“Thanks so much, mate,” said Simon. “But I need to get these American ladies some drip coffee. Sylvie and sisters, shall we?”
“Aw, Simon,” said Felix. “I lit that fire myself this morning with a Tudor tinderbox, flint and steel and a bit of char, then made myself a flame with wood shavings.”
“As I said, I’m sorry,” said Simon. “Follow me, Peacock women.”
“Would you like to see me boil water in a cauldron?”
“Incredible work, mate,” said Simon. “We’ll be back for the full experience.”
Cleo was impressed by Simon’s take-charge demeanor. Even she—who read from the Codependent No More app every morning—would have made herself sit through a historical breakfast to appease the staff. Shehatedletting people down. Yet here was the fur-hatted Felix shrugging, and Simon leading the way out of the Tudor kitchen.
They did seem to be filming a period TV show in the Great Hall of Mumberton Castle. A woman and man in gorgeous costumes were helping themselves to a buffet table of fruit and pastries. The woman, wearing a foot-high, elaborate wig, lit a cigarette, and a guy in cargo pants with headphones around his neck rushed to make her put it out. “Oh,come on,” said the actress.
They walked past a group of tech people sipping from Styrofoam cups and peering into a camera. The man in period costume walked toward the main door and Cleo realized with a start that he was famous: She’d last seen him in an action movie andfantasized about him for months afterward. His name was Phil Rosen; Cleo checked out his tight-fitting velvet pants appreciatively.
Past horse stables, a coffee shop had been conjured out of a barn. Behind the counter, a young woman stood between a coffee urn and an espresso machine. “There’s a patio out back,” said Simon. “What would you all like?”
“Just coffee,” breathed Emma. “God, thank you. And can I get it to go?”
“Americano with two shots and oat milk,” said Cleo.
“Plain coffee, thanks, sweetheart,” said Sylvie. “I need a shower and to sleep for a long time.”
“Head over to the patio,” said Simon. “I’ll bring everything over with some scones and fruit.”
“Perfect,” said Sylvie. She pressed her lips to his, lingered a bit. The chemistry between them was palpable. “I can’t believe you’re all here,” said Sylvie, when she came up for air.
“I miss you guys so much,” said Emma, growing teary.
“Yeah,” said Sylvie. She paused, seeming nervous. She asked, “Why don’t you guys ever answer when I call you?”
Emma looked at Cleo. Cleo gave her a look that said,Zip it; this is NOT the time to tell her about Alexander.Emma sighed, raised an eyebrow, responding:If not now, then when?
—
About Alexander: A decade and six months before, Alexander had relapsed. He’d been arrested for drunk and disorderly behavior, and had called Cleo for legal advice. Cleo had insisted Alexander tell Sylvie about his relapse and arrest, but he’d refused.
Cleo could still replay her final conversation with Sylvie’s husband to the syllable. Alexander had texted Cleo to set up a time to chat, and she’d agreed. Apparently, he’d told Sylvie he neededsome air.He’d started their shared car and gone for a drive, calling Cleo as he merged onto Route1 going north.
“Of course I can help you,” Cleo had said. “But you need to tell Syl. We can work on this together.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alexander had said. “Cleo, it was a dumb mistake. Please. She’ll leave me if she knows I’m drinking. If she knows I was drinking. Just that once.”
“You need to tell Sylvie and then I can help you,” said Cleo.
They found out later that Alexander was passing Magic Hands Marine Detailing when he lost control of his car. A boat cleaner named Elijah, who was at work late detailing a Wellcraft 242, called the ambulance when he saw Alexander’s accident.
“Jesus, Cleo!” Alexander had said, before there was an awful sound, the worst sound, a shrieking of metal-on-metal.
“Alexander?” Cleo had said. “Alexander? Hello?”
“Don’t tell her,” Alexander had said. “Please don’t tell her, Cleo!” And then he started screaming.
Alexander was consumed by flames, and it was Cleo’s fault. She tried to avoid feeling her disgrace by burying herself in work and keeping her distance from Sylvie. Instinctually, she believed that her work exposing darkness was building a path away from shame. She just kept moving, researching, calling, typing…looking for people who needed her, so she could somehow earn another moment away from herself.
—
They settled at a patio table. Sylvie said, “I text you guys, and I know you’re busy…but no one never calls me back.”
