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I fell in love with her.
And then she did the dumbest thingshecould’ve done.
She fell in love with me, too.
Sometimes I want to ask Jules if those feelings surprised her, like they did me, but that would mean telling her I knew the truth, and I’ve never been able to make myself do that.
Because if there’s one thing I learned from the deep, dark secret that Mason McTavish killed to hide—in the end, it doesn’t matter. The truth isn’t some finite thing, it’s what we all choose to believe. Ruby was Dora Darnell, yes, but in the end, wasn’t she Ruby McTavish, too? And Jules might have been born Caitlin Darnell, but she wasJules. My wife. She loves bad puns and can quote just about every line of the movieLabyrinth,and when she has more than two beers, she’ll dance to any music playing.
And she’s the woman I fell in love with, the woman who fell in love with me.
That’sthe truth.
Ten years. A decade together, born out of fucked-up circumstances, yes––but despite all that, what we have is real.
How could it not be when she heard the story of Ruby’sfinal night, and not only did she not run from me, she walked straight into my arms?
I don’t care what—or who—brought her to me. I only care that she’s here, with me, now.
It’s the only thing that matters.
I watch Penny Halliday get into her car, and in my mind, I know this is it. I won’t see her again; I’m saying goodbye for good. I hope her life makes her happy, and if I hadn’t decided to give the whole fucking inheritance to Ben, I’d write a big check for this community center right now, fund it into the next century.
Instead, I start the car and head back home to Jules.
I told her I’d be home before dark, but the sky is a deep navy by the time I take the exit to Tavistock, and I push the gas a little harder, the needle ticking toward ninety.
The sooner I’m back, the sooner we’re gone, away from this place, just the two of us.
Just as it should be.
The sky is lighter when I make the turn up the mountain, and for a moment, I’m confused, looking at the clock, glancing back over my shoulder, trying to figure out if the sun is still setting in the western sky.
But no, the compass on the SUV’s dash tells me I’m headed northeast, and the glow in the sky is an odd color, not the soft pinks and purples of Blue Ridge sunsets at all, but a brighter orange.
Fire.
My heart is in my mouth, my hands choking the steering wheel, and the back tires slide as I slam on the gas, climbing higher and higher as the sky gets brighter and the thick smell of smoke starts seeping into the car.
The gates are open, and I tear through them so fast that Ihear roots scraping the undercarriage, a distant metallic thunk that can’t be good, but I don’t care because now I’m rounding the last bend, then I slam on the brakes as I raise my hand against the glare.
Ashby House is burning.
Every inch of it is lit up with white-hot flames. The fire engine I now see at the side of the house is blasting water, creating clouds of steam in the night sky. But the steady stream is no match for the blaze.
When I stumble out of the driver’s seat, the heat almost has me reeling back, but I can’t, I have to keep moving toward the house, toward Jules.
“Jules!”
Her name is a harsh scream in my throat, and I call it again and again, eyes frantically searching, but the house is so damn bright, and the few dark figures I see are all in heavy gear.
Firefighters, spraying their hoses, wielding their axes, and I stand there, watching Ashby House burn, imagining Ruby’s portrait inside, those painted eyes somehow intact, watching as flames lick at Jules’s skin, her hair, burning her to ash.
If only you’d been the man I thought you were, Camden. If only you’d picked up that phone.
My knees are weak, and I’m fighting the urge to sink to them when I see white lights off to the other side of the house.
An ambulance, doors flung open, and a figure on a stretcher.
