That next morning they gathered in Ella’s front garden. Sims was there with Ella and Mimi, his hands behind his back, his face tight. “I had a dog once. It’s why I never got another.”
“Why?” Mimi looked up at him. She was so tiny next to Sims, a little doll.
“He was my best friend,” Sims said simply. “And he got hit by a car. I realized then that I could never again have a best friend that could be lost so easily.”
“Anyone can die that way,” Mimi said.
“But people usually don’t. Dogs do.”
Mimi shrugged. “So you’re the kind of man who guards his heart, who thinks he can outrun it. Good for you.”
Sims didn’t answer. What could he say that wasn’t defensive and rude?
Ella wore her gardening gloves, the red ones with the big daisy on the back of the hands. She liked these best because it always looked like she was planting Red Gerbera, no matter what she was doing. She pulled at a dead hydrangea, the small petals of the now brown and dried flower blossoms crumbled, dust and dry twigs puffing out like smoke. She thought of how they’d looked when she planted them—a bright, vibrant blue. Now they were wasted.
The root ball broke loose with a final tug and Ella landed on her bottom without a sound. She looked up at Sims. “Here.” She handed him the dead plant, then picked up the spade, which was crusted in rust and old dirt. The ground gave way easily and within three shovelfuls, Ella had made a hole big enough for the tiniest Bruiser.
Sims stood next to her and twice offered to dig, to take the spade from her. “I want to do this,” she said. “Let me do this.”
He was trying so hard to be a good husband. Ella took his hand and squeezed it in a silent thank-you. It was the least she could do.
Mimi sat on the bench Ella had pulled over and looked down into the hole. “I can’t watch this.”
“Okay,” Ella said.
“I’ve already said good-bye to Bruiser. I’m going inside. Okay?”
Ella nodded. She looked at Sims. “Will you take Mimi inside?”
Mimi held up her hand as she stood, unsteady and strong at the same time. “No, thank you, though.”
Sims looked at Ella and shrugged. She knew what he’d say later, when he could: whatamisupposedtodo? She’d heard that a lot this past week.
Ella covered Bruiser, topping off the plot with the rock Mimi had chosen from the jetty. “I’ll plant flowers later,” she said to Sims. She wiped her hands down her jeans, leaving a streak of dirt.
“She hates me,” Sims said. “What did you tell her about me?”
Ella stopped. She’d already taken a few steps toward the door and she turned back to Sims. “What?”
“What did you tell her that makes her hate me? Did you hear what she said about my heart? She has no idea.”
“I don’t think that was about you.” That was all it took to bring the conversation to a close.
Ella found Mimi at the table, twirling ice cubes in a glass with her finger.
“You two sure love your sailing,” Mimi said, looking around.
Ella nodded and laughed. “Are you okay?” she asked her friend.
“I think so, yes.” Mimi looked up. “This was very kind of you, Ella. You know that, right? I didn’t have anywhere to…”
“I know.”
“I was rude to your husband. I’m sorry. It’s not polite.…”
“No worries, Mimi. It’s okay. Today you get a free pass to say anything you want about anything you want.”
“Thanks.”
They sat quietly the way they would in Mimi’s apartment, not needing to say anything or fill the space with chatter. A few minutes later, Sims entered the kitchen. “Can I do anything for you two before I go back to the marina?”
Mimi and Ella shook their heads and he was gone, the back door latching behind him with an assured click.
“I like Hunter better,” Mimi said.
“There’s no such person.”
They shared a look and smiled. “I get you,” it said.
“I should go home,” Mimi said.
“Why?” Ella asked.
“Because I don’t live here.”
“Why don’t you take a nap? Just stay for a little while? Eat dinner with us and when you’re rested, I’ll take you home. Okay?”
Ella showed Mimi to the back guest bedroom. Her head settled into the pillow, barely enough to dent it. She looked so small, so delicate. “Oh, by the way. I sent that letter you left at my apartment. I sent it overnight.”
“What?”
But Mimi didn’t answer. She was already asleep. Her small hands were folded at her throat, her feet were crossed, and her head lolled slightly to one side. Ella pulled up the blue-striped blanket and tucked it under her friend’s chin before kissing her on the forehead. She returned to the kitchen and sighed. Ella imagined the envelope somewhere between her house and a chrome-covered desk at Vogue, where there wouldn’t be a nautical knickknack in sight.
Ella called Sims immediately. “I need to go see Dad.”
“Right now?” he asked.
“In the morning,” she said. “First thing in the morning.”
“Ten years you don’t go there, and you need to go right now?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do.”
* * *
The drive to her hometown was only two hours, yet Ella felt like she was going back ten years. She kept the car windows down and the radio off. The whish and hum of coastal air slowly morphed into the denser breeze of the farms and inland plains. She drove past dormant cotton fields and crisp white houses with front porches. There were the gas stations with neon signs, where boiled peanuts were sold from mucky pots in the parking lot. She passed the misspelled signs for roadside stands selling peaches and shrimp (peeches and shimp). With every mile that passed, her heartbeat increased. When she was within ten miles of Greenboro, her palms were sweating and she forgot all the words to the long, lovely speech she had planned.
This was a different woman driving back to Greenboro, far different from the girl who’d run away. She hadn’t returned since the week after her mother’s funeral, when she’d hugged her dad good-bye and said, “I just can’t stay here.” Amber had secured a job for Ella at the marina. “I’ll go for just a little while,” Ella had thought. “Anything is better than staying here and seeing my mom on every corner, in every glance of sympathy.”
She was returning now to see her dad, to make some peace where there hadn’t been any for so, so long. Her dad moved to a smaller house only a mile from the one where she’d grown up, and Ella drove past the old house first. It was a single-level brick house, ranch-style it was called. In a cul-de-sac where she’d spent her entire childhood playing kick the can, ghost in the graveyard, and hide-and-seek, Ella parked and stared at the house. The new owners had painted the brick white. The shutters had been replaced with a farmhouse-style, painted pale blue with iron hardware. She hardly recognized it. But yes, this was her childhood home. This was where she’d grown up, where she’d lived when her mom died and the place she’d left in hopes of finding some peace. But that’s the problem, she said to herself, when you go you take yourself with you. She’d left anyway.
After a few minutes of staring at her old house, Ella drove away and quickly found her dad’s new home a few blocks away. It was a small Tudor with window boxes and a brick sidewalk that led to the front door. Ella got out of the car and looked at the house, trying to reconcile her dad’s new life in a place she’d never seen. He appeared at the front door before she had a chance to even walk up the path. He waved and Ella smiled at him.
He looked so much older, so sunken into himself and yet still the handsome man who had dominated her childhood with laughter and a boisterous voice. “Ella,” he hollered. Same voice, too.
“Hi, Dad,” she said and walked toward him, slowly and then faster, until she realized that she was running into his arms.
He hugged her so close, so tight that Ella rested her head on his shoulder and exhaled. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”
“For what?” His voice loud in her ear.
She lifted her head and looked at him. “For leaving you. For blaming you. For being a terrible daughter and believing that running away from you could solve anything.”
He took her face in his hands. “My God, I’ve missed you.”
Together they sat on the front steps and Ella leaned her head on his shoulder. “Dad, I’ve really messed things up. And I’ve realized that all this time I’ve been searching and searching for someone to cure this grief … to make me feel better.”
“No one can do that, Ella.”
“I know that now. I know.” She lifted her head and took her dad’s hand. “I blamed you. I’m sorry.”
“You thought I should have saved her,” he said.
“Yes,” Ella said with a catch of leftover weeping in the back of her throat. “I did think that.”
“So did I,” he said. “I’m still tortured by it every day, Ella. What could I have done differently that day on the lake? She reached for that hat … she fell off … I jumped … I try to change the sequence in my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the time to turn off the boat. Maybe I should have dove deeper or held my breath longer or … anything that could bring her back.”
“But there wasn’t anything to be done about it, Dad. I know that in my mind, but my heart wanted you to have saved her.”
“Me, too, baby. Me, too.”
“All these lost years … being mad at you, wishing for something to change, believing that Sims could save me. I’ve wasted time wanting things to be different instead of looking at the way things really are. Like I’ve been fighting the world, grabbing at something outside for something that can only be found inside.”
“Well, at least you found love in all of this,” he said and stroked the top of Ella’s hand.
“Not so much.” She tried to laugh.
“I’m sorry.” That was all he said, and it was enough, perfectly enough.
* * *
Blake spent the next days thinking about Ella and avoiding Ashlee. He knew what he had to do. This wasn’t a silence that could be broken by a text or an e-mail. This wasn’t a wrong that could be put right with flowers or lyrics from a perfect love song. He had to stand before her and confess to everything, no matter the humiliation or what it meant or what she would do. He had to stand before her.
With two phone calls and a bag packed, he was on the way to LAX. He texted Ashlee from the limo:
I have to go back to Watersend. We need to talk when I get back.
F.U.
Her reply was short and sweet. Of course it was. Everyone knows what “we need to talk” means.
* * *
Mimi stayed at Ella’s house; she’d settled in quietly, teaching Ella about the garden, digging in the dirt with her own hands, naming the birds that came to the feeder. Ella was a self-taught gardener. She planted and watered and hoped. If something lived, she did it right. If it died, she did it wrong. Kind of simple, really. But Mimi knew the seasons and the reasons for every plant, where it would grow best, where it would wither. She knew the birds and what kind of food they liked. In those few days, Mimi offered a glimpse into her past life, one that had been thriving and full. One that had nothing to do with Crumbling Chateau.
“Where did you used to live?” Ella asked as Mimi trimmed the buds off a rosebush.
“About three houses down from here,” Mimi said.
“Are you kidding?”
“Why would I do that?” she asked.
“You’ve just never said anything. When did you move out?”
“Years ago, sweetie. Years ago. After my bookstore closed, I sold the house and moved.”
“Why to those apartments?”
Mimi held out her hand for the shovel. “Oh, the apartment came later, after I ran out of money.”
Ella searched for something to say. This moment needed a kind word or sympathy but Mimi didn’t want that. If there was one thing Ella knew about Mimi, it was that she hated sympathy.
“So, where did you go to after—”
Her question was interrupted by a singsong voice.
“Ella.” It was Amber.
Ella opened the gate. “Hey, there,” she said.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Amber said with a pout.
“Yep, I have.”
“Why?” Amber glanced toward Mimi and then back at Ella with a who-is-that? expression on her face.
“Just been busy,” Ella said. “Come on in and meet my neighbor, Mimi.”
“Neighbor? Oh, how nice,” Amber said, and walked to Mimi. “Which house?”
Mimi sat on the ground, a blanket underneath as she leaned into the earth with the hand shovel. “Hello, there. Nice to finally meet you, Amber.”
“Which house did you move into?”
“Oh,” Ella said. “No. She’s my neighbor from the apartments.”
“Oh?” Amber said. “That’s nice, I guess.”
Mimi stood up, slowly as she always did, like any fast movement might break her in two. She walked to the bench. “So you’re Amber,” she said.
“You know me?”
“I’ve told her all about you,” Ella said.
“Just great. We’ve been best friends for twenty years and you probably told her about the last horrible month instead of all the good stuff.”
Ella shook her head. “No, that’s not true.” She shook dirt off her hands. “So, what’s up?”
“I just came to say hello and see why you were ignoring me.”
Ella approached her friend and hugged her, not caring if the dirt was transferred. “I’m not ignoring you. I’m trying to get my feet on the ground again. You know … find my way again.”
“Well, I miss you.”
“What about me?” The three women turned to see Sims standing on the opposite side of the fence. He peered over the top with a grin and then opened the gate and walked in. “You miss me, too?”
“Nope,” Amber said. “I officially hate you for what you’ve put my best friend and my sister through. I don’t miss you one bit.” Her voice did not match her words, though. There was fun in her voice. Laughter.
Now it was Ella’s turn to give Amber a look. But she didn’t have a chance. Her phone rang. A 212 area code.
She turned away from Sims and Amber and their cute little exchange. “Hello?” she said tentatively.
“May I please speak with Ella Flynn?”
“Speaking,” she said.
“This is Vogue. I’m calling about your letter.”
Ella’s lungs refused to take in air.
“Are you there?” the voice asked.
“Yes, I’m here,” Ella exhaled
“I have to say, your letter took us by surprise. I have to be honest and say that at first we thought it was a hoax. But we reviewed your claim. We looked at your designs, looked at the lines and patterns. We asked Ms. Sands for her other designs.”
“And—?”
“Well, we’ve determined that you are telling the truth and this dress is your design, upgraded and redrawn. We are giving you and Ms. Sands two choices. One: you can submit this design as a team, or two, you alone can submit one of your other designs.”
“As a team?”
“She did add to the design, an embellished pattern of sequins at the hemline, pleats along the zipper line, and a larger bustle. So we can’t technically put your name on it.”
“But she committed … fraud.”
“You can’t prove that, I’m afraid. Besides, she says you knew. If you want to pursue a claim of fraud, well, that’s up to you. But for the contest, which will be decided tomorrow, you must decide whether to submit as a team, withdraw the design, or enter on your own.”
Ella closed her eyes and tried to find that calm place inside, the one that would tell her what to do. “Can I call you back in ten minutes?” she asked.
“Of course. But we need to know within the hour.”
“Yes, I understand. And thank you for taking the time to review this. That design is one of my favorites.”
“Listen, Ms. Flynn, what she did—your boss—wasn’t right, but she did admit to your contribution. She didn’t think it was wrong to submit under the store’s name since you worked there. Obviously you should get credit.”
“Here’s the thing,” Ella said. “She knew what she was doing. And I don’t work there anymore. She stole the design.”
“I understand. But from here, from this end, we only have a couple of options.”
“Thank you.” Ella looked to Sims and then Amber, and then Mimi, but the person she wanted to ask what to do—Hunter—wasn’t there.
And then he was.
Ella hung up without saying good-bye, or maybe she didn’t even hang up. She didn’t know. When she saw Blake standing there, she did something that Sims and Amber and Mimi would bring up later. She rushed to the gate and opened it, ran to the sidewalk where he stood, and threw her arms around him without a word.
They saw all that. What they didn’t see, what they didn’t hear, were the simple words she whispered in his ear. “Oh, you’re here.”
Blake hugged her back, held her tight. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Ella.” He took her face in his hands.
She felt everyone watching. Listening. The palmetto tree branches rattled in the wind and Ella knew that everyone else would hear what he said, but she didn’t want to stop Blake from talking—she needed to know.
“Ella Flynn,” he said, his hands on either cheek, holding her face. “I am so sorry I lied to you about who I am. I’d been doing it for so long that it just came naturally.”
She didn’t know what to say. She was mad as hell. She hated him. She wanted to throw something at him. She wanted to hurt him. And she was so glad he was there. “I’m still mad at you,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “But I’m here to tell you this, and even if you hate me, even if you can never forgive me, I want to say these things to you. Without you in L.A.—well, I wanted you near me. I wanted to tell you things. Every time something happened my first thought was ‘I have to tell Ella…’” He trailed off.
“Me, too,” she said.
“And then I got your text. I was devastated that you had found out who I really was. But underneath it I was relieved. It was as if—”
“Stop there. I have to tell you something…”
“Wait. Please.” Blake kept on, his words coming out quickly, tumbling over hers. “I want to live a love story. I don’t want to just write one; I want to live one. With you.”
“Me?”
“I don’t know when it happened or how, but I’m falling in love with you, Ella Flynn, and I want to see where this could go. I know you’re still grieving your husband, and I’ll give you time if you need it, but I wanted to tell you…” He leaned in for the kiss, the one she wanted.
“Who the hell is this?” Sims’s voice interrupted.
Ella turned. The moment was surreal, like worlds colliding in a half sleep.
Sims was at their side. “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Blake took Ella’s hand. “I’m Blake Hunter. I’m here to see Ella.”
“Hunter,” Mimi’s voice called from the bench. “So good to see you again.”
Blake focused across the yard and went to Mimi, bent over to hug her. “Well, hello there. How’s Bruiser? Still barking?”
Mimi pointed to the fresh mound of flowers and the stone.
“Oh, no.” Blake took her hands and clasped them between his own. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too.” Mimi glanced furtively between Blake, Amber, Sims, and Ella.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Amber asked.
Ella walked to Mimi and Blake. “That was Vogue on the phone. They believe me. And my design is a finalist in the contest.” She didn’t know what else to do or say.
“Oh, honey, that’s amazing,” Mimi said.
Amber threw her hands in the air. “What is going on? I feel like I fell down some rabbit hole. What’s Vogue got to do with anything?” she asked, and then turned to Blake, “Are you from Vogue?”
“Vogue? Me?”
“I don’t understand anything right now.” Amber held her hands up in surrender.
“Who believes what?” Sims asked. “And again, who are you?” He pointed to Blake.
“Blake Hunter…”
“I know your name, I mean, who are you to Ella? Why are you here?”
“Vogue,” Ella said. “They believe that the design is mine. I have to decide whether to submit it as a team with Margo.”
“That’s it,” Amber said. “You’ve gone crazy. I have no idea what you’re talking about and who is this Blake?”
“Okay, I’ve obviously walked into a situation here,” Blake said. “Ella?”
“Yes?” she said, a hive of bees beneath her chest.
“Wait!” Amber hollered out. “Blake Hunter. I know that name. You’re the guy who does all the romance comedies. The one about messy love, and that one with the hurricane … and the one with the cop who falls in love with his prisoner. God, I loved that one. Drew Barrymore was in it.” Amber rushed toward him. “You’re him, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, keeping his eyes on Ella.
“And you’re here to profess your love to Ella? I’m so confused. Are you sure you didn’t get her mixed up with someone else?”
“No,” he said. “It’s Ella.”
“Are you sleeping with this guy?” Sims stepped between Blake and Ella.
“You do not get to ask me that,” Ella said, and the garden silenced with her proclamation.
* * *
Blake had let his fantasies run away with him. He should have thought this through before jumping on a plane and proclaiming his love to a woman he hardly knew. He was prepared for her anger. But this? He should have waited until she was alone. Her garden, her friend Mimi. And the other couple, who were they?
“I’m Sims Flynn,” the man said. “What the hell are you doing here with my wife?”
“Your wife?”
“My wife. My. Wife. Ella.”
Blake looked to Ella. “You remarried already?”
“No,” she said, and covered her face with her hands.
“Wait a minute. Sims?”
The man, Blake had seen him before. In the restaurant with the girl who’d proclaimed true love with the married man. He understood with a slow creep of embarrassment. This was the dead man. Sims Flynn, drowned in the bay, the husband who sacrificed his life for his wife. Seems the screenplay wasn’t the only place where he rose from the dead.
“Oh, wow,” Mimi said. “This might be the most entertaining afternoon I’ve had in ages.”
“You look great for a dead man,” Blake said.
“What?”
Ella stepped between them. “I can explain,” she said to Blake.
“You can?” Blake said.
“Really?” Sims asked.
They spoke at the same time.
“Yes, I can.” She touched Blake’s arm and he took two steps back, not because he didn’t want Ella to touch him, but because he saw Sims’s fist ball up at his side.
“I’m going to leave now,” Blake said. “This was a really bad idea.”
“A bad idea,” Ella said. “Don’t say that.”
Blake knew what she meant, the bad idea being the idea of love. He wanted to laugh. Her lies … God, it was all too much. It was all a fantasy, an acting job done without a script. An improvisation.
Blake opened the gate and walked out to his rental car. They’d given him the same damn one—the turquoise one—as if they’d saved it for him.
Ella ran to his side. “Please, let me explain.”
“It’s okay, Ella.” God, she was so beautiful. She was flushed, her cheeks burning like she had a fever, dirt smeared across her forehead, her hands covered in those gloves. And that dress. She was wearing the little flowered dress he liked so much.
“Really, I understand,” he said. “It wasn’t really us. Make-believe people became make-believe friends.”
“Yes, it was. It was really me,” she said.
“Ella!” Sims’s voice hollered from the garden gate.
“This all of a sudden seems really complicated,” he said. “You better go.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry I said Sims was dead. I didn’t mean to keep lying. It was a single moment that just got bigger. I kept thinking I’d stop but I didn’t and—”
“I know,” he said. “Me, too.”
Sims moved toward them, quickly, taking large steps. Blake looked over Ella’s shoulder. “You better go.”
She walked toward her husband, her hands held out to keep him from advancing. Her husband. Blake shook his head as he started the car. Did he think he was the only one full of shit? The only one who told a lie to get what he wanted?