You couldn’t even tell me that much. And Cecil . . .” He runs a hand over his head in frustration, dislodging droplets of water that trail in rivulets down his fingers. “He was just . . . different afterward.”
Something about the way he says it makes my throat tighten. “How so?”
Shrugging, he pushes from the door and walks across my room, almost aimless. “He was just”—he struggles to find the right word and settles on—“gone. I mean, I understand why. When the coast guard gave up the search for you and Barbara, he was devastated and refused to believe it. Of course he was going to try and find y’all on his own. But then after you were rescued and he became a widower—all those months in Switzerland taking care of you.”
He paces back across the room, agitated. “The thing is—you’re his daughter. Of course he’s going to move heaven and earth for you. I’d have done the same thing but—” He bites back whatever he was going to say next.
“Luis was already away in law school then. And I had boarding school. Sure, Cecil had an army of staff to keep everything running when I was home for breaks. But . . .” He presses his palm against the glass of the door, the tips of his fingers tapping lightly.
A sick feeling grows in my stomach as I wait for him to continue.
“You know, Luis used to always tell me, ‘Remember where you come from,’ every time he thought I was becoming too white. He was sixteen when our parents died—he could remember what they were like. But I was only six. When Cecil and Barbara took us in they became the only parents I knew.”
He turns sideways, his head dropped and eyes closed. “As far as I was concerned, I lost my mother when the
Persephone
went down. And Luis was gone and I understood because he was still the kid who’d lost his parents a decade before. But then you were gone too. And so was Cecil. And where did that leave me?”
Thunder rolls across the ocean, lightning streaking along his profile, illuminating his anguish. In all the years since I’d become Libby, I’ve only ever thought about Shepherd in terms of him being a threat. Of everyone, he’s the one most likely to uncover the ruse, to see straight through to the heart of the truth.
I’ve avoided him, spurned him, because it’s the only way to protect myself. I hadn’t considered how much his life also changed the night the
Persephone
was attacked. What it must have been like to lose your foster mother to disaster, only to have your foster father abandon you by choice.
It makes my heart ache, not just for Shepherd, but for Cecil too. Because I know that Cecil loved Shepherd. But not enough to tell him the truth. Not enough to stay around for him. To comfort him in those months after.
“I’m sorry.” Which I know is wholly inadequate for the reality that I—a stranger then—took what was his.
When he faces me, his expression has hardened into something more indifferent, but anger still hums beneath the surface. I can’t blame him—if there’s anyone who understands the power of rage to beat back sorrow, it’s me.
“You know when it would have been really nice to hear that?” he asks. “Four years ago.”
He starts toward the door. I know I should let him leave—it’s smarter to keep distance between us—but I don’t. Because he deserves more than he’s gotten.
“He thought of you as a son,” I tell him. Shepherd stops, his back drawing straight. “He loved you,” I add. “He talked about you all the time.”
“I’d have preferred if he actually talked
to
me rather than about me.” He pauses and then looks at me over his shoulder. “You’re right that I wanted you to be the same girl you were before the cruise. She was someone who smiled, who didn’t hold back. She actually gave a shit.
“But you . . .” His eyes rake over me. I wait for him to finish, but he merely shakes his head and leaves the room, saying nothing more.
When I know
Something about the way he says it makes my throat tighten. “How so?”
Shrugging, he pushes from the door and walks across my room, almost aimless. “He was just”—he struggles to find the right word and settles on—“gone. I mean, I understand why. When the coast guard gave up the search for you and Barbara, he was devastated and refused to believe it. Of course he was going to try and find y’all on his own. But then after you were rescued and he became a widower—all those months in Switzerland taking care of you.”
He paces back across the room, agitated. “The thing is—you’re his daughter. Of course he’s going to move heaven and earth for you. I’d have done the same thing but—” He bites back whatever he was going to say next.
“Luis was already away in law school then. And I had boarding school. Sure, Cecil had an army of staff to keep everything running when I was home for breaks. But . . .” He presses his palm against the glass of the door, the tips of his fingers tapping lightly.
A sick feeling grows in my stomach as I wait for him to continue.
“You know, Luis used to always tell me, ‘Remember where you come from,’ every time he thought I was becoming too white. He was sixteen when our parents died—he could remember what they were like. But I was only six. When Cecil and Barbara took us in they became the only parents I knew.”
He turns sideways, his head dropped and eyes closed. “As far as I was concerned, I lost my mother when the
Persephone
went down. And Luis was gone and I understood because he was still the kid who’d lost his parents a decade before. But then you were gone too. And so was Cecil. And where did that leave me?”
Thunder rolls across the ocean, lightning streaking along his profile, illuminating his anguish. In all the years since I’d become Libby, I’ve only ever thought about Shepherd in terms of him being a threat. Of everyone, he’s the one most likely to uncover the ruse, to see straight through to the heart of the truth.
I’ve avoided him, spurned him, because it’s the only way to protect myself. I hadn’t considered how much his life also changed the night the
Persephone
was attacked. What it must have been like to lose your foster mother to disaster, only to have your foster father abandon you by choice.
It makes my heart ache, not just for Shepherd, but for Cecil too. Because I know that Cecil loved Shepherd. But not enough to tell him the truth. Not enough to stay around for him. To comfort him in those months after.
“I’m sorry.” Which I know is wholly inadequate for the reality that I—a stranger then—took what was his.
When he faces me, his expression has hardened into something more indifferent, but anger still hums beneath the surface. I can’t blame him—if there’s anyone who understands the power of rage to beat back sorrow, it’s me.
“You know when it would have been really nice to hear that?” he asks. “Four years ago.”
He starts toward the door. I know I should let him leave—it’s smarter to keep distance between us—but I don’t. Because he deserves more than he’s gotten.
“He thought of you as a son,” I tell him. Shepherd stops, his back drawing straight. “He loved you,” I add. “He talked about you all the time.”
“I’d have preferred if he actually talked
to
me rather than about me.” He pauses and then looks at me over his shoulder. “You’re right that I wanted you to be the same girl you were before the cruise. She was someone who smiled, who didn’t hold back. She actually gave a shit.
“But you . . .” His eyes rake over me. I wait for him to finish, but he merely shakes his head and leaves the room, saying nothing more.
When I know
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