Lo always liked to act like things with them were perfect, a fairy tale, while Landon seemed to think that as long as he never brought her up, I might forget about the two of them altogether.
It had killed me at first, the two of them. I hadn’t had any claim to Landon, not really, but those letters between us, the stolen conversations when he was in town, the way he’d always find some way to touch my hand or rest his warm palm on my shoulder… I’d held all of it so close to my heart for so long. And I’d felt so guilty about his wife, which is why I’d never let it go any further.
But Lo hadn’t had the same compunction, and I think I hated her for that. At least for a little while.
For taking what I was too afraid—toogood—to reach for.
Until that last letter arrived from Landon, asking me to meet him on Memorial Day.
I can admit it now: I was flattered that he still wanted to seeme, even though he had Lo—the most fun, the most dazzling, the most gorgeous girl St. Medard’s Bay had ever seen.
Just this once, I’d told myself, and it had been only that once—well, that one night, at least—and look what it had led to.
In any case, I knew Lo’s place was empty that morning, and for whatever reason, that’s where my feet took me, and that’s where I found myself picking up the phone and dialing his office.
I want to be clear—I didn’t ask him to come to St. Medard’s Bay.
At least that’s not on my conscience.
I can still remember the warmth in his voice when he realized it was me calling. I’d told his secretary I was Lo, doing, I thought, a pretty good imitation of her careless and casual drawl.
When Landon answered, his voice sounded tense, the words clipped as he said, “Dad wants me in Birmingham for that donor thing tonight, Lo, I have a five-hour drive ahead of me, so whatever it is, make it fast.”
I didn’t know what any of that meant, but later I found out he’d been meant to attend some political dinner with Beau Fitzroy’s wealthiest donors, glad-handing the right people to support his nascent political career.
So, yes—it’s true that I neveraskedhim to come to St. Medard’s Bay. But it’s also true that he would’ve been far away from Marie that night if it weren’t for me.
“It’s Ellen,” I replied, and I could hear the squeak of leather as he sat down. I pictured him there, in the office I’d never seen, handsome in his suit and tie. And even though I’d sworn I’d put us behind me, in that moment, my hand found its way to my stomach. I remembered that no matter what, this baby had been created out of love on a beautiful night in moonlit waters.
I think I knew then that I was keeping it.
Her. I was keepingher.Somehow I knew that, too.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Hi. Hi. Um. God. Okay. Are you all right? I’ve been watching this storm, and—”
“I need to talk to you.”
“The most terrifying words a man can hear,” he joked, but I’d heard the sudden wariness.
“I mean… in person,” I continued, as I stood there in the house he’d bought for another woman.
It was pretty, very Lo in its hot pink and floral, and I could see my reflection in a seashell-framed mirror that hung over the bed as I stood there, pale and sweaty in my T-shirt and shorts, the phone cord twisted around my finger.
“Not today, obviously, you’re busy, and the weather—”
“Ellen, if it’s important—” he started, but I shook my head like he could see me through the phone.
“No, it’s… it can wait a few days. I just… I miss you.”
I hadn’t intended to say that, but the words tripped out of my mouth all the same, and I was surprised to find I really meant them.
I did miss him, and while I cared about Tim—loved him—it wasn’t anything like what I’d felt with Landon. Tim was steady and honest andgoodin his bones, and I knew even then that Landon could never be any of those things, but something had happened that night we’d sat in the back pantry of the Rosalie, something as alchemical and primal as the hurricane itself, and it still had me in its grip.
What else did we say after that? I don’t remember. I wish I could because those were some of the last words we’d ever exchange, the last time it would ever be good between us, even if it was just for a moment over the phone.
But it’s theI miss youthat has snagged in my memory. It was that unspoken plea, I think, that doomed him in the end.
When I went to sleep on the night of August 4, Marie was still miles and miles away, still sending only wind and rain.
