Chapter Forty-Six
Day Seven: Memorialize
We take one last walk on the beach in the morning. This one, hand in hand. The fog lies low and thick, so the people walking farther down the shore disappear in and out of it like specters.
According to George, we’re on a mission. There’s one task left to complete in The Plan before we drive back through the rainforest, across Vancouver Island, and board two separate planes.
He’s nervous about this one—his palm is clammy in mine.
“You might feel better if you told me,” I say, giving his hand a little shake. “You’re always keeping secrets. I don’t want you to do that anymore.”
He blows out a long breath, and then another, as if he’s kept the entire atmosphere trapped in his lungs. “You’re right.”
“I know I am.”
We stop walking.
“I was trying to find the right place. The ideal moment,” he says, searching my eyes.
“This is it,” I tell him. “It’s right now.”
“Okay.”
“No, wait,” I say, pulling the glasses from his face and cleaning off a smudge. I stand on my toes and set them back in place. “Okay, now.”
“We’re here to perform a closure ceremony.” He pauses, waiting for my comment.
“Closure ceremony. Got it.”
“You’re not going to hassle me?”
“Nope. Please go on.”
He eyes me with skepticism but says, “The idea is to do something to mark the end of one chapter in your life and the beginning of a new one—a symbolic act to memorialize your relationship with Nate.”
“I think we committed plenty of symbolic acts yesterday. I feel like that relationship is well and truly memorialized.”
“We don’t have to do this if it doesn’t feel right to you.”
I study George. This is important to him. “I can get into it,” I say. “Do you have something in mind?”
He nods and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket.
Even folded, I know exactly what it is. The robin’s-egg blue Darlington Manor stationery is singed into my retinas. I stare at it, waiting for everything that piece of paper represents to knock me over with a devastating blow. But none comes.
“I found it after you and your parents left,” George says. “I went back to your room to pack your things, and I didn’t want anyone else to see it. I thought about ripping it up. I thought about burning it. But you should be the one to do it. It’s yours.”
I stare at him, my deeply thoughtful best friend.
“Are you angry that I had it all this time?” he asks.
“No. I’m glad it was with you. I’m glad you kept it safe.”
“I have your dress, too,” he says. “Or Mimi does. I didn’t want you to have to think about what to do with it. It’s waiting for you at the Big House.”
With a sob, I throw my arms around him, tackling him to the ground. I kiss him through my tears.
“I forgot about my dress. I loved that dress.”
“It’s beautiful. I snuck a look.”
“Let’s leave it where it is. One of the Big House’s many secrets. A treasure for someone else to discover.”
“I like that,” George says, brushing my hair off my face. He looks like he’s considering saying more, but he pulls me to my feet.
We brush ourselves off, and then I hold out my hand. George places the letter in my palm along with a matchbook.
I open it and give it one last read.
And then I set it on fire.
· · ·
George takes a scoop of sand for his collection, and we part with a kiss.
I go back to the villa to begin packing while he swings by the gift shop to pick up trinkets for my family.
When I unlock the door, I find a man standing in the living room, adjusting the ribbon on a box on the coffee table.
For a second, I don’t realize it’s Kevin and I yelp.
He jumps, then begins apologizing profusely.
“I’m so sorry,” he says again, stepping away from the present. “I thought you were out for a walk. I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed for your last morning, and to drop off a little surprise. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
He quickly crosses the room, embarrassed to be caught in the act of…Well, I’m not sure what he’s doing.
“Kevin,” I say, and he turns around, a pained smile on his face.
“Mrs. Gardiner?”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. The rose petals. The candles. The wine. Dinner the other night was wonderful. You’ve spoiled us, and I really appreciate it.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” he says. “We love to pamper our newlyweds.”
I cringe. “I feel terrible about this, but George and I aren’t actually married.”
He blinks and then starts to laugh.
“Oh, sweetie. I know.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do!”
I smile. “What? How?”
“I knew as soon as you walked in. Neither of you are wearing rings, and I had a long call with Mr. Nathaniel Bacon the day before you checked in. He told me that you were going through a hard time.” Kevin winces.
“He told me about the wedding…drama. He wanted me to take care of you, to give you anything you wanted, and to put it on his credit card. He told me you’d be arriving alone, but then you walked in with a man you called George. ”
“But…” I sputter a laugh. “You’ve treated us so well. Why would you go along with it?”
His smile is one for the angels. “I’ve seen a lot of couples here. First loves, newlyweds, empty nesters, retirees. I’ve witnessed couples celebrating anniversaries and birthdays and family milestones. I know what love looks like.”
Goose bumps erupt over my arms.
“When you arrived,” Kevin says, “you went straight to the windows, and George looked at you with so much love, I blushed.”
I stare at him, thinking that he must be exaggerating. A hopeless romantic, like Aurora.
“So you’ve been playing matchmaker on his behalf?”
He demurs. “As the head of guest experiences, it’s my job to make all of our guests’ time with us exceptional. But,” he adds with a smile, “sometimes I do have favorites.”
· · ·
Kevin has left a white lidded box with a wide green satin ribbon around its middle. The tag is addressed to me. Inside, sitting on folds of tissue paper, is a simple white card.
To Francesca,
With all my love,
Nate
Inside is a chef’s knife and a slim, cloth-bound journal. I take the knife out of its case. It’s stunning—with Japanese characters etched into the steel and an ebony handle. It’s obviously hand forged. Knowing Nate, it will be the best of the best.
But I’ve had my knives since I was eighteen.
I bought them with George on one of our first days living in the city.
Together, we browsed the shelves of a restaurant supply store in Chinatown, searching for the items on my culinary school’s equipment list. A honing steel.
Baking sheets. Mixing bowls. Ladles. Piping tips.
Knives. I’d never spent so much money at one time.
We lugged it all back on the streetcar, and I washed each tasting spoon and mixing bowl in the kitchen sink with reverence.
George stood beside me, drying them carefully.
I take a closer look at the book. It’s not a diary; it’s a recipe journal, with pages formatted for writing down lists of ingredients, cook times, methods, and tips and tricks in tidy boxes.
It’s beautiful but too restrictive for the way I create recipes.
I use a laptop, spreadsheets, and a cheap spiral notebook full of scribbles, strikethroughs, and coffee rings.
I turn the book over in my hands, then put it back in the box with the knife and close the lid. They’re exquisite—perfect for someone else, but not for me. Just as Nate wasn’t for me.
I take my phone out to the deck, finding it strangely easy to make the call. He picks up almost immediately.
“Francesca,” Nate answers. His voice sounds like a memory.
“Thank you for the beautiful gifts.”
“They got there?”
“They did.”
“Oh good. I bought the knife months ago, thinking you could use it in Tofino. You kept talking about how much you were looking forward to cooking, and I knew the villa’s wouldn’t be up to par.
But I wasn’t sure if I should, after…everything.
” He’s nervous, rambling. “I’m sorry they arrived so late.
There were some hiccups. Have you met the concierge, Kevin?
He wasn’t thrilled about leaving a knife in your room. ”
Or maybe Kevin was hesitant because he’s team George, through and through.
“Kevin’s not the concierge. He’s the head of guest experiences, and he did a beautiful job on the ribbon.”
“Oh. Well, good.” Nate hesitates before continuing. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been checking in with Aurora to see how you’re doing. I wanted to give you space, but I also wanted to know that you’re okay. She says you’re doing well. That you’ve had a good week.”
“It’s been a very good week,” I say, watching a surfer catch a wave before tipping off her board. “It’s been perfect.”
“I’m so glad.” He clears his throat. “I really do want the best for you, Francesca. I’d love to be friends if you can ever stop hating me.”
“I don’t hate you. Not anymore, anyway. But I think friends might be a stretch.”
“I understand,” he says. “But if you change your mind, I’m here.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. But I know this is the last time we’ll ever speak. “Don’t ever break up with someone in a shitty letter again, okay? That really sucked.”
“I know.” I hear him take in a long breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to tell you to your face. I knew I’d never be able to follow through if I was looking into your eyes. I know it’s unfair of me to say this, but writing that note was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“I still don’t understand what happened,” I say. “In the end, I guess it doesn’t really matter, but I’d like to get some clarity. Was I too much for you? Was it the argument we had?”
Before he answers, I hear the sliding door to the deck open.
“Want to join me in the hot tub for one last dip?”
George is standing in the doorway, wearing his bathing suit. Seeing that I’m on the phone, he whispers, “Sorry.”
It’s fine, I mouth back, holding up a finger. One minute.
“Is that him?” Nate says, his voice a degree colder.
“Is that who?”
“George.”
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I feel like I’ve done something wrong, which is absurd, since he’s the one who left me.
“I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt,” Nate says. “But at least now I know I did the right thing.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“It was clear I didn’t really know you and that I was standing in the way.” He sounds weary. “I just didn’t think it would happen so fast.”
“Nate, what are you talking about?”
“George didn’t tell you?”
My stomach drops. “Tell me what?”
I watch as George’s face turns ashen.
Nate’s voice is clipped. “This is exactly what he wanted, so he can do the explaining. Talk to George. He’ll be able to give you the clarity you’re looking for.”
I keep the phone pressed to my ear even after Nate hangs up, my eyes fixed on my best friend. He takes a step toward me, guilt evident on every inch of his face.
“George, what did you do?”