29
Sheriff McConnell barely spares Ma and me a glance as he brushes past, his meaty hands on Nathan’s shoulders. Nathan is wide-eyed, but as he passes me, he whispers, “It’ll be okay.”
And I’m—
I’m—
Furious. How pathetic does Nathan think I am, that he’d need to comfort me while HE’S literally in handcuffs? What is it about me that makes people around me want to take care of every problem? Do I exude incompetence? Helplessness? I’ve had just about enough of it. I swing around. I want to yell at Nathan, to tell him to stop protecting me, stop treating me like I’m this breakable thing, because I’m not. I want to lash out at someone, at anyone, and unfortunately, the closest person to me right then is Ma. Ma and my aunties.
They’re just standing there, gaping as the security guards all file away, following Nathan.
“It’s going to be okay,” Big Aunt says in Indonesian, her voice full of uncertainty, and I take it. I take this chance to lash out.
“It won’t be okay!” I cry. “It won’t be, stop saying it will, because it won’t! I didn’t want any of this to happen. I just wanted to—I just—” I just what? What would I have done without my family? I would’ve been stuck at home with a dead body in my car and no way of explaining it. But maybe that would have been better than this. Anything would’ve been better than having Nathan get arrested for something I did.
“Meddy, you are upset, I know, but we are just taking care of you,” Ma says.
I shirk away from her outstretched hand, and the hurt that slashes across her face enrages me even more. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m not a baby anymore, Ma. God, all of this is such a burden!”
They startle at the B-word. It’s their worst nightmare, to be a burden to their children.
“Meddy, how can you say that?” Big Aunt says in English, her chest rising. “We are family, we work together, we always there for each other.”
“Yeah, and that’s exactly the problem. We’re always there. I don’t know what life is like without any of you in it. I had a glimpse of it when I went to college, and then after that I moved back home and it’s back to being in the fold. I don’t know who I am without you all breathing down my neck. I don’t even know if I want to be a wedding photographer, but I can’t do my own thing, I can’t just abandon the family business, because you always talk about sacrifice and how much you’ve all sacrificed for me, and so this is it, the cycle of sacrifice that’ll go on and on and on.”
They look like I’ve slapped them. “You don’t want to be wedding photographer?” Ma whispers.
“I hate weddings!” I cry.
They stagger back a step, their faces lit up with horror.
“I do, I hate them—”
“That’s not true. I’ve seen the way you look at wedding dresses,” Fourth Aunt says. “It’s like you’ve got horny eyes on; it’s quite honestly disturbing.”
I sigh. “You’re right, there are things I love about weddings. I love the brides; I love seeing them looking all beautiful and happy and wearing a big white dress. But everything else, everything else I hate. I hate that brides and grooms are driven nuts by this unrealistic expectation that the day has to be perfect. I hate that it’s turned into an industry that makes people spend way more than they should, and I hate that we’re part of that!”
They’re all quiet for a while. “So you saying that we are holding you back?” Ma says, after a while.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Whatever I say, it won’t be enough. It won’t be accurate. It’s not a no, and it’s not a yes. And, in the end, I have only myself to blame. My cousins grew up in the same environment and managed to leave, to spread their wings. I’m the only one who remains in the same old nest, and surely that proves that the blame lies on me.
After an eternity, I shake my head. “I don’t blame you.” See, that’s not totally accurate either. I blame everyone, including myself.
Ma utters a sob, and immediately all of my aunties, including Fourth Aunt, catch her by the arms. They coo soothing words in Indonesian at her.
“It’s okay, she’s just a child, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“My Hendra used to say things like that too, it’s okay.”
“These kids, they’ll only understand what we’ve given up after they have children of their own.”
This is what always happens when one of my generation dares to talk back to our parents. They band together and reduce us to kids having a tantrum, dismissing our words so we can’t pierce their armor. Part of me wants to kick crazily at the ground and scream until they listen, but of course that’ll only confirm their belief that I’m nothing more than a silly child.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before speaking. “I’m sorry, Ma, I don’t mean to hurt you. Just—please. Don’t try to help me here. Go back to your rooms and I’ll handle this. I love you all, but it’s time for me to grow up and clean up my own mess.”
Ma’s eyes meet mine, and despite the hurt creasing her face, I see understanding dawn in her eyes. But it’s underneath a blanket of sorrow and anger. She doesn’t say a word, merely shakes her head in disappointment and lets my aunties escort her away. Big Aunt glares at me, Second Aunt is busy cooing over Ma, and even Fourth Aunt doesn’t have anything mean to say to Ma, which is how I know for sure that Ma’s heart is broken.
Still, I harden myself against going after them. Because I’ve always gone after them, and then I end up apologizing and assuring them that I’ll be a less shitty daughter, and that’s how I find myself at twenty-six still living at home and spending my weekends shooting huge weddings and pretending I love the whole production.
No. I have more pressing things to attend to. Like Nathan. The thought of him fires me up even more. I stride toward the main building, climbing the impressive stone steps up to the lobby. There, I corner a receptionist and ask where Nathan’s been taken.
“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am,” he says smoothly, but I catch a glimmer of hesitation in him. Unbidden, an image of Big Aunt comes to mind. Big Aunt, who carries herself with her back ramrod straight and her chin always up. Big Aunt, who always manages to get people to listen to her. What would she say? I lift my chin and glare at him imperiously. “I’ve been in touch with LAPD and they’ve said that the sheriff has no jurisdiction to arrest anyone. I am not going to stand aside and let that idiot make a mockery of the justice system, and neither are you. You’re not going to obstruct me. Now lead me to where he’s keeping Nathan.” Obviously I don’t give a tiny rat’s fart about the justice system, but it seemed like a good term to throw in.
After a moment’s hesitation, the receptionist says, “He took him upstairs. To Mr. Chan’s office. Said the storm’s getting too bad for him to drive in.”
“Good. Take me there. Now,” I add, when the receptionist opens his mouth.
“Right away, ma’am.” He hurries out from behind his desk and nods at me to follow him. As soon as his back is turned, I sag a little. I can’t believe it worked. I channeled my inner Big Aunt, and now I’m being led to Nathan. Phew, I should try that more often. This feeling is honestly pretty addictive.
He leads me through a side door to an employee elevator. We get inside, and he uses his key card to get to the top floor. I try to keep looking imperious, which is a lot harder to do in the dead silence of the elevator. I have to stop myself from sighing with obvious relief when the doors finally whoosh open.
The top floor is taken up by numerous offices. I’ve never been to this part of any hotel before, but I guess it makes sense that large resorts would have offices to oversee the running of things. The receptionist leads me past half a dozen offices until he gets to the end. There’s a security guard standing outside. When he sees us approaching, he shifts his stance so that he looks like he’s standing to attention.
“Hey, Dave,” the receptionist says. “This is—uh—”
“I’m Meddy, Nat—Mr. Chan’s lawyer.”
The guard’s eyes widen. “Thank god you’re here,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t even—why was I asked to guard his office? I don’t believe for a second that Mr. Chan did it.”
I nod at him, take a deep breath, and stride through the door.
Sheriff McConnell’s seated behind Nathan’s desk, with Nathan perched on a chair opposite him.
“What’s this?” Sheriff McConnell says, eyeing me from top to bottom with a languorous leer that makes me want to take a long, hot shower.
“This is Mr. Chan’s attorney,” the guard says.
Sheriff McConnell’s eyebrows raise. He looks me over again, but this time, the look is several degrees less lecherous and shows more disbelief, as in how the hell can someone who looks like me be an attorney? I’m about to be affronted when I realize that, welp, I’m still in my all-black photographer’s outfit and I’m as wet as a drowned rat. My hair is dripping water onto my towel. Ugh, Ma and my aunties were right. I need their help. I have always needed their help. They haven’t been holding me back. I’ve reached my potential. This is it, this is where I peak—as a wedding photographer for the family business, always protected from the world by my family.
But there’s a glimmer in Nathan’s face. Something I’ve seen before, so many years ago, when he asked me to go east with him. Just a flicker, but it’s there, still. Fierce, naked hope.
My cheeks burn. Even after all this time, even after everything, he still has hope for us. And I—
I feel it. Fluttering from deep inside my chest, as though waking up from a deep slumber. Hope. I’ve squashed it down for the last four years, shoved all thoughts of being independent to the side, told myself I’m being stupid, or selfish, or unrealistic. Unrealistic—that’s always been my mantra, passed down from Ma and my aunties. “Don’t be unrealistic,” they’d say. They had to be pragmatic all their lives; there was no room for dreams or idealism. Just look at Fourth Aunt, Ma would say. She chased her dreams all the way from Indonesia to Los Angeles, and look where it got her. This is what happens when you’re unrealistic, when you let the dream take over.
But everything that’s happened the past few days has been unreal. If ever there was a time to use the word, it’s now. Ma pretending to be me online, that’s pretty fucking unreal. Me accidentally killing my date. I mean, how much more unreal can it get? And all the domino pieces falling over one by one—the body getting shipped here, the body ending up on the altar—none of it has been anywhere near realistic. Why am I still trying to play by realistic rules?
My back straightens, my neck lengthens, and I stare down at Sheriff McConnell and see him for what he truly is: a fish out of water, completely at a loss as to what to do. Nothing like this has ever happened on this island, and he’s torn between the sudden rush of power and a whole ocean of fear. I pounce on that fear.
“My name is Meddelin Chan, and I’m an attorney. What have you charged my client with?” My voice comes out like an iron fist, thudding onto the desk.
There’s a beat of silence, and then Sheriff McConnell scrambles forward, placing his elbows on the desk before second-guessing himself and sitting back and folding his hands on his lap. “Ahem, yes, his attorney, eh? You got here fast.” He pauses. “Hang on, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you around . . .”
“Yeah, I’ve been here awhile, taking care of some papers.”
Nathan gives a small shake of the head, but I don’t need him to guide me. I won’t have this joke of a cop derail me. I lean forward, place my hands on the desk, and say the words ever so slowly.
“What. Have. You. Charged. My client. With?” Never mind thudding, my heart is kicking. I swear it’s grown legs and is sprinting, crashing over and over into my rib cage. Any moment now, it’s going to kick its way right out of my chest, Alien-style. But somehow, my face remains straight, my gaze unwavering, locked on Sheriff McConnell.
He shifts his weight again, and unfolds and refolds his hands. “Right, yes. Well. There’s been a murder.”
“What have you charged my client with?”
His gaze flits away like a spooked butterfly before coming back to rest on my face. “Well, that is to say, er—”
“If you haven’t charged him with anything, then you can’t keep him locked up. I’m taking him out of here.”
“Well, then I charge him with murder!”
Shit, shit, shit. Somehow, I stare him down, even though everything inside me is screaming Noooo, you’ve done it now, you’ve gone and made everything worse! “For the murder of whom?”
The sheriff gives a little shake of his head, reminding me of a horse. “Of the body. Down there, at the altar.”
“So you haven’t identified the body?”
“Well, no, of course not, that’ll come later—”
“What was the cause of death?”
“I don’t—”
“Time of death?”
“Well, I mean to say—”
“Found a weapon on my client, did you?”
“Not yet—”
“So you don’t have a cause or time of death, but you’ve arrested my client. On what grounds?” Seriously, who am I right now? It’s as though Big Aunt has taken over my consciousness and is just bulldozing over everything, and holy smokes, it’s actually working. Sheriff McConnell is sweating as if he’s just run a marathon in the dead of summer. I actually feel kind of sorry for him. “Sheriff, I think we both know you’re in over your head. Have you even ordered the body to be brought in out of the rain?”
He stares at me balefully. “Protocol states that . . .” His voice trails off. It’s obvious he has no idea what protocol states when there’s a mysterious body and a rainstorm. On the one hand, he should leave crime scenes as undisturbed as he can. On the other hand, the rainstorm might destroy a lot of evidence.
It’s good that he doesn’t know what the protocol is, because I sure as hell have no freaking clue. Hopefully protocol is whatever Sheriff McConnell hasn’t done. “Protocol states that you should preserve as much of the crime scene as possible, which in this case means asking the hotel employees to erect some sort of covering, maybe? To try and keep as much of the rainwater away from the crime scene?” I say it as if it’s obvious, as if I haven’t just pulled it out of my ass, and the look on Nathan’s face almost makes me burst out in hysterical laughter. Nathan is looking at me like—I don’t even know how to describe it—like he’s seeing the most amazing sunrise ever, his handsome face lighting up with awe.
“Well, I was just about to do that when you barged in,” Sheriff McConnell mutters.
I look pointedly at the glass of whiskey in front of him. “Really? It looks to me like you’re making yourself comfortable in my client’s office.”
He looks down at the glass and flushes, his face turning beet-shade. “This was his.”
“Mhmm. Well, it’s obvious to me that you have failed to follow any sort of protocol, so I don’t think you can legally charge my client with anything without further evidence.” What are these words coming out of my mouth? I’m pretty sure that any legit cop would’ve called my bluff a long time ago, but Sheriff McConnell is caught completely off-guard. His eyes are perfect circles, his mouth moving, but no words are coming out. “So ple—so, uncuff my client. Now,” I add, when I feel the need to say “please,” and to my disbelief, Sheriff McConnell actually stands up. I tense, half expecting him to—I don’t know—pounce on me and catch me by the scruff of my neck and arrest me.
He walks over to the other side of the table, his steps echoing in the large office. He approaches Nathan, who I can tell is trying his best not to laugh. He takes out a keychain, grabs Nathan’s hands, and—
Oh my god. I did it.
Sheriff McConnell lowers Nathan’s hands. They’re still cuffed.
Shit. I haven’t done it. He’s on to me. Is he? What’s going on?
Sheriff McConnell puffs out his barrel chest. “I don’t care what fancy law firm you’re from, but this here’s my territory. And I smell something bad. I don’t know what it is your client here’s done, but I know he’s done something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
“You can’t just keep him here because you think he’s done something. That’s not how the law works. You need to actually have found evidence and then charge him,” I snap. At least, that’s what it seems like on CSI.
“If you’ve got a problem with how I handle things, you can take it up with the mainland police.” He looks around the room dramatically, hands cupped behind his ears. “Oh, huh, I don’t hear the wail of sirens, do you? That’s because those pansy fancy-pants cops don’t dare to come here in the storm, so it looks like I’m in charge. And I say he stays here.”
“When they arrive, you are going to lose your license.” Or whatever the hell it is that cops have.
Sheriff McConnell shrugs, his meaty face squishing into a sly smile. “Yeah, they’ve been saying that for years, and yet here I am.”
The ground is crumbling underneath my feet. I grasp for anything I can think of. “I need to speak with my client. Alone. He still has that right.”
“He does indeed. Five minutes.” With that, Sheriff McConnell saunters out, hands in pockets. He’s practically whistling with joy.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I sink onto the sofa and put my head in my hands. I was so close. I thought I had it.
“You did great, Meddy.”
I remain with my face buried in my hands. I can’t stand to look at the disappointment that must be on Nathan’s face.
“Meddy.” Nathan kneels in front of me, gently pulling my hands away from my face. “Hey,” he says, softly. “There you are.” There is so much in his expression. All of it, our history, every fight, every kiss, every laugh, written plain as day across his flawless face.
“I’m so sorry.” The words come out broken by sobs. “I made a mess.”
“No, you helped. He wouldn’t have let us speak in private if you hadn’t done all that—I mean, that was amazing, all those things you said to him,” he laughs. “You were on fire.”
“You don’t understand,” I moan. “I—I did it.” It’s time. The truth, all of it. I’m so tired of keeping things from him. I could lie to the entire world, but not to him. Not Nathan. “That dead body. I killed him.”
There it is, the truth, falling out of my mouth like a snake, twisting in the air between us. I don’t take my eyes from Nathan’s face because I want to memorize the way he’s been looking at me. He’s never going to look at me the same way again, not with this horrible thing I’ve just dropped in his lap. I brace myself for the horror that’ll no doubt take over his face as soon as my words sink in.
But it doesn’t come. Nathan just sighs. And then he says two words that leave me speechless.
“I know.”