Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
T he host for the twentieth annual night thrown by the Journalistic Integrity Agency was a woman in her twenties who introduced herself as “a journalist in the making, someone who’s paying attention to what’s already been said and eager to join the conversation to build a brighter world.
” Sylvie watched as the host gripped both sides of the podium with white hands, clearly nervous and shaking. But her voice was strong and clear.
“The journalists we’re here to honor tonight are my heroes,” she said.
“And I’d like to personally thank people like Ralph Finster for making this night possible.
Without his devotion to the environment, we wouldn’t be where we are today, making technological advancements that will surely build a better world. ”
There was applause. Sylvie found with surprise that she was clapping, too. Graham joined in. There was anger in his eyes. Sylvie understood, but she wanted to lean over and remind him of their goals and what they were there to do. It couldn’t come out just yet.
The woman at the podium introduced another member of “the board,” who Sylvie knew now, was another member of the Next Generation Nantucket Designers and, therefore, one of their enemies.
He was terribly proud of himself, puffing up his chest as he spoke about the other journalists who’d won the award in the past and what they’d gone on to do with the money.
Some of those journalists were seated at this very table, gazing up at him with pride in their eyes.
Sylvie knew that exposing these men for the frauds they were was essential. But she also knew it wouldn’t be taken lightly, least of all by the journalists they’d honored in the past. Nobody wanted to be wrong. Nobody wanted to be called a fool.
Nervous, Sylvie reached for her phone to check the time. It was then she realized that Timothy Everett had responded to her email. Her heart thumped.
She couldn’t stop herself from opening it.
Dear Sylvie,
I have thought of you a great deal since your father’s death. I saw you briefly at the funeral, but I wanted to keep my distance. I wanted to give you time and space to grieve however you saw fit. I know this is all incredibly imperfect. Please forgive me if I wasn’t there for you enough.
I want to be delicate as I answer your question.
Your father was open with me about the events that led up to his marriage to your mother.
He told me about his first marriage, about how he’d never loved his first wife.
He was guilty of putting his first wife through hell.
I believe he said that his first wife accused him of loving Sarah far more than he could ever love her.
I believe he said, “She saw right through me. Maybe all women do.”
He told me about Wally, his best friend and your mother’s greatest love.
He was jealous of Wally. But Wally was the best friend he ever had in his life. Wally always came first.
I think their shared love and grief over losing Wally brought your mother and father together. It was imperfect and messy. Very suddenly, they were pregnant and moving to Nantucket Island. It was a hurricane of changes that ended with a baby.
But a baby is the beginning of something, not the ending. I think your father saw that, and your mother struggled, too.
Your father knew your mother was depressed. He knew that when she was unkind, it came from a place of incredible torment and hardship. He also knew that he should have gotten her help before it was too late.
You got older, and your mother fell deeper and deeper into the well of her own sorrow.
She loved you. She did. But she didn’t know how to love herself.
I know that your father was heartbroken about the way your mother left this world. I know it was especially sorrowful because it was an accident.
The year your mother died, your father realized she was thinking about suicide.
This is not a nice word, and it is not a nice sentiment, but it is one I must bring up here in order to be completely honest with you.
Your father decided to plan a vacation for just the two of them.
I think he thought a vacation would be enough.
(Now, we understand far more about mental health and know better.
She needed medication. She needed therapy.)
I think your parents were planning on leaving you with a neighbor or a friend. By then, you were old enough not to need them so completely anymore.
James wanted to return to Nantucket restored and back in love. He wanted to have more children, he said.
But life had other plans.
The morning they planned to leave Nantucket, your mother went swimming in the Nantucket Sound. This wasn’t such a rare thing. She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer, and she liked to go far out into the waves and make herself float before returning.
But on this particular morning, the waves were stronger than usual. She was caught in a tide and pulled out far beyond the swimming borders. It was there she drowned.
Of course, gossip channels in Nantucket are powerful things, and there were rumors that your mother had killed herself or your father had something to do with it.
For me, this is part of the reason your father wanted to keep your mother’s death hush-hush.
He didn’t want you to hear any such gossip.
He wanted you to retain your beautiful memories of your mother. I believe it was meant to be a gift.
I know your father was imperfect. He knew that, too. But he loved you as best as he could, I think.
Please let me know how I can help you.
Congratulations on your award ceremony today. Your father would be so proud.
Yours,
Timothy Everett
Sylvie realized her name was being called. It echoed from the speakers and filled the air above the immaculate tables. It shimmered through glasses of champagne. “Sylvie Bruckson!” the hostess was calling out. “Please, come up here and accept your award!”
Sylvie’s heart filled with a mix of terror and excitement.
She wasn’t sure how to sit with what she’d just read.
She wasn’t sure how to tackle the fact that her father had loved her but just hadn’t known how to show it.
It would be something she’d deal with for the rest of her life together with Graham and with the Salt Sisters.
It had been a time of exhilarating change. But she couldn’t let her work take a back seat. She’d been sure of that from the start.
Sylvie was on her feet. She kissed Graham and shook a few journalists’ hands before mounting the side steps to get up to the podium.
There, the hostess handed over the glass award shaped like the planet Earth, upon which was written her name and the year.
The award weighed maybe ten pounds and made her arms ache.
Gently, she placed it on the podium and gazed out at the two-hundred-plus audience, all of whom were watching her expectantly, waiting for her to deliver the speech of a lifetime.
She’d planned one.
“This is really something,” Sylvie said, sounding out of breath.
The applause ramped up again, and a few people laughed.
“I want to start by thanking everyone here on the board. Ralph Finster, Gary Driver, Megan Mullan, and Wanda Shean. It means a lot that you founded this Journalistic Integrity Agency. It means that you recognize journalists who’ve been grinding for year after year.”
Sylvie knew it was essential to start like that and pretend this was a traditional speech.
She said, “I’d like to thank my partner in all things.
” She gazed down at Graham. “Graham Ellis was my first favorite person. He was my first partner. Together, we fought and protested and searched for ways to get the word out. We were probably terribly annoying, but we knew what we wanted. And we learned from one another. We continue to learn.”
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Sylvie spotted movement. Ralph Finster was on his feet with a look of animal fear in his eyes. He beckoned to a guard and whispered in his ear, his face pointed toward Graham.
It occurred to Sylvie all at once that Ralph realized who Graham was. He was going to have him thrown out.
Ralph must have remembered his name from Graham’s recent arrest. He was going to have him arrested again. Maybe he was going to throw Sylvie out, too.
Sylvie’s palms were clammy. But she knew it was now or never. If he threw her out before she said everything she’d come to say, he might ruin her career.
“Unfortunately, it’s up to me to break some news tonight,” Sylvie said.
The crowd shifted in their chairs, ready to listen. Ready to make space for what their “top journalist” had uncovered.
“It’s come to my attention that the so-called Journalistic Integrity Agency is little more than a cover for the Next Generation Nantucket Designers.
They’re pretending to be for environmental protection but are instead working forever for the bottom line, for nonstop construction on Nantucket.
Probably, they’re working elsewhere, building, ruining ecosystems, and destroying our planet.
Yet tonight, they’re here! Celebrating journalism!
Pretending to care about the environment!
Ladies and gentlemen, Ralph Finster! Gary Driver!
” She continued on, saying the names. And then she said, “Ralph Finster is single-handedly responsible for a Seattle oil spill that killed one hundred thousand animals and caused thirty-plus cancer diagnoses! And he thinks we’ll forget! ”
Down below, Ralph was screaming at the sound guy. “Turn off the mic! Someone, get her off the stage!”
The crowd was muttering, turning to one another, their eyes stirring with questions. It was clear that something big was happening. The cameras were on. People were recording.
This would be remembered, Sylvie knew.
I am a woman with a difficult past. I will never forget that past. But it doesn’t mean I can’t have hope for the future.
I am not my mother.
I am not my father.
I create my own love, and it is powerful.
Down below, two guards had seized Graham and were trying to cart him toward the back entrance. Sylvie’s heart leaped. But they’d known this would happen.
Sylvie was surprised she still had the mic. The sound guy refused to turn it off.
“Just a few weeks ago, Graham Ellis single-handedly handcuffed himself to one of Ralph Finster’s construction sites.
He wanted to bring attention to crimes against the delicate ecosystem of Nantucket,” Sylvie declared.
“But Ralph Finster had him thrown in jail! He had the story squashed! And now, look. Ralph Finster is doing it again.”
Graham looked at her the way he’d looked at her all those years ago at the regatta: with a face full of love and pride. A face that said we’re doing it. We’re showing them.
“We have to stop these mega-millionaires and billionaires from becoming wealthier,” she said.
“We have to remind them that we aren’t going away.
We’re going to keep publishing the truth.
We’re going to keep striving. And we can’t be ‘quieted’ with a few stupid awards.
” She raised the award of the glass earth toward the sky.
The crowd erupted with applause. Sylvie felt like she was floating.
But suddenly, there was a hand around her wrist, and she was being pulled off stage.
In the kerfuffle, she dropped the glass earth, and it shattered on the stage.
Glass went everywhere. Sylvie watched across the crowd as Graham slipped a hand into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, which he used to quickly and deftly handcuff himself to the guard beside him.
The guard was caught so off guard that he let go of Graham and cried out.
This had not been a part of the guard’s plan.
A few journalists and other guests crowded around Ralph, Gary, and the others from the board to demand answers and ask them if this was real.
Already, Sylvie knew that the event had been broadcasted on social media and that think pieces would be published about it.
She and Graham had taken on some of the biggest evils in the industry. And they wouldn’t stop. Not as long as they were together.
A few hours later, after the handcuffs were removed and Graham was released with an apology, Sylvie and Graham wandered through the heat, still in their fancy clothes, holding hands loosely.
There was a veggie burger place they wanted to try.
There was a vegan ice cream place around the corner.
They were starving but still sizzling from the energy of the night.
When they reached the veggie burger place, Valerie video-called them. Her face sparkled with tears. She said, “I saw the video. I had no idea what you two were really planning. I nearly had a heart attack.”
Graham and Sylvie laughed gently and answered her questions.
Yes, they were safe. Yes, they were coming back tomorrow.
Yes, everything would be fine.
Yes, they were pretty sure the Next Generation Nantucket Designers were done for.
Valerie shook her head and wiped another tear from her cheek. “I’m just so proud of you both. I’m so proud of how bravely you live your lives. You’ve taught me so much.”
Sylvie took a breath. She thought of how powerful this woman had been for her, both as a child and now.
And she said, “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
The glow in Valerie’s eyes spoke of a mother’s love. Graham and Sylvie basked in it all the way to Washington, DC. They said they loved her. They said they’d keep fighting. They said they always would.