Chapter 46
One Year Later
A cry rips through the night, tearing me from my sleep.
The time it takes for my eyes to adjust to the blackness seems endless. Across the room, I hear movement, then a burst of light, as the bedside lamp flicks on. Ava sits up in her own bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“I’ll get her.”
“The next hotel, we’re getting two rooms,” I say, pulling a pillow over my head.
“Whatever suits you,” she says, approaching the small bassinet at the foot of her bed. The infant in her arms is still whining and writhing. “I’ll warm the bottle.”
“Let me hold her,” I say, sitting up straighter.
The light filtering through the floor-length curtains signals it’s almost time to get up anyway.
I give Ava a hard time about sharing hotel rooms with the baby, but really, each interrupted night serves as reassurance that everything is all right. We’ve made it through.
Too tired to argue, Ava hands the baby over.
“Hold tight, Grace,” I soothe. “Mama will be back in a minute.”
I still struggle to normalize those new names in my mind. Ava has adjusted to motherhood faster than I would have expected, and the beauty of it is, she didn’t have to. She chose this life, and I agreed to embark on it with her.
After she was arrested, Constance never denied what she did to Marlowe.
Her cooperation resulted in a plea deal for twenty years in prison, maybe less if she exhibits good behavior.
If she’d fought her case in court, she would have risked the possibility of more years behind bars.
She knew she’d lost the opportunity to raise her daughter.
Grace. That’s why Constance did the unbelievable; she asked Ava to take custody.
Ava was conflicted about the offer, understandably. It wasn’t only Constance’s child she’d be raising. Grace is Preston’s daughter, too. For years, Ava tried and failed to conceive. With Preston dead and Constance incarcerated, she’s the best chance Grace will have at a stable, happy life.
She was hesitant to do it alone, which is why I insisted I would help.
Ava maintains full guardianship, but I’ve vowed to join her for all the major milestones.
It’s why, after all the legal paperwork was in place, she agreed to fly to Europe with me and experience the next leg of the Tippi’s Travels tour.
I stare at the wriggling infant in my arms. The combination of her parents amazes and frightens me. Constance’s thick hair. Preston’s dark eyes. When I look at her, I detect signs of Ava, too. I see the love that Ava pours into her.
She’s played many parts over the years. Preppy party girl.
Proud wife. Thriving businesswoman. None of them suit her as well as the role of mother.
In fact, I think those previous roles helped prepare her for this.
She’ll have years of experience and knowledge to pass on to her daughter, much like Marmee’s colorful life has inspired me.
“Do you want to feed her?” Ava asks, shaking the bottle in her hand.
“You can,” I say, handing her the infant. “I’m going to stretch my legs.”
The balcony door opens outward, dangling above clifftops.
Below, the azure sea breaks against the pebbled beach.
The sun, already high in the clear sky, kisses my cheek.
Monaco is one of my favorite destinations.
Maybe it’s because the country has been used as an idyllic backdrop in some of my favorite old movies, or maybe it’s because the four of us came here once, during that post-graduation romp around the continent.
Things are different this time around with Grace in tow, but the scenery is just as beautiful.
My decision to leave the country as soon as I could was a wise one.
To my knowledge, no one in the States is looking for Oliver.
Even if someone did, an ex-lover or a forgotten family member, enough time has passed that it would be difficult to piece together what happened.
Nearly impossible. No one would predict that Oliver’s final resting place is beneath the crow fountain on Marmee’s private estate.
The airport taxi is due to arrive at noon.
Marmee and Mrs. Wilson are flying out to meet us for the week.
I haven’t seen Marmee since December, when I flew back to New York for the holidays.
Even with the distance between us, we’re closer than ever, our shared experiences tethering us to each other across space and time.
Grace lets out a cry. I peer back into the hotel room, watching as Ava tries to rock her daughter back to sleep. Ava and I suffered horrible trials in the past year, but we’ve made it to the other side. We made it here, to this beautiful seaside resort, surrounded by love.
Preston was wrong. Life isn’t meant to be a one-man show.
The struggle is determining who is worthy of sharing the stage with you.
I’ve had a few flings in the past year, nothing serious.
I look at each man who walks into my life as an opportunity to heal wounds Oliver left behind.
I will open myself up to love again one day, but until then, I’m content being with Ava and Grace.
Marmee and Mrs. Wilson. They’re my family now.
And Marlowe. Even though she’s gone, her faithful friendship is a special kind of magic that follows us wherever we go.
Still, I’m haunted by that night, certain details oscillating between memory and fantasy. My mind revisits a specific scene often, after I had my conversation with Constance by the fountain, just before I saw Marmee standing at the top of the staircase.
Ava was bent down in front of Preston’s body, leaning over him. Sometimes I think she was trying to comfort him in his final moments. Sometimes I think she was grieving.
Other times, I think I saw something else.
That iconic shawl stretched over his mouth, restricting his ability to breathe. Instead of trying to help Preston, save him, I believe Ava was trying to make him die faster.
Maybe it was mercy.
Maybe it was revenge.
Either way, he got what he deserved.
They both did.