Good for You: A Novel (66)

“No,” she cried. Her career dream was nothing—nothing—compared to her brother.

“That’s what I meant when I said Luke had thought about it, that we’d discussed it. He never came out and said it, but all the plans were in place—the house, the papers, the inheritance. He had to have known he might not make it back.”

“He had to have known he wouldn’t,” said Aly. “That’s why he wanted me to be there. He wanted one more chance to say goodbye.” And she had not given it to him because she was working.

The gears were clicking into place at an alarming pace. Whether intentionally or not, her brother had decided to take a risk that cost him his own life. And her ambition—her stupid, pointless ambition—had prevented her from making one final goodbye.

“You lied to me,” she said to Wyatt. “You’ve been lying to me for nearly a month. Ten months, if I really want to get specific about it. You could’ve told me back in September what really happened. Instead, you’ve been nodding along while I talk about ‘accidents’ and ‘fate’ like an idiot, and then constantly disappearing without telling me where you’re going, which probably has everything to do with this whole mess, too.”

“It doesn’t,” said Wyatt firmly, shaking his head. “Aly, I’ve been careful never to lie to you. I kept my mouth closed until I had enough information—that’s why I didn’t tell you about the life insurance. I was waiting for them to rule out suicide and agree to make the payout.”

“Did they?” Aly asked shrilly.

“Yes,” he said. “And I pray to God that’s the truth, even though we’ll probably never know for sure. Aly, Luke didn’t want you to know—he didn’t want you to go through what you’re going through right now. As his friend, I wanted to honor his request. When I agreed, I never thought you and I would get involved, but now we are, and . . .” His voice caught. “I couldn’t keep you in the dark anymore. I told you the minute it began to feel like a lie.”

Aly stared at him. Even with his red eyes and tearstained cheeks, he was the best thing she’d ever seen.

She was going to miss him terribly.

“Even if that’s all true, you still lied to me,” she said in a low voice. “Because you said you’d never hurt me. But you did, Wyatt, and I am done having other people hurt me. Now, please leave.”





THIRTY-FIVE


Wyatt left immediately, and Aly was glad. She wanted to be what she already was: alone.

This time, she couldn’t even manage to cry. Crying seemed to her an act of hope, in that letting out the sadness would make way for something better.

But there was no better, and there never would be. Luke had not behaved impulsively. He’d had a plan. The fatal flaw in the logic Aly’d been using to navigate her life had become glaringly apparent: having a plan didn’t save you from disaster.

No—sometimes it led you directly to it.

Without registering what she was doing, Aly walked outside and down the path, and suddenly the lake was right in front of her. The water felt cold on her feet, and colder still on her legs, but by the time she’d submerged her lower body, she didn’t feel anything. There was a steep drop-off not far from the shoreline; that, along with the rip current and thick seaweed, was why this stretch of water wasn’t designated for swimming. Which was fine. Aly had no intention of swimming.

And then her entire body was in the lake. The drop-off was so surprising that she accidentally inhaled a mouthful of water, but she didn’t try to push back up to the surface. It wasn’t that she was actively trying to stay under. It was just that she wanted to know what it was like to drown. Had Luke changed his mind in the end when it was already too late? Had he struggled when he realized there was no winning against the water, the storm? Or had he been at peace when he gave himself to the ocean? His body hadn’t been recovered; only his battered sailboat, which a yacht had found drifting miles from the southernmost point of the continental US.

She would never know if he’d seen Cuba.

At once she felt something pulling on her hair, hard.

Not something—someone. And whoever it was had grabbed her shirt, and her waist, and dragged Aly’s head above water.

“Allegra Jackson,” gasped her mother. “What has gotten into you?”

Aly sputtered, then vomited up the lake water she’d swallowed. “Nothing,” she finally managed to say. “I was just going for a swim.”

“I may not be smart, young lady, but I’m no dummy,” said Cindy, pulling her toward the shore. She was surprisingly strong, and as she hauled Aly onto the sand things began to come back into focus, and Aly realized that her mother had swum out to save her. Cindy had grown up on the lake, just like she and Luke had, but Aly had no idea her mother could swim so well.

She stood in front of Aly, soaked, her mascara leaving long black trails down her cheeks. “You don’t just go wandering into the lake in all your clothes,” she said, practically shouting. “Especially not walking in like that—you weren’t even pretending to swim. Now don’t you do that! Don’t you ever do that again. Don’t you leave me, too.” Cindy had started to cry. Aly had never seen her mother cry before—not sober, at least. It didn’t look anything like it did when she was blubbering after a binge. This was different. Not just the lucidity in Cindy’s eyes, but the fear.