EPILOGUE

I sit on the balcony and overlook the smaller, colder and even more violent ocean I called home for most of my life. Sean stands next to me with his jacket pulled tightly around him. “Christ, you’re not cold?”

I shrug. I’m wearing a nightgown, slippers and a thin knitted shawl. The wind is gentle, at least where I sit, so I’m not particularly cold. “Not very.”

“Well, I am. I don’t suppose I could convince you to join me inside?”

“I’ll sit out here a while longer.”

He sighs and takes the chair next to mine. “You’re welcome to go inside if you’d like,” I tell him.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll wait with you.”

I smile softly. Since California, he’s been attached to my side like a dog. It took an hour of coaxing to get him to accept a different hotel room. I won’t lie. I considered allowing him to share a room with me, but I mustn’t allow myself to feed that fantasy. It’s a pretty one, but I’m too old and too damaged to ask someone else to share the burden of my life.

I don’t begrudge his company now, though.

We watch the ocean for a while. The waves crash against the shore below. White-tipped crests extend in orderly rows as far as the eye can see. All the way to the vanishing point.

My smile fades. Annie is out there somewhere. I’m sure of it. I know for sure now that she didn’t die when she left Boston. She fled, and she did so of her own accord with her own purpose in mind. She found love, even if only briefly. She inspired an artist. She built a life of her own.

But she also left destruction in her wake. She found love, but she wasn’t fulfilled by it. She built a life only to tear it down, and with it, she tore down the life of the man who loved her and by extension the life of a younger man who depended on both of them for his happiness. That younger man recovered, but not fully. Not for many years. In her own small but very meaningful way, Annie is also partly to blame for Victor’s mental health struggles and the depression that nearly drove Celeste to suicide.

Perhaps blame is the wrong word. After all, one can never truly predict the effects of their actions. Annie could never have guessed that by leaving Elias, she would drive him to suicide and for thirty years alter the course of Victor Holloway's life. She simply dipped her hand in the water and then moved on, not knowing how far the ripples of her touch would extend.

And can I not also be said to share blame? It was my fight with Annie that drove her to leave. I still can’t remember all of the details, but I remember that I attacked her. Her image in Victor’s painting showed no scars, so I must not have injured her badly, but I laid my hands on my sister.

And I failed to protect her. She wasn’t wrong about that. I stood by and kept silent while Mother enticed her to burn herself on the stove. I watched while she held Annie’s head under the water and whispered for her to stop struggling and just go to sleep. I remember pushing her behind me while Mother attacked us with the knife, but now that I think back on it, I think I just brushed against her in my own attempt to flee.

I was a poor sister. Annie grew up beautiful, but that beauty earned her nothing but jealousy, hatred, contempt and neglect from those who should have loved her the most. I can blame my father and especially my mother for Annie’s eventual escape, but my hands are not innocent.

I turn to Sean and see a look that’s as pensive as mine. I wonder for the first time what secrets he might hold that he carries deep within his heart. What does he hide, even from himself, that haunts his nightmares?

I lay a hand on him, and he flinches a little and looks at me. I squeeze it and say, "Thank you. For everything. For saving my life, for helping me solve these murders, for helping me learn what happened to my sister.”

His eyes widen. “Oh, shite. I completely forgot about your sister. Did you ever figure out how she knew Victor?”

I smile softly. “Yes. They were lovers.” And that’s true. In the most important sense of the word, it’s true.

“Well, what happened? Where did she go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Right. Well, we know she was there for a while, at least. I’ll call Victor again and get every bit of information I can. Then I’ll reach out and see who might have seen her after she left Monterey. Don’t you worry, Mary? We'll find her."

I lift a hand and caress his cheek. He falls silent, and a strange look crosses his face. “I don’t think so,” I say softly. “I… I don’t think she wants to be found.”

He blinks. “You’re sure?”

I turn back toward the sea. “Annie and I did not get on well at the end,” I say. “I thought we did, but the more I remember, the more I realize how unhappy she was. She wasn’t taken from me. She left. Of her own free will. She left to find a place where she could feel safe and loved.” I swallow over the lump in my throat. “And that wasn’t with me.”

He touches my own cheek and pulls me to face him. His hand is rough and leathery and not at all soft, but it's the most soothing touch I've ever experienced. I look into his eyes, as blue and brilliant as Annie's were, and he says, "You're not a bad person, Mary. You're stubborn, arrogant and irritating as all hell. But you've got the best heart of any person I've ever seen. No disrespect to your sister, but if she's not able to see that, then she's a bloody fool."

I stare at him for a moment. Then I laugh. “Sean. You’re—”

He pulls me close and kisses me. The shock lasts for a moment. Then it fades into an ocean of bliss. I wrap my arms around him and let myself vanish into his love.

Wherever Annie is, I hope she’s found happiness like this. Even if it’s only for a moment. Even if it fades away and becomes nothing more than a fond memory. And from time to time when she thinks on the past, I hope she thinks of the sister she left behind, and I hope she wishes the same happiness for me.

That’s all any of us really need.