☼
The next couple of hours passed uncomfortably. As the minutes turned into hours and there was still no sign of Ella, the Uppercross atmosphere became palpable with tension. She hadn’t responded to any texts, and Callie hadn’t heard from her either. Around ten-thirty, Charles declared his intention of going after her. Benny jumped on board right away, and Derick called Adam to enlist his help. Despite her husband’s attempts to reason with her, Mary insisted on being in the search party. This left Hanna at home with the boys, which development suited her just fine. She had no desire to go tromping around in the rain, and in any case, she was the last person Ella would want to see.
Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to sleep, Hanna made herself a cup of herbal tea and called Maude. The last time she’d spoken to her was on the 4th of July—which seemed like another lifetime, given everything that happened since.
Hanna didn’t realize that she’d been on the verge of tears all night until she heard her godmother’s voice—and lost it.
“What is it, poppet? What’s happened?”
“A better question would be, what hasn’t happened . . .”
“Start at the beginning, then.”
So, she did. She told her about that first encounter with Derick on the beach, the front-row seat Hanna had to his and Ella’s relationship, Eli’s coming into the picture, the talk Derick and Hanna had at the Lymelight that gave birth to a tenuous friendship . . . Hanna couldn’t bring herself to share the tender scenes that followed, but it turned out to be unnecessary.
“So, now that your chap knows he’s been in love with you all along, that beastly Musgrove girl is in hysterics, is that it?”
“Basically.” Hanna sniffled. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
“Go on, then, poppet. Don’t leave an old woman hanging about in her knickers! It’s only just gotten good.”
Hanna gave a tearful laugh that actually felt quite good, then filled her godmother in on Eli’s role in the whole thing. When Hanna mentioned the article, Maude lost no time in looking it up on the Internet.
“Well, I’ll be buggered,” was the baffled response. “To think all that time he was with you, he had another motive—the prat!” Maude paused, and Hanna pictured her straightening her sweater. “And how is your Wentworth taking it all? I’d wager he’s fit to be tied . . .”
Hanna’s heart seemed to swell at the idea of his being her Wentworth. “He’s out looking for Ella with everyone else.”
“A lot of nonsense if you ask me. She’ll turn up soon enough, I daresay. You ought to chivvy along to bed, dearie. I can tell you’re exhausted.”
Now that it had been brought to her mind, Hanna did feel rather drained. She agreed to call Maude with an update as soon as there was anything to tell. With a parting “Cheerio” from her godmother, Hanna disconnected the call and drained her tea. The clock on the microwave read nearly midnight. Stretching out on the couch in the family room, Hanna texted Derick for an update and then let her eyes fall shut.
THIRTY-EIGHT
CRASHES and FLASHES
She fell on the pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless
. . . her face was like death.
—Jane Austen, Persuasion
The searching seemed to take hours, possibly because Derick ended up combing the downtown area with the Musgroves while the Crofts took Adam’s car along the coastal highway. Mother Nature didn’t seem to be in an obliging mood; if anything the deluge increased the longer they were out.
As if Mary’s manic worry wasn’t enough on top of the already tense situation, Derick’s phone kept going off. The missed calls had all been people he hadn’t heard from in a few months at least—some of his former teammates, his coach, and a couple journalists he’d previously given interviews. The only call he was waiting for was Paul’s—the team’s publicity rep—so he took the liberty of ignoring the others for the time being. Silencing his phone, he shoved it into his pocket and shifted his attention back to the task at hand. Truth be told, his heart just wasn’t in it. The last thing he felt like doing was going on a wild-goose chase for Ella when he had his own problems to deal with.
He jolted out of his rain cloud thoughts when Charles’ phone trilled. Charles checked the caller ID, then flipped it open. “Hey, Adam. You guys found anything?”
Derick scowled. It was a little strange that Adam had called Charles instead of him—but on pulling his phone out he saw that he had two missed calls—one from Hanna and one from Adam. Derick was about to dial Hanna back when he heard Charles’ tone of voice change, and he looked over.
“Are you sure it’s her?” Charles had gone a ghostly white. “Okay, we’ll be right there.” He disconnected. “We need to get to the 95.”
“Is everything okay?” Derick asked.
“Just drive. Head toward the bridge.”
With a knot of dread in his stomach, Derick did as he was told, trying to ignore Mary’s worried whimpering during the ten minutes it took them to clear town. The dread was short-lived, quickly giving way to horror as the Thames River came into view.
Highway 95 crossed over the river between Old Lyme and Groton, Connecticut. The first thing Derick saw against the flat black sky was the cluster of police cars with their blue and red lights flicking like some kind of ominous strobe light. The second was the ambulance parked next to Ella’s neon pink bug, the hood of which was crunched up against the scaffolding of the bridge. Mary went into hysterics immediately, practically jumping out of the car before Derick came to a complete stop.
There was no way to know the cause of the accident from looking at the scene. There were no other cars on the bridge, but given Ella’s state of mind and the rain-slicked asphalt, it was easy enough to deduce what had happened. Driving while angry and distracted plus the rain equaled disaster.
Guilt seared Derick’s insides. This could easily have been avoided had he tried talking Ella down instead of making things worse. He could’ve taken her aside and apologized; he could have at least tried to be a little more feeling with the situation. But in that moment it was Hanna’s feelings he’d been more concerned with than Ella’s.
Hanging back as the Musgroves rushed forward, Derick watched as the paramedics pulled an unconscious Ella from the vehicle and loaded her onto a gurney. There was a bloody gash on one side of her forehead, but from this distance he couldn’t discern any other details. Charles climbed into the ambulance, but when Mary tried to follow, she was stopped by one of the paramedics. She and Charles seemed to be debating about which of them had the right to ride along. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Derick approached the scene of the accident and put a calming arm around Mary’s shoulders, gently turning her toward the car.
“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” he reassured her, to which she responded by dissolving into tears. It wasn’t until they were almost to the car that Derick registered a frenzied clicking noise and looked up to see a camera flashing in his face. Several cameras, actually. When the questions started firing off, Derick had the uncanny feeling that ignoring those phone calls had been a bad idea.
“Derick, is this your latest conquest? Do you have children with her too?”
“What can you tell us about the other two girls?”
“Do the women know about each other?”
“Can you tell us where your children are now?”
“Did you have anything to do with this accident?”
On and on it went. Swallowing the angry responses that would only make the situation worse, he helped a confused Mary into the passenger seat. The flurry of paparazzi followed him around to the driver’s side, and he nearly nicked one of them with the door as he slammed it shut.
With his mind racing about the implications of this gaggle of reporters, Derick sped toward the hospital, pulling up in the passenger unloading area. The press had followed and were gathered around the car like vultures on a rotting carcass. Quickly, Derick considered hi
s options, then called Benny and asked him to escort Mary inside. Sophie came as well, sliding into the passenger seat as soon as Mary was clear.
“Looks like your peaceful summer just came to an end,” Sophie said.
“Yeah,” was all Derick could say.
The ride back to Uppercross was quiet, both Sophie and Derick consumed by their own thoughts. It seemed like the moment he returned from Block Island, fate was waiting there at the docks for him, tapping an impatient foot: first the article, then Ella’s outburst and subsequent accident, and now the paparazzi on his tail. Thankfully, Old Lyme was a gated community, and they wouldn’t be allowed in. It was a small consolation, but a consolation all the same.
On arriving at the gate, Derick briefed the security guard on the situation, then passed through. He dropped Sophie off at Kelynch first, then killed the engine of Charles’ car in front of Uppercross. He sat still for a moment, basking in the breath of calm before the storm and sorting his thoughts.
He couldn’t think about Ella, about whether she would live or die, without feeling his own part in the whole mess. And there was nothing he could do now to affect the outcome either way. That was something he’d learned during all those hours alone with the elements on the Laconia—worrying about something you had absolutely no control over was wasted energy. It was better to focus your efforts on other things. You had no say in the weather, but you could batten down the hatches to prepare for the storms.
Pushing Ella’s fate to the back of his mind, Derick settled instead on the appearance of the paparazzi. The article in the magazine was a story big enough to attract the predators from further out. That was always the way with the media—once one reporter caught the scent, it wasn’t long before a whole pack of them was on your tail. And then there were the absurd questions about the “other women” and his “illegitimate children.” He clenched his fists around the steering wheel, his knuckles bleaching of color.
It didn’t take a private investigator to know who was behind it all. Eli had taken the photos, but he probably wouldn’t have found Derick on his own. The phone call Derick had overheard was with someone named Talon Hoss—a particularly persistent member of the paparazzi. Derick had had his share of run-ins with Hoss in the past. When the harassment progressed past the point he could tolerate, Derick had involved the authorities. Evidently his old friend Hoss had found a way around the restrictions.
Derick exited the car, willing all the stress to stay inside it. The torrent had softened to a steady patter now, accompanying him around to the back of the house. Fatigue tugged at him, but it had been too long since he’d seen Hanna—and if he knew her at all, she was probably waiting up for news anyway. He slipped in through the back door of Uppercross, his heart immediately warming at the sight that met him.
It was dark except for the emanating glow of a lamp in the corner. Hanna lay on her stomach with one hand under her face and the other arm dangling off the sofa. Derick wanted nothing more than to lie down beside her, feel her reassuring warmth in his arms—a patch of stillness in the eye of the storm. But she looked so peaceful that he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. Instead he clicked off the lamp, plunging them both into welcome darkness, and leaned up against the couch. He scooted down into a reclining position, folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes.
Hurricanes rarely dissipated over night. He might as well get some sleep, because the world would still be falling apart in the morning.
☼
It was the first golden light of day that woke Hanna, and the ocean breathing in and out, rising and crashing. She had dreamt of shattered camera lenses against slick asphalt, pulverized hearts on the beach, bleeding out on the sand. And on top of it all, a shroud of fog scented of rain and Old Spice.
Eager to exit the sensory collage of her subconscious, Hanna opened her eyes to find Derick asleep beside her, his head pillowed on the edge of the couch, close to hers. Smiling, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, and he stirred. When had he gotten here? His presence would explain the Old Spice, and from the still-damp state of his clothes, the rain-scent as well. Derick sat up, did his best to smooth down his hair, and checked his watch.
“What time is it?” Hanna asked. It must’ve been fairly early since she hadn’t heard from the boys. For that matter, she hadn’t heard from anyone.
“Six-thirty,” he replied, turning toward her and tucking some hair behind her ear. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay. Where is everyone?”
Something passed across Derick’s face, an obscure flicker of grief, and Hanna sat up. “What is it? Ella?”
Derick’s eyes closed and he took a breath. “She was in an accident last night.”
The shock that Hanna felt on seeing the magazine article and the mortification that took hold of her when Ella walked in on them kissing were nothing now. Nothing to the soul-wrenching, pierced-with-shards-of-ice sensation that broke upon her.
Hanna stood. “Is she—she’s not—” She couldn’t get the words out.
Derick got up as well and wrapped her in his arms. “She was unconscious when they pulled her out of the car, and she had a head wound, but that’s all I know.”
Hanna listened to the sound of Derick’s heart against her ear, committing its pattern to memory. Then she stepped out of his arms and looked around for her phone. Spotting it on the coffee table, she dialed Charles, who answered on the third ring.
“Is she okay?”
“She hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s alive. The doctors said she hit her head pretty hard when she crashed, but they won’t know anything more until she’s conscious.”
“I’ll stay here with the boys,” Hanna offered around threatening tears. “Let me know what happens.”
Charles assured her that he would, and Hanna disconnected the call with shaking hands. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry. She had no right to cry, not when she was responsible for it all.
When she looked up, Derick was watching her with anxious eyes. “She’s still unconscious,” she told him quietly.
One look told Hanna that he felt just as guilty as she did. She wanted to reach out, to smooth away the worry lines that had appeared on his forehead, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that it wasn’t her fault either, and that their love hadn’t caused any of it. But the words were lodged in her throat.
Sometimes, late at night when there were no decent sporting events on TV, Charles watched outdoorsy shows about roughing it in the wilderness or fishing. It always grossed Hanna out to watch fish being gutted, but it was exactly how she felt inside now. Empty, as if her guts had been removed and were lying in the dirt somewhere. When Derick reached out for her, she found herself shrinking back.
“I should shower before the boys wake up,” she said without looking at him. She didn’t want to see the self-loathing in his eyes again, couldn’t face the knowledge that it had anything to do with her.
THIRTY-NINE
MEMORY LOSS
“She is altered . . . Be1nwick sits at her elbow, reading verses, or whispering to her, all day long.”
—Charles Musgrove, Persuasion
As Derick made his way back to Kelynch, he tried to reason with himself, tried to tell himself that Hanna just needed time to digest the news in her own way. Some people tended to go inward when this sort of thing happened. She obviously felt responsible for the accident, even though neither of them could have controlled Ella’s actions or the slippery road or whatever had caused her little pink bug to kiss the bridge.
Seeing Hanna’s already pale face drain of color as she spoke with Charles killed Derick, just as much as letting her turn away killed him. But wasn’t that love, after all? Letting someone work out their own pain when all you wanted was to draw them close and take it upon yourself?
Back at Kelynch, Sophie and Adam were sitting at the kitchen table eating twin bowls of Captain Crunch cereal. Adam looked so tired that Derick wouldn’t have been sur
prised if he face-planted in his bowl.
“When did you get back?” Derick asked him.
“A little while ago,” was the bleary answer.
“Benny sleeping?”
Sophie shook her head. “He took a shower and went back to the hospital.”
This gave Derick pause. Benny wasn’t exactly Mr. Social, and it wasn’t like him to jump into someone else’s calamity out of the goodness of his heart. But then Derick remembered Phoebe’s tragedy—the auto accident that had thrust her into the coma from which she’d never returned. The parallel circumstances couldn’t fail to pull Benny back into the past.
“How’s Hanna holding up?” Sophie asked her brother.
“She just found out, so not great. I think she just needs some time alone to deal with it.”
“Let me know if I can help somehow.” Sophie stood and put the empty bowls in the sink. “Let’s put you to bed, babe,” she said to Adam, taking him by the hand and leading him from the room.
Derick watched them go, a feeling of unmistakable loneliness taking their place. He ambled to his room, decided to take a shower, and felt not the least bit better afterward. Should he go back to Uppercross? Or maybe text Hanna instead? Try to sleep? In the end, the only thing he felt like doing was being on the water—so he set out for the Laconia.
☼
Later that afternoon, when Charles finally prevailed on his wife to go home with him to get some rest, Benny offered to stay with Ella in case she woke up. Charles and Mary didn’t seem to understand Benny’s motivation, but it wasn’t such a mystery to Hanna. She knew that Ella reminded him of his fiancée, Phoebe. Mary told Hanna that just before they’d left the hospital, Benny began reading aloud to the unconscious Ella.
“I don’t know why he thinks she can hear him,” Mary said, stifling a yawn.
Persuaded Page 21
