacked on top of the pile. Trisha says they’ll drop me off at the airport this evening on their way out of town. I initially think they want to get rid of me, but then I get a call from my mother and discover she was the one who bought the plane ticket, intent that I return as soon as possible.

  Edison stands in the living room, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from heel to heel, like he can sense he doesn’t belong here. But has nowhere else to go. His phone still works, so he calls the Duvals’ lawyer. I tell him he can go in my room to have some privacy and he seems relieved to have somewhere to hide.

  From the living room, I can faintly hear his voice talking on the phone. He sounds practiced in the way he speaks and I can’t make out his exact words, but I imagine him saying things like, “I really appreciate the information” and “thanks for your time.”

  A second later, his phone rings, and this time he doesn’t say much to whoever is on the other end. But when he does speak, he sounds relieved and grateful.

  Then it’s quiet for a while and I wonder if I should go check on him. I’m at the bottom of the stairs when I hear him again. His tone is different now; it’s softer. I hear her voice next and imagine she’s standing there in the doorway of the adjoining bathroom. She sounds completely deflated and she sniffles as she speaks; I can hear each time her voice catches. But all I can think about is how much courage it must’ve taken for her to face him after learning that we deceived her. Even if she has not yet pieced together that their relationship existed only to aid the Duvals in their cover-up, and that whatever Edison knew about George and however he felt about me were things he kept from her. I wonder if she knows how strong she is. Every cell in my body is curious about what they are saying to each other. But whatever was between the two of them isn’t my business. I walk outside, so I’m not in earshot of their voices.

  For a moment, I wish I were brave enough to approach Chelsea, to look in her eyes and tell her I’m sorry, or that I felt like it would be okay for me to join Trisha in her bedroom, where she’s napping with Phoebe, and put my arms around her, and tell her how sorry I am that George disappointed her, too. But it feels like I do not have the right to do the things that would make me feel better, and I should wait for their cue, to see what they need from me next.

  Edison joins me on the steps of the porch twenty minutes later.

  “All the Duvals’ money and assets are frozen,” he tells me. “The Smiths called to see how I was doing. I was surprised to hear from them. They’re going to meet me at the Duvals’ after I collect my things, so I’ll have somewhere to stay while this is all sorted out.” He rubs his hands over his thighs, like he is nervous. “They didn’t know about our arrangement with Senator Stevens.”

  I nod. The Smiths were just another part of the trail distancing the Duvals from their crimes and had no idea the Duvals abused their power to ensure they both were successful.

  Edison was going to take a cab to the Duvals’ When I tell Trisha I want to go with him, she lets me take her car.

  Everything at the Duvals’ is being seized as evidence. The foyer is missing the round table with the fresh roses. The offices are bare. All the curtains are gone and the windows are open. The grotto is void of its usual wrought iron furniture. We walk down to the Duval beach. There are no boats parked at the dock. The beach looks abandoned.

  “I can’t believe this place ever existed,” I say as we stand side by side a few feet from the surf.

  We look around as though we’ll find any answers on this deserted beach, the ocean still lively with activity. What we went through felt strong enough to shake the world, but the world didn’t even notice.

  “It was my home,” he says. But it had to be destroyed, I want to tell him, in case he still doesn’t believe it. But then he adds, “I’m glad it’s gone,” and I know he’s starting to accept the truth about the Duvals and the role they played in Franny’s death.

  Ryan took the money and the Duvals are gone and my father and Senator Stevens will probably go to jail, but Katherine and Ellis Exports will be cleared and Edison will never have to lie again if he doesn’t want to. After one last reckless act, one last payoff, one last lie, it’s over now and we are both free.

  “Was this real?” he asks and I know because of the way his voice has turned scared, and his eyes determined, that he’s talking about him and me. We both had reasons to keep the other close that had to do with protecting secrets and uncovering them, and nothing to do with being in love. I don’t know why, but I immediately think of him on the boat at the island the day we met, the day I saved him, his whole body relaxing as I pressed my hand against his shoulder when the cold pack touched his face. There is a cavalcade of memories I am not ready to give up, even if they will always be tied to the ominous events of the summer.

  “I think it could be,” I say.

  I watch his eyes fall shut for a moment, but when he opens them again, he seems content.

  “Okay,” he says.

  We don’t say anything else. We stare at the beach, waiting for answers to questions we don’t know to ask, and a while later, when the Smiths arrive for him, and he hugs me goodbye, and I can’t seem to stop crying, he whispers in my ear.

  “I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to see you again.”

  And then he is gone.

  Chapter 62

  The desert floods this time of year. Epic, end-of-the-world downpours that wash away cars and leave the sidewalks dirty with gritty sand. Fences and mailboxes are stained with white spots and splashes. And sometimes the air smells like sulfur.

  I return home to a mother who wraps me in her arms and a room that’s been redecorated and scrubbed free of any traces of my old life, but it hardly feels like a homecoming. Not the sort that’s celebrated or even a relief. It’s the kind that makes you think of that quote, “You can’t go home again,” said by some man, putting words in our mouths, whose words have grown beyond whatever he meant by them when he first wrote them down.

  My birthday comes and goes, with no ceremony or surprises; no new beginings and no diamond necklace.

  Trevor hears about George, and he texts me to tell me he always knew my father was a “piece of shit”—the kind of thing we used to say all the time when we talked about unfair adults. I know he means well, but I don’t respond. The next text he sends asks if I’ll come over. I delete his number and it feels like nothing, and I wish letting go of someone was always this simple, this easy, this painless.

  I knew Sepp for only a few weeks, but his voice still echoes in my mind and I’m tricked into listening. He was the only one who never lied to me. And I can see him clear as day if I want. He is easy to conjure and I think some people are like that by design. Impossible to forget, burned into memory.

  There’s a clear day, the air still heavy, a sign of the rain coming back soon. I drive to Camelback Mountain. I start running but have to walk when it’s too steep. I like the ache in my muscles from the climb, I like the view of the top, no ocean in sight. And I like the pain in my lungs running down, letting my legs lose themselves for a moment, sometimes falling because of it. The hurt reminds me I am tough, I can take it.

  When I get to my car, heavy droplets have started to fall from the sky. I have a missed call from Trisha, the first time I’ve he
ard from her since I left Cross Cove. There is a voice message letting me know George is taking a deal, pleading guilty. His sentence will be minimal. If I’d like to visit for his sentencing, before his incarceration, I am more than welcome to stay with them.

  I tell my mother about it that night after dinner. She asks what I want to do, and I tell her I don’t want to see him.

  “So that settles it,” she says, wiping her hands off on her apron. She returns to the lasagna pan she was scrubbing. “You’ll stay here, let his other family deal with it.”

  His other family.

  Trisha, who has a natural way of starting a conversation, and knows when it’s kindest to say nothing at all; who would sometimes flash me a subtle smile when her eyes met mine across the room, almost like a wink. Phoebe, with a strong grip and a loud giggle. Hands reaching out for the world. Legs charging forward even before she could stand. Chelsea, who is earnest and genuine—traits that can be perceived as weak and naïve, but to me they were her greatest gift.

  I think of the three of them, together—will they ever be that happy and whole again? Will they ever forgive him? Does he deserve their forgiveness?

  That night, I lie awake, with Sepp’s words haunting my thoughts.

  All of life is a test.

  Fake it till you make it; works every single time.

  You took all the right risks.

  The New Browns were living in bliss and then I went for a walk on the island and thought I saved Edison’s life. If I wouldn’t have fixated on Edison and the men on the island, I wouldn’t have seen Archaletta, wouldn’t have witnessed that secret meeting at the Hanover Estate, wouldn’t have noticed Ryan and Hall. Without Trevor I never would’ve known they were undercover. If I weren’t so scared of regrets and so reliant on doing things that made my heart race in order to feel alive, I never would have been banished to Cross Cove. Sometimes it feels like I can so clearly see the trail that brought me here. So why don’t I know what to do next? Why don’t I know what happens now?

  I dial Edison’s number, the first time I’ve tried calling him since we last saw each other. But his number is disconnected and I knew there was a chance it would be, since the Duvals had paid for his phone.

  I’m invincible—I fall asleep thinking of Sepp screaming from the roof of the Duvals’ offices and I see Chelsea’s face, full of worry as I stepped toward the edge with him. I think of the night at the boutique when she chose the perfect dress for me to wear to the masquerade party. And the way she danced in the surf during the fireworks shows, even though there was never any music, and was always so concerned whenever I missed them, because: When else in your whole life are you going to be treated to a private fireworks show every night? I remember the boat ride back from Honeycomb Island after I’d been gone for too long, when she sat beside me.

  When I wake up the next morning, I know I have to go back to see her.

  Chapter 63

  We sit behind George in the courtroom and listen to him enter his plea.

  From what I’ve heard of the rest of the case, it’s wrapping up nicely, with no loose ends. The way life never does. Senator Stevens throws the Duvals under the bus in an attempt to get a shorter sentence, but with the recording as evidence against him, he doesn’t have a lot of negotiating power. It’s revealed in the news that Luke Archaletta’s real name is Patrick Lowe, and that he’s been seeking vengeance since his sister died, but had been hiding from the police for a stack of charges out against him, including attempted murder, assault, and armed robbery, so he never showed them the recording he found when he’d retraced her steps looking for her. He’d been aware that she was recording her conquests in order to blackmail a powerful, rich man she’d been sleeping with in exchange for drugs, but it was only last year, after he saw Senator Stevens on the news, that he recognized him from the recording and decided to go through with the blackmail after all, knowing he could get more money for a recording that looked like murder than he ever could for proof of adultery.

  We wave goodbye to George as he’s escorted away in handcuffs. And all I can think about is when he said, Destruction can be tempting, and thought I would understand.

  In the courthouse parking lot, Chelsea finally speaks to me. She hadn’t returned any of my text messages and voice messages, telling her how sorry I was, letting her know that I’m here if she ever wants to talk, even if she can’t forgive me and only wants to vent about what’s going on with George. And she didn’t say a word to me when I first arrived, not in the car from the airport to the house, not across from me at the dinner table last night, and not this morning, before the hearing.

  “I feel helpless,” she says, her voice shaking but determined. “How can people say they’re one thing and be something else? How can they just lie? How can they do horrible things and think it doesn’t matter?”

  She breaks down. She sobs loudly, her hands in fists pressed against her eyes. Trisha is holding Phoebe, but she manages to free her left hand and she reaches out to rub Chelsea’s back. Chelsea cries so hard she starts coughing, she turns red.

  “I’m sorry about George,” I say. I know there is nothing I can say to comfort her, but I try to at least clear the air. “I’m sorry I went behind your back with Edison.”

  “You are not,” she cries. “You knew the truth about him, about all of them—and you didn’t care. I don’t even know Edison; I couldn’t have loved him because everything he said to me, everything he did, was a lie. But I thought I knew you.”

  “You did.” I can’t stop how fast the tears are coming, and I wish they would quit, because here with her, I don’t feel like I have the right to them. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.” She brings her hands to her ears for a moment, shaking her head.

  “He lied to me, too,” I say, in case she doesn’t understand that part of his deception was self-preservation. “He lied to everyone.”

  “I know he lied to everyone!” Her face crumples and another sob ricochets through her. “Just like you did.”

  I move closer to her. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’ll never lie to you again. I wish you could believe me.” I reach out with both arms and hug her. It’s a risk. There’s a chance she’ll push me off, tell me to leave her alone. But the moment my arms are around her, she falls against me. She grips the fabric at the back of my dress and cries on my shoulder.

  She doesn’t speak to me during the drive back to her house, or during dinner, but Chelsea and I are afraid of the same things, we are part of the same family, and Chelsea was always honest; she meant it when she said that love makes the unforgivable things forgivable. And that’s why, one day, I hope she’ll forgive me.

  That night I get a call from a number I’ve never seen before.

  “I thought you might be in town,” he says when I answer.

  It’s a relief to hear from Edison and I tell him so. We make a plan to meet tomorrow, but around midnight, I get a text.

  Come outside.

  The house is dark and silent and I don’t make a sound when I slip out the front door. He’s on the path to the house and I like that he’s not hiding.

  He shrugs. “I couldn’t wait.”

  I can still feel the ache that comes with having him in front of me and not knowing where I stand with him. The mixture of being relieved and desperate and happy and furious. But my legs keep moving toward him until there is nothing to do but hug him.

  We end up in his car, something on loan from the Smiths. He tells me he’s not going back to school in England; since we’re well into September, he’s missed the deadline to attend this year. He thinks he might work for the Smiths, or attend a local college or one in a whole new state. His future is blank and unknown and I realize this is all I wanted for him, even though it’s scary in a different way.

  He nods toward the back seat. It’s dark, but in the shadows I make out a tall clear bottle sitting upright against the seat.

  “What is that?” I say.

  “I
t’s Sepp,” he says.

  “What?”

  “His ashes.”

  “You keep his ashes in an empty bottle of…”

  “Tequila.”

  I burst out laughing at this, but my chuckles slowly morph into sobs. Edison cries a little, too. It’s the kind of thing Sepp would’ve liked, and I tell Edison this. He wipes his cheeks and he nods.

  “I don’t want to keep them there forever though,” he says. “I want to spread them over his favorite places.”

  I picture us in the black speedboat, going as fast as we can, with nothing to run from, soaring under a sky that changes colors—pink, and orange, and yellow—as I steer and he leans over the edge of the boat, spreading Sepp’s ashes along the coast of Brazil. My hand finds his across the console and I hold on to it gently. He feels the side of my wrist, but that wound has completely healed and it didn’t leave a scar.

  “I thought we’d have to start all over,” he says. “That I shouldn’t see you right after your dad was getting sentenced and so soon after Sepp—” He shakes his head instead of saying what happened to Sepp and I understand what he means when he says that maybe it’s too soon. “I thought I should wait, maybe find you in Phoenix next year. It would be sunny and warm and when I took you out to dinner, it would be like a first date. And we’d get to do things the normal way.” I try to imagine this, the proper date, him, holding the door open for me, me, all dressed up to see him. I can’t. He shakes his head again. “But it won’t ever be normal with us, will it?”

  He’s right. We’ll always have a first meeting of him just having stabbed someone and me on the hunt for adventure. Me, thinking I was going to die too soon that summer, and him, thinking he could deceive me.