that. You can't tell anyone anything at all because if you do you'll be forced to believe it and right now that's more than you can take. Isn't it enough that your heart is breaking and there's nothing anyone can do to make it whole again?
Don't think.
If you think, you'll go crazy. If you think, you'll start crying and you'll never stop.
Forget all the sweet stories. Forget the mother you thought you knew. The mother you dreamed about. The father who broke your heart. Don't think about his pain because if you let it seep into your skin you'll never be free of it. Forget everything that made you who you are because it is all a lie.
Write a letter to Noah. You can leave it here on the kitchen table because you know he will come looking for you. You wrestle with each word, but what can you say now that could possibly matter? Let him go. Don't burden him with questions. Tell him it's you, all your fault, tell him that you thought you could do it but you couldn't leave everything behind, school and work and all your dreams of a future to call your own. Tell him that you wish him Paris and sidewalk cafes and garlicky wine-soaked lunches with Hemingway's ghost. Tell him you wish it could have been different but maybe you had been a fool to ever believe it would end any other way.
And then just tell him goodbye.
#
Five o'clock came and went.
Five-fifteen.
Quarter to six.
By six o'clock Noah was convinced something had happened to Gracie and he climbed back behind the wheel of his sports car and started toward her house. Damn it. Why hadn't he pushed the issue and picked her up at home the way he'd wanted to in the first place. What if Ben had come home, drunk and pathetic, and begged her to stay and help him. She didn't need that. She shouldn't have to deal with it. Or maybe that old car of hers had finally fallen apart and she was stuck in the driveway, hoping he would show up.
The roads were clear. It was the lazy end of summer when everyone moved more slowly than usual. Tourists stayed at the beach past sundown. Townies headed over to Hidden Island or one of the other secret spots. He'd never fit in with either group, a stranger in both camps which was a lot like the way he felt at home. More like a visitor than a real member of the family.
But that didn't matter anymore now that he had Gracie. She was his family, his home. She made him want to be more than he thought possible, if only to make her half as proud of him as he was of all she had achieved.
He was about to turn off the main road and head toward the docks and Gracie's house when he recognized his father's Town Car angled onto the grass on the opposite side of the street. Simon's head rested against the driver's window. The engine was still running. A knot formed in the pit of Noah's gut.
Screw it. You should be on your way to your wedding right now. You didn't see anything.
Noah made it to the corner before his conscience kicked in. He made a U-turn and pulled to a stop just behind the Lincoln. He beeped the horn. No response. Okay, maybe his old man was napping. Simon was on a lot of medication these days and those things all had side effects that could drop a horse. He'd make sure Simon was okay, then move on. He owed his father that much.
"Dad." He rapped twice on the window. "Dad, are you okay?"
No response.
He rapped again. "Say something, Dad! Open the door."
Still nothing.
"Shit." He tried the door. It was locked. He ran around to the passenger's side, tried that but it was locked as well. Simon looked dead white. A sheen of sweat glistened on his sunken cheeks. "Oh, Jesus..."
There wasn't a soul in sight. No pay phones. Simon's car phone rested on the passenger seat but what good did that do him with the doors and windows locked tight. Gracie's house was less than three minutes away. He could call the cops from there, make sure they brought out an ambulance. He could do that much for his father. Gracie would understand. She would do the same. He knew that. Shit. Her house seemed so far away. What if his father died?