I rememberevery little thing. It’s just like that sense people talk about, before death, of seeing your life flash in front of your eyes.
But I’m not about to die. I’m waking up, and remembering every aspect of the arduous, horrendous story of the last thirteen years.
85
Drew
Finally, she’s back. I can see every moment of our past reflecting across her face. She knows me. She remembers it all. This is Evie, with her full memory intact, reliving every moment that has brought us here.
“Drew!” She’s shaking violently. It’s like some sort of horrific, religious exorcism. But it’s not about shaking things out or off. It’s about things crowding in, swamping her.
“I remember it all,” she says, wailing. “I’m so sorry!” She grabs both of my arms and holds on to me as if I’m going to flee. I’m not leaving. Not this time. I stand in front of her on the sand and stay with her while our entire history lands. While everything that happened to her reforms in her brain, settling into familiar neural pathways, bringing it all up and back and taking her through a life her mind has protected her from for days.
“Please stay?” she whispers. “I can explain.”
Of course I’ll stay. I wrap my arms tightly around her in an attempt to convince her she’s not in this alone anymore.
“Oliver …”
Here it comes. The memories I’ve feared. The all-powerful sway. For thirteen years, no matter what he did, she alwaystook him back. She was pulled toward him by some unseen magnetic force that forgave and forgave and forgave …
A sob rises from somewhere deep within her.
“He’s dead,” she cries. “Oliver is dead. The accident …” Visions of it seem to play across her face. It’s like watching torture cross her mind.
And then she falls into uncontrolled emotion that seems to erupt from some place deeper inside her than I’ve ever known.
She looks into my face, ashen and distraught, and says, “Drew, it was all my fault!”
86
Evie
Evie, if I can’t have you …
Oliver’s last words crash in. You’re meant to spread this horror out overyears. It’s even worse than squeezing a whole plot about someone’s life into a movie—at least then you get two hours for it to play out. This is instant delivery of a huge chunk of my life, and I can’t take it.
I’m standing on the beach, luminescent waves crashing beside us, but at the same time I’m back in the car on that cliff, hood crumpled against a tree, engine hissing, steam rising and swirling into the fog on the hillside, which seemed to have hushed around us—even the insects went into silent shock. Just the sound of our car, creaking and shuddering.
It was terrifying. I remember looking at Oliver and wondering who he was. Motionless. Blood oozing from his forehead. Eyes glassy, staring straight ahead. Only the very real pain shooting through my body told me this was real, and not some gruesome nightmare.
That man is dead,I thought. My eyes dropped to the wedding ring on his left hand, which had fallen into my lap.
Dead andmarried. Why was I in a car on the side of a mountain with a dead married man?
It’s like I’m processing the memory of being confused now, while layering over it my intimate knowledge of the entire situation. Understanding exactly how we got there, and what led to him being so angry and losing control on that bend.
No.
“He didn’t lose control,” I say so softly Drew can’t understand me. “Drew, he didn’t lose control on that bend. He sped up!”
Now I’m flashing right back to high school and the first time we met. Oliver plunging into that pool with me. Drew dragging me out. Every tiny step we took that led us down a path I doubt either of us envisaged—a relationship born from jealousy and infatuation that burnt so brightly even as it went so catastrophically wrong.
The marriage empty, in the end, of everything except emotional violence. Him so angry. Me always so scared.
“I could have been stronger,” I say softly. “I knew he was treating me badly …”
“Abusing you,” Drew corrects.
