MAY 23

ALLIX

I didn't believe that everything happened for a reason.

While things had certainly happened to me, I wanted to believe that I wasn't just a domino in a chain of events. There was always a choice. I could decide for something to happen, rather than just let it happen.

So while none of this Gretchen England business concerned me, I refused to stand by as society's institutionalized sexism tarnished another successful woman's reputation. I was helping Brenna to serve the greater good.

I stood at the wheel of Galway's Treasure, steering the sailboat into the marina at Roche Harbor Resort. I wasn't at all surprised when Brenna said that Gretchen stayed here, as it was a historic seaside resort and the most popular one on San Juan Island.

"There's no need to think about the worst-case scenario," Brenna said, putting on a pair of Gucci sunglasses. Our first stroke of luck arrived in the form of sunshine and clear skies. A rapid change in the weather was common in the Pacific Northwest.

I tightened my hold on the wheel. "I bet that's what everyone says before it becomes a reality."

"Haven't you heard of the law of attraction?" She arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "We need to manifest a positive outcome."

Despite my annoyance with Brenna's complete lack of plan, I attempted to harness some optimism. Unlike some people who seemed to have it pumping through their bloodstream, I imagined mine was like bone marrow - much more difficult to extract.

"Fine," I said, bitter about my sudden surge of beta energy. "In the law of attraction we trust."

Brenna tipped her chin up and offered me an award-winning smile.

After entering Galway's Treasure's assigned slip, I methodically completed the proper steps of docking. It was a process that I'd committed to memory. My dad had taught me to sail as a kid, and I got my license on my twelfth birthday. Being out on the water cleared my head the way running did, only it wasn't as physically exhausting.

"You're lucky to live somewhere so beautiful," Brenna said as we walked up the dock and out of the marina. Roche Harbor was one of the busiest U.S. Customs ports of entry for boats, so both Canadian and American flags flew from the posts stationed along the walkway. "I love Los Angeles, don't get me wrong, but this is like a natural paradise."

I exhaled a soft laugh. "By the end of the summer, you'll be more than ready to go back to the city. Trust me."

The prospect of returning to New York City in the fall was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. I wanted to believe I was ready, that I wouldn't doubt myself.

But wanting wasn't enough sometimes.

"I can see why Dakota missed it, though," Brenna replied thoughtfully. "There's an authentic sense of wildness and peace here. It's part of the landscape and the people."

I ran my tongue over the front of my teeth, unsure of what to say. I loved Friday Island, but I missed the freedom I felt back in New York City. I missed the comfort of knowing that no one knew about my illness. Sure, I ended up screwing myself over and had to take a semester off from college, but now I was back on the right track. I had to be.

"He talked a lot about you guys," Brenna continued. "Nothing too personal, of course. It's not like he got wasted in some Beverly Hills hotel room and spilled the history of your lives to me."

I concentrated on keeping a straight face. "That's pretty specific."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

"I'm not."

We breezed through the lush gardens of the resort and followed a brick path that led us up to the original building - a charming two-story hotel complete with colonnaded balconies and white paint. Upon entering the lobby, I chose to linger a few steps behind Brenna. She was the one with the power to seal the deal.

The sound of our shoes on the hardwood floor failed to attract the attention of the girl sitting behind the front desk. She was shamelessly scrolling through her phone.

Upon reaching the desk, Brenna cleared her throat. "My name is Brenna Quinn, and I'm hoping you can help me."

The girl's gaze snapped up, and her brown eyes instantly widened. "Hi! Hi, sorry," she blurted out, but quickly masked her shock. "Welcome to Roche Harbor Resort. I'm Maya. How can I be of help?"

"It's silly," Brenna began with a shy giggle. It almost succeeded in convincing me that it wasn't part of her act. "I was here last weekend with some of my co-stars to meet with our boss, and I somehow lost my lucky Aries ring."

I saw the spark of recognition in Maya's eyes. It seemed as though Brenna's everyday jewelry collection was common knowledge amongst fans.

"It was a gift from your mom after your Oscar nomination last year, right?" Maya asked.

Brenna offered a solemn nod. "It means a lot to me, and I hate to ask so much of you, but is there any chance that I can take a quick look around my boss' room?"

Maya hesitated, glancing around the empty lobby. No one was here to witness her break protocol, but I knew protocol mattered to people with a strong moral compass. She was going to turn us down.

"It's my fault," I interjected, surprising myself as I stepped up to the desk beside Brenna. "I'm Miss Quinn's assistant. She probably took the ring off before the night shoot, and it's my job to double-check everything. I should've noticed."

Brenna didn't miss a beat and set a hand on my shoulder. "It's not your fault. I really need to start being more responsible."

I knew our little performance changed the tide when Maya began typing on the desktop computer. "Do you have the room number?"

"No, but my boss is Conrad Kane," Brenna said. "It's for the night of the 16th."

Saying that could have easily been a massive mistake. All official reports from that night stated that Brenna was present at Cape Blue and I wanted to avoid spinning another lie.

"You're in luck," Maya announced with a smile. "No one new has rented Cottage 13 since the 16th, so there's a good chance your ring is still there."

Brenna's joyful squeal caught both Maya and me off guard. "Thank you! Thank you so much."

Maya's smile grew and it made my stomach twist with guilt. Manipulating an innocent person wasn't what I agreed to, but I followed Brenna out of the lobby with a key-card for Cottage 13 and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

We'd accomplished what we came to Roche Harbor Resort to do: confirm that Conrad had an alibi for the night of May 16th.

It didn't entirely prove his innocence, but it was a big piece of the puzzle that they could fit into place. Conrad couldn't have killed the orca if he was here with Gretchen.

"Allix, you'd make an excellent actress," Brenna informed me as we started down a lane of waterfront cottages.

"Thanks, but I doubt it," I replied. The idea of stepping into the skin of a fictional character was unappealing. It would likely deter me from addressing my personal problems head-on. "If Conrad was here the night of the 16th, that means we're back to square one in terms of suspects."

Brenna adjusted her sunglasses to sit on the bridge of her nose. "You're looking at the glass half-empty. Conrad has an alibi, and that takes the heat off of Apex."

"We're the only people who know that. Everyone else is going to keep speculating until Conrad makes a public statement." I exhaled a hard breath, looking down at my Converse sneakers as I walked. "Which he may feel pressured to do if the photos of the Black Swan are published."

"They prove nothing," she said, venom slipping into her voice. "But your impulsive friend is relying on the gossip chain to fuel the fire, and that's what will expose Conrad's relationship with Gretchen."

Loyalty kicked in and I glared at Brenna. "Maud might be impulsive, but she's doing the right thing. Once the case gets state-wide attention, the police will have more resources to catch the psychopaths responsible."

"There's usually more than one way to do the right thing," Brenna sang out as we came to a stop in front of Cottage 13.

The faded cedar-shingle siding and blue shutters gave it a modest yet charming appearance, but it wasn't the type of lodging that I'd expect a famous Hollywood producer to seek out.

But maybe that was the point. Discretion was everything.

With the key-card in hand, I took the lead and continued up the wooden steps of the front porch. The top step creaked so loudly that it was borderline painful.

Brenna grimaced. "If we were in a crime drama, we'd probably find a dead body in here."

"But we're not," I answered flatly. I pressed the card against the reader, and it flashed green.

The cottage felt even smaller on the inside. Aside from the stunning harbor views, the main floor consisted of one room with coastal-themed decor and a tiny white kitchen.

Brenna plopped down onto the sofa. "I'm going to take a five-minute power nap, and then we can return the card."

"So, where are we going to find your ring?" I questioned, eyeing the wrought-iron spiral staircase that appeared to lead to a loft. It was oddly steep, and a fall would be severely unpleasant.

"Bathroom," Brenna replied. "Whenever I think I lose something, it always magically appears in the bathroom."

For the sake of going through the motions, I popped into the bathroom. It still reeked of expensive cologne and I might've dismissed it if there wasn't an electric toothbrush charging on the counter.

A gasp slipped through the fingers of the hand that I instinctively lifted to cover my mouth. Dread twisted my pale reflection in the mirror.

No one new has rented Cottage 13 since the 16th.

Whirling around, I yanked the shower door open. Droplets of water clung to the glass, and the extravagant assortment of bath products were the final confirmation I needed to storm out of the bathroom.

Brenna jolted into an upright position, her sunglasses nearly toppling off her head.

"Allix, what-"

"Conrad is still here," I interrupted, scanning the room to verify that we wouldn't leave any trace of our existence behind. "No one new has rented since the 16th because he's still here. His stuff is still here."

It was far from the most eloquent sentence that I'd said today, but it got the point across. Brenna was on her feet in a flash, and I was reaching for the handle of the front door when we both heard it.

The voice emanating from the other side of the door is one that I'd never heard before, but I knew who it belonged to based on Brenna's vice-like grip encircling my wrist.

In the span of a second, we exchanged a panicked look and I relinquished my hold on the handle. Brenna's long ponytail smacked me in the face as we launched ourselves into the closet adjacent to the front door.

It was small and uncomfortably narrow, but we both managed to fit. I pressed myself against the back of the wall and sank to the floor just as I heard the front door open.

"I've answered all of the police's questions, G," Conrad lamented, slamming the door shut behind him. "There's no need to give them something that they didn't ask for."

There was a pause as G - who I could only assume was Gretchen England - replied. While I could detect the soft and feminine voice, I couldn't distinguish any of the words.

Conrad's footsteps stopped directly outside the closet. "You told Brenna Quinn about us?"

Another painful pause ensued, and I met Brenna's wide-eyed gaze in the dim light. If Conrad opened the bifold door, it was over. There was nowhere to hide and no excuse for why we were in the closet of Cabin 13.

Conrad expelled an exasperated sigh. "I'm not mad. She has a good head on her shoulders, but you know how close she is with Black. Everything is already too personal for him."

The affection in Conrad's voice was unmistakable, but my throat tightened. Conrad wanting to keep his personal life private was understandable, but information regarding the events of May 16th needed to be shared. After all, Dakota and Conrad were supposedly co-executive producers.

I allowed my forehead to fall against my kneecaps. There was no better time to manifest a positive outcome because I was still so damn sure that at any moment, the closet door would fling open. We were literally inches away from the worst-case scenario.

For the next few minutes, all Conrad did was exhale noisily and offer up a 'yeah' or two while Gretchen presumably offered him one hell of an explanation.

"How can you be sure?" Conrad eventually questioned. "Those two eat loyalty for breakfast."

I would've cracked a smile if my nerves hadn't frozen my facial muscles. If loyalty happened to be a physical substance, Dakota would definitely eat it because that would be incredibly on-brand for him.

Brenna, however, was a very different story. In the short amount of time that I'd known her, we'd bonded because of what happened on May 16th and everything that had happened since then. Solidifying friendships through shared trauma is a cliché, but there was some truth to it.

A part of me was still annoyed that I was the one person Brenna chose to confide in, but that was only out of loyalty to Gretchen. I wouldn't hold that against her, but I wouldn't allow it to distort my judgment of her character either.

"Alright, G, I'll call you later. I love you too."

Conrad's heavy footsteps finally faded away. After a few long moments, there was a clanging in what sounded like the kitchen.

"How do we get the hell out of here?" Brenna asked, her voice a breathless whisper.

I chewed on my lower lip, deciding that the only viable exit was the front door. "We wait."

The wait lasted a full hour.

Between the cramp in my right calf and Brenna announcing that she was about to pee her pants three times, I considered it a miracle when I heard the shower start.

I stood up, my knees threatening to buckle, and inhaled a steadying breath. There was no going back now. I opened the closet door as quietly as I possibly could and waited until Brenna slipped by to close it.

We tip-toed to the front door, and I didn't hesitate before unlocking it

But then we were out, bolting down the front steps and not caring about how suspicious we looked as we sped back to the lobby. Maya was still behind the front desk and was oblivious to our panic as I returned the key-card.

We were nearly halfway back to the marina when everything around me started to spin in a whirlwind of vibrant colors. I put a hand on the nearest streetlamp to steady myself.

Brenna's hand appeared on my shoulder a moment later. "Hey, are you okay?"

Her voice sounded far away and everything kept spinning. I pinched my eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over me.

"I'm fine," I managed to say through gritted teeth. "Just a little light-headed."

"I have a granola bar in my bag. Do you want it?"

I shook my head. "No, but thanks anyway."

I removed my hand from the streetlamp and took a few nauseating steps forward.

"Look, Allix," Brenna started, catching up to me in a single stride. "I'm not trying to stick my nose where it doesn't belong, but you need to eat something. I can't have you fainting because I don't know how to sail. Dakota would also probably kill me"

My brain seemed to ache as if it was one thought away from exploding. "I said that I'm fine! You got what you wanted, so let's just go."

Brenna worked her jaw, but she refrained from protesting. She didn't ask any questions either, not even as we set sail for Friday Island.

Standing at the wheel of Galway's Treasure once more, I tried to slip into autopilot. I desperately wanted to stop thinking about dead orcas, cramped closets, and Apex. Except I couldn't. Not when I'd already decided to see this through.

I couldn't have prevented the orca from washing up at Cape Blue's cove, but I chose to help Dakota when he called for help. I chose to join this so-called investigation. I had the choice to stay out of this, but I didn't. This was my decision and I had to own it. All I could do now was hope it was the right one.

✘ ✘ ✘

I don't have a platform, but I do have a voice. So white friends, let's educate ourselves and contribute to building an anti-racist global society.

Here are a few literary and audio resources that I've sought out to become a better black ally:

White Fragility by Robin Diangelo

Me and White Supremacy by Layla F. Saad

Why I'm no Longer Talking to White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge

The 1619 by The New York Times (podcast)