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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ELLIOT

To my great disappointment, the ride has been arranged by my family, and the driver takes me straight to my parents. Exhausted, I trudge to the door of their stuffy old mansion.

My mother answers quickly. Despite the late hour, she’s dressed for the day in a conservative blouse and slacks, makeup and hair impeccable. She puts her hands on my shoulders and whispers my name.

“Elliot. My god.”

She pulls me into a light embrace, highly affectionate for my family. “Mom,” I whisper back, and despite myself, the emotions nearly overwhelm me as I hug her.

My father, similarly dressed for the office in a full suit and thickly knotted tie, joins us in the entry room of my childhood home. His face twists with something like emotion before he coughs and slaps my back.

“Never do that again,” he scolds.

“I didn’t intend to in the first place.”

My mother’s hand goes on my shoulder as she leads me into the family room. “I have some plain vegetable noodle soup and dry bread on the way. Mint tea. What else do you need, Elliot?”

I sit on the baby blue chaise lounge. “I think I just want to get home and go to bed, honestly.”

They sit across from me. “Fine,” my father says as he adjusts his glasses. “We’ll arrange a car.”

I nod weakly. In a way, it’s a relief to see them. I didn’t know if I ever would again. But I’m still reeling, wrestling with guilt and confusion. And they’re looking at me like they always do, like I’m a problem and an inconvenience.

The food and tea arrive, and I thank their household manager, Heath, as he hands them off and retreats back to the kitchen.

A small sip of soup is like a drug.

“Quite an ordeal,” my father says. “You must be exhausted.”

“I can arrange a house visit from a doctor tomorrow,” my mother adds.

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Unfortunately,” my father continues, “this fiasco has created some headaches for the family and for the firm. There won’t be much time for rest.”

I shake my head, not sure I follow. “How does the firm come into this?”

“Considering your familial connections and Hansley’s employment, the agency has become wrapped up in all of these unsavory rumors. We’ve hired an outside team to repair the damage to our reputation. Professionals. But we’re going to have to ask some things of you.”

I rub my forehead, annoyed. Typical that he would call my near-death experience unsavory . “I don’t know, Dad. Do we really need to talk about this right now?”

How much damage can a local news story do, anyway?

My mother hums under her breath, annoyed. “Unfortunately, yes, we need to talk about this now. I’m sure you’re eager to return to your decrepit house and those...friends. But your disappearance has created a scandal, and it’s your responsibility to the family to tend to it.”

“Taylor and Marko. You know their names.”

“We need you and Mr. Hansley to attend a press conference,” my father concludes.

“Our team suggests that we go forward as soon as possible. Tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. They’ll send you some basic questions and prepare your answers ahead.

” My face must show how I feel about that, because he tightens his brow.

“You’re happy to come to the family for handouts, Elliot. That comes with obligations.”

I chew the inside of my mouth. I’m inclined to tell my family to fuck off kindly, but this also has to do with Hank and his job. The last thing I want to do is to make more tension for him there, and at least I’ll get to see him again.

Fuck. I need to get back to my friends. Hank only has Marko’s number. There’s no other way to be in touch with him.

“Okay, whatever,” I agree, impatient and ready to get out of here. “Can you send me the details?”

“Certainly,” my father says. “Now your siblings are waiting for a phone call. They’d each like to give you their well wishes.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Please be polite,” my father says.

Always about keeping up appearances. Not that any of my siblings have once in my life called me to say hello.

I wince, faking. “Okay. But I’m having stomach distress. Would it be okay for me to take the call in the bathroom?”

Next thing I know, they’ve got me in a car, headed home.

The rickety old house I rent with my friends is on a quiet street with a steep incline.

Seeing the chipped blue paint and the flowering shrubs out front, I start crying again.

The lights are all on inside, and when I cross the wooden porch and try the door, I find my friends waiting right there for me.

Taylor and Marko throw their arms around me, and we all laugh and cry, dancing around.

“We thought you were gone,” Taylor says.

“I was scared I’d never see you again,” I tell them both.

Marko is in the blue bathrobe and a pair of baggy white boxer shorts with red hearts, and Taylor wears a heather gray t-shirt dress.

The living room has been given over to preparations for the upcoming drag climate rally, and there are big glittery signs and banners hanging everywhere, along with a couple of mannequins fitted with in-process dresses of theatrically high glamour.

I collapse on the old couch, which creaks loudly, tears streaming down my face. “I’m so happy to be home.”

After some more reuniting, my friends help me with a shower and a tiny bowl of easy-to-digest food, oatmeal with blueberries. I get into my comfy T-shirt and boxers, which are like heaven on my skin, and crawl back onto the couch.

“I’m so exhausted,” I tell them.

“You should go to sleep,” Marko suggests helpfully.

I rub my eyes. “Not quite yet. My family is trying to make me do a press conference in a couple days, by the way.”

Taylor sits on the armchair across from me. “Excuse me?”

Marko joins me on the couch. “They never disappoint, do they?”

“I’m going to do it for Hank’s sake,” I tell them. “And just to get this over with. But does that really seem necessary? Like, will anyone truly care?”

They exchange a look.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve been on the news,” Taylor tries.

“And by been on the news ,” Marko adds, “Taylor means the country is obsessed with your disappearance.”

“You’ve been all over TV, newspapers, trending on every social media platform.”

“More and more stories kept coming out. Rumors about the accounting firm. These drug smugglers who were apparently in the Puget Sound that night.”

Taylor keeps talking as she flips through her phone. “And people tracked down your social media, so there are pictures of you at climate protests with Marko, and tons of pictures of you dancing at the club.”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

She turns her phone in my direction, open to TikTok, and starts scrolling through trending videos showing me or Hank, old photos and screenshots.

“Everyone has a theory,” Marko tries to explain. “Gay lovers run away? An embezzling Ronnie and Clyde? Or were you murdered, or kidnapped? Were you the murderer, or was Hank?”

“There have been false sightings in Japan, Idaho, and at an arctic research station,” Taylor adds.

I try to take it in. “Damn.”

“Totally,” Marko agrees.

“I dreamed that maybe I’d be a famous artist one day. But this is not the kind of attention I want right now.”

“I know you don’t,” Taylor says consolingly. “But you’ll be glad to hear—no one has linked Elliot the missing person with the illustrator behind your artwork.”

“Shit. I hadn’t even considered that.” My brain remembers work, and then money, and the countless responsibilities that are now landing on my shoulders, and I’m suddenly so, so tired again.

Marko holds his phone up. “Hank texted on his sister’s phone to give you her number, by the way.”

“Oh!” I realize I still don’t have a phone. “Can I text him back on yours?”

Marko nods and hands his phone over.

Elliot: i’m here! how are you, hank?

I’m hoping for an immediate response, but when it doesn’t come, I hand the phone back to Marko, trying not to feel disappointed. Hank is with his people. We both need to rest, sleep, eat. It’s reasonable that he isn’t texting me immediately.

But I’m used to him being close, his presence an assurance that I’m safe, and now I hate the silence between us.

It’s hard not to worry about him. What if he’s hurt or sick in ways we didn’t realize?

And it’s hard not to worry, also, that the reason he isn’t texting me immediately is because he doesn’t care about me anymore, that he’s mad at me for my big mistake.

It would only make sense. We actively chose not to make any commitments, and there are serious consequences with his career to consider.

Hell, we’re going to have to do a press conference together for damage control.

Hank wouldn’t ghost me, but what if this really is the end of our connection?

“I guess you and Hank got to know each other pretty well,” Marko says, prompting me.

I look up at my friends again, aware I was showing all my emotions on my face. “I don’t even know how to explain it. It was like nothing else existed except for us. And I guess I fell pretty hard for him.”

Marko tilts his head to the side. “Like, fell for him?”

I sit up and drink more water. “We had the most amazing sex of my entire life.”

“Oh my god,” Taylor says with a gasp. “You had desert island sex?”

“We had desert island sex,” I confirm, and Marko starts laughing.

“That’s one way to pass the time.”

“Are you together?” Taylor asks.

“No. I guess not. We always said it ends when we get off that island. But now that I’m back, I already miss him.”

I realize how much there is to talk about, a knot of emotions to untangle. My eyes glance across the posters and outfits that crowd the room, and I take it all in again.

“Hold on,” I say. “When is the drag rally?”

“Next week,” Marko answers.

“Next week! Oh my god! I’ve got so much to do.”

“No one expects you to follow through on your part,” Taylor says. “You need to rehabilitate. We weren’t even sure we were going to go through with it at all, if you hadn’t come back.”

“Luckily, poster-making and sewing are great outlets when I’m nervous,” Marko explains as he gestures around.

I shake my head. “No way can you cancel. It’s level-up summer, and we’re all in it together. Right?”

A desperate sense of urgency rises up in me. I can’t let my mess derail everyone’s plans. It’s time for me to take responsibility for my life, just like I did on the island. I know I can do this.

“Let’s take things easy at first,” Taylor says. “And whatever you feel up for contributing to the rally, that will be great.”

Marko checks his phone. “Text from an unknown number,” he sings.

After he hands it to me, a smile fills my face.

Hank: Hi, it’s Hank. This is my personal number.

Hank: I’m doing okay. Just getting some IV hydration at the hospital. How are you, Elliot?

“Aww,” Taylor says with a warm laugh. “It’s so nice to see you happy and not murdered.”

I quickly write Hank back.

Elliot: i’m okay, even better now that you texted me

It takes him a moment to answer, and I feel the phone in my hand, marveling at how strange everything is now that I’m back in civilization.

Hank: I’m glad. I’ll be home to my condo tomorrow. It sounds like we’re being asked to do a press conference soon, though.

Elliot: weird that we’re a viral news story. but i guess i’ll see you there

Hank: You’re sure you’re okay? You have everything you need?

Elliot: i’m even seeing a doctor tomorrow

Hank: Good.

I smile at the phone.

Elliot: i miss you, hank

There’s no delay before I get a response.

Hank: I miss you, too.