Page 88 of The Awful Truth

“Still not funny?” Winslow said. “You’ll really never be British, will you?”

“Sorry, never. I shall forever remain a proud Cuban American, full of life and passion and love.”

Winslow let out a sigh. “I’ll just have to learn to accept that, won’t I?”

“I’m afraid so,” he answered.

The assistant director waved at Miguel. “Can you come take a look at these tiles for the backsplash?”

Nodding, Miguel said, “Duty calls!”

Winslow watched him, thinking that duty would not be calling for him again. And as hard as it had been to give up his identity as a high-powered financial leader, there was much to enjoy in this phase of life. He was alive, he was not going to prison, and he had found out that he didn’t have dementia after all. It turned out, Mercy had good reason for her optimism. Winslow had a condition called Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus, or NPH, for short—a buildup of fluid in the skull that caused the memory lapses and the incontinence. He had surgery just before Christmas, and a shunt was now keeping the condition at bay. Miguel had done what he knew he would—stayed by his side through the whole thing, mothering him and fussing over him and driving him generally insane, but also keeping him amused and cared for and hopeful. Their marriage was stronger than ever—both of them vowing to choose honesty, even if the truth was hard to say and harder to hear.

He crouched down next to the dog. “What do you think, Mr. Darcy? I’d say Miguel is the very best man to ever have lived. Would you agree?”

Mr. Darcy licked him on the face. He didn’t let his head snap back or scrunch up his nose in disgust. Instead, he let out a laugh. “So, you think I’m the best man to ever live then? Well, as much as I appreciate the compliment, I’d say we’ll have to agree to disagree, sir.”

He glanced back at Miguel, who happened to look up from the tile samples he was studying. They stared at each other for a moment, and it felt like that very first time again, through the shop window. And Winslow was suddenly young and in love again. And he knew in his heart that all his fears about Miguel moving on to some other life could be laid to rest. Because Miguel was in this for the long haul. And so was he.

CHARLOTTE

Charlotte stood in the living room of her new condo in downtown Seattle, adjusting her ring light. She was one of the first TikTok creators to be able to monetize her videos and had been shocked to bring in a cool thirty-thousand the month before. Her handle on the app was TheOtherWoman, and she’d started out by sharing her side of the affair as a way to take back the narrative from the tabloids. Her account blew up quickly and she’d moved on from talking about Ted and the mistakes she made to sharing beauty advice.

Today she’d be unboxing a bronzer sent to her by Sephora, and later, she would make a ‘get ready with me’ video of herself preparing for a date with her new boyfriend, Reid, who was also a creator. Reid made videos of himself chopping wood without his shirt on that had quickly found an audience. The pair had met at a big influencer event two months earlier and had been nearly inseparable ever since.

There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think about Ted and Antonia, and what she had lost and what she’d learned about herself from the entire sordid situation. Charlotte had immediately lost all her friends at work, which had been a real blow. She’d spent months feeling ashamed and guilty and conflicted about it all. But somehow, when she turned the camera on to share her side of things and talk it all out, she had slowly discovered why she’d done what she did. She was helping other women—those who were the other women, and those who were considering it—to think about what they wanted out of life and to decide what type of people they wanted to be. A mistress and a liar? Or someone who knows her worth and lives with integrity. The second version of herself could not only hold her head up high, she got paid well (and was gifted lots of free shit).

OLIVER

Oliver stood on the dock at the New Orleans Yacht Club, the Winds of Opportunity behind him. He watched as a group of excited people exited a mini-van and hurried toward him with their luggage in tow. He offered them a wave and radioed the rest of the crew to hurry down to greet their guests.

The yacht had a new owner (who he couldn’t discuss on account of the NDA he’d signed). She was a newly-divorced woman who had gotten billions in a divorce settlement from her tech-bro husband. She had decided to keep the yacht’s staff on, which was an incredible stroke of luck for Oliver. Ms. S, as they called her, was kind and thoughtful and charitable. So much so, in fact, that when she wasn’t using the yacht, she would gift time on it to the staff and recipients of charitable organizations she ran.

This meant the yacht had only a few weeks per year of downtime, instead of the other way around. But the clientèle was refreshing—they were regular folks, amazed to be aboard, and thoroughly grateful for all the special little touches that the crew provided. There were no spear guns, no rigged card games, and no excruciating fishing competitions. They were never threatened with being fired or disrespected or mocked.

So although he worked harder, Oliver had gained a life that felt like it had meaning. Being surrounded by do-gooders made him want to do good in the world too. And in his own way, by providing them with the experience of a lifetime, he was doing something important too. In his spare time, he’d often check out Charlotte’s TikTok posts, glad she was moving on with a life without Ted.

Oliver would have to go back to Croatia sometime the following year for Ted’s trial, as a witness for the prosecution. Although he couldn’t speak to what had happened under the water that day, he could share what Charlotte had told him about the affair and could testify to Ted’s state of mind that morning, when he’d seen him leaving that message for his agent.

But for the next seven days, he was chief steward to the good folks who ran the food bank in the ninth ward of New Orleans. And he was going to make sure they had the time of their lives.

MERCY

“More wine?” Mercy asked Faith, who was sitting next to her on the wooden swing in her backyard.

“Umm, that would be a yes, please,” Faith answered as Mercy lifted the bottle of white wine out of the ice bucket beside the swing.

It was a hot autumn day, not unlike the one a year ago when their lives changed forever, and Mercy smiled at the sight of her children playing in the pool of their new home. She had sold their property in Houston and moved the family to Austin for a fresh start. Faith had moved in with them to help out, which had been a godsend. There was plenty of room in the ranch house she’d purchased for them all, but it felt like a more normal house, instead of a large, cold McMansion with dead animals hanging on the walls.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and her heart swelled at seeing the children having a chance to just be kids. They’d cut back most of their activities since their father’s death to give them all time to grieve and process their family tragedy. It had been awful, especially in those first days after she told them their dad was gone. Faith had managed to keep them from finding out, even though by the time Mercy’s flight landed, the news had broken everywhere. There were reporters camped outside of their house twenty-four hours a day, and Antonia offered up her home on Kauai for them to use as a refuge. Faith had taken a leave from her job and had accompanied them. It had been a trip filled with sorrow and tears, interspersed with the odd happy little moment that hinted at what lay ahead for them.

Mercy had arranged for the sale of their house, the purchase of the new one, and the move, all from their oceanfront hideaway. She also found a therapist to work with herself and the children, and had Grace tested. She was found to have ADHD, generalized anxiety, and high-functioning autism. With lots of support and assistance, her daughter would learn how to find her way in the world. She’d already come a long way in just a few months, and her big emotional moments (the new way the therapist had told Mercy to frame what she had called ‘meltdowns’) were getting less frequent by the week.

In the pool, the kids were working together to help a ladybug out of the water, the three of them content to be busy with such an important task.

“This is the life,” Faith said, having a sip of wine. She pulled the glass quickly away from her lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…you know.”

Mercy smiled over at her. “I know what you meant. And you’re right. This is the life. Right now. Right here. It’s been a hell of a hard year, but today feels like a gift.”