The Best of Us (33 page)

“Now,” he shouted, his mouth close to her ear.

Away from the protection the copse of trees had provided, the wind hit her from every angle. Small twigs and clusters of
leaves slammed into her face and arms, and the rain felt like tiny knives jabbing her exposed skin.

She could feel Ryan’s bulk beside her as she crawled and pulled and fought her way forward. Sometimes he almost dragged her along, and the shirt was cutting off the circulation in her arm, but she knew without him, Betty would’ve overpowered her. They finally reached the first potted plant by the pool, and took refuge against it for a moment, breathing hard.

“Almost there!” Ryan shouted above the wind.

It was a lie—they weren’t even halfway there. Allie moved another inch forward, then screamed as a thick branch cracked down onto the patio a few feet in front of them.

A gust scooped a big wave out of the pool, and it crashed down over Allie and Ryan. She was so startled she lost her grip and started to roll over, but Ryan counterbalanced and tugged her back. She felt nausea rise in her throat. They might not make it. Her stupidity could cause both of their deaths, leave their girls orphans. She bowed her head and tried to force her legs and arms to move forward, to keep fighting. But she had nothing left.

Then something jerked them forward a few inches. Allie squinted and saw a light coming from the doorway again. Gio was there now, yanking on the other end of the resistance bands, adding his strength to theirs. As Allie watched, Tina and Gary and Savannah and Dwight and Pauline joined in the tug-of-war against Betty.

Allie and Ryan scrabbled along over the remaining distance to the house. One big pull from her friends dragged Allie along the stone patio and skinned her knees, and the shirt was biting deeply into her arm, but she didn’t even register the pain.

And then they were at the doorway, and hands were pulling them inside, and the guys were throwing their weight against the door as they fought to close it. Papers had been flying
around the room, but they fluttered to the floor like confetti when the door cut off the storm.

“Oh, my God, Allie!” Tina cried. She enveloped Allie and Ryan in an embrace. “What were you doing? Why did you go out there?”

Allie was panting so hard she could hardly speak. She reached to release the shirt around her arm, but Tina was already working on the tight, wet knot. “I just . . . I thought the storm was over.”

“Ryan went to look for you,” Tina said. “You were taking so long in the bathroom and I thought you were just feeling sick from the tequila, but he went anyway . . .”

Ryan was bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in air. Allie put her hand on his back and saw blood drip onto his shirt. It was coming from her arm, she realized—the shirt had rubbed off the top layer of skin.

“We need to get some Neosporin and gauze on that,” Tina said. “And on Ryan’s feet, too.”

“Good thing you found your watch,” Gio said, handing it back to Ryan. “It came in handy.”

“I had to find it,” Ryan said. He shrugged. “It was a present from Allie.”

Allie felt her knees buckle.

“Whoa, girl, let’s get you somewhere you can sit down,” Savannah said, catching her by her uninjured arm.

“We should go back to the game room,” Gio said. He gestured to Ryan. “Come on, buddy. Lean on me. Dwight, give Allie a hand.”

“No!” Allie said. Dwight had been walking toward her, but he stopped when she spoke, and confusion flitted over his features. Allie lowered her eyes, feeling her cheeks burn from the wind and her shame. “I mean, I can walk.”

“I think this calls for more shots of tequila,” Savannah said.
Her words were light, but her voice shook. She gave a little laugh and enveloped Allie in a hug. “You know, you’ve really livened up this vacation, girlfriend.”

Allie rested her head against Savannah’s shoulder. “I may need some help walking after all. My legs are like Jell-O.”

“I’ve got you,” Ryan said. He shrugged off Gio’s arm and moved to Allie’s side. Outside, Betty was shrieking and smashing things, her rage reaching a fevered pitch. Allie shuddered and leaned into Ryan.

He hadn’t gone after the watch to prove anything. He’d done it out of love, she thought. She’d been so wrong.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked. He looked down at her.
Those eyes,
she thought.
I’ve always adored those eyes.

“I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “I just knew.”

THEY’D BEEN STUCK IN
the same room for four hours—well, other than that bit of excitement when they’d hauled in Ryan and Allie like half-drowned kittens, Savannah thought. But somehow, it had turned into one of the best nights of the trip. It was safe and cozy here, with two lanterns casting a soft glow and the squashy sectional couch providing enough seating for all eight of them. Pauline had found a stack of extra blankets in a closet, and everyone was snuggled under one. The tequila had made its rounds more than a few times, which probably accounted for why everyone was feeling more relaxed about the storm, and the candy was almost gone.

It was Savannah’s turn to ask a question. “Favorite movie,” she said. Everyone scribbled on scraps of paper, then folded them and put them in front of Savannah, who mixed them up in her hands.

She picked one and opened it.
“Anchorman: Ron Burgundy,”
she said. “That’s got to be Ryan’s or Gio’s.”

“Mine,” they said in unison. They leaned toward each other and high-fived as everyone laughed.

Savannah unfolded another square of paper. “
Titanic.
Hmm . . .
well, it’s a given it’s one of the women. No guys would pick it; they’re too threatened by the hotness that is Leo DiCaprio. Tina!”

“Nope.” Tina shook her head.

“Allie?” Savannah asked.

“Not me,” Allie said.

“It’s my favorite,” Pauline said.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Savannah said. “I would’ve guessed you’d pick something artsy. Maybe a black-and-white film. Why
Titanic
?”

Pauline shrugged. “I guess I’m a sucker for a good love story.”

Savannah squinted at the level of tequila in the glass bottle, wondering exactly how much Pauline had consumed. The woman sitting across from her wearing a sweat suit with her blond hair tangled around her shoulders barely resembled the prim hostess who’d welcomed them all to Jamaica almost a week ago. True, her sweat suit was obviously a designer brand that was never meant to be sullied by perspiration, but the woman inside of it was different. She truly seemed not to care what anyone thought of her, which made Savannah realize how very much she must’ve cared before.

Savannah unfolded another answer.
“When Harry Met Sally.”

She crumpled up the paper in her hand.

“Aren’t you going to guess?” Tina asked.

“It’s Gary’s,” she said.

“Kind of a chick flick, isn’t it?” Gio teased, but Gary didn’t answer.

“Okay, who’s next?” Allie said. “Pick another one, Van.”

But Savannah just tilted her head back on the couch and closed her eyes. “Someone else take a turn,” she said. She heard nothing for a moment, then Tina said, “Okay, I’m up. Favorite guilty pleasure!”

There were a few laughs, and Gio cracked a joke, but the
noise the others made seemed low and muted to her because Savannah was deep in the grip of a memory.

She’d been filing a ragged fingernail when he called to invite her to a movie. “Which one?” she’d asked, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear while she shaped the nail into a perfect oval.

“When Harry Met Sally,”
he’d said. “It’s a matinee at three o’clock.”

“How can that even be in a theater?” she’d asked. “It’s so old!”

“They’re having this—this revival,” he’d said. Later she’d think back and remember the hesitation in his voice as he answered, but at the time, she’d assumed he was distracted.

“Sure,” she’d said. She’d always liked that movie. But he’d driven to the winery instead, and as the sun had begun to set, he’d reached for her hand.

“Savannah,” Gary had said. “Will you marry me?”

She’d looked at him for a long moment, then she’d smiled.

“Ask me again,” she’d said. “After you get down on one knee.”

He’d done it, and she’d cried out, “Yes!” and had flung her arms around his neck, and then everyone around them had broken out in applause. Gary had slid the ring onto her finger, and as she sat there gaping at it, the winery’s owner had come by with a bottle of their best vintage. Then they’d driven home, and Gary had surprised her again, with two plane tickets for a long weekend in Montreal . . . She’d moved in with him the next week.

“Savannah?”

Tina’s voice brought her back to the present. “You need to write down your favorite guilty pleasure.”

Savannah looked at the blank piece of paper in front of her. She was furious with Gary for ambushing her with that memory.

These past few days had taught her what her new life would look like, if she and Gary stayed separated: sex with
hot younger men, nights out dancing with her girlfriends, a renewed appreciation for adventure . . . It didn’t sound so bad, after all. Jamaica had shown her that she didn’t need Gary and his shameless attempt to manipulate her.

She scribbled
Sex on the beach in Jamaica,
then handed her paper to Tina.

There was another loud crash from outside, and Savannah reflexively glanced up. Gary was in her line of view, and he was staring at her. The expression in his eyes made her catch her breath. He looked so sad.

Her fury drained away as she stared back at him.

She wondered what he’d been about to say to her when the lights had gone out. Then her thoughts of just a moment earlier came rushing back to her:
If she and Gary stayed separated
 . . .
If
. At what point had her certainty turned into such a tiny word so filled with possibility?

“Wait!” Savannah cried. She reached over and snatched the papers out of Tina’s hand and began frantically unfolding them, searching for the awful message she’d intended for Gary, the one that would make him stand up and walk away from her, perhaps forever.

She crumpled it in her hand, then shoved it into her pocket. The silence in the room made her realize everyone was staring at her.

“Well, you kind of killed that round, Van,” Ryan said.

“Sorry,” she said. “I changed my mind.”

THEY’D MADE IT THROUGH
Hurricane Betty, Pauline thought as she opened her eyes and took in the stillness. Everyone had divided up the flashlights and lanterns and had gone to bed around one a.m., carrying bottled water for teeth brushing, since the purity of the tap water was iffy. There wasn’t any power—there probably wouldn’t be for weeks on the island—and it had been far too dark to venture outside. They’d take stock of their surroundings later.

Dwight had been reading the Steve Jobs biography when Pauline succumbed to exhaustion and rolled over. But now, as she glanced at her iPhone, she realized she’d slept for only a little more than an hour.

As she got out of bed, she realized Dwight was missing. She wasn’t concerned; he’d always been a night owl. He’d probably gone to read in the living room so he wouldn’t disturb her. Since he’d taken the lantern, she reached for her iPhone, which had a tiny bit of life left, and walked soundlessly toward the center of the house, guided by the weak light of her phone’s screen. But Dwight wasn’t sprawled on one of the couches, or rummaging for a snack in the kitchen.

Pauline smiled. He’d probably gone back to the game room. She hoped he was still awake; it would be nice to have company. Maybe they could read together for a while.

She was a half dozen steps away from the room when her phone died and blackness enveloped her. She trailed one hand along the wall to guide her as she closed the distance to the doorway. She could see a faint light coming from it, and just as she opened her mouth to speak Dwight’s name, she heard Allie’s voice.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Allie was saying in a voice just above a whisper. She sounded . . . desolate.

Pauline stopped moving even before she heard the voice of the other person in the conversation.

“You had to have known I was in love with you back in college,” Dwight said. “I guess I kind of . . . fell into those feelings again when we got here. Us all being together again. It felt like college, in a way.”

“I didn’t know,” Allie said. “You were in love with me?”

“Crazy in love,” Dwight said.

Pauline felt certain they must’ve heard her sharp intake of breath, but there wasn’t a lull in their conversation.

“But . . . how did it
happen
?” Allie was asking, and her voice broke on the last word. “We weren’t thinking clearly. We must not have been thinking at all!”

Run,
Pauline’s mind said, but she moved quietly and deliberately as she retraced her footsteps back to her suite. She climbed the stairs and passed the bedroom next to hers.

The bedroom she’d specifically assigned Allie because Allie wasn’t a threat like Savannah.

As she closed the door behind her and climbed into bed, Pauline finally let out her breath, feeling as if her lungs were trembling along with the rest of her. She pulled the covers up to her neck and faced the wall. She was cold, so cold that she felt
numb. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t speak. She waited a long time, and was beginning to think he wouldn’t come to bed at all, when she finally heard his tread in the hallway. Their bed creaked as he sat down, then he got under the sheet and light comforter and flopped his head onto a pillow. After a moment, he sighed and turned away from her.

Pauline stayed frozen in place, staring into the darkness. Had there been any signs? she wondered. She thought over the past week, searching through her memories to see if there had been private looks, or times that Allie and Dwight had disappeared together. But she couldn’t recall a single instance.