Secrets so deep, p.25
Secrets So Deep, page 25
“After my mom died?”
“Yeah,” Cole says. “That’s what my dad says.”
It’s weird to think that I’m not the only one who was forever changed by my mother’s death. There are so many other people who live with that hole. Just like I always have.
It makes me sad to know that, but somehow it also makes me feel less lonely.
Cole kisses me then. Soft and gentle, and with so much tenderness. And I feel it all the way down in the deepest, most hidden parts of my heart. So I know that I’m alive, too.
And finally I let myself sleep.
With the lights on.
The last thing I hear before I slip away is Cole humming that melody in my ear.
Eden’s lullaby.
A song for a drowned girl.
ACT III: SCENE 4
It’s early morning when Cole wakes me up. I’m confused. I don’t understand why we’re in the library. But then I remember everything about last night. And it’s like being knocked down by a big wave at the beach.
We walk back to the blue cabins together, and Cole kisses me again. Says he’ll see me later. He doesn’t mention anything about his mom. Her sleepwalking last night. And he doesn’t tell me I’m crazy. That his father isn’t a killer. He just brushes the clinging hair back from my face and promises me that everything will be okay. But it’s a promise I don’t really believe.
I don’t see Willa all morning or all afternoon. She doesn’t pop in to the cafeteria to wave at me. She doesn’t stick her head in the door and ask me to bring my lunch to the sea porch.
But when I get to the theatre for rehearsal that evening, she’s standing in the middle of the stage, staring up into the rafters of the barn. I’m lingering in the doorway with Lex and Val and Jude, and Jude finally coughs to let her know we’re there. Willa turns and beams at us—at me—like nothing happened last night. I wonder if maybe she doesn’t remember pulling those books off the shelves in the darkened library.
She waves us in. “Come on, my lovelies, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover this week.” She’s gorgeous tonight. Glowing. Long, dark hair and the jangle of silver bracelets. All lit up by the stage lights. There’s no hint of the woman who sat slumped on the floor, surrounded by jumbled scripts and papers.
Cole slips in just as we’re beginning. He finds a spot a few chairs away from me, but I can still feel him.
It’s Monday night. The beginning of week three. We’re just over halfway to the finish line, and I don’t know how to feel about that. There’s still so much I need to figure out. And it all seems so impossibly tangled and confusing. I’m worried that there isn’t enough time left. And I have no idea what happens after this.
I can’t imagine going back to Texas and picking up where I left off. I’m not that girl anymore.
But I’m also starting to wonder if I’ll survive another two weeks at Whisper Cove.
“Okay,” Willa tells us, and she claps her hands to get our attention. “We’re working the scene at Eden’s funeral tonight.” Val is sitting beside me, and I can feel her excitement, because this is her first really big moment. “Eden’s older sister, Anya, finds Orion after the funeral. Everyone else is gone, but he’s still sitting there. And she tries to talk some sense into him.” Willa winks at Val, then turns her eyes toward Cole. “You two ready?”
I’m glad I’m not in this scene. It gives me a chance to watch.
And think.
Cole takes his place in a folding chair onstage, and Val enters from the right. She crosses down to stand beside him. I notice the stubble along Cole’s jawline. He’s wearing the same wrinkled clothes from last night. And his eyes are so dark. Rimmed with black circles. I wonder how long it’s been since he slept.
Days?
Weeks?
Years, maybe.
Probably.
Val puts her hand on his shoulder.
ANYA: You can go home now, Orion. She’s gone.
ORION: What if there was a way to bring her back?
Cole turns his head to look up at Val. The two of them are striking, onstage together. All that beautiful dark hair and intensity.
ANYA: You can’t—
ORION: Maybe I can.
ANYA: That’s not how it works. No matter how much you loved her—
ORION: I more than loved her.
ANYA: Everyone more than loves the people they love.
ORION: Nobody has ever loved anyone the way I love Eden.
ANYA: Even if you could, she wouldn’t be the same.
ORION: That doesn’t scare me.
ANYA: It should.
ORION: I promised her I’d save her.
ANYA: No one can really save anyone else.
ORION: But I promised.
I’m sitting in the first row. Cole isn’t looking at his script now. He’s staring at me, and I get so lost in the bottomless gray of his eyes. And I know he’s lost, too. We can’t breathe. Can’t look away from each other. It’s like we’re holding each other prisoner. Trapped in this moment together.
ANYA: You shouldn’t have promised that. It wasn’t fair.
ORION: But I meant it.
Cole’s voice is so broken. There’s real pain there, and I hurt for him. He drops his head to his hands. And I think, for a second, he’s crying. But his shoulders aren’t moving. He isn’t making any noise. It’s like he’s turned to stone.
And I’m not sure that he’s acting anymore.
I’m not sure he ever was.
Everyone in the theatre waits. We’re holding our breath. The seconds seem to stretch on forever. But he doesn’t go on to the next line. Val looks from Cole to Willa. Then to me. She doesn’t know what to do.
But I know.
I get to my feet and move to where Cole is sitting. He’s so still. But I kneel down in front of him, and I put my hands on his knees. I press my lips to the top of his head. Those beautiful dark waves.
He raises his head to look at me, and he whispers that he’s sorry. It’s so soft I can barely hear the words. They drift across my skin like fog. And I pull his face toward mine. I want to tell him without words that it’s okay. That he doesn’t have to save me. That I’m fine. That whatever is happening, I can handle it. All I want is for him to find a way to save himself. That’s the only thing I need. But I don’t know how to say all that, so I kiss him.
Cole’s lips are so soft, and the kiss is deep. It’s long and warm and lingering. And when it’s over, everyone is staring at us. Of course.
I’m not sure what to do, but Willa steps in and saves both of us. “That’s what good theatre does, my lovelies. It makes us feel,” she says. “And that is never a bad thing.”
And I love her so much in that moment.
Everyone applauds, and my face turns bright red. I find my way back to my seat, and Lex slips his arm around me. “You good?” he whispers, and I nod. But I’m not really sure that’s true. Cole gives me a little smile, and I do my best to smile back. Because we each need the other one to be okay. Even if it’s just for a little while.
Cole and Val go on with the scene, and they run it a few more times before we move on to something else. I’m not onstage in any of the scenes we work, and that’s okay with me. I’ve already been the center of attention for way too many nights.
I open up my script to go over some lines. I flip to the back. The very last scene. And a few tiny flowers fall into my lap like purple snow. They’ve been pressed flat between the pages. I pick them up and hold them between my fingers.
I look around the theatre, but no one seems to have noticed the overwhelming smell of lavender. Or the fact that I’ve stopped breathing.
When rehearsal ends I look for Cole outside the theatre, but I don’t see him. It’s a perfect night. Beautiful and clear. No fog. No damp. No chill. Everyone seems to have found someone to enjoy the gorgeous weather with.
Lex is leaning against the wall of the barn. Jude goes in for a kiss. They whisper together, forehead to forehead, and Lex giggles as he slips his hands into Jude’s back pockets. They’re completely wrapped up in each other. Oblivious to everything else in the world.
Val is flirting with one of the guys. A blond named Nixon who’s wearing a Star Trek shirt. She tosses her long, dark curls over her shoulder and laughs. He tells her she was really good in the scene tonight, and I see her touch his arm. Bat her long eyelashes. I wonder if this means she’s broken things off with Chester for good. I also wonder if she’s taken Nixon skinny-dipping yet.
Finally I spot Cole. He’s sitting on the edge of the steps. Alone. Just staring off into the dark. I walk over and touch his hair, but he doesn’t look up.
“Come on,” I say, “we need to talk.” I reach down and take his hand. Then I pull him to his feet and around the corner toward the amphitheater. But there are people there, too. Some of the techies are hanging lights. Gearing up for the big performance. Midnight Music by Willa Culver, starring all of us.
“Shit,” I mutter. Because I don’t know where to go.
“It’s okay,” Cole says. “I know a place.” He leads me toward a little gravel path that runs around behind the barn.
There’s a bench against the back wall of the building. Two big coffee cans filled with sand sit at either end. “This is where the crew comes for smoke breaks,” Cole tells me in a voice that sounds like he’s apologizing. But it feels like the perfect spot to me, because we have it all to ourselves. We just sit there for a few seconds. Grateful to be alone.
We’re facing a clearing that extends from behind the barn to a line of trees not far away. A little trailer sits off to one side. There’s a tiny garden. And couple of beat-up lawn chairs.
“George’s place,” Cole tells me. I see lights inside the trailer. The flicker of a television screen, maybe. I think about George finding me on the beach last night. In the fog.
“Remember that first night? At the bonfire?” I say. “On the beach.” Cole nods. “You told me Whisper Cove was different from other places.”
“I remember.”
“What is it that happens here? At night. In the fog.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Cole says. “I don’t even know for sure myself, really. And I’ve lived here my whole life.” He raises one eyebrow and gives me a crooked little grin. “Besides, you don’t believe in ghosts. Right?”
“They aren’t ghosts,” I say, and Cole’s grin disappears.
“No,” he says, “they aren’t. But I also told you that first night that there are lots of ways to be haunted.”
“George told me they’re memories. The things I’ve seen.”
Cole lets out a long breath and leans back against the outside wall of the barn. “I don’t think they’re memories, exactly. At least not all of them.” He’s studying the coffee can full of cigarette butts. “Or maybe they are memories, and things just get out of order sometimes.”
“What do you mean, out of order?”
Cole looks off at the tree line. Then up at the moon. He’s looking anywhere but at me, and my brain is firing off little warnings that there’s something I’m not getting.
“Mostly they’re things that have already happened,” he says, “but every so often, I catch a glimpse of something new. Something that hasn’t happened yet.”
“Like something in the future?”
I remember how, days ago, I stood on the beach and called out to what I thought was my mother. Just one word whispered into the fog. Mom. Then she turned to look, and there was the shock of looking into my own eyes.
And how, last night, I stood at the edge of the water, and turned around when I heard myself call out.
Two moments out of order. Circular memories. Like a dog chasing its tail.
It makes my head hurt. I feel dizzy, and I have to reach for Cole’s hand to stop me spinning.
“It doesn’t happen often,” Cole tells me. “It’s only happened to me a couple of times over the years.”
“What did you see?” I ask him. But he won’t answer. He just runs his fingers over the tattoo on his wrist. That compass rose. Then he leans down to kiss me. It isn’t a long kiss, but there’s something desperate about it. And it leaves me breathless.
Broken and afraid.
Cole’s hands are in my hair, and his lips are at the corner of my mouth. Sweeping across my cheekbone. My forehead. Then he’s breathing against my ear. “It doesn’t matter. None of it’s real. Smoke and mirrors, remember?”
But the fear in his voice tells me Cole doesn’t believe that. It’s a lie to make me feel better.
To make himself feel safe.
“You saved me tonight,” he says. I close my eyes and lean into the brush of his fingers across my cheek. “During that scene. In the theatre. I fell in. And you saved me.”
“Anya says that nobody can save anybody else,” I remind him.
He pulls me against him, and it feels good to be wrapped up in his arms. But there is so much sadness in his voice. His words are thick with it. “We can’t, in the end. But maybe we can save each other in little moments, like you did for me tonight. And maybe that has to be good enough.”
“I love you.”
I don’t mean to say it. It just slips out. And I’m not even sure exactly what I mean by it. Because I’m feeling so many different things right now. I just know that it feels true. And that seems so weird, because it’s only been two weeks. But then I remind myself that I’ve known Cole Culver almost all my life.
I just didn’t remember it.
“I love you, too,” he tells me. “I’m pretty sure I always have.”
“You mean since we were five,” I tease him, but he shakes his head.
“I mean always.” He looks at me for a few seconds. I can’t resist reaching up to run my fingers over the stubble along his jaw. I want to feel all of him. So I can remember him this time. I don’t ever want to forget again.
“My father didn’t kill your mother, Avril. It doesn’t make sense. He’s fucking spineless. He would never have had the guts.”
I’m almost sure he’s wrong. My memories of that night are so clear now. There are gaps. Pieces missing. But everything points to Brody Culver.
“Cole—”
“We have two weeks left,” he tells me. “There’s still time to figure it all out.”
I don’t tell him that it’s actually less than two weeks. The performance is eleven days away. And the day after that, everyone will leave Whisper Cove.
Everyone except for Cole. He never gets to leave.
Eleven days.
That’s not much time to untangle twelve years’ worth of secrets. Or to figure out who my mother really was.
To become whoever it is I’m meant to be.
But maybe Cole is right. Maybe there’s something I’m missing.
I want there to be another answer. Because the thought of losing Cole and Willa is almost too much to bear. And I don’t see how it can go any other way, if I’m right about what Brody Culver did that night.
The wind changes direction then, and goose bumps break out all along my arms. The hair on my neck stands up. The overwhelming scent of lavender is drifting on the night breeze.
“Cole?” I whisper. “Can you smell that?”
“It’s lavender,” he says.
“I think my mother loved lavender,” I tell him. “It reminds me of her.”
“It’s good that things like that are coming back to you.” Cole smiles. Squeezes my hand. “It’s all those little things that keep people alive for us, I think.”
But he doesn’t understand.
“Cole, someone has been leaving me little bundles of lavender.” He looks confused. “On the porch of the cabin. And in my bed. Between the pages of my script, even.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “To scare me, I guess. That’s the only reason I can figure out.”
So that I’ll know I’m being haunted. Not by a ghost. But by a person.
“It blooms this time of year,” Cole tells me. His dark eyebrows are drawn together. “It wouldn’t be hard to find around here.”
“Where does it bloom at Whisper Cove?” I ask him.
Cole looks toward the little trailer with the flickering windows. “It grows wild all along the edge of George’s place.”
ACT III: SCENE 5
I follow Cole’s gaze down toward George’s trailer, and something flickers across his face. Something that looks like hope. “You said you remember someone else being there that night.” His words come out in a rush. An exhale that sounds like relief. “Someone who scared you.” I nod. “Maybe it was George. He can be mean as a snake, Avril. I’ve seen it. That side of him.”
I can’t help wondering if he’s ever seen that side of his father. The one Val whispered about in the cafeteria. That quick-to-anger side. And it suddenly hits me that there’s not any real difference between George and Brody Culver. The way they look at women. Men like that are all the same. They feel entitled to stare. Or to touch. The only thing that separates the two of them is that Brody Culver has money and George lives in a falling-down trailer behind the barn.
But one isn’t any better or worse than the other. It could’ve easily been either one of them.
Maybe it was more than a coincidence, George finding me washed up on the beach that morning. Almost dead.
Maybe he knew exactly where to look for my body.
I’m confused now. Grasping for those memories again. But I’m having trouble pinning them down tonight.
Someone hits me in the face with that bright light.
Then the hand around my wrist.
And I’m flying—falling—into the dark.
