Page 71 of Dreams of Falling
“I went looking for her, too. I even called the police, but they were too busy with keeping an eye on the storm to help me look for a woman we weren’t even sure was lost.” Bitty shrugged. “We’re not really sure of the timing of events, but at some point, Margaret found her way to Carrowmore to ride out the storm. Or she could have been there all along—we’ll never know.”
“So, it could have been a lightning strike, or a candle Margaret lit for light.” Larkin’s voice sounded far away, as if she’d placed herself on that dark night in the old house as it faced a hurricane. She turned to Ceecee. “Where did they find her... afterward?”
“Does any of this matter now?” Ceecee asked, trying not to remember what the house looked like when the fire trucks arrived. How she pictured the beautiful wedding room covered in soot. Everything the Darlingtons had ever cherished reduced to ashes.
“Probably not,” Larkin agreed. “It’s just that Mama wrote me an e-mail the day she disappeared. She said she’d found out something about Carrowmore and the fire. About us. So, no, none of this matters now, I guess. But it might explain why Mama was at Carrowmore. Maybe even explain what she found out about Margaret, and why she thought it important enough to write on a ribbon.”
“We’ll ask her when she wakes up,” Ceecee said. But even she was getting tired of it, of forcing an optimism she no longer felt. She stood, brushing her palms against her gardening pants. “I’d best see about supper.” Facing Larkin, she said, “You know, Larkin, if you take all of those old clothes out of the drawers, I’ll take them to the charity shop, and you’ll have room for the clothes you brought so you can finally unpack.”
“I know—I just keep thinking that Mama will wake up any minute now and I can go back to New York. I can’t put my job on hold forever.”
“Of course not. I just want you to feel more at home. Not like a visitor.”
“But that’s what I am,” Larkin protested.
Bitty stood, her knees cracking, and laughed. “You tell yourself that over and over again, sweetie, but it’ll never drain the salt water running through your veins. The outgoing tide might suck all the water from the creeks and marshes here, but eventually the ocean pushes it all back where it belongs.”
Larkin turned back to the dresser and shoved another pile of old clothes inside. “Yeah, well, being here reminds me of that stupid girl I used to be. And I never want to find her again.”
Bitty put her arm around Larkin’s shoulders and said fiercely, “You were never stupid. You were smarter than everyone else, because you didn’t let others tell you what you should think or say or do. Ceecee might have been over-the-top in her encouragement, but that’s what your staunchest supporters are supposed to do. You were brave, Larkin. That’s what your mama said, you know. After you left. And she was right.”
Larkin kept her head down, her hands gently touching the items that had been on top of her dresser since her childhood. ALittle Mermaidhairbrush, a participation trophy for a talent show in the shape of a quarter note. A framed photo of Larkin, Bennett, and Mabry inWizard of OzHalloween costumes. A dried piece of sweetgrass stuck between the glass and frame of the mirror.
The clock chimed downstairs, and Larkin’s head jerked up. “It’s four thirty—I’d better hurry. Jackson will be here in half an hour.”
Bitty squeezed her shoulders, then reached up to kiss her cheek. “Let me know if you want that can of Mace. I never leave home without it.”
Ceecee kissed Larkin’s other cheek, then used her thumb to rub off the lipstick print. “I’ll go wrap a plate of my brownies for you to take with you.”
Ceecee followed Bitty out of the room, glancing back as she closed the door to see Larkin looking at her reflection in the mirror as if she didn’t recognize the person staring back.
•••
Larkin
2010
I held the plate of brownies while I waited on Ceecee’s dock for Jackson, neatly avoiding the necessity of Jackson coming inside.
My conversation with Bitty and Ceecee had unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t. Misguided, yes. Brave, no. The memory of the worst day of my life came back to me with horrifying clarity. After almost killing my best friend, I’d proceeded to walk away without any explanation, clarification, or excuses. I was a coward, too afraid to face the truth of what I was. Of what I’d done. And that girl was still there, inside me. I knew the longer I stayed, the better the chance would be that she would reemerge.
Yet here I was, on the dock, waiting for Jackson Porter to come pick me up like in some sick form of déjà vu. Maybe I hadn’t shoved the old me far enough down into my psyche. And maybe I was waiting for the chance to relive that day, to hope for a more positive outcome. I almost laughed. Larkin Lanier—always the eternal optimist. That was one thing, at least, that I hadn’t buried completely.
I heard the low rumble of a boat engine and turned to see Jackson approaching on a twenty-two-foot MasterCraft. Even in high school, he’d always had the nicest boat, even if it actually belonged to his father. But this boat was brand-new, the red paint of the manufacturer’s name vivid and bright. My first thought was that he was showing off, something the old me had once dreamed of. My second thought was one of relief that he hadn’t brought his father’s cabin cruiser. I remembered the small bunk with messy sheets in the cabin belowdecks, and shivered.
Jackson slowed as he approached, his smile white in his tanned face, his eyes hidden behind Ray-Bans. His brown hair curled up over his USC baseball cap, and he looked so much like the boy I’d thought I’d been in love with for so long that I imagined I could feel the reel of years unspooling beneath my feet. I felt unsteady, unable to find a foothold, and it had nothing to do with the boat’s wake rocking the dock.
“Whoa,” Jackson said, shutting off the engine and slowly drifting toward me. He took the plate first and set it down with his free hand, then helped me into the boat, but didn’t immediately let go of my hand. “You look beautiful, Larkin.”
I couldn’t see his eyes, but I imagined they were on my mouth. I licked my lips. Even though I was twenty-seven years old, my high school daydreams hadn’t lost their luster.
“Thank you.” I licked my lips again, my mouth dry. I breathed him in, smelling the familiar cologne and the male scent of sweat and sunscreen. I wished he’d take off his glasses so I could read his eyes, to confirm the sincerity of his apology in the bright light of day.
He let go of my hand, eyeing my maxi dress with a frown. “I sure hope there’s a bathing suit under all those clothes. I brought the skis.”
“I was hoping you’d remember that I don’t ski. When you had that party when we were juniors and everybody was skiing, I stayed on the boat and kept an eye out for anybody who fell.”
“No, sorry, I don’t remember.” His forehead wrinkled in thought, but he shook his head. “Lots of people on the boat that day.”
