The Leaving (21 page)

To look for a birthmark or some clue that he’d maybe held it before.

She had the remains of bloodred polish on two of five nails.

She squeezed his hand, released it, and turned.

This—being here with her—felt like some kind of reset button or rebirth.

He liked knowing at least one thing about himself for sure.

He loved her.

Or had . . .

When they circled back to the car, they were holding hands, and he couldn’t recall the moment they’d done that, reached out and held on.

They passed a small security booth near the manatee center gate.

The guard poked his head out his window and smiled. “Haven’t seen
you two
in a while.”

Scarlett let go.

AVERY

The bride was beyond annoying.

It was like she seriously thought the whole world revolved around her and Ballroom B of the Hotel Bonavista on Sanibel Island. She was like some Disney princess who hadn’t gotten the memo about how women were supposed to have brains and lives of their own and not just be little eye-candy damsels in distress who lived for true love’s kiss—the wedding of their dreams. Every time the woman turned her head, it was like she was posing for a picture with an Instagram setting that filtered out humility. Avery was half tempted to write “You’re not all that!” on the big canvas guests had been encouraged to sign during the cocktail hour.

Now the couple was gearing up for their first dance and Avery wasn’t sure she could stand to watch, thought maybe she could go hide in the photo booth in the corner where guests were expected to put on funny hats and glasses and pose.

They’d taken dance classes
.

They’d picked that played-out John Legend song
.

There was no escape.

She had to watch the whole dance.

Then the song ended and people clapped and the bride preened and the DJ asked other couples to join them on the dance floor.

Sam took his seat.

Avery wasn’t sure if she was irritated or relieved.

Then it started:

“How long have you and Sam been going out?”

“Sam says you’re involved in the school play?”

“Isn’t she just a gorgeous bride?”

Avery excused herself from the table—Sam’s cousins all—and went outside onto a balcony that overlooked the pool deck where the cocktail hour had been. Men in white jackets were still clearing plates and glasses and empty bottles. An older guy was smoking a cigarette a little ways down, and she found herself toying with the idea of asking for a smoke. She’d tell the guy who she was, how they were hoping for some solid tip
any
minute now.

“Hey.” It was Sam. “You feel like dancing?”

She could hear the bass line of some old funk song and said, “Not so much, no.”

She didn’t feel like telling him about the new note and how full of himself Chambers was, and she
couldn’t
tell him about why she was really in such a bad mood and constantly checking her phone. She wanted to hear from Lucas, wanted to know what he’d found out, but didn’t want to have to call him.

“Photo booth?” Sam said.

It was the last thing she wanted to do, really. But she couldn’t exactly stand out there by herself all night. She said, “Sure.”

When she saw that the photo booth company was called Making Memories, she almost turned away. But Sam already had hats and boas and Minecraft sunglasses picked out, so they threw on their accessories and ducked through the black curtain.

They had four exposures coming.

First one: regular ole smiles and Minecraft.

Second one: tongues out, her two fingers behind Sam’s head, boas.

Third one: eyebrows raised, hands up like looking confused, hats.

And for the fourth one, Sam pulled her toward him and kissed her hard and she didn’t like it.

Back out in the ballroom, they took off their props and waited by the photo delivery slot. Sam reached for them first.

“They came out good,” he said.

Avery took them and didn’t recognize herself at all.

“You guys!” the bride said as she blew past them in a waft of champagne and mini crab cakes. “You are just
too cute
.” She hugged Sam. “This is absolutely the best day of my life.”

Avery fake-beamed and wished for a different kind of prop op tion—a mask that might hide who she was—until the bride moved on. Her cheeks hurt when she released the smile.

S
c
a
r
l
et
t

For a second, she thought it had to be a cruel joke.

Haven’t seen you in a while.

Like in eleven years,
ha-ha
.

But the guy looked calm.

Happy to see them, even.

And now Scarlett didn’t feel as alone on that cliff as before.

Someone else had been there.

Seen her.

Borne witness to . . .

“You
know
us?” she asked.

“How do you know us?” Lucas said.

“From here. You used to come here.” Confusion seeping into the guard’s features. “But not in a while now. Like a couple of months, maybe?”

“How did we get here?” Scarlett asked. “Which direction did we come from? Was anyone else ever with us?”

“I don’t know.” His confusion seemed to morph into suspicion now. “It’s not like I was watching you. I saw you, is all. You seemed like a cute couple. I figured when you stopped showing up you’d split up or something.”

“We were a couple?” Scarlett asked.

He nodded. “Well, you were holding hands. Kissing. But I had a theory about you.”

“What kind of theory?” Lucas asked.

“You were always in a hurry. Always looking over your shoulders. I figured one of you was getting some on the side.”

/
    /
  /
/

Getting some.

      /
    /

On the side?

Oh
.

Awkward.

Scarlett found a flawed seam on her skirt, followed it to where it ended.

Took a breath, then looked up. “Do you remember anything about what I was wearing?”

Maybe black jeans and T-shirts had been all they had?

Lucas said, “Scarlett, I don’t think he’s going—”

“I actually do,” the guard said. “You had this jacket that was hard to forget. Old-fashioned-looking. Like vintage, you know? Or more like homemade. It was like a quilt, if that makes any sense?”

“Yes,” Scarlett said, her fingers feeling funny, her foot tapping. “That makes perfect sense.”

“You wore it all the time. Even when it was like a gazillion degrees.”

Why would she do that?

“Were we ever with anyone else?” Lucas asked.

“Not that I can think of,” the man said slowly; then his eyes sparked. “Hey, wait a second . . . You’re those kids.”

Scarlett turned to Lucas.

Shared a look:

Concern, yes.

Panic, no.

“Yes,” Lucas admitted. “Are you sure you didn’t just . . . see us on the news? You’re sure you saw us here before?”

“I’m sure.” The guard nodded. “I yelled at you once. For carving your initials into the pier.”

“Where?” Scarlett asked. “Which one?”

“Middle one. Down the end on the right somewhere.”

She took off . . .

Not quite running . . .

But . . .

Lucas was saying, “Thanks for your time” and “Can I get your name and number in case the police want to follow up?”

But she was halfway gone, back down toward the beach.

And when she got to the end of the pier, she felt happy for a moment—even fearless—just standing there, with the air full of seagulls and salty mist.

This
was the place they’d found to be together.

This was where they must have plotted their lives together, their escape.

She’d swallowed the penny to bring them back here. It had worked!

They were going to figure it out.

They were going to get it all back.

Then she found their initials, in a heart—but stabbed over and over so that they were almost entirely obscured.

And everything churned.

Guns.

Metal.

Tattoos.

Escape.

Running.

Love.

Heartbreak.

Betrayal.

Lucas arrived, breathing hard from walking so fast.

She nodded at the initials, ran her fingers over the splintered wood. “Why do you think they’re crossed out?”

“Could have been anybody who did that,” he said. “For no reason at all.”

“But what if it was one of us?” She half feared this happiness, this moment of rediscovering something real, was going to be lost too soon.

Or was false.

Or was . . .

Was . . . what?

“We have a long drive,” she said. “And we have to tell Chambers. Everything, I guess.”

“But what if there are other people here”—he turned—“people who saw us?”

“Look around,” she said. “There’s no one here.”

She suddenly didn’t want to be there, either.

Didn’t want to be there alone.

With him.

/
    /

Running
.

Panting
.

Wet
.

    /
     /

She said, “We can always come back.”

“I want some quick pictures.” He took his camera out.

How would they ever figure out what his tattoo meant?

So what if he liked to take pictures?

How could that possibly be a clue?

They decided he would drive this time. So that she could call Chambers, tell him about the penny, the guard, everything.

Just not yet.

Because as soon as they were on a main road again, stopped at a light, Lucas reached out and took her hand again.

And she held on and it felt strange and right.

And he kept looking over at her, and she at him, and after a while it started to feel like he shouldn’t be driving, not when they were both so distracted.

And finally she said, “Pull off somewhere.”

And at first it seemed like there was no possible good place to stop, but then she saw an old motel with a large parking lot in front and said, “There!” and he pulled into the unpaved lot, kicking up a cloud of dirt.

The GulfShores Motel was abandoned—stickered with orange signs about violations of who even knew what kind. Drapes blew through broken windows. An ice machine sat silently alongside a pillaged snack machine.

It didn’t matter.

They weren’t going in.

He parked in a far corner of the lot and turned off the engine.

She waited.

But only for a moment. Then leaned toward him and

—so fast—

he pulled her into his arms and kissed her and she kissed him back and . . .

Attacked.

X’d out

/
        /
  /        /
   /

And the kiss was freeing.

And claustrophobic.

And familiar.

And there was this unease that pricked at her heart.

And just kept

pricking

and
picking

and
pecking
away.

“We were in love,” she said when she pulled away.

He nodded.

But . . .

And he went at her again.

And . . .

This time, less tentative.

This time, all in.

Her hands in his hair, their bodies finding their way to each other over consoles and stick shifts.

His chest against hers, his hands finding the skin on her lower back, his mouth moving to her neck and ear and back again.

This wasn’t the first time.

But all that was lost and might never be recovered.

But she’d chosen him once.

They’d chosen each other.

That said something about who she was, who he was.

That in spite of all they’d forgotten, this had come through.

This
hadn’t entirely been erased.

She had to trust that.

The penny.

Had to see it through.

She could almost feel the weight of a light jacket—her handmade jacket?—on her shoulders.

Could feel her fingers, pushing fabric through a machine.

She could feel him,

wanting her,

taking it off.

Lucas

Driving seemed to steady him. Pushed away the

SPINNING HORSES KISSING BEACH
CLICK HISS
SW
+
LD
HEARTS

The swallowed penny had worked. So what of the tattoo?

Why, if he’d done it himself, had he gone to all that trouble only to make his clue so vague? So unclear? So that if the plan to escape hadn’t worked, the tattoo would have seemed . . . what . . . benign? Meaningless?