“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice hoarse, and she sat up, turning to face him with a serious look. Her green eyes were large and her red hair was tangled from the wind, but she looked beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes your heart fill like a balloon, so light you worry it might carry you away.
“With us,” she said, and Graham felt the words one at a time, each a sharp jab, because he didn’t know; he didn’t know what would happen, and even more than that, he didn’t know what he could offer her. In two days, he’d be leaving Henley. In two weeks, he’d finish filming this movie. And in three weeks, the last installment of the trilogy would be out in the theaters. Graham would be shuttled around the world with a smile pasted on his face to talk into a thousand different microphones about what it all meant, traveling from L.A. to Tokyo to Sydney to London, and back around again. There would be late nights and big crowds, endless talk shows and press junkets.
There would be no more fishing boats or walks along the rocky beach.
There would be no more Ellie.
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully, because he didn’t. It seemed too big a question for a simple answer. Right now, sitting so close, he couldn’t imagine being without her. But including her in his real life didn’t seem logical either. It was like there were two different Graham Larkins, and even if one of them was truer, more substantial—even if one of them was happier—the other one still took up more space, and it wasn’t going away.
He looked at her helplessly. “I don’t know,” he said again, afraid to meet her eyes. But when he finally did, he saw that she was nodding. She didn’t seem to be hurt or offended or even surprised at this. There was a thoughtful expression on her face, maybe even expectant, and his stomach churned with doubt. She nodded again.
“Well, we have a couple more days,” she said eventually, and it was Graham’s turn to nod. “So what should we do?”
He smiled. “We’ll go stick our toes in the water.”
“I love doing that.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
“Eat ice cream on a hot day,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. “Listen to the waves. Take an evening stroll. Go swimming. Read poetry. Hang out with Bagel.”
Ellie was watching him in wonder. “That’s my e-mail,” she said, shaking her head. “How did you remember all that?”
“How could I not?”
She was smiling now, her eyes bright. “There’s too much,” she said. “We’ll never have time to do all that.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised her, and he was certain then that they would.
But as they neared Henley, Graham felt a deep sadness wash over him. Each time someone got off the bus, he found himself growing tenser, their departure a preview to his own. The seats smelled like mold and the windows were streaked with salt and the glare of the sun felt like a furnace, and if you’d asked him what he’d like to be doing on the Fourth of July, this would have been pretty far down on his list. But still, he hated to think of stepping off and back into the real world.
When the bus turned off the main highway that had carried them down the coast, the engine slowing beneath their feet, Ellie sat up and stretched.
“We still have a little while till the fireworks,” she said. “I told Quinn I’d meet her at the party.” Graham could tell she was weighing something as she bit her lip. She gave him a long look, then seemed to come to a decision. “Do you…”
“What?”
“Do you want to come with me?”
“I love that you’re asking,” he said, knowing what it meant, what it could cost her. They both understood that it was more than just a simple invitation. It was a choice she was making. She’d chosen him.
He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “But it’s probably not such a good idea.”
She smiled ruefully. “Photographers?”
“Among other things,” he said. “We’ve gotten this far. No sense ruining your life now.”
She nodded. “So I’ll just stay ‘unidentified girl.’ ”
“With any luck,” he said, then he smiled. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
The bus turned onto the harbor road, and they could see the crowd up on the green, which spilled out onto the streets in front of the shops. Graham couldn’t believe how many people there were; they were everywhere, milling around with hot dogs and hamburgers and lobster rolls, drinking beers and dancing to the band and setting up firecrackers that leaped from the grass and twirled in the air before dying with a whistle. It wasn’t all that much different from the clambake just an hour north, only this party held Ellie’s mom instead of her dad. And it probably also held Harry.
“I wish you could come with me,” Ellie said as the bus slowed to a stop just before the harbor, where there was a green bench and a little sign with the schedule.
“I need to deal with the boat thing anyway, and I should probably see what’s going on with the photographer too,” he said. “But maybe we’ll see each other later?”
Ellie grinned. “Under the cloak of darkness.”
They stepped outside, shielded from the party by the broad expanse of the bus, but in a moment, it would pull away, leaving them exposed.
“I’ll see you soon,” Ellie said, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and then she began to walk up toward the party, her chin high as she scanned the crowd.
Graham knew he should be moving too, skirting the back streets to avoid the festival on his way to the hotel, but it took a moment to stir himself into action. He was too busy watching her go, and it wasn’t until the door of the bus closed with a pop that he blinked, looking around, and then began to walk.
As he neared the hotel, he could see the balloons that decorated the entrance, huge bunches of red, white, and blue that burst from the front of the building like fireworks. A short distance away, the party carried on, and Graham pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and then slipped into the quiet lobby without being seen.
He moved straight past the empty chairs and the watercolor paintings that decorated the sitting area, hurrying toward the elevator. Behind him, he heard the concierge call out, but he pretended he hadn’t, tugging at his hood and punching at the button impatiently. There was nothing he wanted to hear about right now, not a message from Harry or his lawyer or anyone else. But the voice was insistent.
“Mr. Larkin?”
Finally, Graham spun around to look at him with obvious annoyance. It was a kid about his own age, skinny and nervous, leaning over the front desk and waving a small piece of paper. Graham pulled off his sunglasses with a sigh, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the guy said. “But I’ve got some messages for you.” He glanced down at the paper and cleared his throat. “Forty-three, actually.”
Graham let out a groan. “All from Harry?”
“Twenty-seven of them, Mr. Larkin.”
“Call me Graham,” he said, walking over to the desk. “What about the others?”
“Someone named Rachel who wouldn’t give me her last name…”
“My publicist.”
“A lawyer named—”
“Brian Ascher.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Graham.”
He nodded, holding out the slip of paper, which had a list of names and then a collection of tally marks beside them. Graham scanned it, then looked up again with a frown.
“No calls from my parents?” he asked, and the boy shook his head.
“Sorry, sir.”
“That’s okay,” Graham said, tapping a fist against the desk. “They probably tried my cell. I don’t think they even know where I’m staying.”
“I can’t wait till I can go away without my parents knowing where I am,” the boy said with a rueful grin. “That sounds awesome.” He coughed, his cheeks reddening, and then added, “Sir.”
“Yeah,” Graham said, slipping the list of messages into his pocket and turning back toward the elevator. “It’s pretty awesome.”
From: [email protected] Sent: Thursday, July 4, 2013 7:38 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
I’ve been officially reunited with my phone. Again, really sorry that yours is on the bottom of the ocean. I’ll make sure you have a new one first thing tomorrow. Or you can just take mine, and I’ll happily put you in charge of fielding calls from Harry, which has apparently become a full-time job…