The Perfect Couple(74)

He has been influenced enough by Celeste that he now occasionally thinks in wildlife metaphors. Celeste is like a rare butterfly that Benji was somehow able to capture. That comparison is, no doubt, inappropriate on many different levels, but that’s how he thinks of her in his private mind where no one can judge him, that she’s like an exotic bird or butterfly. If he takes that imagery further, then marrying her is akin to putting her in a cage or pinning her to a board. She was supposed to be his.

What Merritt’s death has brought to light, however, is that Celeste belongs only to herself.

She was the one who found Merritt. With Roger’s help, Celeste pulled Merritt’s body from the water. She was hysterical, beyond talking to, beyond consoling. She couldn’t breathe, and Roger and the paramedics had wisely decided to take Celeste to the hospital where they could get her calmed down.

Benji waited two hours before he went to see her in order to give her time and space to process what had happened, but when he arrived to pick her up, their conversation had not gone the way he expected it to.

She had been in bed, woozy from the Valium, her eyelids fluttering open when he walked in the room. He sat at her bedside, took her hand, and said, I’m so sorry.

She shook her head and said, It’s my fault.

For reasons he could not explain, this answer had unleashed a mighty fury within him. He thought Celeste was blaming herself for having an oceanfront wedding, for asking Merritt to be her maid of honor, for bringing her here to Nantucket. And Benji’s response to this came flying out: She was lucky to be here, lucky she had a friend like you, she didn’t deserve you, wasn’t worthy of you, Celeste. And furthermore, she probably did this to herself! You told me once that she stockpiled pills and considered suicide, so what’s to say that’s not what this is? She orchestrated this to ruin our big day!

Celeste had closed her eyes and Benji thought the sedative had reclaimed her but then she spoke. I can’t believe you just said that. You blame Merritt. You think this is her fault. Because you’ve never liked her. You thought she was a bad influence. But she was my friend, Benji. She was the friend I’d been looking for my entire life. She accepted me, she loved me, she took care of me. If I hadn’t met Merritt when I did, I might have left New York. I might have gone back to Easton and worked at the zoo in Trexlertown. I might never have met you. You blame Merritt because you can’t imagine a scenario where maybe someone in your house, someone in your family, made a very, very grave mistake. You think your family is beyond reproach. But you’re wrong.

What are you talking about? Benji asked.

You’ll find out soon enough, Celeste said. But right now I’d like you to leave. I want to talk to the police. Alone.

What? Benji said. What about your parents? Do they even know? They were still in their room when I left.

I’ve called my father, Celeste said. Now, please, go.

Benji had been incredulous, but he could see by the set of her jaw that she was serious.

Benji stood to go. He knew there was no point broaching the topic of getting married in Greece or rescheduling the wedding for August. Merritt’s death had changed things. He’d lost Celeste.


Now he’s left to pace Tag’s study, asking the same question over and over again of his father and brother.

“What happened?” Benji had gone to bed after they all got back from town last night. But Thomas and Tag stayed up. “Right?” Benji asks. “Right?”

“Right,” Tag says. “It was Thomas, myself, Merritt, and Featherleigh.”

“What were you guys doing?” Benji asks.

Thomas shrugs. “Drinking.”

“Drinking what?” Benji asks. “Scotch?”

“Rum,” Tag says. “I just wanted to finish my cigar, enjoy the evening. I was sitting in peace with your brother until Merritt and Featherleigh joined us.”

“Where did they come from?” Benji asks.

“They’d clearly met at the party and hit it off,” Tag says. “They came out of the house chatting like soul sisters. Like Thelma and Louise.”

“Abby called me up to bed shortly after those two sat down with us,” Thomas says. He holds up his palms. “I literally have nothing to do with this. I barely knew Merritt. But she had that look. You know the look? She was trouble.”

“Amen,” Tag whispers.

“Did Merritt seem really drunk?” Benji asks. “Did it seem like she was on something?”

“You need to relax, bro,” Thomas says. “The police will sort this out.”

The police, Benji thinks. That’s why the three of them are holed up in his father’s study; they’re waiting to be questioned by the police. The study smells like tobacco and peat and it’s filled with antiques—sextants, barometers, prints of long-ago British naval victories. Most men find Tag’s study intriguing; Benji finds it obnoxious. Although, under the circumstances, it makes a serviceable bunker, and Benji could use a drink.

“Pour me a Glenmorangie?” he asks his father.

“Before you talk to the police?” Tag asks. “Is that wise?”

“Nantucket Police, intimidating bunch,” Thomas says. “I’ll pour it.” He heads over to the bar. “If they suspected Benji, they would have questioned him first.”