Wreckage (31 page)

Jill let her hands drop into her lap, making the shiny bracelets dance against each other. “He didn’t send me,” she said unconvincingly, staring out the window. “You could stop, you know. It’d be better for everyone.”

“I can’t stop. I won’t.” He glared at her for two seconds before he had to merge onto the off-ramp that lead to the hotel. “Not while she still needs me.”

There must have been something final in his declaration, because she nodded and leaned her head against the car window, her red spikes flattening with a crinkle. Dave clicked on the radio to his favorite station and turned it down low, letting the quiet melodies fill the awkward silence between them.

When they finally reached the hotel, Dave parked by the loading docks hoping to avoid further photographs of medicated Lillian. As soon as he threw the car into park, Jill jumped out, asking for the trunk to be popped. Dave pushed the button and slowly pulled the keys from the ignition. Time to wake Lillian.

Jill was taking her time pulling the carry-ons from the trunk as Dave opened the passenger-side rear door. Lily’s silver ballet flats lay abandoned on the floor of the car, her feet tucked easily under her. Long jeans almost engulfed her feet in a sea of denim, leaving the dainty maroon toenails twinkling in the late afternoon sunlight.

Her hair, cut to her shoulders and straightened, was very unfamiliar, and he wasn’t sure he’d recognize her walking down the street in her new clothes and hairdo. Leaning into the car and closing the door behind him, Dave sat beside the sleeping woman and patted her leg.

“Lillian, we’re here. Time to get up.” Lillian stirred, eyelids fluttering, before dozing off. Dave tried again, scooting closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Lily, sweetheart, you need to wake up. You can sleep when we get you inside. I promise.”

He swept her hair away from her face. She wore a fine sheen of powder and her eyelashes were darker than he remembered, but besides that, her face was still the one he saw in his dreams and nightmares. Lillian blinked and then opened her eyes.

“David,” she sighed, “it
is
you.” Sitting up with difficulty, she traced the line of his arm, over his light blue T-shirt, and around his neck, locking him in an embrace. Dave reluctantly wrapped his arms around her, trying not to notice that she still fit perfectly there.

“Yep, remember, I picked you up from the airport? You’re visiting California? We have the ball tomorrow night. Part of that whole multimillion-dollar settlement thing.” He needed to remind her; he needed her to draw her lines of defense, realizing that her reluctance was the only thing that kept him safe the past three months. The scar above her right eyebrow puckered.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she slurred. “Why did you leave me alone? I’m so alone, David. Why did you leave me?”

“I didn’t leave you, Lillian. We’re home now. You’re with your family. It’s what you wanted, remember?”

Smacking her lips, she ran her tongue along her teeth as if she’d been given novocaine rather than a mood stabilizer. Dave was growing worried that whatever she’d taken, it’d been too much.

“I remember. I just miss you,” she repeated, laying her head on Dave’s shoulder.

“I miss you too. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He coaxed her to the edge of the car’s rear seat and then pulled her to standing, her arms around his neck.

Keeping his hands on her shoulders, Dave waited as she steadied herself. Once he was sure of her balance he started to pull away, when Lillian dug her fingers into the back of his neck, holding him close. Dave froze. He should rip her hands off and reclaim some distance between them but also enjoyed the heat that spread from her flaming hands through his whole body.

“David,” she said the name again. Her special name for him. It was his favorite and least favorite sound in the whole world. “You still love me, right?”

Dave cringed. Jill stood frowning behind Lillian, bags draped over her shoulders. He could lie, he
should
lie, but holding her in his arms, he gave her the only answer he could.

“Of course I do, Lily.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head like a spoiled toddler. “Say it right.”

He didn’t want to say it that way. It was too sacred to be tossed around casually, especially in front of Jill. Lillian’s grip tightened. More than anything Dave wanted to escape. He gave in.

“Always, Lily.”

Lillian smiled and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Always,” she whispered against his mouth. Her lips were smooth and welcoming, like walking into their small island shelter after a day spent hunting. He wanted to lean into them, to pull her body in until he could feel her heartbeat through her shirt, to toss her in the car and run far away from here. But Jill was watching.

Dave stood, forcing Lillian away calmly, his face burning and heart beating crazy fast with conflicting desires. Jill sighed behind them as she turned away and walked toward the hotel’s entrance.

He didn’t see Lillian again until she walked into the banquet hall the next evening. The bluish-silver sequins of her dress overlapped and reflected even the dim lights from the empty, darkened room. One shimmering strap wrapped up around her right shoulder, leaving the left one bare. Her skin, still stained chestnut from the months in the sun, glowed like it had its own light source. She turned slightly to whisper something in her friend’s ear, and Dave caught a peek of the low-dipping back that showcased her flawless waist and shoulders, the jagged white scar on her shoulder snaking out from under one of her straps like it was one of their secrets. She couldn’t make it easy on him, could she?

Finally noticing him, she smiled, and he held his breath for a second before smiling back. It was that prickly nervousness he used to get around her, the one that made his palms sweat and words as difficult to get out as pulled taffy. He hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.

He used to be such a phony. That’s why he was great at public relations: he always knew the right face to show the right people, but it was never
his
face. Then, during a press conference after their rescue, one of the reporters asked a skin-and-bones Lillian if she wore clothes on the island or just went naked. Dave forgot to put on his PR-guy smile, to keep calm and even. Instead he grabbed the mic and told the tabloid reporter to go to hell.

Phony Dave was gone, a convenient casualty of the crash. He used to think it was because he’d matured during his time away, but seeing Lillian, polished head to toe like a flawless diamond, Dave finally understood. She was the one person in the world that knew the real Dave Hall. She knew his darkest thoughts and actions and loved him anyway. He didn’t need to pretend anymore; Lillian and that island taught him who he really was.

“Dave!” Lillian waved and made her way through empty chairs encircling tables set with delicate white china and forks and spoons spreading out on either side. “It’s so good to see a familiar face.” Jill raced behind her wearing a beaded electric-blue dress that hung off her like a 1920s flapper. The boxy dress was clearly meant to be a fashion statement, but to Dave it made the best friend/bodyguard even more manly looking. Her hair didn’t help either, all cropped and spiky.

“We have to sit up here,” Dave shouted, tipping his head toward a long table at the front of the ballroom. It reminded him of a reception hall for a wedding, but supersized. The walls were ornately decorated with gold filigree and hundreds of paintings of men and women in white wigs. Even Beth would’ve found the place overkill.

“You look handsome,” Lillian said when she finally reached him. Slipping her hands under his open coat, she wrapped her arms around his waist in a lingering hug. Her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, probably because she was wearing heels. He gave in to the temptation to bury his nose into her hair, trying to memorize the smell of freesia and flesh.

Jill cleared her throat. “When do I get to meet Beth?” she asked.

Lillian left her arm under his coat as though they were an old married couple who had attended a million black-tie functions together. Dave appreciated the opportunity to keep his hand on her hip, acutely aware that his thumb rested on the bare curve of her waist.

“She’s home, sick, but sends her greetings.” Dave pasted an unwelcome smile on his face when he answered Jill. He knew she didn’t care about Beth; she wanted to remind him that he was married.

“Oh, poor Beth!” Lillian’s mouth tucked down on one side. “You’re feeling okay, though, right?” She put her cool hand on his forehead and then his cheek. When they were together she’d always check for a fever with a kiss, telling him that her lips were as accurate as a thermometer.

“It’s not contagious, don’t worry.” He watched her face, tracing the familiar curve of her jawbone and the light wrinkles around her eyes that illustrated all too clearly when she was happy or sad. Today they spelled out happy and Dave felt relieved to find her so much improved from the day before.

“Good,” Lillian said. She left her arm under his coat, one finger slung through a belt loop. Dave enjoyed her familiar body pressing against his side. What in the world was going on?

Jill seemed to be having similar concerns. “It was nice seeing you, Dave, but we’ll have to meet up with you again later. The lady out front said Janice was waiting to see Lillian and I’m supposed to take her to the staging room right away.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Lillian sighed, her hand dropping away. “I need to see Janice but I’m sure we’ll sit by each other and maybe you can save me a dance?”

She took a step toward Jill, Dave’s fingers reluctantly slipping off her slinky dress. “Of course!” he said, trying to keep his disappointment from showing. “Actually, I think it’s a requirement. Janice wants us to open the dance together. It’s a little old-fashioned but since we’re the guests of honor . . . I thought it’d be okay.”

“Okay? No, it sounds perfect.” Lillian picked up the long trail of silver material pooling at her feet as Jill looped her pale, freckled arm through Lillian’s. “See you in a few minutes.”

Dave didn’t see Lillian again until dinner and even then they were seated on opposite sides of the table with the CEO of Carlton, John Richard Carlton Jr., and his wife wedged between them. It was a night of unbearable small talk and answering the same three questions everyone always asked about the island: what did you eat, what did you drink, and where did you poop? Dave used to be amazed at how little tact people had but now he expected it.

When dinner concluded, a few toasts were made to Lillian and Dave and then they watched a video montage dedicated to Margaret, Theresa, and even Kent. Seeing Kent’s ruddy face again made it hard for Dave to keep his food down. He couldn’t help remembering what he looked like, dead, face swollen and cut after being dragged through the jungle.

Dave tried to peer around the middle-aged couple who separated him from Lillian. This had to be killing her. The wall of fleshy humanity between them had a tiny hole. Leaning forward in his chair he tried to see through. If he squinted, he could almost make out her profile. Occasionally, when a bright picture was projected on the screen, it reflected in her eyes. They were moist but serene, the exact opposite of what they looked like at the airport the night before.

The very last slide was black with white lettering. Dave almost didn’t look but when whatever was on the screen made Lillian turn away, he couldn’t stop himself.

I
N
M
EMORY OF
P
AUL
L
INDEN.

No picture. Just a name that wasn’t his. A stabbing pain rushed from the hole that was still gaping in his heart, that space his son occupied before being ripped out when he died. He was the only lie Dave regretted.

The lights went on and Dave rushed to dry his face before turning to face the full banquet hall. This was the most extravagant event he’d ever seen Carlton throw, complete with news crews, live music, prime rib, and champagne. To Dave it felt a lot like they were trying to get some extra publicity off the castaways’ miraculous return. Hey, if Dave had still been head of public relations, that’s what he would’ve done.

During dinner the band had set up against one of the side walls, and when the lights came on the lead singer, wearing a cliché black leather jacket and scarf tied around his waist, grabbed a microphone. “Let’s get this party started!” he shouted in a raspy voice.

The crowd erupted in a roar of applause before the band started a fast-paced, contemporary rock song. Dave didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Apparently this band was a one-hit wonder the previous summer, but he’d never heard of them. As the crowd cheered, the news cameras zoomed and Dave pretended to enjoy the song. When it was finally over, the sandpaper voice came over the sound system one more time.

“Please welcome the guests of honor—Lillian Linden and Dave Hall.” A slow song pumped in the background as Dave descended from his elevated seat at the banquet table. Somehow Lillian beat him to the middle of the parquet dance floor, a spotlight glancing off her dress in a thousand tiny points of light that bounced over his dark tux and face.

The light also reflected off her full, dark pupils like the stars that canopied their old home, and the tiny sea pearls pinned into delicate curls piled on the top of her head seemed to wink at him in a private joke. His heart raced in that wonderfully uncomfortable way it had the first time they met, the first time he noticed how beautiful she was in her cutoff jeans and old T-shirt.

As the melody started, Lillian extended her hand, which Dave took instantly. He pulled her in close, enfolding her hand in his and wrapping his arm around her naked waist. They swayed wordlessly in impeccable unity and Dave had to force himself to not kiss the top of her head. She tipped her face up.

“You’re so beautiful tonight,” Dave whispered. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier.”

“Janice sent over a stylist for me and Jill. I’ve never felt this fancy in my life.”

Dave swore she giggled. He twirled her around in a half circle. “You are . . . different tonight.”