Whose Fault Is It Anyway?
Maisie
I couldn't stop staring at the empty foundation. True, the boathouse had been beyond awful. But somehow, the lack of one felt even worse.
More to myself than to Tessa, I murmured, "Is this all my fault?"
She sighed. "Oh, stop it. You know it's not."
"Then whose is it?"
Under her breath, she muttered, "If it were up to me, I'd blame Ryder."
I turned to face her. "Why do you say that?"
Her mouth tightened. "It just seems like something he'd do."
She had arrived just a couple of minutes ago, looking not just surprised, but irritated, when she saw the empty site.
Reluctantly, I asked, "Are you annoyed I dragged you out here?"
"Me? I'm not annoyed." She paused. "Well, not at you, anyway."
I tried to think. "So…you're still mad about the construction guys?"
It was a valid question. On the way over here, she'd crossed paths with the same two workers. Apparently, the guy with the clipboard had flagged her down to ask if she'd seen his thermos. The way Tessa had talked, this had caused the other guy to, as Tessa put it, totally flip out.
One thing had led to another, and the two guys had ended up rolling around in the dirt. A few punches and a head-lock later, the matter was settled to nobody's satisfaction, including Tessa's, who'd nearly gotten dragged into it herself.
Tessa replied, "Yeah, well…we can blame Ryder for that , too."
I didn't get it. "Why him?"
With a scoff, she said, "Why not?" But then, her expression softened. "But forget all that. I wanted to come."
"Why?" I tried to laugh. "So you could make sure I'm not crazy?"
She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't go that far."
Was that supposed to be comforting? "What do you mean?"
"Listen…" She blew out a quiet breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, okay?"
I held up a hand. "Don't even say it. I already know."
"Know what?"
"That it's mostly my fault." But then, at something in her eyes, I added, "Okay, fine. It's all my fault."
Tessa threw up her hands. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about."
I drew back. "Sorry, what?"
She pointed at my chest. "You. You're way too nice. It's not all your fault. It's not even mostly your fault. And you wanna know why?"
I gave an uneasy nod.
She looked me straight in the eyes. "Because if Griff – no, Montgomery – had been just a little more honest, you'd still be together, which makes it his fault, not yours."
I shook my head. "You make it sound so simple."
"It would be simple if he'd been straight with you from the start."
"Yeah, well…" I gave a listless kick at the gravel. "I'm sure he had his reasons."
" Or ," she countered, "he got so good at faking it, he forgot how to stop."
"So you really think that?" I swallowed, hard. "That he was faking it, I mean?"
"About his feelings for you? No. Definitely not. I saw the two of you together, remember?" She reached out and squeezed my arm. "Whatever else was fake, that wasn't."
"But it must've been." I gestured listlessly toward the empty slab. "I mean…if it wasn't all fake, why is he gone? Why didn't he ever explain? Why was he lying, even about his own name?"
Tessa smiled, looking a little triumphant. "See?"
I saw nothing to smile about. "See what?"
"It's not all your fault, just like I said. Repeatedly ." Her chin lifted. "So there."
At that moment, she reminded me so much of Delaney that I smiled in spite of myself. Sure, my smile was weak, and I felt more like crying. And yet somehow, I managed to say, "Thanks…I needed that."
But the main thing I needed – or rather the main person I needed – seemed so terribly far away. Without him, I felt lost in the wilderness even though I was right here, on the island I called home.
Again, my gaze drifted to the empty slab. Maybe the demolition said it all. With the sun dipping below the horizon, it was long past time to leave. My shoulders sagged. "Well…we might as well head home."
Tessa reached out and gave my arm another squeeze. Softly, she said, "Hey, I've still got more of those little bottles. You interested?"
I shook my head. "Thanks, but…not tonight."
If I started drinking now , I might never stop. And worse, I knew exactly who I'd call if I did – unless he called or texted me first.
Which he didn't.
Not that night.
Not the next day.
Or the day after that.
Soon, we were deep into next week. And the way it looked, Griff was truly gone, just like the boathouse, the thermos, and my heart.