Still Waters

by Rebecca Addison

  “A bit,” I say quietly. He notices my struggle cutting the bread and gently places his hand over mine.

  “Let me do that.”

  I stand back and watch him cut the bread in smooth, even slices. He holds the knife oddly with his right hand and only then do I notice the roadmap of scars weaving their way across the top.

  “You don’t have to be nice to me,” I whisper.

  He looks up from the bread, his eyes round.

  “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

  “I broke his heart. It was already broken, and I broke it again.”

  Jake puts the knife down on the bench and walks around to face me.

  “Hey,” he says, pulling me into his arms for a hug. “Let me tell you something, and you’ve got to really listen to what I’m saying, ok? Don’t just dismiss it.”

  “Ok, I sniff. He takes his arms from around my back and places them on my arms, rubbing them up and down like he’s trying to warm me up.

  “I’ve known Crew all my life. I knew him before the accident, and I know him now. My dad and I have bailed him out and flown across the world to bring him home more times than I can count. We’ve nursed him when he wouldn’t come out of his room for weeks at a time, and we’ve put up with him when he’s acted like a complete asshole. We’ve tried everything, Hartley. Nothing has worked. When he came home this last time, I really thought we were going to lose him. But then you came along. You’ve brought him back to life.”

  “But, he believed David…”

  “You just need to give him some time.”

  “But he - ”

  “Trust me, Hartley. Give him some time.”

  Behind us, Eleanor walks into the room and quietly takes in the scene.

  “Right,” she says in her typical no-nonsense manner. “Tell us what we can do to help, and we’ll do it.”

  Jake walks behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kisses the top of her head.

  “You heard the lady.”

  “The samples,” I say, looking at Eleanor, “where are they?”

  “I’ve taken care of that,” Jake smiles. “They’re in an old ice cream refrigerator at The Sea Shack.”

  “Jake took them there when your parents came into town,” Nor explains. “I felt weird about having them here with your dad turning up at my door all of the time.”

  “That’s good, Nor,” I say quietly, taking her hand. “Thank you for looking after them for me. I’m sorry I just dumped this on you without telling you what was going on.”

  She squeezes my hand. “No problem.”

  “The laptop should arrive today. I need to print everything and get the report and the samples to the EPA as soon as possible.”

  “Ok, done,” Eleanor smiles. “And what about Crew?”

  Jake unwinds his arms from around her waist and turns her so that she’s facing him.

  “Crew isn’t ready to speak to her,” he says quietly and even though I can only see the back of her head, I know that she’s frowning.

  “Can’t you talk to him? Make him understand that this isn’t her fault?”

  Jake looks at me helplessly over Eleanor’s head.

  “Nor,” I say quietly, “Jake is right. And I’m not completely blameless. I lied about who I am, and I didn’t act on the samples quick enough. Every time he asked me about my past or our future together, I avoided talking about it. Even if I didn’t tell him any outright lies, it would feel the same to him.”

  She moves to one of the barstools she repainted last summer in a buttery shade of yellow.

  “So what, you just do nothing?”

  I shake my head. “No. After I send the report I need to go to Jefferson. I’m leaving tonight.”

  “What?” she cries, spinning on her seat to face me. “But you just got here, and you’re exhausted! Jake, she should stay here for a few days at least, right?”

  He looks at me carefully and then meets her eyes.

  “No, Nor, she should go.”

  Eleanor opens her mouth to say something, but he puts a hand on hers, silencing her.

  “Hartley doesn’t need you to take care of her. She’s a big girl. If she thinks she needs to be in Jefferson, then that’s where she should go.”

  I look at him and smile in thanks. I’m beginning to see exactly what Crew loves so much about Jake O’Reilly. If Jessie was anything at all like her twin brother, then that girl must have been all kinds of wonderful.

  The courier van arrives soon after I get home. The house is cold and stale after being shut up for over a week, but I don’t care. I’m not planning on staying long. I’m in my bedroom, folding clothes and putting them into a suitcase when I hear the knock on the door.

  “Hartley Preston?” the man says briskly as he pulls his collar up against the cold. “I have two boxes for you. Sign here.”

  “Are you sure it’s two?” I call after him, but he’s already opened up the back of the van and disappeared inside. He emerges a minute later with two brown boxes. My breath catches in my throat when I see Crew’s loopy handwriting scrawled across the top. The man puts the boxes inside and leaves with a wave of his hand. I close the door behind him and take a breath.

  The first box is smaller, and it contains the laptop as promised, wrapped carefully in bubble wrap and the power cord wound neatly into a figure eight. My heart sinks when I see that there’s no note. The second box holds the science journals Crew gave me that day in the cabana. Just the sight of them makes me clutch at the wall and weep. I close the flap on the box with my foot and refuse to look at it for the rest of the day.

  By the time I’m ready to leave for the airport I’ve finished everything on my list. The report and samples are on their way by urgent courier to the EPA, and the house is packed up. I don’t know when I’ll be back in Twin Heads but there’s a good chance I won’t make it here before my six month lease is up.

  “Ready?” Eleanor says, as she presses the accelerator and pulls away from the curb.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  I turn to her, and lean over quickly to kiss her cheek. “Yes.”

  “This is going to be a shit storm; you know that right? You’re going to be in the papers and on the news, this is going to be really, really big.”

  She’s not telling me anything I haven’t already thought of, but hearing it out loud still sends a wave of nausea through my belly.

  “I know. But I still have to do it. My family has been threatening Crew and his staff for three years, and they’re knowingly polluting a beautiful area of the forest without any regard for the consequences. I can’t let them get away with it.”

  She nods next to me, her eyes briefly meeting mine.

  “I’m so damn proud of you,” she whispers as we turn onto the highway that will take me to the airport. “You knock em’ dead.”

  I arrive in Jefferson late. The town is quiet and misty, the shops and restaurants dark and the streets deserted. At the end of the main road, I see the only city size building in town, its white walls and tall glass panels completely wrong for a small town like this. I guess land is cheaper outside of the city. And God knows, it’s all about money with the Prestons.

  I use my key and push open the door to my lake house, but ask the taxi driver to wait outside. David has a key, and there’s no way I’m sleeping here tonight. I jog down the hall to my bedroom and grab some clothes from the wardrobe. I look around before I flick the light off. David has hired someone to tidy up while I was gone. By the time I make small talk with the owner of the only hotel in town and make it to my room, I’m just about ready to collapse. But before I can go to bed I pull out my Armani suit from its bag and iron it perfectly. Tomorrow morning I’ll need my battle armor. We’re going to war.

  Chapter Forty Three

  Hartley

  “Gloria Peres?” I ask the woman waiting for me in the lobby the following morning. She smiles and holds out her hand for me to shake. �
��I’m Hartley Preston. Did you receive the report?”

  “Yes, I gave copies to everyone. We all read it last night.”

  “But, is it enough?”

  She nods and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “On its own, maybe not, but with all of the work we’ve done with The Sullivan Group we’re hoping we have more than enough evidence for the Judge to rule in our favor.”

  “How long will the trial take?”

  She looks over her shoulder at the group of people in suits by the door.

  “It’s hard for me to say, but now that we have your samples and the files from Preston Lab we think it’s going to be pretty quick. Two or three months. Of course,” she adds briskly, “we still have a lot of work to do. Analyzing the samples will take a month, at least.”

  “I understand,” I say quietly. She turns to go, but I put my hand on her arm, stopping her. “But Ms. Peres - ”

  “Please call me Gloria.”

  “Gloria. Will Mr. Sullivan be at the trial?”

  She looks into my face, and something she sees there makes her eyes soften with sympathy.

  “He will have to give evidence, but he’s chosen to do that via video link. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh,” I stammer, trying to regain a sense of professionalism. “It’s not important. We should go.”

  She nods once, and we cross the lobby together.

  “I hope you understand what we’re about to do,” she says quietly as we walk. “Your father, he doesn’t play around. He’s a dangerous man.”

  I realize suddenly that she’s not quite sure of my motives. I am a Preston, after all.

  “Gloria,” I say, turning to look at her. “I’m on your side, one hundred percent.”

  She lifts her chin and squares her shoulders, preparing herself for what’s coming.

  “Now’s the time to prove it.”

  The next two months are a blur of meetings with the legal team going through evidence, pages of scientific data and long, long days in court. The Preston contingent sits on one side of the courtroom, conspicuous in their designer clothes and perfectly coiffed hair. My family refuses to look at me for the entire trial. When it’s my turn to testify, my mother and sister stand up and walk out of the room. David glances in my direction every now and then, trying to goad me into giving him a reaction. He’s wasting his time. He’s been invisible to me ever since Venezuela.

  When I’m not at court, I’m at Preston Industries slowly sifting my way through documents in my father’s office. When the story broke, the entire board was forced to stand down while the investigation was pending. I’ve stepped in as Chairperson until we have a verdict. More than anything, I want to keep the company alive for the employees. Whenever I’m so tired I think I could cry, and my fingers shake with exhaustion, I think about the cleaners and the admin team; the catering crew in the cafeteria; the interns in the science lab beneath my feet. Not the top floor self-satisfied assholes in their suits and leather chairs. The work is good, it’s all consuming and challenging and allows my mind to take over from my heart. It’s greedy for information, my brain, the more I feed it, the hungrier and more demanding it becomes. But despite the work, there is always some time of every day when I stop and think of nothing but Crew. I haven’t heard from him since I left Venezuela, but Jake calls me every few days to give me and update on how he is. The information he shares with me is never enough. I drive him crazy asking questions he can’t answer. Is he sleeping ok? How many nightmares did he have this week? Does he want to talk to me?

  When the final week of the trial begins, I have to stop myself from crossing the courtroom foyer at a run. It’s ridiculous, but I know that at some point this week Crew will be giving evidence on a screen at the front of the room, and even if he’s not really here with me, I can’t wait to see his face. Gloria is talking to a group of lawyers as I hurry past. She lifts a hand to call me over but I keep going. I want to get a good seat near the screen in case today is the day. The room is buzzing with whispered conversation and people moving around in their seats. The tension over the trial has reached fever pitch in the last two weeks, and the gallery is packed with people from town. Dad is sitting in the front with his back as straight as an arrow. My mother, sister and David sit in the first row in the gallery. I see that Marta and Mom have put their big handbags next to them on the seat so that no one from town can sit too close. I take a seat over the other side of the room, as far away from them as I can get. They know I’ve arrived, of course, I see them look at each other as I pass.

  We have a few minutes before the Judge arrives, and everyone is getting comfortable, preparing themselves for another long session. I look around the crowd at people I’ve known all of my life. Some of them give me the thumbs up. Others won’t even look at me. I take a breath and straighten my suit jacket and push my glasses up my nose. I’m about to reach into my bag to turn off my phone when I glance to the right. And then I see him. Just the sight of his face knocks the air out of my lungs. His hair is shorter; it’s closer on the sides, and the curly ends that I loved to run my fingers through are long gone. He’s wearing a sharp blue suit and tie, and I realize that this is the very first time I’ve seen him in anything other than an old t-shirt and jeans or a pair of board shorts. He looks strikingly beautiful, as if he’s stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. He looks as though he smells fantastic.

  My hands fumble in my lap, and I drop my handbag on the floor, the buckle hitting the wood with a clang. He turns at the noise and looks in my direction, a small smile dancing on his lips. He must have known I would be here of course.

  Listening to him give evidence is torture. The way his voice rises and falls, the slight Spanish accent he’s picked up from spending so long in South America, the way he commands respect from everyone in the room, by the way he talks about his land and his plans for Still Waters. I watch him, barely breathing, remembering the curve of his lips and the color of his eyes. Even though I can't take my eyes off him, he doesn’t look in my direction once.

  When the Judge calls for recess everyone sighs and stands stiffly, filing out the door. When I walk out into the lobby, I see him immediately. He’s waiting for me on the far side of the room against the wall. My heart doubles its pace, and my stomach is suddenly a swirl of butterflies. I feel like I’m a child again about to walk on stage for my first piano recital. I’m both excited and utterly terrified.

  “Hey, kid,” he says softly, as I make my way through the crowd to him. “How have you been?”

  I look up into his eyes and my chest aches from all of the many things I’ve left unsaid. I want to kiss him more than I want to breathe.

  “Terrible.”

  “Ah,” he says, nodding as if he understands. “But I’ve been watching. You’ve taken control of the company. You’re trying to do something good with it.”

  “Yes,” I say, but when I try to speak again, I’m interrupted.

  “Mr. Sullivan? We need you over here, please.”

  He looks at me apologetically.

  “I’m sorry, I’m booked up with interviews and meetings all day.”

  He holds up his hand to the woman waiting for him, and she reluctantly takes a few steps backward, hovering by a water cooler.

  “Crew,” I say urgently, “what David said, none of that was true.”

  God, it feels unnatural standing here opposite him, keeping a respectful distance as though we’re strangers, instead of completely, cosmically made for one another.

  “I know,” he says, smiling kindly. “And I understand about the samples. It took me a while, but I can see now what David was trying to do. It’s ok. You were only trying to do the right thing.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I wish I’d just told you from the start. Everything would be different now.”

  He looks at me for a second too long and then turns his head away.

  “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

  “Wait!”
I cry, and it comes out a little too loud. “Where can I get hold of you? There are some things I need to say.”

  “I appreciate that, Hartley. Really,” he sighs sadly. “But there’s no need. I think we should just leave all of that in the past and move on.”

  I look at him, my eyebrows knitted in confusion. In the thousands of moments that I imagined seeing him again, none of them ever involved him brushing me off.

  “Oh,” I manage, and he looks at me with eyes full of sympathy and kindness. I take a breath and touch the sleeve of his suit.

  “Hartley,” he says, “I’m just not in a place to… I’m…”

  He stops and looks at me helplessly.

  I swallow, plastering a phony smile on my face and pretend that this doesn’t hurt at all, that my heart hasn’t just imploded, splintering into a million tiny shards that cut like glass. “You look good, Crew.”

  He shrugs his shoulder in that way of his and smiles softly.

  “Thanks. I’ve started seeing someone.”

  “What?” I whisper, my stomach dropping to the floor. The corner of his mouth twitches.

  “A psychiatrist, Hartley. I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist.”

  “Oh,” I stammer, as relief washes over me. “That’s really great, Crew.”

  “It’s all because of you. You started it. Hart, what you did for me - ”

  The woman waiting for him clears her throat rudely and holds up a clipboard.

  He looks down at me and sighs.

  “It was good seeing you, kid.”

  I nod, and step away from him, biting my lip to stop it from wobbling. I lift my hand and mumble some semblance of a goodbye, and he hesitates for a moment before bending down and kissing me lightly on the cheek. As soon as he steps away from me he’s surrounded by cameras and people calling his name, fighting for his attention. He strides confidently across the foyer towards the doors. And he doesn’t look back.