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But it’s dark out. He was underwater. There was so much blood. He was likely injured, maybe even a head injury that nobody saw him sustain.
There’s no way he’s still alive.
Tears spring from my eyes and silent grief pours down my face. Maybe by some miracle Uncle Gregory survived, but I don’t have much hope for that. He jumped in to help Cooper. If he was anything like the rest of us, he wasn’t in good shape to save anyone. Maybe he passed out in the water or maybe the sharks got to him. Whatever it was, I’m certain it’s too late for him.
After a miserable seventy-two hours, the authorities call off the search and Gregory is declared lost at sea. All evidence points to him being gone so sometime after the funeral there will be a presumptive death hearing. Once a judge rules him dead, his trust will be distributed to the beneficiaries, and we’ll all be expected to move on with our lives.
What a horrific way to go. Every time I try to imagine what he went through, how terrifying those final moments must have been, my palms itch and my chest aches. My panic attacks have been full-out since the accident. An accident that started with a rescue mission, turned into a recovery mission, and dissolved into defeat. Nothing more could be done.
The chances that we ever find his body are slim to none. Amelia agrees that it’s time to leave the island, plan a funeral, and find a new normal. We all fly home together on the private jet. Nobody talks. Nobody brings up Ethan or Cooper. Nobody even brings up the erratic way Uncle Gregory caused the accident in the first place. We don’t even talk about our injuries, not even the cast that Sybil will have to wear for weeks.
I have no idea what was said to the police, but when the officers showed up at the hospital room to get my statement, I told them the truth. They didn’t seem the least bit surprised.
By the next weekend, it’s time for the funeral I’ve been dreading. The fanfare over my uncle’s death has been startling, to say the least. The accident made international news and there has been no shortage of debate as to whether to feel sorry for billionaires dying in boating accidents. The hashtag #nantucketboatgate starts trending on social media. Condolences get sent to the family by the hundreds. They come in the form of flowers, cards, phone calls, messages, and meals. Sybil’s loft smells like a nursery and paparazzi start circling.
I go to the penthouse that Amelia and Gregory shared to meet everyone before the funeral. There are even more flowers here. Are flowers supposed to make anyone feel better? They only make this more real.
“Are you ready?” Amelia’s voice is stoic when she finds the four of us sitting in the foyer, waiting for her.
“Yes.” We stand and I brush out my conservative black dress.
“Let’s go then.”
She turns on her heels and strides away and we all follow her out the door. It might be the first time she doesn’t comment on our nice appearances when leaving the penthouse together. And she certainly doesn’t meet my eye. None of them do except for Chandler. It’s not that I have high expectations of them right now because I don’t. It’s that I blame myself and I think they do too, which is another barb forever lodged in my heart. Grief is isolating for all of us, but in my case, I deserve to feel every ounce of pain.
The church is packed. People offer condolences but not many people know who I am, so I stand back. We sit in the front row for the service and the funeral goes by in a blur. I’m heartbroken too, but my feelings are more complicated. I was just learning who my uncle really was when he died. I was angry at him and now he’s gone before we can repair anything that was said or done. How could he do this? He died because of his temper and Cooper is still in the ICU. Ethan and I have exchanged a few texts but that’s all. Everything is a mess.
After the burial and the luncheon, I climb into the town car with Sybil. The driver is supposed to take us back to her loft apartment, but she gives him other directions and we end up in midtown instead. Parked in front of a tall shining high rise, she shifts her body toward mine. Her eyes are red rimmed from crying and her makeup is gone.
“Ethan’s penthouse is on the top floor,” she says stoically.
A spark of hope lights but I quickly snuff it out. I shouldn’t even be thinking about seeing Ethan today. We’ll reunite when things are easier.
“Okay . . . why did you bring me here?” I question.
She gives me a haunted look.
“Because it’s time you break things off with him.” Her voice is hollow but I know there’s burning anger underneath. So this confirms it. I blame myself for her father’s death and apparently, she does too. “Or you don’t break it off, in which case that’s your decision to be loyal to the Kings instead of us, and you can stay with Ethan.”
She turns away, looking forward, eyes glacial. It’s not just the air conditioning that is making it so frosty in here. Sybil has become an ice-queen. “I don’t ever want to see Ethan or Cooper King again. You must understand that. So please, go make your choice.”
Heart shattering, I climb from the car. I expect it to drive away but it doesn’t. She plans to wait? She expects me to choose her. At least the paparazzi didn’t follow us here. It doesn’t feel real when I walk into the building.
The doorman stops me, and I tell him my name and that I’m here to see Ethan. Recognition lights his eyes. “Oh yes, you’re already on the list, Miss Laurence. Go on up to the top floor.”
I stride into the elevator and press the button. Never did I imagine the moment I would see his place would be after coming straight from a funeral. Never could I have thought in my worst nightmares that it would be under these circumstances.
But here we are—life is fucking cruel.
The door slides open and I’m faced with a small chrome entryway and a single steel door. I ring the doorbell and wait. Maybe he’s not here. Maybe I’ll have to come back later.
But the door swings open a few seconds later and Ethan stands there.
He looks terrible. He’s normally so put together but right now his hair is a mess and his eyes are red, heavy bags that look like bruises under each one.
He pulls me into his arms.
“Thank God you’re here,” he breathes against my ear. His presence alone sends a sense of calm through my entire body. After a minute in his arms, he brings me inside, closing the door behind us. He drops a kiss to my forehead. “I thought I had lost you. I don’t want to live without you.”
