Good for You: A Novel (65)

“How so?” asked Aly.

“He cheated on her. Cheats on her,” clarified Wyatt, shaking his head with disgust. “I think it started after Ruby died, although I can’t really be sure. My mother would always be really nice to me right before she talked me into spying on him or getting me to tell her what I knew, because she knew my dad would slip up and mention things to me that he shouldn’t have. Point is, it isn’t fair of me to compare you to her. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” said Aly. “But . . . you should talk to your mom, Wyatt. She’s not a monster, and she needs you. Imagine having a husband who wasn’t loyal and being cut off from your only child.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I can trust her not to try to run my life.”

“You can,” said Aly. “And for the record, I forgive you—and you don’t have to tell me about that letter. I just . . . want us to be okay. Are we?”

Wyatt’s smile disappeared. “Aly, there’s something I need to tell you.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking at her again. “And you’re going to want to sit down for it.”





THIRTY-FOUR


Aly knew what Wyatt was going to say before it came out of his mouth. Not the details; never in a million years would she have guessed that her brother, who hadn’t put a single cigarette to his lips, had been diagnosed with small cell lung cancer six months before his death. But one look at Wyatt’s stricken expression, and suddenly all of it—Luke’s wan appearance when she’d last seen him, the perpetual back pain he’d tried not to complain about, the cough that he’d chalked up to the asthma he’d suffered from since he was a child—came together like the pieces of a horrifying puzzle.

Luke had been sick.

And Aly had been too self-absorbed to see it.

Even the beach house made sense now. Luke hadn’t known about his cancer when he’d quit his job and moved back to Michigan. But intuition is a powerful thing; he’d told Aly that countless times. Something deep within him must have known that he wasn’t long for this world, and that he had to do the things he wanted to do while he still had the chance.

“That’s why he decided to take that sailing trip, even though he knew the weather was going to be bad,” explained Wyatt, whose eyes were wet. He’d tried to hold Aly’s hands as he talked to her, but she couldn’t bear his touch. Everything—the sun streaming through the windows, the sound of the gulls circling overhead, the blood whooshing in her ears, and yes, Wyatt himself, yet again delivering the worst news of Aly’s life—was much too much.

“Luke would never take his own life. Ever.” She sounded shrill, maybe even hysterical, but for once she didn’t care. “He loved being alive too much for that.”

“Trust me—do you think this hasn’t slowly been destroying me?” said Wyatt, pulling at his hair. “All I can think about is whether I helped my best friend die by suicide. And you, Aly . . .” he choked. “Every time I look at you, I can’t help but wonder if I’m the reason you’re grieving. For all we know, he might still be alive right now.”

Her chair toppled as she stood suddenly, but she didn’t bother picking it up. “Then why did you let him go? You said yourself he knew there was a storm brewing.”

“I don’t know,” said Wyatt miserably. “He’d always wanted to sail far enough to see Cuba. He was losing strength and wasn’t willing to wait any longer.”

“Not even another week? Or even a day or two, after the storm had passed?”

He shook his head, and Aly turned away from him. Logically, she understood that the choice hadn’t been his to make.

Emotionally, she felt like he’d personally thrown Luke into the ocean.

“Why didn’t you at least go with him? You’re an expert sailor!” That’s what Luke had told her when he called Aly to tell her about their trip. “Wasn’t that the entire point of you going to Florida with him?” The two men had driven down from Michigan so that Luke could haul his sailboat with him.

“I was there to support Luke, Aly. I was never there to take the boat out with him. I think he wanted me to . . .” To deal with what happened after Luke never made it back to shore—they both knew what he left unsaid. Wyatt was crying, and although she was furious with him, Aly had started to weep.

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t he tell me he had cancer? I could have helped him. I could’ve looked for clinical trials and gotten him through treatment!”

“That’s exactly why he didn’t,” said Wyatt, who made no attempt to wipe his face. “The five-year survival rate is less than three percent, Aly, and the treatments can be as bad as the cancer itself. Luke said he didn’t want to spend the time he had suffering. I wouldn’t have made that choice, but it wasn’t mine to make.”

“That doesn’t explain why he wouldn’t tell me,” she said, pulling on her face. She wanted out of her skin; she wanted out of her mind. Just when she thought nothing could be worse than losing Luke, then . . .

This.

“You were on the verge of accomplishing your biggest dream,” said Wyatt. “He knew you’d drop everything to be with him. That you’d spend all your time worrying about him. He didn’t want that for you.”