The Leaving(50)

“Not now,” she said. “Come on.”

They walked down a long path and followed a wooden walkway along the water and found themselves on the beach, where three piers stretched out into the water. The pier Scarlett chose to walk was im possibly narrow—so she led—and finally they stood at the end, an onshore wind pressing hard against them, like it wanted them to go back to wherever they came from.

“Do you think you gave me that penny?” she asked. “That we were here together?”

He liked the idea of it, that they were getting closer to answers, and to each other, too. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“It seems important,” she said. “That we remember. Like there might be some clues in that story? In us?”

He nodded, took her hand, and held it up to study it.

To look for a birthmark or some clue that he’d maybe held it before.

She had the remains of bloodred polish on two of five nails.

She squeezed his hand, released it, and turned.

This—being here with her—felt like some kind of reset button or rebirth.

He liked knowing at least one thing about himself for sure.

He loved her.

Or had . . .

When they circled back to the car, they were holding hands, and he couldn’t recall the moment they’d done that, reached out and held on.

They passed a small security booth near the manatee center gate.

The guard poked his head out his window and smiled. “Haven’t seen you two in a while.”

Scarlett let go.





AVERY



The bride was beyond annoying.

It was like she seriously thought the whole world revolved around her and Ballroom B of the Hotel Bonavista on Sanibel Island. She was like some Disney princess who hadn’t gotten the memo about how women were supposed to have brains and lives of their own and not just be little eye-candy damsels in distress who lived for true love’s kiss—the wedding of their dreams. Every time the woman turned her head, it was like she was posing for a picture with an Instagram setting that filtered out humility. Avery was half tempted to write “You’re not all that!” on the big canvas guests had been encouraged to sign during the cocktail hour.

Now the couple was gearing up for their first dance and Avery wasn’t sure she could stand to watch, thought maybe she could go hide in the photo booth in the corner where guests were expected to put on funny hats and glasses and pose.

They’d taken dance classes.

They’d picked that played-out John Legend song.

There was no escape.

She had to watch the whole dance.

Then the song ended and people clapped and the bride preened and the DJ asked other couples to join them on the dance floor.

Sam took his seat.

Avery wasn’t sure if she was irritated or relieved.

Then it started:

“How long have you and Sam been going out?”

“Sam says you’re involved in the school play?”

“Isn’t she just a gorgeous bride?”

Avery excused herself from the table—Sam’s cousins all—and went outside onto a balcony that overlooked the pool deck where the cocktail hour had been. Men in white jackets were still clearing plates and glasses and empty bottles. An older guy was smoking a cigarette a little ways down, and she found herself toying with the idea of asking for a smoke. She’d tell the guy who she was, how they were hoping for some solid tip any minute now.

“Hey.” It was Sam. “You feel like dancing?”

She could hear the bass line of some old funk song and said, “Not so much, no.”

She didn’t feel like telling him about the new note and how full of himself Chambers was, and she couldn’t tell him about why she was really in such a bad mood and constantly checking her phone. She wanted to hear from Lucas, wanted to know what he’d found out, but didn’t want to have to call him.

“Photo booth?” Sam said.

It was the last thing she wanted to do, really. But she couldn’t exactly stand out there by herself all night. She said, “Sure.”

When she saw that the photo booth company was called Making Memories, she almost turned away. But Sam already had hats and boas and Minecraft sunglasses picked out, so they threw on their accessories and ducked through the black curtain.

They had four exposures coming.

First one: regular ole smiles and Minecraft.

Second one: tongues out, her two fingers behind Sam’s head, boas.

Third one: eyebrows raised, hands up like looking confused, hats.

And for the fourth one, Sam pulled her toward him and kissed her hard and she didn’t like it.

Back out in the ballroom, they took off their props and waited by the photo delivery slot. Sam reached for them first.

“They came out good,” he said.

Avery took them and didn’t recognize herself at all.

“You guys!” the bride said as she blew past them in a waft of champagne and mini crab cakes. “You are just too cute.” She hugged Sam. “This is absolutely the best day of my life.”

Avery fake-beamed and wished for a different kind of prop op tion—a mask that might hide who she was—until the bride moved on. Her cheeks hurt when she released the smile.