Chapter 4
HOLLY
“Knock, knock,” Jack says, poking his head into Quinn’s room. His arm reaches deeper into the room, my phone in his hand like a grenade he’s about to drop before he retreats for cover. “She called again. Left a message.”
Today feels like it lasted a lifetime, and all I want is to hide in Quinn’s room with the soft light from his solar system lamp reflecting on the ceiling, and the soft breathing of a sleepy child tucked into my side. I left my phone on the kitchen counter on purpose. I should have just blocked her.
“Holly,” Jack gently reprimands when I don’t react.
I look down at my son, who’s looking up at me with eyelids at half-mast, ever watching, waiting.
He’s expecting me to do the right thing.
“Okay,” I say to Quinn. And to Jack. “It’s past time for you to be asleep anyway, little man.
” I wiggle out from under Quinn and kiss him on the forehead then tuck the blankets around him and the stuffed hippo Zoe bought for his second birthday.
Reluctantly, I follow Jack out of the room.
“At least you let it go to voicemail. I suppose I owe you thanks for that,” I say when we reach the kitchen.
“You owe me thanks for way more, but I’ll take it.” Jack grins. “Come on, I opened a bottle of wine.”
“Because you think alcohol is going to help me deal with Anna?”
“It worked in college.”
“We were young and stupid.”
“That you were.”
“Hey.” I pretend to be offended. In truth, Jack is the only one who can call me out on pretty much anything and get away with it.
Well, Zoe could, too. And Anna, once upon a time.
Although, come to think of it, Anna was far less the “call you out” type.
She was always too eager to be on everyone’s happy side.
Jack hands me a glass of red and I catch sight of the bottle on the counter. Chateau Margaux.
“Wow. You pulled out the big guns.” I take a sip and slip into a happier moment. Our honeymoon had been a VIP tour of France’s most amazing wineries, courtesy of Jack’s role as a partner in Sur Le Vin Artisan Imports, one of the leading wine importers in the U.S.
It seems wrong to pick favorites when you’re among so much awesomeness, but of all the wines we drank on that trip, the Chateau Margaux grabbed my taste buds and my heart.
The magnificent setting and romantic dinner on the hillside overlooking the vineyard may have had a tiny part in that.
The whispered promises and heated kisses afterward in the privacy of our suite when we opened a second bottle, an even bigger part. My face and chest flush at the memory.
“It was this or a bottle of moonshine,” Jack says, studying the label as though he’s really contemplating if he made the right decision.
“Good call.” I take another luxurious sip. “Cheers.” I hold up my glass and clink it gently against his.
My phone flashes to life as another guilt-inducing notification pops up.
“Are you going to listen to her message?”
“I hadn’t planned to.” Answering would mean engaging in speculation about Zoe’s secrets because I know Anna and Anna will want to hash out every possible wild idea. Worse, she’ll Anna about what Zoe meant that we all have secrets we’ve kept.
“Holly.” He levels a look at me.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I pout.
“Like what?” He plays along.
“Like I’m being irrational.”
“You are being irrational.”
“I am not.” I am. Not the point.
“Okay, you’re not. But you’re not being rational either.”
I sigh, letting the island carry my weight as I lean against it. Facing Anna, facing Zoe, would mean facing the past. “You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what you do from here. She’s trying.”
I frown at my glass of wine. “Why do you always take her side?”
“I don’t always take her side. I was Team Holly after that trip to Greece. I never doubted you told me the truth. But at the risk of you making me sleep on the couch tonight,” he shoots me a cocky grin, “you’re not always a hundred percent right, Hols, especially when it comes to her.”
With a lifted brow, I give him a side-eye glare. “How much right?”
The corner of his mouth curls up. “Maybe seventy percent.”
“What?”
“Okay, seventy-five.”
My mouth drops open in silent defeat.
Jack tops off my glass. I’m about to hear about the other 25 percent.
“You need to listen to that message. The two of you had quite a bomb dropped on you today. I suspect Anna is reeling as much as you are, and she needs you as much as you need her right now.”
“I don’t.”
“You do, Hols. Think back to everything Zoe’s dad laid out for you. Regardless of what happened in the past, you and Anna and Zoe had a special bond. Drink that,” he points at the wine glass, “listen to her message then go take a bath before responding.”
“You’re assuming I’m going to respond.”
“You will.”
“Won’t.”
“Okay, you won’t.” Jack plants a gentle kiss on my cheek, picks up his glass of wine and retreats to the family room. “I’m going to watch Tiny House Nation while you take your bath. And you totally will.” He throws one last smirk over his shoulder.
“You are so weird. And I won’t,” I grumble as I trudge upstairs to our room. I have no intention of letting Anna weasel her way into my life again. Not after the mess she made of it before. I won’t. I can’t.
“Oh, for god's sake.” I growl at the cell phone and its incessant chatter on guilting me with notification reminders. If I ignore it, then I don’t have to deal with it.
Like emails. If my computer is off, I don’t see how many messages are accumulating in my inbox.
But once on, I have to clean them all out.
“Is this a control thing problem?” Zoe teased me once when I’d confessed to not being able to shut down at night before all emails had been responded to or forwarded and filed appropriately.
“I don’t have a control thing problem,” I snapped back. I do and I know it and I mostly acknowledge it, except when poked. “It’s called being conscientious.”
“Dammit,” I mumble and tap at the voicemail icon.
“Hi, Holly, it’s me. Anna. Calling for the gazillionth time, I know.
I can’t tell if you’re getting my messages.
I hope you are. I, uh… I’ve been thinking…
about us, the trip, Zoe. But first, I want to apologize for this morning.
I know I came on a little strong. You probably think this trip is a bad idea and has all the potential of being a disaster, and you wouldn’t be wrong.
I also don’t want to push you into going.
But I can’t stop thinking that Zoe might be on to something.
We had so many good times on our vacations, made incredible memories.
Like that one time we went horseback riding in Cabo and Zoe’s horse, that crazy mare with one eye sewed shut, spooked and charged into the water with Zoe kicking and shrieking, and threw her into the water.
Remember how hard she was laughing, spitting water and pulling seaweed from her hair?
” There’s a heartbeat of quiet before she continues.
“Everything toward the end was sad and tragic and just plain freaking hard. She only wants us to be happy, Holly, and to smile again. Make new memories. Zoe asked us to scatter her ashes. Not her parents, not her brother. Us. We’ll regret it for the rest of our lives if we don’t.
I know I will. So,” she takes a breath, “I’m going to be at the airport next week, waiting with Charles.
I really hope you’ll come. Please come.” The recording ends.
My legs transform to overcooked spaghetti, and I fold onto the edge of the bed, a sob stuck in my throat.
We’ll regret it for the rest of our lives if we don’t.
“Shit.”
The word is as much an exhale as the realization that Zoe is—was—the one person in my life (no offense to Jack) I can’t say no to.
Like a woman possessed, I grab my jewelry box and dump the contents onto my bed. It has to be here.
It was our college graduation trip, a gift to ourselves. Zoe had suggested the trip while we were cramming for first semester finals. “Okay gals, if we survive this, we’re going on a full-out trip for graduation. Are you in?”
We were. And for the next three and a half years, we daydreamed about what that trip would be.
Then a week after graduation, we were in Cabo San Lucas.
Zoe had suggested this place. She’d been there before.
So had Anna. I was, once again, the proverbial virgin of the group.
I’d never been scuba diving (I wasn’t even the best swimmer).
I’d never taken drugs (unless you count prescription meds for when I broke my leg in high school).
And I’d been an actual virgin until I met Jack (true story).
The last night of the trip, we were sitting on the beach staring at the mesmerizing number of stars. We didn’t get night skies like that in New Jersey. Or LA.
“I don’t want to go back,” Zoe said, her tone hushed as though she was afraid of breaking the moment. She couldn’t have. It was perfect.
“I never want to leave,” Anna echoed Zoe’s sentiment.
“Same,” I added. “Although I am kind of excited for what our futures hold. But I’m going to miss this.
” I grabbed Zoe’s hand then reached across her for Anna’s.
For a few minutes we sat under the vast starlit sky, holding hands, listening to the waves on the sand, inhaling the salty-sweet smell of the ocean, and listening to the distant laughter from a group further down the beach.
Suddenly, Zoe pulled away and reached for her bag. She handed each of us a box.
“What is this?” I asked, holding the box as Anna squealed and ripped the bow from hers.
“See that constellation?” Zoe was pointing at the sky. “It’s Orion. We’re like the three stars in his belt, always together. These will remind us that every day, even when life takes us to different places, we’ll always be connected.”
Inside the boxes were identical necklaces. Three stars along a thin, elegant, gold chain.
“The necklaces come with a catch,” Zoe said, her Cheshire cat smile brighter than the brilliant stars above us. “Every year we go on a trip, just the three of us.”
“Yes,” Anna squealed again.
“I love that idea,” I added, fastening the necklace around my neck. Zoe held out a hand, palm up, and Anna and I placed our hands in hers. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Anna and I chorused.
Zoe had never taken the necklace off. Even the last few times I saw her when she was so sick, she had it on.
Seeing Anna wearing hers this morning had sent an arrow straight to my heart.
I’d shoved my necklace into a drawer of my jewelry box when I returned from Greece and haven’t allowed myself to look at it since.
I haven’t allowed myself to think about what the necklace meant or what I lost.
Now, that necklace is pulling at me. I need to see it, to know that it hasn’t disappeared like Zoe. It’s all I have left of her.
I frantically sift through bracelets and earrings and knotted chains, and find it at the bottom, tangled with a gold hoop earring, but still there.
Sparkling, glowing. Still shiny like the stars they are.
I clasp the necklace around my neck with a sigh of relief and walk to the mirror in the bathroom.
Three stars. The three of us. Always connected.
For the first time since I learned of Zoe’s diagnosis—no, since Greece—I feel an inkling of peace.
Regret is something I don’t want to live with.
I type Anna the first message I’ve sent her in over five years: I’ll go.