Chapter 36 #2
It’s a lot later, I’m sitting in my bedroom, still in my dress, before I realize I’m still wearing his ring.
I stare at it until the feeling of needing it off me, thrown into the lake perhaps, takes over.
But it won’t budge. It’s like it’s glued to my finger or something.
In the bathroom, I lather it in soap and try again, but it’s not coming off, no matter how much I twist and pull.
I’m still trying to drag it off when the door opens.
I go to tell Kathy, Sam, or whoever it is to go away.
But it’s not any of them.
It’s him.
He steps through in his full wedding attire: a charcoal morning suit so dark it’s almost black, a crisp white shirt that looks as pure as snow, and a bow tie, undone. He looks every inch the handsome groom I never got to have.
I drop my arms by my side, thoroughly defeated.
“You’re late.” My voice is flat. Dead, almost.
“I know,” he says.
“You know.”
I stare up at him, completely and utterly taken aback by the audacity of his turning up now. Acting like he was late to a dinner. Or a movie.
Not our fucking wedding.
“Where have you been?”
“I had to check something,”—he runs a hand through his hair—“look, it wasn’t supposed to be real.” It was only supposed to be until the deal was done. You don’t need to marry me for your father anymore.”
I stare at him, seeing his mouth move but not really hearing the words. Each cool look he gives, every excuse, is a thousand little cuts bleeding me to death. And what’s worse is, he’s right.
Except he took something last night that he can never give back.
That should count for something.
“Who is she?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His body tenses. “She?”
“The woman with the blonde hair.” I can barely get the words out. “Mundel said he’d found her. I saw you go to her. I know you’ve been looking.” My voice is hoarse. “Is she—is she Nell?”
Silence.
Then his voice is firm, sure of itself, but I’m not really listening. “That wasn’t Nell. That was…someone I knew a very long time ago. Not Nell. Nell is gone.”
Of course, it wasn’t Nell.
Nell is dead.
Hope immediately suffocates and dies. He hasn’t told me who that woman is, but it doesn’t matter. She’s still the reason he didn’t come to the wedding; that hasn’t changed.
“You deserve answers.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. The paper is old and yellowed at the edges. “This belongs to you. You should have it.”
“What is it?” I don’t take it, I can only stare at it.
“A letter.” He pushes it into my hands, and it’s then that I notice his hands are cold and shaking ever so slightly, like mine. “Just read it. Please.”
“Troy.”
“The helicopter’s on the front lawn.” His tone is empty, his green eyes seem sorry for me. I might crack open at any moment. “You’re free to go, Sage. I won’t stop you.”
I can’t quite breathe.
“Wait—” I reach for him, but he’s already turning towards the door, walking away from me, leaving. No. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”
He halts, but doesn’t turn around. He can’t look at me, and when he does, he won’t even meet my eyes. “I promised you a way out. This is me, keeping that promise.”
His knuckles whiten, but he doesn’t touch me. It physically hurts that he doesn’t.
“The helicopter will take you wherever you want to go, away from your father. Away from—” He stops short and sighs. “I should go.”
But he doesn’t move. It makes me stupidly bold. “But the wedding?”
“It wasn’t real. You don’t have to be a pawn in this anymore.”
His eyes are dark, so dark as I stare into them. There’s a depth to them that reminds me of the lake when it’s filled with mossy rocks, jagged and dangerous to fall into.
“But last night, that’s not what you said.”
“Last night was a mistake. I never should have done that to you or said those things. What right have—” His words land like sharp knives. He drags his hand over his face. “You deserved better than that. Better than being dragged into Hell with me.”
“But I want to be.”
“No. You don’t. You don’t want that.” His voice is harsh now, tearing me into pieces. “You’re just confused. Traumatized by what I did to you, what you saw me do. This place can warp people, Sage. I’m fucked…but you can have a life.”
I say nothing because I can’t speak anymore. Troy blows out a breath as though this is hard for him and then walks toward the door. He pauses and looks back at me, like he’s giving me crumbs I don’t need or want.
“Sage, you deserve better than to be with a cutthroat like me. I’ll only push you over the edge.”
It dawns on me that he’s been calling me Sage this entire time. Not little finch. Not even, little blade.
Just Sage.
And then he’s gone.
Leaving me alone in an empty room, still in my wedding dress, still wearing my damn ring, clutching a piece of paper like it’s the only thing keeping me on earth.
I can’t bring myself to look at it.
When I’m ready to leave, the wedding dress hanging where I found it, the ring carefully placed on the bedside table for him to see, I walk out of the room and into the hallway.
After a quick goodbye to the horses, one last view from the terrace, Kathy appears with Mundel as though they’ve been waiting for me the whole time.
“Come on, dove. Let’s get you out of here.”
Mundel takes my bags while the house manager guides me down the stairs as though I might tumble down them if she weren’t there. Then she leads me across the lawn to where the helicopter waits, its blades already spinning, ready to whip me away from all this.
“Where are you going to go?” she asks gently.
“Laine’s house. Whitechapel.”
She nods and helps me into the helicopter. The pilot confirms the destination with Mundel as he loads my suitcase, packed with all the essentials I need but don’t want, along with me. Everything else is left behind in the wardrobes upstairs.
And then we’re lifting off.
Grayfleet shrinks beneath us. Getting smaller and smaller. Then there’s the lake, the vast expanse of it, swallowing everything whole as we zoom away from the island.
From Troy.
From everything.
My hand tightens on the letter in my pocket, crumpling it slightly.
It hurts too much to read it. I don’t want to know what he has to say for himself. It’s already over, what’s the point anymore?
He said last night was a mistake and then sent me away like I meant nothing. It was all a lie. Troy’s probably relieved to be rid of me, glad not to have to deal with me, free to go back to mourning Nell properly, without the inconvenience of me getting in the way.
Fine. If he wants to be alone with his ghosts, let him.
I take the letter out.
As the helicopter dips and banks over the clear water, I hold the letter over it, my fingers twitching to let go and toss it into the lake, watch it disappear forever. But the paper is folded into a triangle. And the edges are browned as though they were burned. Or placed over a candle.
Slowly, I unfold it, steeling myself to read whatever excuses he’s written, his pathetic explanation that he thinks justifies doing what he did.
But it’s not Troy’s handwriting.
The looping cursive is familiar, with that distinctive slant to the letters that says the author is ever the optimist.
It’s my handwriting.
No, not mine.
Nell’s.
The words blur as I read them, and then I cry hard, tears falling like the heavens have opened up, and I can’t read them properly. But then I get to my name, and everything stills.
No, this isn’t…
No.
The paper shakes so much I barely take it in. I fumble in my bag, pulling out the other piece, the first half of Nell’s letter that I found at Grayfleet a week ago, from Nell to Sweeney, that I thought was from my sister to some stranger. Hands trembling, I press the two torn edges together.
They fit perfectly.
One letter. One person.
Written by me.