Dark and Shallow Lies(83)

Her throat.

My eyes burn.

So I close them. Just for a second.

And somehow, I fall asleep like that. Huddled up against the wall.

When I wake up, Hart is standing in the doorway. Watching me. And there’s no Evie.

“You didn’t find her.”

“No,” he says. “Looked all night. Not a trace of ’er.”

My chest constricts, and the next words come out all pained.

“Did you find him?”

Zale.

Hart shakes his head. “I didn’t find shit.”

I let myself take a deep breath. Because that means Zale is probably safe. At least for now.

Hart looks at me in disgust, so I know he feels my relief.

I want to ask him about what Zale told me. How he said that Hart never showed up at Keller’s Island that night. Back in February. And how that doesn’t make sense. Because it’s one of the very first things Hart told me.

But I can’t figure out how to ask without letting Hart know that Zale is the one who gave me that information. That he was here just a few hours ago. That I kissed him in the gathering storm. And telling Hart any of that seems like a really bad idea.

So I convince myself it’s a misunderstanding. A mix-up. Some kind of confusion.

Things must have been so wild that night. With the wind and the downpour. And Elora disappearing.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning. The supply boat should be here soon.

I hear rain pounding the roof.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and follow Hart into the kitchen. The radio is still on. Twelve hours till Elizabeth blows into Plaquemines Parish. That’s what the announcer is saying. But he warns that we’re already getting intense bands of precipitation and gale-force winds. Waloons they call them down here.

“What are we going to do?” I ask. “About Evie?”

It just about kills me, thinking maybe she’s out in this.

Alone.

“Nothing we can do,” Hart says. His voice doesn’t sound like his at all. There’s nothing in it that I recognize. “Like I said, she’s already dead. I’d bet my life on it.”

I come so close to telling him that we both know his life isn’t worth much at this point.

But I don’t.

“It wasn’t Zale,” I say. “He didn’t –”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Hart’s voice sounds like he’s talking from the bottom of a well. “It’s all over. We’re never gonna know what really happened that night.”

“But –”

“Boat’ll be here soon,” he goes on. Like he’s telling me what’s for breakfast. “It’ll blast the horn three times. Once you hear that last one, you better get your ass on board. Because there won’t be a fourth.”

He turns and heads out the front door. And I stumble after him.

The boardwalk is uneven. Groping vines push the wood aside so the planks look like a smile with missing teeth.

I yell Hart’s name, and he whirls on me. His face is twisted up with rage. He stands there breathing hard. Battling the wind and the rain.

“Jesus, Greycie! Get the hell outta here and let me be!”

“I can’t leave you here to die,” I yell at him.

“The hell you can’t!”

“Hart, please! Don’t do this! Don’t give up like this. I –”

“Shut up!” he yells at me, and he rakes his hands through his wet hair. Pulls hard on his curls. “Dammit! Will you just shut up?” He’s sputtering at me. Choking on rain. “Jesus. Greycie. Please,” he begs. “Just shut the fuck up.”

We stare at each other.

The rain stops suddenly as the squall moves off. But the air hangs thick and heavy between us. We stand there dripping.

“You were right,” he admits. “About what you said. About me.” His hands are shaking as he pulls out a soggy, bent cigarette. It’s almost broken in half, but somehow he gets it to light, despite the whipping wind. It’s a hurricane miracle. Then he sucks in smoke before he exhales a long, uneven breath. “I’m a goddamn coward.”

A gust slams into me from behind. It feels like getting hit by a truck.

“I didn’t mean it,” I tell him. “I was angry. And scared.”

“Jesus, Grey. I know that. But you were still right.”

Hart turns and makes his way toward the end of the boardwalk.

And I follow him.

Again.

Hart’s curls are blowing wild, and his T-shirt catches the wind like a sail.

He stops and stares down at the gator pond. The old pontoon boat has drifted across to the other side. I wonder where it will end up, once the water really starts to rise.

I wonder where all of us will end up.

“Hart,” I plead. “Don’t do this. Please come with me.” He just stares at the water. “For your mama’s sake.” I see him flinch when I mention Becky. “For my sake. We can still be okay.”

He just shakes his head and takes a long drag off that broken cigarette.

“Maybe in our next life.”

I look at Hart and realize he’s just as gone as Elora is. He’s not going to get on that boat. No matter what I say or do. I can stay here and die with him, or I can go on living. Without him. Those are my only two choices.