“What are you thinking about?” Derick asked as they pulled up in front of Kelynch.
“How differently it could’ve turned out, I guess.” When Derick just looked at her, she clarified. “When I think what could’ve happened . . .”
“But it didn’t. Ella’s not dead or paralyzed or still unconscious.” Even though Derick squeezed her hand, there was an underlying note of impatience in his placating words.
“I know. But can you imagine what it would be like to wake up and not recognize anyone? She can’t remember anything—not even who she was.”
“Yeah, I sort of consider that a bonus,” Derick said.
“Derick,” Hanna scolded.
“What? You can’t tell me that Ella getting a personality overhaul is a bad thing. Or that Benny finding his place in the world is a minus.”
Derick’s lack of empathy toward the situation grated against Hanna’s already ragged nerves. “Of course it’s not. But don’t you feel bad about any of it?”
Frustration was evident in his voice now. “As a matter of fact, no. I think you’re feeling enough guilt to last us both a lifetime. Ella’s fine—well, relatively normal, at least,” Derick amended at the look Hanna gave him. He picked up her other hand, so he was holding both. “I know you feel like crap, but raking yourself over the coals isn’t going to undo the past. The only thing it’s doing is making you miserable, which makes me miserable.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, touching a hand to his face. “I never want to make you unhappy.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Then shut up and kiss me.”
Hanna scooted sideways onto his lap. “Twist my arm.”
Derick obeyed, trapping one of her arms behind her and clamping a hand on her wrist. She smiled and pulled his mouth to hers.
A moment later, they were both blinded by the flare of a camera flash. Hanna blinked, seeing little red spots. Swearing under his breath, Derick threw open his door, stood with Hanna in his arms, and set her on her feet. “Keep your head down,” he said in her ear, then towed her through the crowd and into the house.
☼
Once inside, Derick bolted through his bedroom and out the back, notifying the guard that the front of the house had been compromised. Then he took Hanna’s face in his hands. “Are you okay?”
The look in her eyes betrayed that she was shaken up, but she nodded. “I’m fine.”
Sophie emerged from the bedroom, and Derick briefed her on the situation, then called Paul and gave him an earful.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Derick. If they found the house then it doesn’t matter how many rent-a-cops we send over. There’s not much more we can do, and you know what that means: it’s time for you to pull up roots again.”
Derick glanced at Hanna. “I know. I’m working on it.” He chucked his phone on the counter, vindicated by the staccato sound of it. “You might want to stay here tonight,” he told Hanna, and her face turned crimson.
“You could have Benny’s room,” Sophie offered shrewdly. “He already told me he’s staying at the hospital tonight.”
Whether Hanna was anxious for a slumber party or was simply not overly eager to go back through the mob outside, she agreed, easing Derick’s worry somewhat. Back in his own room, he did his best to calm down by looking through Hanna’s sketches again. His mind was full, teeming with the day’s scenes: holding Hanna again and realizing that no one would ever fill his arms the way she did; the vacancy in Ella’s eyes as she looked at him; Benny’s satisfied expression when Ella begged him to stay . . . Less pleasant were the more recent developments: the heated discussion with Hanna in the car and the ominous echo of Paul’s last words on the phone—you know what that means: it’s time for you to pull up roots again.
He knew exactly what it meant. It was time to relocate. If he had his way, this time he wouldn’t be going alone. Flipping to the first empty page of Hanna’s sketchbook, he began bleeding his heart onto the paper.
FORTY-TWO
CAPTIONS
“But when the pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it.”
—Anne Elliot, Persuasion
The following morning Hanna slept in. She bolted out of bed when she realized that the clock read eleven. So this was what sleeping in felt like, was it? No wonder childless people did it so often.
After using the bathroom and checking her reflection in the mirror, Hanna wandered out into the family room to find Sophie cleaning out the fridge.
“Morning,” Hanna said.
“Hey,” Sophie replied. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good enough that half the day is gone already.”
“You haven’t missed anything,” Sophie assured her. “Hungry?”
“I’ll get something at home. Where’s Derick?” It just occurred to her that there was a touch of haste in the way Sophie was throwing out perfectly good food.
“At the marina.” She closed the fridge and moved on to the cupboards.
“Is everything okay?”
Sophie sighed and straightened. “We’re leaving. Now that the press knows where Derick is, they’re not going to let up.”
It was as if a bowling ball had just been launched through Hanna’s stomach. “When?”
“As soon as possible.” Sophie looked around, and Hanna could see the disappointment on her face. “I would have liked to stay the whole summer, but it’s only a couple of weeks.”
Hanna didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” was all she could come up with.
“Occupational hazard of having a celebrity for a brother.” Sophie shrugged. “Derick said to make sure you get this.”
It took Hanna a moment to realize that Sophie was pointing at something on the bar—her sketchbook. “My drawings,” she said. “I’ve been looking everywhere . . .”
“I guess you left it on the Asp.”
A weighty sadness settled on Hanna as she took the book and turned to go. She didn’t know when she would see Sophie again. Were they leaving, just like that? It made sense, given the situation, but she couldn’t help feeling a little hurt that Derick hadn’t even mentioned it—not that she’d seen him in the last twelve hours.
“I’ll walk you home,” Sophie offered when Hanna opened the front door and a barrage of flashing cameras answered her. Apparently security had fought a good fight and then given up. The guards were nowhere in sight.
“Should we go out the back?” asked Hanna.
“It doesn’t matter, both doors are swarming with these parasites,” Sophie answered.
Hanna followed her outside, her cheeks flaming at the impertinent questions that peppered them all the way to Uppercross.
“If you value that camera you better get it out of my face,” Sophie said to one of the reporters.
It was a horrible business that seemed to take forever, being jostled and mauled for the hundred or so yards between the two houses. As both Kelynch and Uppercross were crawling with paparazzi, Charles took it upon himself to escort Sophie home. The street was dotted with more cars than it usually saw in a week.
On her way to the family room, Hanna passed by Ella’s bedroom and did a double take. Ella was propped up on several pillows on one side of the bed, and Benny sat atop the covers on the other side. He wasn’t reading, and she wasn’t talking; Ella’s eyes were closed and Benny was watching her with a look of saturated admiration. When he looked up to find Hanna watching, Benny’s eyes were brimming with contentment. She doubted very much that Benny would be leaving Ella’s side anytime soon. A look of understanding passed between them, and Hanna knew in that moment that Benny’s brooding days were over, that Ella would undoubtedly develop a taste for poetry, that neither of them would be lonely anymore.
Feeling a profound joy on Benny’s behalf and an inexplicable loneliness on her own, Hanna moved into the family room. Sinking down on the c
ouch, she began flipping absently through her drawings—and froze.
The first one was of the Lymelight. Along the bottom of the sketch was a line of familiar handwriting that read, I see you drawing and can’t seem to move. The next page was Eli with his dimples and curls. I want to break his face, but I’ll settle for his nose. The hei matau. When I knew without a doubt that I never got over you. The boys with their feet in the air, watching 101 Dalmatians. I want to hold your hand so bad I can taste it. The Asp on Block Island. Where we had our second first kiss and you fell asleep in my arms. The tiny sea star in her palm, with Derick’s hand cradling hers. It might look like a starfish, but it’s actually my heart.
Hanna knew that was the last sketch she’d done, but something told her to flip to the next page.
Hanna,
I’m sorry you’re just now getting your drawings back. I couldn’t let them go because even though you may not realize it, they tell our story. I know, now, that the only reason I came to Old Lyme was to find you again. I think I knew it that first day that we ran into each other on the beach. I have always loved you. I’m not perfect, and I can’t promise that I won’t be a blockhead from time to time. But if you’ll do me the honor, I’d like to spend my life trying to be good enough for you.
I can’t stay here any longer. I’m leaving Old Lyme as soon as I can stock the Laconia with supplies for another long sea voyage. Come with me. I’ll take you everywhere I’ve been, anywhere you want to go. I’m sure we could find a priest somewhere along the way to make us respectable.
Derick
By the way, I love you.
By the end of the note, Hanna’s eyes were full of tears. She hadn’t even noticed Mary coming down the stairs or the stampede the boys created as they barreled down after her. Mary was asking her something about when she’d gotten back or where she’d been, Hanna couldn’t say for sure. Without responding, Hanna went up to her room and sank down on the bed. She read Derick’s letter again, twice, before looking back through the sketches and his captions. She didn’t think she’d ever held anything so precious in her hands.
As she sat there on her bed, she wasn’t deliberating her answer. Her heart and mind weren’t wasting any time battling out the question of whether she should go or not. She was thinking of whether it would be unprofessional to leave a message on the school district’s voicemail with her two-week notice. What she would say to Mary when she complained about her help disappearing. How she would ignore any warning about acting rashly from Maude. She was repeating Derick’s words over and over in her mind: By the way, I love you. She was thinking that she would see Sophie again, and that soon they would be sisters.
☼
Derick checked the rigging on the Laconia for the umpteenth time. Still secure, just as it had been five minutes ago. The mainsail and jib were both rolled up and ready to be unfurled when they got out of the harbor. They. Derick usually wasn’t one for counting his chickens before they hatched, but he simply couldn’t entertain the possibility that he would be leaving Old Lyme without her.
Once again, he resisted the urge to text Hanna. Instead, he went below and tested his radio, unnecessarily. When he came back up, Derick knew that he’d never seen a more welcome sight than the one before him now. Not the first glimpse of land after a solid three months on open water. Not the finish line gliding under the Team USA catamaran as he won his first America’s Cup. Not Sophie flying toward him the day he arrived in Old Lyme after they hadn’t seen each other in too long. Each of these moments were special to him, but none of them compared to the woman he loved climbing onto his boat to run away with him.
The press was there, of course, and Charles too, helping Hanna with her bags. He wished the pair of them a safe voyage, then faded into the background like everything else. The only thing Derick had eyes for was Hanna and the joy on her face as he drew her into his arms. They ignored the media, firing insults and questions that bounced off them like bullets from titanium.
“I love you too,” she said in his ear.
“Enough to sail around the world with me?”
In answer, Hanna clasped her hands around Derick’s neck. “Enough to go anywhere with you.”
“We might as well get married while we’re at it,” he suggested.
Hanna’s face split into his favorite heart-stopping smile. “Seems like the only logical thing to do,” she agreed with a shrug.
For the first time, it occurred to Derick that there could be worse things than allowing oneself to be persuaded.
EPILOGUE
FULL CIRCLE
She gloried in being a sailor’s wife . . . that profession which is, if possible, more distinguished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance.
—Jane Austen, Persuasion
The sky is bleached white in some places, bruised a foreboding gray in others. All around us the gray ocean surges and draws back, giving its consent while mist hovers over the emerald mountains as uninvited but welcome guests.
There is only a handful of us on the beach: Derick and me, Maude, the Crofts, and the Maori elder who will be performing our ceremony. When we made up our minds to be married on the shores of New Zealand, we knew it would be a small affair. Mary is still sour at not being the maid of honor, at not seeing her two angels as ring bearers, but she’ll get over it eventually. We’ll have a big ceremony when we get back to the states.
For now, there is no fussing over bridesmaids’ gowns or groomsmen’s boutonnieres. There will be no gift registry, no after party with hors d’oeuvres, no toasts from drunken wedding guests. There’s just Derick in a button-down shirt and me in an ivory lace dress that brushes the sand, both of us barefoot. Earlier Sophie twisted my dusty hair up in intricate braids that make me feel like a sea goddess. From the way Derick takes me in with those sea-green eyes, I think I must look like one too.
After we exchange the vows we have written for one another, the Kaumatua blesses the union by serenading us with the traditional Maori wedding song. And I know that I’ve never really experienced true joy until this moment.
Our guests embrace us with tearful congratulations, and the distant thunder rumbles its own best wishes. And then the sky splits open, sending our guests back to the boat and leaving us alone—the best wedding gift we could hope for.
The rain is beating down around us, but we don’t feel it. The harder the drops try to wash away our joy, the more we smile. A flame sparks in his eyes as he sweeps my legs out from under me and cradles me in his arms. I just laugh, offering my face to the sky, taunting it to do its worst.
He watches me for a moment, and we are motionless while the rain lashes the ground. When he brings his lips to mine I taste his smile. This moment in time, this point of light in the universe that is us—I stamp it on the flesh of my heart where the erosion of time has no reach.
With me in his arms, he wends his way through the lush vegetation, until he reaches the intended destination. I gasp in wonder as he sets me down at the edge of the water.
“Surprise,” he breathes in my ear, but I am still dumbfounded at the sight before me, of the way the steam rises up from the warm water and kisses the cold rain.
He has brought me to Hinemoa’s pool—where the forbidden lovers Hinemoa and Tutanekai met in secret. Where they beat the odds stacked against them.
Where their story ended.
Where ours begins.
SPECIAL THANKS!
They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I think this holds true for writing a book as well. To all my villagers, I say thank you infinity:
My husband and kiddos for loving me even when my eyes are glazed over and/or twitching, even when I’m in the room without really being there. An extra shout-out to my hubby for setting me straight on sailing terminology and all things sports/testosterone.
Melissa Lemon for your precious friendship and for teaching me that a plot needs more than a beginning, middle, and end.
Lisa Rector for
your feedback and for helping me see that I had my back cover blurb right in the text of my manuscript.
Jeannie Mineer for helping me make Hanna more likeable (hopefully) and for that little red book that started it all! Your thoughtfulness has always astounded me.
Beth Bentley for your patience in teaching me the difference between “like” and “as if,” for cleansing my writing of those pesky adverbs, and for finally getting the correct usage of a semicolon into my head. You are the bomb-diggity of editors!
The rest of my beta readers and writing group, for keeping me from dithering in descriptions all day: Lisa Swinton, Laurie Lewis, Dionne Butler, Liz Gurney, Liz Reynolds, and Jo Schneider. Thanks for getting me out of my own head!
Cindy Canizales, for your creativity and vision with the cover.
To the Fort Detrick outdoor pool: without you this book would probably have come out in December instead of August.
To all the readers out there, who sacrifice their valuable time away from reality to give my story a chance. And to that small percentage of readers who take the time to write a review, who are constructive with criticism rather than crippling, who realize that authors are people too!
Lastly, a few of the songs that inspired the emotion and some of the scenes in Persuaded:
Sweater Weather—The Neighborhood
Persuaded Page 23
