Page 41 of Love Conquers All

Graham looked thoughtful. “I’m not so sure about that. It looked like the attic hadn’t been touched in a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if your father never opened the journals himself.”

Sylvie realized Graham was probably right. Her father had been the type of guy to look away from the problem at hand, to distract himself, to pretend that everything was all right until it all blew up. It had made it impossible for Sylvie to understand him.

But now, as she drove as fast and as far away from the journals as she could in the span of two days, she began to wonder if she wasn’t more like her father than she’d thought.

This terrified her.

After dinner, Graham and Sylvie got on the elevator and rode it to their fourth-floor hotel rooms. Sylvie was exhausted to the core. But she also didn’t want to be alone.

Graham seemed to sense this. At his door, he said, “Do you want to watch something?”

Sylvie’s legs shook beneath her. She wasn’t sure what would happen on the other side of that door.

So many years ago, Graham had asked his mother if they could take sick Sylvie home to care for her. Now, that same Graham wanted to make sure she was all right. The look in his eyes was the same.

She whispered, “Why are you so forgiving?”

She meantI left you without saying goodbye. I broke up with you—my great love—because I didn’t know how to handle myself. I hurt you. I hurt us both.

Graham raised his shoulders. “It’s all we can do. We have to forgive the ones we love.”

Sylvie’s heart rate spiked. Graham flashed his hotel card in front of the scanner and popped the door open. Sylvie felt her legs carry her inside, where she lay on his bed fully clothed andwatched him set up the television to a streaming channel with plenty of films and shows. They picked something both of them had been meaning to watch and then immediately turned it off to watch reruns ofThe Office. They belly laughed until they fell asleep, holding one another’s hands.

Chapter Eighteen

The enormity of sleeping next to someone like that stuck in Graham’s heart all morning. Nothing happened between them, not like that. But it was remarkable to wake up and hear Sylvie’s soft breathing. It was remarkable to have the lilac scent of her in the air above the bed.

I’m not alone,Graham thought. He wanted to cuddle up to her, but he didn’t want her to roll away.

He searched his heart for some sign that Hannah was disappointed in him. But he knew that all Hannah would want for him was joy.

At five, they got up and scrambled to the car to drive the rest of the way to the alligator farm, glancing at one another, happiness in their hearts. Graham cracked jokes that Sylvie belly laughed at, and Sylvie practiced asking her interview questions, which Graham answered in silly ways, talking about alligators and the swamp in a Southern drawl. When they reached the alligator farm, the guy who owned it was waiting for them, wearing a pair of overalls and a big hat. Graham was amazed at the way Sylvie transformed from the beautiful and funny girl, laughing in his front seat, to a prominent journalist, one who took both her career and the alligator farmer seriously. Grahamhung back by the car, saluting them as they walked toward what looked like a pit full of alligators. When they walked past it, Graham hurried to the fence to peer down at the beasts, many of which were just sleeping, half in and half out of the water.

These were some of the creatures who’d been on the earth the longest, he knew. They were practically dinosaurs.

Graham was fighting for a better earth for them. For the farmer. For the children of humans and alligators and bumblebees and piranhas.

Sylvie was fighting, too.

Graham’s heart thumped. The air was hot, maybe one hundred degrees, and he was already slick with sweat. Despite the heat, he tried to think about work. The House on Nantucket was set to reopen just in time for Memorial Day, and since he’d redone the website, they’d gotten twenty-five more guest reservations. Alongside his work at the inn, he planned to continue to protest Next Generation Nantucket Designers. Hilary had promised to dig deeper into the people behind their companies. She had the kind of power that Graham and Sylvie needed to make things happen.

According to Graham’s Boston-based contact, the Next Generation Nantucket Designers planned to break ground on another hotel in just a few weeks. Graham’s heart skipped a beat. He imagined himself handcuffed, flailing. He pictured himself trying and failing and trying and failing, on repeat, forever. He sent a screenshot of the news to Hilary Salt, who wrote back immediately.

HILARY SALT: I just learned something pretty insane.

HILARY SALT: I don’t know if I want to tell Sylvie yet.

GRAHAM: What do you mean?

HILARY SALT: You know this big journalism award she’s receiving? One of the people handing out the award is literally the CFO of Next Generation Nantucket Designers…

Graham’s heart stopped. Pocketing his phone, he gazed across the alligator farm, watching as Sylvie spoke earnestly with the farmer, trying to understand him, trying to get it all right.

Sylvie had told Graham how pleased she was about the award. “Finally,” she’d said, “I feel recognized for all that work. Finally, it’s like my voice really matters.”

She’d said, “I know it sounds silly. But I’ve been so exhausted. There’s never enough money in this. Sometimes it feels like a losing battle, writing and interviewing and trying so hard to make people listen. I wish I had the energy we had as teenagers.”

Now, Graham ached with the realization that the very people wanting to “award” Sylvie were the people they both were fighting against. It was terribly disappointing. It all felt like a big ruse, as though the Next Generation Nantucket Designers wanted to point to how “good” they were so that they could get away with doing horrible things in secret. It was all in the name of progress. It was all in the name of looking “good” on social media while making billions behind closed doors.

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