“What are we going to do?” I ask. “About Evie?”
It just about kills me, thinking maybe she’s out in this.
Alone.
“Nothing we can do,” Hart says. His voice doesn’t sound like his at all. There’s nothing in it that I recognize. “Like I said, she’s already dead. I’d bet my life on it.”
I come so close to telling him that we both know his life isn’t worth much at this point.
But I don’t.
“It wasn’t Zale,” I say. “He didn’t –”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Hart’s voice sounds like he’s talking from the bottom of a well. “It’s all over. We’re never gonna know what really happened that night.”
“But –”
“Boat’ll be here soon,” he goes on. Like he’s telling me what’s for breakfast. “It’ll blast the horn three times. Once you hear that last one, you better get your ass on board. Because there won’t be a fourth.”
He turns and heads out the front door. And I stumble after him.
The boardwalk is uneven. Groping vines push the wood aside so the planks look like a smile with missing teeth.
I yell Hart’s name, and he whirls on me. His face is twisted up with rage. He stands there breathing hard. Battling the wind and the rain.
“Jesus, Greycie! Get the hell outta here and let me be!”
“I can’t leave you here to die,” I yell at him.
“The hell you can’t!”
“Hart, please! Don’t do this! Don’t give up like this. I –”
“Shut up!” he yells at me, and he rakes his hands through his wet hair. Pulls hard on his curls. “Dammit! Will you just shut up?” He’s sputtering at me. Choking on rain. “Jesus. Greycie. Please,” he begs. “Just shut the fuck up.”
We stare at each other.
The rain stops suddenly as the squall moves off. But the air hangs thick and heavy between us. We stand there dripping.
“You were right,” he admits. “About what you said. About me.” His hands are shaking as he pulls out a soggy, bent cigarette. It’s almost broken in half, but somehow he gets it to light, despite the whipping wind. It’s a hurricane miracle. Then he sucks in smoke before he exhales a long, uneven breath. “I’m a goddamn coward.”
A gust slams into me from behind. It feels like getting hit by a truck.
“I didn’t mean it,” I tell him. “I was angry. And scared.”
“Jesus, Grey. I know that. But you were still right.”
Hart turns and makes his way toward the end of the boardwalk.
And I follow him.
Again.
Hart’s curls are blowing wild, and his T-shirt catches the wind like a sail.
He stops and stares down at the gator pond. The old pontoon boat has drifted across to the other side. I wonder where it will end up, once the water really starts to rise.
I wonder where all of us will end up.
“Hart,” I plead. “Don’t do this. Please come with me.” He just stares at the water. “For your mama’s sake.” I see him flinch when I mention Becky. “For my sake. We can still be okay.”
He just shakes his head and takes a long drag off that broken cigarette.
“Maybe in our next life.”
I look at Hart and realize he’s just as gone as Elora is. He’s not going to get on that boat. No matter what I say or do. I can stay here and die with him, or I can go on living. Without him. Those are my only two choices.
“You need to get on down to Miss Roselyn’s,” he tells me, and he flicks his cigarette down into the mud. And the rising water. “Stay close to the dock. Boat’s bound to be here any minute. Be ready. They won’t have time to wait. Three blasts –”
“I know,” I say. “There won’t be a fourth.”
There’s no way I can possibly tell him goodbye. Not Hart. So I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. I want him to feel all the things I can’t say. Deep down, I’m still hoping maybe that will be enough to save him.
But it isn’t.
“Get outta here, Greycie,” he tells me. “Get on down to the bookstore.” He has to peel me off him. “Go on now. I promised Miss Roselyn you’d be on that boat. And I don’t wanna have to show up at some damn séance to apologize for lettin’ ’er down.”
“You’re not a coward,” I tell him. “You never have been.”