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Chapter Forty-Two
Wyatt
Lucy’squietmostofthe drive to the beach. She changes the radio station often, and about an hour and a half into the drive I tell her we can listen to whatever audiobook she’s listening to.
“But I’m already six hours into it, you won’t know what’s going on,” she says.
“It’s fine, Lucy, I promise. Hook up your bluetooth.”
She squeezes my hand and gets her phone hooked up.
And that’s how I wind up listening to a story about dragons and a morally gray, shadow-wielding male main character.
“That’s the house.” Lucy points to a two story, pale blue house right on the ocean.
“Whoa. It’s beautiful.” I whistle.
Lucy smiles. “Wait till you see it in the light. Do you mind grabbing the bags? I want to go to the beach.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She gives me the code to the house and walks around the side, heading for the ocean. I watch her from the deck, even though it doesn’t take long for her to disappear over the dunes. It’s dark out, but the stars and moon are bright. I turn, enter in the code, and walk inside.
I flip on a few lights and look around, my breath catching in my throat. The walls are cream and tastefully decorated with a few seashells and beach pictures. There’s a small seating area to my left, a TV and a gray sectional facing it. To my right is a decent sized kitchen and island, a small kitchen table beside me. I sit the bags behind the couch and walk forward, taking everything in. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom on the first level. I find the thermostat and turn on the heat before walking up the stairs. There’s two more rooms and another bathroom up here, and a small loft with a comfy looking couch and small TV. I turn and walk into the room on the left, turning on the light.
I knew immediately it was Lucy’s room. There’s a pale blue comforter on the queen bed with white pillows. A nightstand sits beside it, and a lamp with a blue and white shade. A picture of Lucy and her dad sits on the dresser, and I walk over to it. Lucy looks about twelve, her hair in two French braids. She’s in a yellow one-piece bathing suit, her arms around her dad’s waist and a huge grin on her face. She’s covered in freckles, and I can’t help but smile. Her dad has his arms around her shoulders, and instead of looking at the camera he’s looking down at his daughter. Even through the picture, I can see the love written all over his face.
I put the picture back and walk back down the stairs, taking a deep breath before I pull my Carhartt back on and start walking toward the beach, towards Lucy. It’s dark, the only light coming from the moon and stars and someone’s back deck light a few houses down. I find Lucy sitting on the sand, her legs pulled up to her chest, arms resting on top of them. I hesitate for half a second before I turn off the flashlight on my phone and sit next to her.
“It’s a really nice place, Luce.” I bump my shoulder against hers. “You didn’t tell me how rich you were.”
She scoffs and I smile a little, tilting my face up to the sky. There’s not a single cloud out tonight, and the moon is bright and full. I lean back on the palms of my hands, looking for constellations I recognize.
“I knew when they loaded him up into the ambulance that he wasn’t going to make it,” she says quietly.
I turn my head to face her, but she’s looking out at the ocean.
“How’d you know?” I ask.
“I can’t explain it, it was just this sudden feeling of wrongness. Like I knew he wasn’t coming back. They asked Mom if she wanted to ride in the ambulance with him, but she didn’t want me to drive by myself. So, she rode with me in the car behind them. He died before they even got to the hospital, they just needed the doctors to officially pronounce it. I will never forget the noise Mom made when they told us. I had to hold her up, her knees just instantly buckled, and she held onto my arm so tight I had nail marks in my skin for a few days.”
“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” I whisper.
“I remember feeling so . . . numb. It was like I was underwater—I could hear what was happening around me, but it was muffled, distorted. And I just kept thinking, no, they’re wrong, they have to be wrong. And I kept waiting for Dad to walk out from behind the curtain and tell us he was fine. It was all just a horrible misunderstanding. But he just laid there, lifeless. And Mom just kept sobbing and gripping onto me, like I was the only thing holding her up.”
“And what about you?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“You told me your mom’s reaction, what was yours?”
She swallows and I see her fingers tighten around her elbows.
“I didn’t react. Not until a few hours later when we were home. My mom’s friend Stacy came over to be with us, and I just walked straight upstairs to my room. I turned on the shower and turned it as hot as I could and got in, fully clothed. I curled up into a tight ball and let the water beat down on me, and I broke. I broke into a thousand pieces. I remember my chest tightening and my vision blurring, and I just rode out the panic attack alone.”
It takes everything in me not to reach for her, to hold her. But I know she needs to get this out, and she needs to do it her way.
“What happened next?” I press.
