Chapter Forty-Seven
Everett
“What’s up?”
Gabi covers her face with her hands and rocks back and forth in the dark.
“Did you have a nightmare or something?”
“No. I haven’t been able to sleep at all.”
“Why not?”
She takes a deep breath. “I was there that night. At the bakery. I’m the other person that kid saw.”
“What?”
“And I might have left an oven on.”
“What?” I bolt upright. “Gabi, what the fuck? Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.” She starts to cry. “It could be my fault, all of it. The fire, the damage, having to sell, Mila shouldering the blame. I’m a horrible fucking person. I hate myself for it. I’ve always hated myself for it.” Her sobs are uncontrollable now.
“Wait a minute. Slow down.” I run a hand through my hair. “Start from the beginning. Why were you there that night?”
“To bake. I’d just had a massive fight with Dad, during which he told me I was a stupid fucking idiot who’d never go anywhere or do anything with my life.
Mom tried to defend me a little bit, but he shattered a beer bottle against the wall and told her to shut up, so she did. You know how she was back then.”
“Yes.” I can imagine this scene playing out perfectly, even though I wasn’t there. The bloodshot eyes. The screaming. The sound of the bottle hitting the wall.
“I stormed out of the house and drove around, crying and miserable. I just wanted a quiet place away from the house to stress-bake,” she sobs. “So I ran home and got a key for the bakery.”
“But we were there,” I say, still trying to wrap my head around what she’s telling me. “Mila and I were there. I didn’t see you.”
“All the lights were out. And I didn’t see your truck or her car in the back. I thought you’d gone.”
“All the lights were out,” I say, remembering the darkness in the bakery that night before Mila kissed me. “And I’d moved the truck. Mila had biked to work.”
“I let myself in the back door. When I pulled the key out of my pocket, my necklace must have fallen out. The clasp had broken earlier in the day, and I’d tucked it in there. The ponytail holder, too—I’d borrowed it from Mila that morning.”
“Jesus.” I rub a hand over my face.
“I was only there for like three minutes. Just long enough to turn on the oven. Then I heard you laugh. I realized you guys must still be up front, probably messing around in the dark, and I took off, being careful not to let the door slam so you wouldn’t hear it.
I didn’t want to break the spell.” She cries even harder.
“I thought I turned the oven off. But maybe I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because,” she weeps. “That night was so awful. I didn’t even know about the fire until later, when I got home.
I’d gone to the beach and sat there by myself, way down past where everyone hangs out.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone. And then when I did get home, well… Things got out of control fast.”
I close my eyes. Clench my jaw. Some of this is my fault too.
“Mila shouldered all the blame,” I say quietly.
“I know.” A fresh torrent of sobs breaks loose. “I know she did, but I was afraid if I admitted what I knew, Dad would take it out on you. He always hit you when it was me who did something wrong.”
Feelings fight for dominance inside me. I’m shocked at what I’m hearing. I’m furious with Gabi for not speaking up back then. I’m terrified of what will happen when Mila finds out.
But I cannot listen to my sister cry without trying to comfort her. It’s obvious she’s in agony over this. I scoot closer to her and hang an arm around her shuddering shoulders. Her body judders with heaving breaths. “Come on. It’ll be okay.”
“I felt so guilty, I couldn’t face her. That’s why I cut her off. That’s why I cut everyone off. I couldn’t be around my friends because I knew they’d see through me. I couldn’t bear it.”
I grimace. “For ten years?”
“I know!” she wails. “I know. Like I told you before, I wanted to reach out so many times. I swore to myself every year that I would do it, but I was too chickenshit. I made excuses. I would say, ‘well, no one was hurt,’ or ‘no one got in trouble,’ or ‘it doesn’t really matter now, anyway.’”
“It would have mattered to Mila,” I say grimly.
“I know. You’re right, I know.” She buries her face in her hands, and I can’t help turning her into my chest. She spends several minutes blubbering on my shoulder, getting tears and snot all over my shirt.
When she’s finally calmer, I go to the bathroom and look for tissues. Unable to find any, I bring her a roll of toilet paper.
“Thanks,” she says, ripping off a section to blow her nose. “I wanted to tell you so many times. I really did. But then I thought it would just be a burden. And you’d already done so much for me.”
“I’d do it all again,” I tell her. “But you should have been honest with me.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry.”
“And you have to be honest with Mila, too.”
“I will,” she says solemnly. “I swear to God I will. But I just got her back. Don’t make me do it right away.”
“Gabi.”
“I promise you, Everett. I promise on my life, I will tell her. I just need a little time.”
“How much time?”
“A couple weeks?”
My stomach lurches. “She’ll be gone by then! And you can’t expect me to be with her and keep this a secret. That’s not fair.” I recall the day in the coffee shop when she asked me to always be honest with her, and I promised I would be.
“I didn’t realize how serious you guys were until tonight, or I would have come clean sooner! Please, Everett.” She clasps her hands under her chin. “One week. I am begging you. I’ll deal with Mom. I’ll volunteer anywhere you need people. I’ll even judge the pie contest next year.”
“Damn right you will.” I sit down again. Hang my head in my hands. “How am I supposed to keep this from her? It feels like lying. And she doesn’t deserve it.”
“It’s not lying.”
“She trusts me, Gabi. We have something really good. Really honest.”
“I’m happy for you. You guys deserve each other. And you’re going to be together—this will only be a blip.”
“You’d better be right.” I lean against the back of the couch. “Because she’s the one. I don’t want to lose her.”
“You won’t.” Gabi puts a hand on my arm. “I promise.”
I hardly sleep that night, and I’m a wreck in the morning. I guzzle extremely large cups of coffee while we finish packing and load the truck. Gabi and I don’t say much to each other, and we don’t ride home together—I drive the truck, and she drives my pickup. She sold her car last week.
I text Mila before we leave, saying that we’re heading home. She hearts the message and tells me she misses me and to drive safely.
I feel guilty already.
We arrive in Hart’s Landing around nine on Saturday night. Ripley’s working, and Ben has Vivian, but Hunter shows up when I put out the call for help unloading the truck. We get everything into the house in about two hours, then my mom feeds us all a late supper of chili and cornbread.
A hundred times, I take my phone out to text Mila and ask her to come over, but I never go through with it. I’m dying to see her, but I can’t face her. Not yet. I’m afraid she’ll take one look at my face and know I’m keeping something from her.
When he leaves, Hunter thanks my mom for the food.
“Of course! You should come for Sunday dinner tomorrow,” my mom says. “I’m making a pot roast, and there’s always plenty.”
“That sounds great, but I have to work tomorrow.”
“Next time, then.”
Hunter nods and gives us a wave. “See you.”
“Night, Hunter. Thanks for the help,” I call, tipping my chair back on two legs.
“Why don’t you invite Mila for Sunday dinner?” Mom suggests. “I’ve hardly seen her for more than two seconds.”
“I could.” I must not sound too enthusiastic about it, because my mom gives me a puzzled look.
“Are things okay between you two?”
“They’re fine,” I say, letting the chair legs hit the ground. I take my bowl over to the sink. “I’ll ask her.”
I collect Merlin and head back to the cabin. Too wiped out to even shower, I fall into bed and send Mila a text.
Everett: Hey.
Mila: Hey! How did the move go?
Everett: I’m glad it’s done.
Mila: Aww. You’re such a good brother.
Everett: My mom wants to invite you for Sunday dinner.
There’s a slight pause before she replies.
Mila: That’s nice of her. Do you want me to come?
Great. Now she thinks I’m a dick for putting it that way.
Everett: Of course I do.
Mila: Then I’ll come. What time?
Everett: 5:00 is usually when we eat.
Mila: Should I come to the cabin a little earlier? Or should I go right to the house?
Everett: You can come to the cabin earlier.
Another pause.
Mila: Okay. I’ll see you around 4?
Everett: Sounds good.
I set my phone down and close my eyes. My head hurts. I’m fucking exhausted. Angry. Dreading this week. A moment later, my phone buzzes again.
Mila: Everything okay?
Everett: Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.
Mila: You had a busy couple days. Get some sleep. I love you.
Worn out, I crash before texting her back.
Sunday morning, I realize my mistake.
Everett: Sorry! I fell asleep. I love you too.
She hearts the message.
Mila: That’s okay. I’ll see you this afternoon.
Dragging myself out of bed, I pull on some clothes and pray I can get through the week without disappointing any of the people who are counting on me.
That afternoon, she comes to the cabin before dinner. The minute I open the door, I scoop her up and lift her right off the ground, crushing my mouth to hers. If I’m kissing her, I can’t meet her eyes. I don’t have to lie. I won’t say shit I shouldn’t.
“I missed you too,” she says with a laugh when I set her down. She lets me pull her right back to the bedroom, and we spend the next half-hour making up for a couple of days apart. The only words we exchange are the one-syllable kind.
Afterward, as we put ourselves back together, I ask how her weekend was.
“You’ll never guess what I did on Friday.” She’s bubbling with excitement. “I’ve been dying to tell you about it.”
“What?”
Tugging up her jeans, she sends me a satisfied grin. “I solved a problem for you.”
“Which problem?”
She tosses her hair. “I discovered the identity of Dickelangelo.”
“No way!” I sit down on the bed and pull on my socks. “Who is it?”
As we get dressed, she tells me about this kid named Felix, how talented he is, how she spotted the dicks hidden in his artwork. “I had a hunch it was him. And then he confessed. Can I borrow your hairbrush?”
“Sure.” Next to her at the mirror, I run my hands through my hair. “So he agreed to stop doing it? Just like that?”
“Yes. He’s not a bad kid—he’s just frustrated.
” She pulls my brush through her hair with long strokes.
“His parents don’t have the money for college, and they don’t support his art.
He refuses to participate in the school art fairs, probably because he’s all ‘fuck the system,’ so he just wanted to show off what he can do.
Cause a fuss. Disrupt.” She shakes her hair, and it cascades down her back.
God, I could watch her do this every single morning.
“The dicks were definitely a disruption,” I say.
“He promised me he’ll use his talent for good from now on.” She turns to face me. “Assuming all goes well Tuesday and the community center is a go, I’d love to get him a job there helping with art classes.”
“If all goes well Tuesday, you can have anything you want.” I drop a kiss on her freckled nose.
She grins, and it feels like a stab to the heart.
We walk hand in hand to my mom’s house, and the moment Mila walks in, my mom and Gabi pounce on her.
My mother asks about Eliza and the recovery, Mila’s art, and what she thinks of all the changes in Hart’s Landing.
Gabi wants to hear all about living in New York City, the different jobs Mila’s had since college, how she started her own design studio.
I sit back, happy to eat, observe, and be silent.
But I’ll be glad when the week is up.
“Well?” Mila sits back on my couch. “What do you think?” It’s Monday night, and for the last two hours, we’ve been working on our approach for tomorrow’s meeting at the Hart mansion.
“I think it’s brilliant, and it’s going to work.” I pull her across my lap, catching her within my arms. “I don’t know how to thank you for all the time and effort you’re putting into this.”
“Don’t you?” she teases, one brow raised.
I bury my face in her neck, because every time I look into her eyes, my stomach hurts. “Can you stay a while?”
“How long is a while?”
I kiss my way down to her shoulder. “Fifty years?”
“That’s all you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“And what if I said yes?”
I pause, my lips on her collarbone. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think it’s the right choice for me.” She takes a breath. “I’ll move back to Hart’s Landing.”
I pick up my head so I can meet her eyes. “I didn’t pressure you into it, did I?”
“No. I made the decision on my own, and I made it for me. I want to be brave enough to take a chance on happiness.”
“You have no idea how much that means to me.”
“It won’t be right away,” she cautions. “I have to go back to Brooklyn for the rest of the semester—and give Jess time to find a new roommate—but I should be able to move by the end of January.”
“Take all the time you need.”
“I’ll need to find a place to live and work that is not my mother’s house.”
“I’ll help you.”
She inhales slowly. “And I have to tell her. She’s going to have an opinion.”
“Not your problem, babe.” Rising to my feet, I carry her to the bedroom, toss her onto the bed, and stretch out above her. “I’m going to do everything I can to make you happy here.”
“I believe you,” she says, wrapping her arms and legs around me. “I trust you.”
Her words wrench my heart.