of my tears seemed to be confused as to why I was so upset. Nothing about my reaction to Jack’s news made sense. My heart seemed elated, but my mind was filled with distrust. My nerves were frantic, trying to make sense of what I was feeling.
I got to the end of the street and looked back towards the Wharf. Jack wasn’t standing there anymore. There were a few people milling around the entrance, but none of them were Jack.
I turned back around and headed home. I thought that maybe I’d call Grandfather and share this with him. Was I over-reacting, or was this sort of response to such shocking news to be expected? For all I knew, this was some weird sort of grief that I wasn’t familiar with.
Or maybe it was closure. Maybe knowing that Jack knew things about David that would bring me closure about his death was too much for me to take. Closure, when it came to death, wasn’t always a good thing. It would warp my memories of my brother and how I felt about not having him anymore—or at least that’s how I felt.
I continued on towards home, missing David more than ever. But, on the heels of that, I was growing alarmed at how badly I wished Jack had followed me just a bit more to show that he did indeed care.
20—Devlin
I had known that there were a few different ways that Mac could have taken the news. But the way she handled it surprised me. She said nothing… she had just stood up from the table, gave me a peculiar look, and then backed away from the table. I knew that I had gotten up to follow her out, but I barely remember it. The moments between her standing up from the table and my following her out of The Wharf were a blur. Trying to remember it as I watched her walking quickly away from the restaurant, it felt like I had been sleepwalking.
If I had wanted to, I could have easily caught up to her. But it was clear that she wanted to be left alone. Given the bombshell that I had just dropped on her, I figured it was the least I could do. So I watched her scamper up the street in the white glow of the street lamps. When she was out of sight, I turned back around and headed back into The Wharf.
I settled up the bill we had accumulated to that point and then sat at the bar. I ordered a beer and drank it slowly. I was looking to the bottles behind the bar, wondering what I might be doing right this very moment if I were in Hollywood. On the heels of that, I couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the typical way I responded when things didn’t go the way I wanted. Would I yearn for my easy Hollywood life every time life got hard? It made me feel spoiled and I hated myself for it. I had tried to not fall victim to the Hollywood stereotypes, but there it was, plain and simple.
It also made me understand that there was no way that I could successfully pull of this stupid charade forever. At some point, I was going to have to come clean… with Mac, the public, everyone. The goatee and the shaggy hair would work for only so long. It would eventually come out that I was really Devlin Stone.
I wondered how Mac would feel about that, if she didn't know it already. Another lie, I thought. That’s something else I’m keeping from her. Wow, I’m really not giving her a real chance, am I?
I finished off my beer, pondered another one, but then got up from the stool and threw a five dollar bill down on the bar. I exited The Wharf again and headed towards my house. The night was beautiful and slightly frigid. A few people milled about; I spotted a couple a block over, walking hand in hand. I envied them, but did my absolute best to convince myself that I didn’t.
I walked up the hill, thinking about David Blackwell. Had I done him a disservice by even thinking about not telling Mac. I saw his face clearly in my mind and once again saw the resemblances. It made me smile for a reason that was unclear to me as my house came into view. I wouldn’t go so far as to say