29. Hysteria
Finn
As I help Sheriff Cotton tape up the broken window, I can’t help but relate to the pieces of glass scattered on the ground. I feel shattered and fragmented just like them, knowing I’ve hurt the only woman I’ve ever loved and ruined our relationship beyond repair.
The hangover didn’t humble me the way I had expected but my lack of sleep certainly had. I had stayed up until the sun began to peak over the horizon, tossing, and turning and thinking. Thinking about Courtney, thinking about how terribly I feel for hurting her, thinking about how much of an asshole I am for betraying her trust. Truly, it was a world-class pity party and I can recognize that but I don’t feel capable of doing much else. I don’t know why I even agreed to be here today. Haven’t I done enough for Havenwood? I could have taken today off from mayoral duties and no one would have noticed.
“Finn?” Dean repeats my name, his deep brown eyes regarding me with concern.
“Sorry, sheriff. Can you repeat that?” I advert my gaze from the glass on the ground to the stout man in front of me. I do my best to fix my melancholy expression and appear I’m listening.
“I was just saying it must’ve been some kids from a town or two over. The place is a mess, seems like they might’ve been looking for something but it doesn’t look like anything is missing.” He repeats, I don’t offer him any response aside from a curt nod which earns a sigh. The sheriff folds his thick arms above his round belly before calling out my phlegmatic behavior.
“It’s that girl, innit?”
“I messed up, Dean.” I shake my head despite myself and dig my thumb painfully into my opposite palm. My eyes once again gravitate to the glass on the floor before me.
“I lied to her and used her to try to save Havenwood. This town is everything to me - or at least I thought it was - until I met her. Then it all changed, I changed, my priorities changed but I didn’t come clean when I should have. Now,” I take a shallow breath.
“Now I’m afraid I’ve lost her for good.”
A light pressure on my shoulder calls my attention to the spot. I look to my left and find the source, Sheriff Cotton’s burly hand is resting on me supportively. His face is full of soft sympathy, much different from his normal unfazed demeanor. The look causes my insides to tighten, knowing I don’t deserve his empathy.
“Son, I don’t mean to patronize you, or date myself,” he huffs out a chuckle from below his thick black mustache.
“But I watched you grow up. I saw you smile when you won the election and I saw you cry when you lost your folks but I’ve never seen you so full of regret. Go, talk to her, let her see this raw and genuine side of you. She probably doesn’t even know it exists.”
I give the sheriff’s back a firm, appreciative pat but remain silent, not trusting my own voice. The old sheriff makes a valid point, Courtney had once told me she wanted a man with all good sides. We both know now that I can’t be that man but maybe she would accept my flawed sides if she knew there were sides of me that were repentant and could learn from my mistakes. I clear my throat as we both walk back to our respective vehicles.
“Have fun tonight, sheriff,” I call as I open my driver’s side door.
“You might get to break up a fistfight or two at Starr and Soul’s concert.”
“That’d certainly be my action for the week,” he huffs out another laugh. “I’m just hoping this little show doesn’t bring a bunch of eyeliner-wearing hooligans into town.”
It’s my turn to laugh, feeling slightly lighter as I get into my car. I need to find Courtney.
Courtney
By noon there was no evidence that Courtney Berrycloth had ever inhabited 2213 Queens Avenue.
All my personal belongings, including clothes, laptop, and suitcases, are sloppily stuffed into the back seat of my car. Anything too big to take with me, like furniture, is covered with a makeshift dust jacket and will be dealt with later. When? I can’t exactly say, considering I never planned to come back to this place.
I make my way up to the attic, my last bowl of strawberries in hand. I look up into the rafters to see two reflective green eyes staring back at me from a tiny cloud of black.
“Look, Olive, goodbyes are hard for me. Back home, I’m famous for my ‘Irish exits’ - leaving when no one is watching so you don’t have to say goodbye.” I explain. I chew on my bottom lip, fighting the tears that threaten to overflow my waterline. “I’m going to miss you, you little rodent.”
A high-pitched squeak comes back in response, letting me know I will be missed too. The edge of my lips curl into a small smile as I sniffle.
I set the ceremonial offering of strawberries on their usual altar and walk over to the small attic window, cracking it open and allowing the cold autumn breeze to flow into the small space. Olive might have wanted to stay when the house was lived in, and there was a transplanted servant around to bring her fruit, but once I was gone, she may want to occupy someone else’s attic. The thought makes me slightly jealous as I envy the make-believe people who get to enjoy the attitude of the sassy little creature but I know it’s what is best for her.
Olive glides down from her perch, taking up residence beside the fruit. Her round black eyes watch me knowingly as if understanding the meaning behind my words and wishing I wouldn’t go.
“Maybe I’ll see you again one day.” I shrug, willing myself not to cry again for the seventh time today. I silently wonder what a fruit bat’s life span is and whether I can see myself returning to Havenwood in that time. Not likely.
I peel my eyes off Olive and decide to take in a final 180 of the attic. I try to take a mental picture of the A-framed roof and its rafters, the horribly dated and faded purple wallpaper. I guide my gaze to the center of the room in search of the old trunk for one last look of appreciation but to my surprise, it’s not here. I walk over to the exact spot where I had left it last night, and it is simply gone.
“What the hell..” I crease my brows in disbelief. No one has been in or out of the attic, my doors are locked and have remained that way before and after my outing to Boston earlier this morning. I scavenge around the empty attic, looking for any sign that the chest had been moved or that someone else had been up here but find no evidence.
I complete a thorough search and fold my arms across my chest, huffing in disbelief. The chest had simply vanished. After standing in beguilement for numerous beats, I give up and decide that this is simply one of Havenwood’s many mysteries and clearly not one that I’m meant to solve.
A harsh rapping at the front door pushes my curiosity aside. I look over at the small fuzzy bat, happily munching away at her strawberries. A bittersweet smile forming on my face.
“Goodbye, Olive.” I exit the attic, shutting the thin wooden door behind me for the last time. I hesitantly descend the stairs as another round of knocking sounds. I groan to myself, acknowledging the fact that the knocks don’t sound very happy and that I do not have the mental stamina to deal with whoever the hell it is.I contemplate pretending like I’m not here and simply waiting out my uninvited visitor.
“I know you’re in there, Courtney. Open up!” A familiar voice demands. A voice belonging to someone I especially do not want to talk to right now. A lightbulb illuminates over my head as I realize that right now will likely be my only chance to enjoy the smidgen of revenge I had chosen to take earlier today.
I hold my chin up high and stride over to the door, yanking it open. Some of my confidence deflates as I’m met with Milo’s angry hazel eyes, his hands are posed fiercely on his hips and the expression on his face tells me he’s pissed.
“Why did I just get a call from the Massachusetts Historical Conservancy Foundation? What letter?!” His voice remains eerily calm until he mentions the letter. I can almost see his blood boiling below his skin and that satisfies me to a degree but victory doesn’t feel as rewarding as I thought it would. His anger isn’t fixing any of my pain and, honestly, I feel a bit guilty for snaking him the way I did. After all the wrong Milo had done to me, I was still left feeling guilty, Jesus Christ. The revelation annoys me so I give him a look that should tell him all he needs to know and attempt to shut the door on him. He jams an expensive-looking leather boot between the door and its frame, effectively halting me.
“Move. Your. Foot.” I demand through clenched teeth, the sight of this traitor in front of me making me more angry by the second. I shouldn’t have opened the damn door, no amount of petty revenge was worth the way seeing him made me feel. Betrayed, lied to, naive, used, stupid.
“I don’t think I will,” he retorts, crossing his arms and pushing out an authoritative hip. I’ve dealt with tons of aggravating people in Los Angeles but none of them were able to get under my skin quite like Milo and his sass do. I once considered Milo a friend and that’s why his audacity to confront me over a letter, when he should be apologizing for using me, bothers me so badly. An annoyed growl involuntarily rumbles out of me as I tighten my grip on the door, my knuckles whitening from the force. Being the stubborn ass that I know Milo is, I also know he will not leave without answers.
“They’re going to analyze it and then have it sent right back here. You’ll have the damn letter within a week and can put it on display with a plaque that says Discovered by Courtney Berrycloth, someone we lied to, manipulated, and deceived just to benefit ourselves.”
“Get over yourself, Courtney.” Milo rolls his eyes, the action sending red-hot fury piping through my veins.
“It’s not all about you. Finn and I did what we had to to protect this town, you’re the one choosing to end your relationship over it.”
I scoff, tempted to try to slam the door on his smug face once again.
“My relationship was built on lies! He only dated me to make it easier to get me to sign off on those papers and I’m just supposed to accept that and move on?”
Milo’s dark eyebrows knit together, a look of surprise overtaking his narrow face.
“Finn didn’t date you to get you to sign the papers. Not everything was a deception, Courtney. I hope you can see that before it’s too late.”
I feel my throat constrict, a similar feeling to attempting to dry swallow a handful of chalky pills. I glare at the historian through blurry vision as stinging tears threaten my eyes. How do I know that what he is saying right now isn’t another lie? It’s not like he wasn’t above manipulating me.
“What about Martha’s remains?” Milo shakes his head at me with indignation, changing the topic.
“I signed them over to Havenwood at the same time as the letter. You win.” I shrug, my hands slapping the sides of my legs as I do. Milo is silent for a beat, seemingly without something smart to say for the first time in his entire life. His light eyes move away from mine, a less intense expression overtaking his face before he speaks again.
“It’s not easy to choose between your home and your happiness.” He attempts to defend Finn once again. Weirdly, I admire Milo for not trying to justify his actions, for not groveling for my forgiveness. He stands by what he did and feels vindicated in why he did it, despite my disagreement. But his undying protection of Finn is what makes me commend him; at least, he is loyal to someone.
“He chose wrong.” Is all I say. That’s all I need to say. Milo’s defense won’t fix Finn and I’s relationship. Nothing will. Milo turns his head towards the driveway, eyeing my car and taking note of my belongings stuffed miscellaneously in the backseat and trunk. “I’m sorry, Courtney. Safe travels.”
He turns on his heel and walks down the driveway, heading back in the direction of the historic center. I watch him go, the feelings of betrayal and anger bubbling up again inside me as I watch a person I once called a friend walk out of my life. While losing Milo doesn’t hurt nearly as much as losing his brother, I will miss Milo and I’s friendship and our ability to connect on an academic level. Despite my admiration of his resolve, seeing him show such little remorse for his part in all of this felt like a huge slap in the face.
I slam the front door shut like I wish I could have ten minutes ago. I lean forward, allowing my forehead to meet the cool wood of the door as another cry rips from my throat. This time not from sadness but anger as I pound my fist against the sturdy wood, silently cursing myself for even answering the door. Each second spent in Havenwood is only causing me more and more turmoil. I need to leave.
I remove myself from the front door and march into the kitchen, avoiding looking at the table as I bent over the sink and splashed cool water over my face. The biting sensation of the cold water helped to clear my head. I know I have to say my goodbyes before fleeing town but I also know that the more people I go to see the higher the probability is that I run into he who shall not be named.
I make a short mental list of people I absolutely can not leave without saying goodbye to, grab my coat, and leave my house on Queens Avenue for the last time.