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Harlow waits a beat. "You don't know me," she says, keeping her tone even. "But I know you, and I know your type. You might think you got away with what you did to my sister, but you've only gotten away with itfor now. I've seen your Instagram, and I have your wife's info. So stop texting Athena—I don't want to hear that you'veeverreached out to her again, am I making myself clear?"
"Wait...is this—“
"Yes. Do the math, jackass. You know who Athena is, so if I tell you she's my sister, you know who I am. You're a nobody, and I could crush you and your sham of a marriage if I wanted to. But as long as you forget Athena ever existed, I won't do that."
"Are you seriously calling to threaten me?"
"YOU. ARE. NOT. LISTENING," Harlow shouts, enunciating every word. "I do not want my sister coming to me ever again and saying that she got a message from Diego Santana asking when she was coming back to D.C. I do not want you reaching out to her and messing with her ever again. Athena might be sweet and innocent, but I'm not, and—“
"Hey, whoa. Athena was all over me. She wasn't sweet and innocent at all, so I don't know what you're getting at."
Harlow narrows her eyes as she listens to this guy try to defend himself. He's worthless and spineless and if she were in D.C. at that exact moment, she'd wait outside the Library of Congress and confront him face to face. But she's not, so she has to settle for a phone call.
"Athenawassweet and innocent," Harlow confirms calmly. "But she's not anymore. You can thank yourself for that. And if you think someone high up has done a pretty decent job of covering up political scandals since the beginning of time, then you better believe that it would be a piece of cake to cover up any sort of mishap that might occur to a total nobody like Diego Santana." Harlow takes one deep breath and lets it out. "But hey, congrats on your recent wedding. Watch your back."
She hangs up and puts her phone into the pocket of her cut off denim shorts with a smile.So long, Diego Santana.
And so long to city life, five-star restaurants, the subway, art museums that stay open all night, concerts at Madison Square Garden, and her own freedom. Harlow knows she should feel sadder about giving up those things, but right now she just feels free.
She turns and walks back to the house, ready to put on a sundress and sandals and head over to Seadog Lane to have lunch with Athena.
Ruby
This time Jack is crying in the dream. He's sitting on one of the benches that runs the length of the boat, and they're not moving. The water is remarkably still, and the sky overhead is dark and foreboding.
"Jack," Ruby says to him in the dream, standing over him and looking down at his shoulders as they shake with his sobs. "Please, you have to tell me what's wrong."
But he doesn't. He either can't or he won’t—which, she isn't sure—and when he looks up at her his face is tear-stained and he’s distraught.
"Jack...you have to say something. You're scaring me," Ruby pleads. Still he says nothing. "Look," Ruby says. She's starting to feel angry in this version of the dream. "I can't help you if you won't tell me what's going on. I'm your wife—your partner—and I'm supposed to be able to help you. But I can't if you just sit here—“
"You can't help me anyway," Jack finally says. This is the first time Ruby has heard his voice in one of the dreams, and it sounds remarkably like him. "No one can help me, Ruby. You just need to keep your eyes open.”
“Keep my eyes open for what?” Ruby nearly shouts, her frustration mounting. She reaches out to grab her husband by the shoulders. “Keep my eyes open for what?” she yells again.
She wakes up in her bed saying the words aloud: “Keep my eyes open for—“
Ruby sits up in bed, the sheets falling away from her satin nightgown. Outside her curtained windows, the sun is beginning to rise, though it’s early—still only five-thirty, according to the clock by her bed. She pushes her sleep mask up onto her head and sits there, feeling defeated. No matter how the dream goes, she always wakes up too soon. There’s never quite enough time to hear what Jack needs to tell her, or to make sense of what goes on in the dream.
Ruby gets up and walks straight to the shower. Even though it’s early, she can still get dressed, make coffee, and go to the bookshop.
Today is the first day of an annual event called “Pirate Days,” and Ruby’s been warned over and over by the locals to expect what will feel like ten thousand visitors traipsing around the island. Of course this sent Eldrick, Banks, and Corbin into a tailspin, trying to figure out how to watch over the Hudson women and keep things under control, but Ruby has assured them that things will be fine. They’ve been living in the limelight for the majority of the girls’ lives, and they’re all used to being on high alert in larger than normal crowds. Of course, Marooned With a Book will be a point of interest to some of the visitors, but Ruby is prepared. Her dream about Jack has rattled her cage, which it always does, but she’s got her game face on and she’s ready to shake hands and do what she knows how to do best.
Seadog Lane at six-thirty in the morning is a peaceful place. Banks pulls over to the curb, parking directly in front of Marooned With a Book. He shuts off the golf cart and gives Ruby a thumbs-up.
“All systems go,” Banks says, leaning back in the seat and waiting there for Ruby to make a move.
But rather than heading right into the bookstore, she climbs out of the cart and walks down the sidewalk, heading for the bench that overlooks the beach. It’s the same one that Harlow and Athena had sat on together while Athena cried, and it has a view of the sunrise over the water that’s unbeatable. Ruby sits, dropping her purse on the bench next to her as she looks out at the sea, which is bathed in the golden light of the sunrise.
Waking up early has always given her time to get her mind set for the day ahead, but waking up early after one of her Jack dreams just means she has more time in the day to obsess over what exactly he wanted to tell her, because she believes in dreams and premonitions. She knows in her heart that there’s something she’s missed, and that what she’s been told about her husband is only the tip of the iceberg.
Ruby glances back at Seadog Lane, and sure enough, Banks is stationed there patiently, keeping his eyes on the street and on her. Ruby looks back at the ocean, turning slightly to the east so that she can watch as the sun begins its climb up over the water and into the sky as she thinks.
When Jack died a year ago, Ruby knew instinctively that there was far more to the story. It was a Wednesday, and she was sitting in a strategy meeting to discuss their upcoming reelection bid for the White House. Jack’s first term was almost up, and he was abroad, supposedly meeting with England’s Prime Minister in London. Some of their discussions while he’d been on that particular trip had been curt or done entirely by text, as Jack had claimed to be busy and on London time, but Ruby has never been one to sit and wait idly by for her man to return, so she kept herself moving, taking meetings, having lunches, and attending to the girls. Nothing seemed amiss to her, and so when Helen—then Jack’s Chief of Staff—had walked into her private quarters and barged into her dining room where she was eating with two of Jack’s advisors and her own personal secretary, Ruby had looked up in surprise.
“Helen,” she said. “You’re not with Jack?”
“Not this time,” Helen had answered tersely. “Can we talk privately?”
