Chapter 38
Lark
I shift the truck into park but stay, idling in the driveway of the Westcott estate. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t seeing Harbor’s car parked near the front door.
I feel sick.
That’s something I never felt with Harbor before.
Nothing makes sense, so maybe he can unwind this mess and make it right again.
I look in the mirror and wipe away the makeup that’s smeared under my eyes from crying.
I can’t touch up with my makeup bag at home, but does it matter?
There’s no way I’ll be able to stop my tears from engulfing me with the two words I dread hearing—he’s gone.
I’m barely containing them now. Anyway, my makeup will probably be running again shortly.
I cut the engine and climb out of the cab, dropping from the high truck until my feet reach the ground.
I don’t lock it. What’s the point? No one’s going to steal it from this property.
For that matter, I might as well leave the keys on the seat just in case I need a quick getaway.
Not that I’m planning an escape, but something’s gone terribly wrong, and I have a feeling I wasn’t summoned out here to discuss my summer plans.
Wow, another thing that seems to be gone in an instant. Why were we making plans if he had no intention of following through? I’m so lost on what’s happening and am ready to wake from this nightmare.
The door opens as soon as I take the first step to their front door. Marina’s standing there with tears in her eyes as if she was the one who was left.
We’ve spent a little time together when Harbor and I would come over for dinner and celebrate over the holidays.
But I wish we would have had more time to get to know each other.
She’s very poised for her age, intelligent, and is a great kid.
By the time I reach the landing, she throws her arms around me and starts crying.
These aren’t the tears from learning of a death or an accident.
Those are black, with hope burned in the ashes.
I can feel that flicker inside me, that little ember trying to persist and come to life.
Harbor does that to me. He makes me feel nothing and everything all at once, fragmented, but hope still exists between us, our love burning through the tears of the brokenhearted.
I embrace his little sister like she’s my own, soothing her. I find comfort that I’m not alone, that I’m not the only one who’s been abandoned. But I realize his sister crying means I’ll be the one crying again in a minute. “It’s okay, Marina.”
“He—”
“Marina,” her dad says, his voice catching us off guard.
She takes a short breath, her eyes meeting mine so quickly that I don’t have time to see what she already knows inside them.
The coloring just about brings me to my knees, the same color that usually makes me weak in them when Harbor looks at me.
She whispers, “I’m sorry,” and then walks to her dad.
Like my dad did for me, hers holds her as she cries on his shoulder. Harbor’s mom comes out and sees them. “Honey? Come here, Marina.” She takes her hand and wraps her arms around her. Delta looks at me over her shoulder and says, “Oh Lark . . .”
Marina wipes her eyes and quietly moves through to the living room with her dad as I step up to the door.
Delta takes my hands, bringing me inside the house and then wrapping her arms around me so tight that for a moment, a moment so brief that it won’t betray my dad, I wish she were Liz. Is this what moms do? They wrap you in a blanket of their arms when the world becomes too much to handle?
Her breath is shaky for someone who looks so composed . . . as if she’s been dreading this visit as much as I am. She says, “I’m so sorry, Lark.”
Reality hits hard with a boom kick to my heart.
Why is she sorry?
I start to push away, but she holds me tighter. “He loves you so much.”
It’s funny how the mind plays tricks on you, making you think that you’ll live, that you’re somehow strong enough to survive your heart being broken in two and your soul ripped from your body. Tricks . . .
The birds are singing, and the sky is so blue—my favorite shade or used to be—on the drive over. Tricks . . .
As my tears fall on the silk, I can’t help but think her floral blouse was perfect for a springtime graduation, but here we are, crying on it instead. What an odd thing to notice. Tricks . . .
My eyes start to dry, but I’m left drained from the flooding emotions. I could cry for hours, but at this point, that’s just my heart weeping.
“Let’s get something to drink,” Delta says, taking my hand and leading me into the kitchen.
I see Noah and Marina outside at a table by the pool.
Both look troubled. Noah with his slumped shoulders as he rests his head in his hands and Marina with her large sunglasses that may hide her crying eyes but not the red of her nose.
The only two missing are his dad and eldest brother, Loch. I’ve seen his dad, and I imagine Loch is around here somewhere. The Westcotts seem to be a family that comes together in an emergency.
Is that what this is?
An emergency?
A crisis to get through?
Did they gather when Lucas died? Or when Harbor was accused of letting him? Where were they when he shouldered the burden of that death to save his cousin’s reputation? Or when his aunt leaned over a coffin to threaten him? To guilt him into living Lucas’s life instead of his own?
I stand there with my heart lacking a beat in an empty shell of a body.
Yet somehow my muscles are intact and tense.
Every ounce of what remains of my being becomes protective, barricading me as if I’m standing among the enemies who betrayed me.
Harbor would tell me otherwise, that they’re operating on limited information.
But as I choose between sitting on a barstool or standing, I choose to stand with truths, his secrets, I shouldn’t know.
Delta moves around the kitchen side, pulling various things from the cabinets. “You arrived sooner than I expected. I wanted to put out snacks. I’m sure you’re starved after the long ceremony. What can I get you to drink?” she asks as if I’m whole before her and can stomach such things.
“Where’s Harbor?”
There’s no point in making small talk when we have the root of evil to contend with. Lies. Cover-ups. Omissions. They’re all the same. I brace myself for which angle is chosen, though I know I’ll never be prepared.
She pauses with a glass in her hand, the glass as visibly shaken as she is. “We should have tea. I think I have chamomile to help—”
“Do his dirty deed?”
She looks at me, her eyes a deeper blue. “Lark, I . . .” Delta sets the glass down and forgets about the snacks. Returning to the other side of the island, she says, “I don’t agree with the decisions he’s made.”
“But you’re going along with it, which is the same thing as supporting him.”
“I . . .” Her gaze drifts to the outside, where the sight of her family gives her comfort. Wonder what that’s like? Turning back to me, she says, “No, I’m not. I just thought you should be told in person.”
My mind riffles through the words she’s saying. I’m trying to make sense of them, but I can’t come to a solid conclusion. “You’re telling me what he didn’t want to.”
“Harbor’s gone,” she starts, looking down at her hands on the counter. She may be distracting herself from the pain by picking at a speck, but she’s stronger than she’s probably given credit for.
Me, on the other hand . . . Imagining the words playing in my head is not the same as hearing them come to life. He’s gone. I grip the counter with both my hands and focus on my breathing.
Rushing around the counter, she comes to me and rubs my back.
“Don’t touch me. You’re not my m—you’re not my Liz.”
Delta steps back, her hands raised as if she was burned.
The comfort in her eyes is long gone and has been replaced with a myriad of emotions—hurt, fear, regret, empathy, tenderness—spinning in the centers like a merry-go-round.
I have no idea where she’ll land, but I back away from her, not needing her comfort when her son destroyed me.
When her eyes meet mine, she holds our eye contact, and I see she’s settled on hurt. “Lark . . .” She starts strong, her tone much steadier than before. “I know you’re hurt. We are too. We’re also confused, but we’ve done what he asked us to. We’ll do whatever we can to support him.”
“Except believe him when he needed you most.”
“What do you mean?”
I should carry this secret to the grave, but with Harbor gone, I’m feeling a lot like I have nothing left to lose. “Lucas . . .” And then I stop myself. “What am I doing?” I cover my mouth, horrified at who I am right now.
“I don’t know. You’re telling me about Harbor and Lucas.” She rushes me, taking me by the wrists and holding them between us. “What do you know?” The words flow from her mouth in a panic. “Do you know what happened that day?”
Striking out in my pain to cause others the same isn’t who I am. It’s not who I want to be, either. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She searches my eyes and then begins to cry. Her hands lower, and she turns away from me. “He closed down, shut us out.” Her sobs have her back wracking with sobs.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling worse than I did when I arrived. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Turning back to me, she says, “You didn’t.
It’s just a reminder of how much pain he’s been in, and we couldn’t spare him from it.
We tried, Lark. We got him help, let things go when he stepped out of line, and tempered our reactions for the longest time.
From the car accident to when he came to us months ago about—” She stops abruptly and returns to the kitchen, snagging tissues from a box hidden beside the fridge.
Harbor and I were together at that time, so when she hands me a tissue, I ask, “What happened months ago?”