In memory of Nicole Lewanski

Epilogue
T
HE
EARLY
MORNING
sun streamed through the curtains of our one-bedroom flat
in Santa Monica. I was on my second cup of coffee, and Rad was just waking up.
He opened his eyes and gave me a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” I put my coffee mug down on the side table, then leaned over and
kissed him gently. He ran his hands through my hair and buried his face in my
neck. “You smell good,” he murmured, pulling me down onto the bed with
him. He wrapped his arms around me, and we stayed like that for a while.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Almost ten, I think.”
“You’re already dressed.”
“I was up early this morning and thought I’d go for a walk on the pier—pick
up some bagels on my way back.”
“Sounds good.”
I gently untangled myself and got up.
“Blueberry for you?”
“Yeah.”
I put my Audrey jacket on.
“Is it cold out there today?” he asked.
I nodded. “I was out on the balcony this morning, and it was a little chilly.”
He sat up and stretched out his arms with a yawn, turning his head to the
window. “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.”
I smiled. “I think so too.”

---

T
HE
SUN
HAD
climbed high above the horizon. A seagull was hitching a ride on
the wind. I watched as the tide swirled around the wooden legs of the Santa
Monica Pier. People milled about taking photographs and talking animatedly on
cell phones. The sea was a perfect backdrop to the spinning Ferris wheel and the
colored umbrellas that dotted the promenade. In the distance, there were shrieks
of delight coming from the bright yellow rollercoaster.
I leaned against the powder-blue railing and closed my eyes, letting the sun
warm my face. It had been unusually cool these past few days, and I felt the cold
a lot more than I used to. I took in a deep lungful of the salty sea air and let it out
again with a sigh.
So here I was, several months after the night of Freddy’s funeral. I had settled
into my new life with Rad. I didn’t want to think about the dark days that
followed the night when Rad revealed the truth about Ana to me. We had
agreed to leave all that behind. I left Lucy and Candela bewildered and begging
for answers—answers I couldn’t give without implicating Rad. I knew I could
never tell them the truth because they wouldn’t understand. How could I explain
it to another person if I couldn’t even justify it to myself? All I knew was that my
decision to stay with Rad was not so much a choice as a necessity.
I thought about my time in Delta. About Gabe, that day we said goodbye.
How he told me I didn’t need anyone anymore. But he was wrong. I needed
Rad—we needed each other now more than ever. Then I thought about the
rope that kept the ship attached to the mooring—the one that should never fray,
never break. Like the rubber band that used to occupy my left wrist, the rope had
snapped, and I was free-falling, but I wasn’t afraid anymore. I thought of Rad and
the terrible secret we shared—the lie we chose to bury for good. It would always
be there—we knew that—but we would no longer give it any power over us. It
nearly drove us apart, but, instead, it had bound us to each other like a blood
pact. And now here we were, in a whole new life. It was a blank canvas—the
chance to start all over again.
I walked by a busker in a felt hat, a white feather stuck in its brim. He was
strumming a muted rendition of “Strawberry Fields Forever.” I stopped and put
my hand in the pocket of my jacket for some loose coins. I could hear the jangle,
but I couldn’t seem to find the coins. I frowned, my fingers pushing deeper
against the red satin lining. I felt a tear that I had never noticed before. As I fished
the coins out, I heard the unmistakable rustle of paper. I dropped the coins into
the busker’s open guitar case and continued walking, my hand pushing through
the tear until my fingers found a piece of folded up paper. It was the page from

---

Ana’s diary that had gone missing the day I opened up the metal box. It must
have been caught inside the lining of my jacket this entire time. My heart skipped
a beat, and I felt the old familiar panic rising up again. Then, almost as soon as it
began, it was over. I took a deep breath and looked at Ana’s tiny writing. As I
read, her words seemed to travel from a time so long ago they felt closer to the
future than the past. I sensed somehow that those words were always meant to
find me here.