“How did he get you here?” I ask B.
“I’m not sure. All I remember is walking to my bike. Then I woke up here. He’s seriously deranged. And obsessed with your mom’s movie. He talked about Lacey, Abby, and Keatyn as if they were one person. Did you see the walls?”
Brooklyn motions around to the walls of the room, which are covered with photos.
Stills from A Day at the Lake.
A poster of my mom.
Photos of her and my dad.
A newspaper article about his mother and stepfather’s mugging and death.
A press release about A Breath Behind You Films.
A still shot of the ending of his grandmother’s movie, where they are lying in the sand kissing.
Brooklyn points to an article about my dad’s plane crash. “He admitted to tampering with your dad’s plane. He wanted Abby for himself.”
My eyes fill with tears again. “That’s why my dad talked to me,” I say out loud.
“What do you mean?” Damian asks.
“When Vincent tried to kidnap me, a voice—a voice that I recognized as my dad’s—told me what to do. It was just a few words. But they calmed me and helped me get away from Vincent. And, today, it was the word ashes. Twice. Once to help me find B and again before I grabbed the bomb.”
“How did the word ashes help you find me?” B asks.
“When Vincent’s grandmother died, I helped him spread her ashes. He told me her love story and how he was buying the house up the beach—this one—for her. When it wasn’t on the list of properties where they had searched for you, I knew it’s where you were. And then when I heard it again, it reminded me of how he tossed the urn out into the ocean. I did the same thing with the bomb.”
Brooklyn rubs his face, trying to take it all in.
“He drugged me. Told me about all the bombs. Are your mom and Tommy dead?”
“The bomb in France killed the girls’ nanny, but everyone else is okay.”
“And Tommy’s trailer?”
“For a while we thought he and my dad were dead,” Damian says somberly. “Fortunately, they weren’t in it and there were only some minor injuries to a few people in the vicinity.”
Brooklyn turns me around to face the wall dedicated to me.
Photos of my life.
A large poster made from the still of me turning around and blowing Vincent a kiss.
There are notes, scripts, character profiles, and story arcs.
“Right before he drugged me the last time, he told me he was going to get you. That if he made it back, I’d be famous. That we’d all star in the most epic reality movie ever. And that if he didn’t make it back, I’d be famous too. Because I would die when the bomb went off.”
Tears stream down my face, thinking of what he must have gone through.
He hugs me, says, “I love you,” and kisses the top of my head.
Cooper says, “The medics need to check you out.”
B shakes his head and says, “I wanna go home.”
“We are home,” I say. “Let’s get you looked at.”
“You too,” Damian says. “You’re bleeding again.”
The medics check us all out. Brooklyn is still a bit woozy, but they determine it’s just the lingering effects of the drugs and release him.
“We’ll handle everything here,” Cooper tells me, nodding toward Garrett. “You guys go home. If the police want to question Brooklyn, they can make an appointment.”
“That sounds good,” B says.
Damian, Brooklyn, and I make the familiar walk down the beach with Kiki in tow. She’s running ahead of us, prancing through the waves and digging in the sand.
It’s a beautiful day and it almost feels normal, like we’re walking home after a day of surfing.
We walk by B’s house and down to mine, file up on the deck, collapse on the day bed, and stare quietly out into the ocean.
Each of us lost in our own thoughts.
And happy to be alive.
It doesn’t take long for our few moments of solitude to be interrupted.
Brooklyn’s mom and dad arrive together, whatever issues they had in the past seemingly forgotten amidst concern for their son.
The police have lots of questions.
Tommy and Matt arrive from New York.
Cooper contacts the reporters from the dance, who hop on planes immediately.
I do their interviews as promised, telling them everything up until the point when Vincent died.
The best part, though, is late at night when Mom, James, my grandparents, and the girls arrive home from France.
Brooklyn, Tommy, and I get hugs and kisses, but the girls seem even happier to see Kiki.
“My bad Kiki! I’m home! I was on an adventure just like you!” Gracie yells.
“A little too much adventure,” B says to me under his breath.
“You can’t call her Bad Kiki anymore,” I tell them. “She’s a hero and a very lucky dog.”
“Let’s call her Lucky!” Avery suggests.
Gracie gives the dog a strangling hug. “Bad Kiki, do you like the name Lucky?”
The dog gives her a sloppy kiss up the side of her face.
“She likes it!” the girls shout.