16. Annie #2
“Every good moment made the truth feel riskier,” I said. “So I moved the line.”
“Until someone else told me.”
“Yes.”
Ellie folded her arms.
“How do I know I’m not Claire again?”
“You don’t.”
She flinched.
I hated causing it.
I did not take the answer back.
“I can’t prove anything in one phone call,” I said. “I can tell you I see the pattern now. I can tell you I don’t want to repeat it. I understand that may not be enough.”
“It isn’t.”
My throat tightened.
“Okay.”
She looked almost surprised that I accepted it.
A voice called from outside her bedroom.
“Dinner in ten.”
Ellie glanced toward the door.
“My mother.”
Another voice followed.
“Ask about diversification.”
She closed her eyes.
“Dad.”
The door opened.
A man leaned into the room and looked at Ellie, then at the screen.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Mr. Parker.”
“Tom.”
“Annie.”
His expression shifted slightly at the name.
“Are your investments diversified?”
“Dad.”
“Yes,” I said. “Retirement accounts, investments, and a financial adviser who frightens me twice a year.”
Tom nodded.
“Good.”
Ellie stood and pushed him into the hallway.
“We’re talking.”
“I’m aware.”
“Privately.”
“You left the door unlocked.”
“That is not a legal defense.”
She closed it.
When she sat down again, I said, “Your father is terrifying.”
“He likes you.”
“That was liking me?”
“He didn’t ask about debt.”
“I feel privileged.”
A faint smile touched her mouth.
The interruption had broken the heaviness without removing it.
“There’s something you should know about me,” Ellie said.
I waited.
“My sister was twenty-six when she died.”
“Molly.”
“Yes. A brain aneurysm. No warning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She called me the night before. I was working. I told her I’d call tomorrow.”
The last word held everything else.
“I’m so sorry, Ellie.”
She nodded.
“After that, I stopped trusting tomorrow.”
I thought about every time I had postponed telling her.
After dinner.
In the morning.
One more day.
“That’s why what I did hurt differently,” I said.
“It’s one reason.”
“I didn’t know.”
“No.”
“It wouldn’t excuse it if I had.”
“No.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
She looked toward Molly’s photograph.
“I’m not telling you to make you feel worse.”
“That part was already handled.”
“That’s your responsibility.”
“Fair.”
“I’m telling you because my life isn’t simple either.”
“I never thought it was.”
“You knew me for four days.”
“I knew there was more than you were saying.”
Ellie’s eyes returned to mine.
The connection was still there.
So was the damage.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
I had prepared several answers.
None survived the question.
“Another conversation.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
She waited.
“I want the chance to show you more than the version who arrived on the island and hid behind a bad hat.”
“It was a very bad hat.”
“I was vulnerable.”
“You were branded by a golf resort.”
“I’d like another day with you eventually. One where you know who you’re spending it with.”
Ellie’s face softened, but only slightly.
“I’m not ready for that.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t know whether I’ll trust you again.”
The sentence landed quietly.
“I understand.”
“I may decide I can’t.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
“You keep accepting everything.”
“Would you prefer an argument?”
“No.”
“I’m trying not to say the perfect thing and get forgiven before we hang up.”
“That would be efficient.”
“My team values efficiency.”
“I noticed.”
A small breath of laughter passed between us.
Not enough to fix anything.
Enough to remind me why I wanted to try.
“I don’t want a public statement,” Ellie said.
“There won’t be one.”
“I don’t want Sophie contacting me.”
“She won’t.”
“And I won’t become your friend because it’s easier to explain.”
“No one says anything about you unless you agree.”
“That should be obvious.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not thanking you for it.”
“You shouldn’t.”
She nodded.
The boundary existed.
Whether I could hold it when Richard pushed was something I still had to prove.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Now I go downstairs before my mother brings dinner up and evaluates your nutritional habits.”
“She’ll be disappointed.”
“She already thinks you travel with insufficient snacks.”
“She and Rachel could start a support group.”
“That is a terrifying alliance.”
“And after dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer tightened something in my chest.
I let it remain.
Ellie touched the collar of my T-shirt.
“You noticed this.”
“Immediately.”
“You spent a long time looking at the medals.”
“I was being respectful.”
“You studied the participation award like it contained state secrets.”
“It has an unusual ribbon.”
This time her smile stayed a little longer.
“I haven’t decided whether to return the shirt.”
“Keep it until you decide.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I have occasional episodes.”
“Don’t overuse them.”
I hesitated.
“Can I call again?”
“Text first.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Text first.”
“Understood.”
“And Annie?”
“Yes?”
“This was not a reconciliation.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
Neither of us ended the call.
Five seconds passed.
Then another five.
“Are we refusing to hang up?” I asked.
“No.”
“Excellent.”
We remained on the screen.
Ellie finally reached toward the phone.
“Text first.”
“I will.”
The call ended.
My reflection replaced her face.
I sat still while the room returned around me.
Closed curtains.
Silent television.
Yellow legal pad on the floor.
I picked it up.
Claire’s name remained circled beneath the water bottle.
Below it, I wrote:
Text first.
Then:
Retirement planning: sufficiently diversified.
Ellie had not forgiven me.
She might not.
But she had told me the truth and given me permission to contact her again.
I had built entire songs from less.