Plot Twist

by Bethany Turner

  “Let’s see . . . Are we still dealing with new DA Jack Mackinnon racing against the clock to save the first woman he ever loved? What’s-her-name? Felicia? Is that right?”

  “Alicia. And he wasn’t trying to save her. They were trying to save Landing’s Edge, together. But regardless, I’m about fourteen drafts away from that.”

  He squinted his eyes at me. “I think I’d be more into it if he was trying to save her.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah.” He downed the last of his coffee, set down his cup, and leaned in. “I know you aren’t much for romance—”

  I knew what he meant, and he was correct in the way he meant it, but that was still not something any girl wanted to hear their ex-boyfriend say about them.

  “—but I think you could write some good stuff there. It can still make you think, and you can still have characters who use their brains and not just their hearts or libidos to solve problems. But if love is at the center of it . . . Yeah, there’s always more buy-in, I would think.”

  “Does Alicia need to die?”

  This time he was laughing at me.

  “No! Someone doesn’t always have to die, Olivia.”

  The laughter made him cough, and he went to his cup to find relief and came up empty. Without so much as a single conscious thought, I offered him my tea—and I would guess he didn’t think any more than I had before accepting the offer and taking a sip. We both seemed to realize in the same instant, as our fingers grazed each other as he passed the cup back to me, that we had fallen back into old comforts. But we were a long way from him finishing off my drink while he waited for his refill.

  Don’t let this turn awkward. Don’t let this turn awkward!

  “So if she doesn’t die . . . I mean, does love actually win out in the end? You know how unrealistic I think that is. I mean, in the movies. Not, like, in real life. Not that we were talking about real life. We weren’t. It’s just a movie.” I scoffed. “It’s not even a movie. It’s just . . .” I pantomimed writing on the palm of my hand with a pen and then realized it had been a long time since I had actually written by hand. I morphed into a dramatic typing gesture. “It’s just words on a page!”

  awk·ward | ˈôkwərd

  adjective

  causing difficulty; hard to do or deal with

  causing or feeling embarrassment or inconvenience

  not smooth or graceful; ungainly

  Nailed it.

  He wasn’t laughing. I wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. What he was doing was staring at me with that infamous expression of his that always seemed to get me into trouble one way or another. The one that made me think he wanted me more than he’d ever wanted anything ever. The one that messed up my heart when I interpreted it incorrectly—and messed up my entire life when I got it right.

  “What?” I asked, desperate to fill the silence. Desperate to get back to the talking or the laughing or anything that didn’t remind me of the last time I’d seen him—when he’d held me like I was still his and kissed me like I always would be. “What’s wrong?”

  His eyebrows inched up, and then he shook his head from side to side. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  Big breath in. Hold it. Big breath out. Again. Again. Come on, Liv, get hold of yourself.

  “Okay, so . . . tell me a little more about what you’re thinking. If Jack and Alicia were—”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Olivia.”

  “Oh, not you too. I just happen to prefer my movies a little more emotionally realistic. So I prefer the friendship of, I don’t know . . . Andy and Red in The Shawshank Redemption over the friendship of Harry and Sally, or whoever. So what?”

  “Because two men becoming best friends in prison and going on to live happily ever after on the beach is definitely more realistic than two friends who get to know each other and fall in love—”

  “I said emotionally realistic,” I interjected, flustered. Was it my imagination or was his chair closer to me than it had been?

  “But that’s not even what I’m talking about,” he went on. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”

  His chair was definitely closer. I knew for a fact that there had been a table between us in the beginning. Now Liam was on the side of the tiny two-top rather than across from me, and his knee was only inches from mine. And when he leaned over like that, and rested his forearms on his legs like that . . . How far away were his lips? Eleven inches? Thirteen, maybe?

  “How so?” I asked through the lump in my throat.

  Nine inches. Ten at most.

  “You don’t think love wins out in the end in real life either.”

  My lips were tingling. And his were right there . . .

  “That’s not true. I’ve seen it happen. My parents. Fi’s parents. Brandon’s first marriage was a disaster, but it looks like he’s getting another shot. Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were married for, like, fifty years.”

  “And what about you?”

  Nervous titters filled the air. “No, afraid not. Paul and I never got the timing right—”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Liam, I really don’t.”

  Eight inches. There was no possible way his lips were any farther than eight inches away.

  He sighed, and I could smell the peach from my namby-pamby tea on his breath. “I guess I wish I knew how to convince you that you’re as worthy of love and romance as anyone else.”

  I closed the gap between us—it couldn’t have been more than six inches—and my heart rejoiced as our lips picked up where they had left off two years prior. I placed my hands on either side of his face and shuddered as my senses came alive at the feel of him. One of his arms wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me closer against him while his other hand grabbed the edge of the wooden seat of my chair, just beside my leg, and scooted my entire body forward a couple more inches.

  His hand then moved from the chair to my hip, and he pulled me closer still. I was no longer sitting just on my chair. Most of one leg was on his—and it still wasn’t close enough. I dropped my fingers from his face to his chest and allowed myself to sink into the kiss. To sink into him.

  And then an instant later I was stabilizing myself for a different, much less pleasurable reason as his chair was ripped out from under me.

  Twenty inches. Maybe twenty-two.

  He muttered a few incomprehensible words—though the tone of them made it pretty clear it was not his undying love for me being communicated through those clenched teeth—and rubbed his face aggressively.

  “What was that?” he asked, boiling over.

  “I’m . . . um . . . I’m sorry. I—”

  “Why did you do that?”

  Every nerve in my body stung. “Why? I . . . Well . . . I thought . . .”

  His eyes locked with mine. Until that moment I’d never seen him look at me in anger. “What right do you think you have to—”

  “You kissed me back.” The shock and pain began manifesting themselves in rage. “Don’t act like you didn’t kiss me back.”

  “Of course I kissed you back, Olivia. You know that I . . . What did you . . .” He growled and then looked around the room to see if we had drawn any attention to ourselves. I’d never been so grateful for a society of self-focused, disconnected individuals all caught up in their own little worlds. “What did you think would happen?” he continued, remembering to use his Starbucks-friendly voice. “You had no right—”

  “You keep using that word. ‘What right did you have?’ ‘You had no right.’ What right did you have to kiss me two years ago, Liam?”

  Thirty inches. Thirty-four, easy.

  “Oh, so this was payback? Is that it?”

  The stinging nerves had been set on fire.

  “‘Payback’? No, of course not. That’s ridiculous. I didn’t mean to do it. At least, I didn’t plan to.” I didn’t understand a single thing that was happening. “Look, I’m sorry.
But when you’re looking at me the way you were, and when you’re saying things about how I deserve love and romance—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I not play the part you wanted me to play? What was I supposed to say, Olivia? Hmm? I really want to know. What were you expecting? What lines had you written for me in the script?”

  There had to be at least a hundred miles between us. Maybe a thousand.

  I cleared my throat and did my best to choke down the sobs that were about to erupt. “You know, Liam, I have honestly never been clear about the role you should play in my life. I’ll admit that. I know that’s never been fair to you, and I am so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused for us both. But never, at any point before right now, did I ever wish I’d never met you.” I scooted my chair back and grabbed my coat off the back.

  “Olivia, wait.” I ignored him and turned to go, but he grabbed my hand. First with one of his hands, then with both. “Please. Wait. I . . .” I turned back to face him and saw the redness brimming his eyes. “I’m sorry. That . . . I shouldn’t have said any of that. I’m so sorry. I just . . .”

  He growled again, and this time he didn’t seem to care if the whole world was watching. “It wasn’t just you. I wanted it as much as . . .” He momentarily rested his forehead on my hand. “I can’t believe I’m here again. I can’t believe that after turning my entire life upside down and starting over and putting as much distance between us as I possibly could, considering there are only so many states where I can practice law without having to take the bar exam again, here I am. Kissing you while my girlfriend is on the other side of a couple doors. And no, you sure didn’t do it alone.” One of his hands kept hold of mine while the other rubbed his eyes, and the next words were said so softly. “I don’t know when I’m ever going to learn.”

  I sniffed. “Stupid Hamish MacDougal Day,” I whispered under my breath before inhaling and sitting back in the chair. “I’m sorry too. I really am. But, hey, at least this time I’m leaving. And I promise never to come back again on February 4. Seriously.”

  “As if you would want to anyway. It’s twenty degrees out there.”

  “But you can tell yourself I’m doing it for you, if it helps.”

  “Thanks. Means a lot.” A sad half smile overtook his lips. “For the record, I miss you. As my friend, I mean. Well, not just . . .” I knew he was about to say he missed me as more than his friend, too, but he thought better of it and shook it off. “I miss my friend. How’s that for emotionally realistic? And I wish . . . But . . .”

  Oh, Liam.

  I reached out and cupped his face, and he leaned into my hand. “I know. Me too.”

  He kissed the inside of my wrist and then stood up, grabbed his coat, and began putting it on. He gave me his hand to help me up, and I joined him. “Can I walk you back over there?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I’m heading back to the hotel. How about you? Are you—”

  “Going to go have an awkward conversation with my new girlfriend, whom I’ve been dating for about a minute, in which I beg for forgiveness and grovel at her feet so she doesn’t break up with me? Why, yes. Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.”

  “You, Liam Howard, have always known how to have a good time.”

  We threw away our trash, and he held the door open for me as we faced the bracing wind together. We each bundled up as tightly as we could and crossed the road.

  “Can I call you a cab or—”

  “No, we’re staying just down the street, but thanks. When you get back into the club, if Fiona is still there—”

  His eyes flew open, and he stopped in his tracks. “Fiona could still be in there! Oh, Olivia, we have to stop spending February 4 this way!”

  I giggled. I couldn’t help it. “I was just going to say, if Fiona is still in there . . . Well, don’t worry about what she would think about tonight or anything. I’m not going to tell her.”

  I hadn’t put any actual thought into that decision, but I felt confident it was the right one. I told Fi everything, but the truth about my feelings for Liam would have to remain the one thing I didn’t.

  “Well, she won’t hear about it from me,” he stated, then rolled his eyes at the “Duh!” factor within that statement.

  It was time to say goodbye before we froze to the spot, but I didn’t know how to leave. I couldn’t shake his hand like we were old acquaintances who hadn’t just made out at Starbucks. For one moment I considered going all Streisand on him and giving him the full The Way We Were send-off. “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell. Why don’t you bring her for a drink when you come?” But that wasn’t good enough. Not for Liam.

  He took the decision out of my hands. He reached out his arms and pulled me into a tight embrace. It was laced with history. That hug somehow told me he was sorry and that he forgave me and that he would always care about me and he knew I would always care about him. But that hug also told me goodbye in a way Liam and I had never said goodbye before. It said goodbye, and it meant it. I wanted to hold on for dear life, and I knew I’d never survive if I didn’t leave right then.

  I pulled out of his arms and kissed him gently on the cheek, desperate to commit the scent and feel of his skin to memory.

  “You take care of yourself,” he said as he opened the door and the rhythmic bass beat did its part to try to overpower the sound of my heart shattering, once again, into a million little pieces.

  “Bye, Liam.” I smiled, though I was as sad as I could remember ever being.

  February 4, 2011

  Jack kisses Alicia again as the music swells.

  CUT TO

  AERIAL OF LANDING’S EDGE–SAME

  The scene is idyllic. All the colors of autumn fill the shot. BOYS ON BIKES cut through piles of leaves. A young READING MOTHER sits on a bench, watching her CHILDREN play at the park. An ELDERLY MAN rakes leaves.

  THEN

  Jack and Alicia enter the aerial shot together, holding hands, laughing. Jack throws his arm over Alicia’s shoulder as—

  JACK

  I’ve been thinking.

  ALICIA

  Uh-oh.

  JACK

  No, this is good.

  ALICIA

  I’ve heard that before.

  JACK

  This time it’s good.

  ALICIA

  Okay, Mackinnon. Dazzle me.

  JACK

  Private investigators. You and me.

  ALICIA

  (laughing)

  Jack!

  JACK

  No, think about it! We’re naturals!

  ALICIA

  I think . . .

  Alicia stops Jack in the middle of the frame, midway between the Elderly Man and the Reading Mother. The Boys on Bikes zoom past.

  ALICIA (CONT’D)

  It’s time we hang up our detective badges—

  JACK

  You got a badge? I never got a badge!

  ALICIA

  (laughing)

  And maybe we could try living a normal life. Just for a little while. Just you and me.

  Jack gazes down on her adoringly and brushes her windswept hair from her face. He gently brushes her bottom lip with his thumb.

  JACK

  Just you and me?

  Alicia nods up at him as he pulls her close, and from within the safety of his arms she looks around at the calm all around them, where chaos so recently reigned supreme. The expressions on their faces are heavy with the price they’ve paid to save the town they love, and the knowledge that all the life happening around them is possible thanks to them. It is a heaviness and a knowledge they will never share with anyone besides each other.

  ALICIA

  Just you and me.

  FADE OUT.

  THE END

  * * *

  I stared at my screen, not sure if I could trust my eyes. The End. They were the most beautiful six letters I had ever seen in my entire life, bar none, and there are a lot of great six-letter combos. Cookie. Butter. Burger
. Waffle.

  Wow, I was hungry.

  I looked at my alarm clock. Six twenty-nine. I knew my alarm would be going off in one minute or less, but that wasn’t enough to tempt me away from my spot on the floor—leaning up against the wall, surrounded by empty cups and plates and a bowl that showed the remnants of the few drops of Hershey’s syrup I hadn’t licked off—where I could keep staring at the glorious words.

  The End.

  The alarm began blaring, and it startled me, even though I had known it was coming. My reflexes wouldn’t allow me to ignore it, no matter how little I wanted to move. I’d had many years to perfect my silence-the-alarm-before-you-have-to-face-Fi’s-wrath skills.

  I have to wake up Fi!

  The obnoxious blaring ceased, and I kicked my blankets, pillows, notepads, and dishes out of the way so I could get to the door. I would face Fiona’s wrath for this one. I would break one of our three most sacred friendship vows, as scrawled out in 1985 in a spiral notebook with Wham! on the cover.

  No boy is worth destroying our friendship for, and if George Michael wants to go out with Fiona or Tom Hulce wants to go out with Olivia, we won’t be jealous.

  Fiona will always give Olivia the last onion ring or French fry if there isn’t an even number.

  Olivia will only wake Fiona up before the sun comes up if Fiona will die in a fire or miss seeing George Michael if she doesn’t.

  It was only about fifteen minutes until sunrise. I would risk it.

  I tiptoed into her lavender bedroom with actual design concepts that I’d never bothered with and braced myself for the first wave of resistance.