JUNE 6          

ALLIX

Saturday evening began with me burning myself on my curling iron.

Gritting my teeth, I ran my knuckles beneath the cold faucet until the initial searing pain faded away. All I wanted at the moment was to get tonight's banquet at the Whaling Museum over with and wished I hadn't agreed to help Brenna keep a watchful eye on Conrad Kane.

Despite having confirmed Conrad's alibi for the night of May 16th, we both still suspected that he knew more than he was letting on. I wasn't a confrontational person, and I definitely wasn't savvy enough to somehow trick him into telling the truth, but I trusted my judgment if I could remain objective.

That was how I kept a level head these days. I relied on objectivity and rational thinking. I had to compartmentalize my emotions for the sake of maintaining clarity.

"Pain pays off, huh?"

Rowena popped her head into my bathroom, her blue eyes bright with mirth as she eyed my knuckles. A splotchy redness decorated my skin, but my rings served as a shiny distraction.

"It usually does," I admitted, tossing a wave of hair over my shoulder. "When is Bryce picking you up?"

"Now." My sister's cheeks flushed. "I'm here to bid you adieu and wish you luck."

I threw her a reproachful look. "I don't need luck for a glorified dinner party. You're the one who's going on a date."

"It's not like that," Rowana said, but her coy smile told a different story. "At least not yet." 

"Well, in that case, know your worth. A boy who plays mind games isn't deserving of your time and affection."

Rowena giggled, and before I could tell her that I was serious, she pulled me into a tight embrace. The sweet smell of rose perfume and coconut shampoo tickled my nose as I inhaled.

"Okay, I have to go," she said, releasing me. "You're beautiful. Don't be a total ice queen."

"If being a total ice queen is my only problem, I'll consider myself lucky."

After rolling her eyes, Rowena left. Once I heard the bedroom door shut, I turned around to appraise my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The granite blue slip dress complimented the lighter hues of my eyes, and since I was basically flat-chested, the cowl neck was modest yet flattering. There were also adjustable side ties, allowing me to style the dress at a midi length. The glossy fabric gilded against my skin as I stepped up to the counter.

Sometimes, this act transported me back to the darker days when strong was the same as empty, and recovery was a sour daydream. Fortunately, the tide had turned, and mirrors were no longer portraits of my insecurities. I was healing from the inside out. Or so I hoped.

The faint vibration of my phone on the counter pulled me out of my thoughts. I grimaced when I saw Syd's caller ID occupying the screen, but still answered the call.

"I got a flat tire on my way to Dakota's house," Syd said, apparently out of breath. "I need you to go scoop him."

I scoffed, adjusting the right spaghetti strap of my dress. "Way to ask nicely."

"Sorry," Syd whined. "I'm sorry, okay? I have Brenna in the car, and I don't want to be the reason why she's late."

I watched my reflection's expression morph into a scowl. Deep down, I knew that this shouldn't be a big deal. Driving to Dakota's house was hardly a mile out of my way to the museum, but my conversation with him last night still had me on edge.

I was aware that it wasn't entirely fair of me to withhold my knowledge of Conrad Kane's relationship with Gretchen England, but it was better if Dakota didn't know the truth. At least that was what I was striving to convince myself and Brenna of. We needed to shield Dakota from the controversy that will eventually come to light. His career was what mattered most to him, and I would hate to see it crash and burn.

I pressed my lips together and mulled over potential escape routes. "Can't Dakota call a limo or whatever car service celebrities use?"

"He's too pedestrian for that."

"What about his Mercedes?"

"Too flashy. The paparazzi would recognize it."

An ache bloomed in my jaw as I clenched it. This was one of those times when I needed to pick and choose my battles.

"Okay," I yielded. "I'll do it."

"Allix McGovern, you're my savior," Syd declared, and I imagined him fist-pumping the air. "See you soon!"

Syd didn't wait for my response and ended the call before I could think of something mildly passive-aggressive to say. It was probably for the best, though. I shouldn't equate favors for my friends as burdens.

Downstairs in the foyer, I located my little handbag and slid on my favorite pair of sandals. I didn't like wearing heels since I was afraid of rolling my ankle and not being able to run. I also took comfort in the fact that I was fully capable of making a speedy Cinderella-style exit at the banquet if I needed to.

"Allix," my father's voice called out, and he emerged from the kitchen with a smile. "You look all grown up."

I toyed with the thin gold chain of my necklace. "I hope that's a good thing."

"It is. I'm proud of you."

When I didn't answer right away, a crease formed between his eyebrows.

"If you don't want to go to the banquet, you don't have to," he continued. "Your mother and I are the patrons, so our presence should satisfy the museum's board."

I quickly shook my head, not wanting him to mislabel the cause of my nerves. "No, I'm fine. I've been looking forward to it, actually. I wanted an excuse to wear this dress again."

"Are you sure?" he asked with a note of hesitation in his voice. "After everything that happened at Cape Blue, it might be hard to support the people who are stirring up trouble."

My dad's response didn't startle me. The rumors of Apex's involvement have only increased in recent days, sinking their teeth into everyone on the island, and spreading skepticism. Without an arrest by the police, no one knew what to believe.

"I'm fine," I reassured him again and held up my pinky finger. "I promise."

"Okay," he said, seeming to accept my assertion. "But I'm always here if you want to talk. I know you know that."

"I do." I gave him a quick smile and remembered to update him on my plans. "Syd got a flat tire on his way to pick up Dakota, so now I have to go be a good person and do it."

"Fair enough," dad nodded. "Feel free to charge him for your impromptu chauffeur duties."

I couldn't help but crack another smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. "I'll see you and Mom there."

After running through a mental checklist of my necessities, I left the house feeling a little less tense. Conversations with my dad reminded me to be grateful for our strong relationship. It was also a reminder that despite the emotional turmoil I'd put my family through, they were always there to love and support me. That was something I knew would never change.

When I reached the end of  the Black's long driveway, I killed the engine and exhaled a heavy sigh. I took a moment to remind myself why I needed to keep my secrets locked inside, but I knew that wouldn't be an easy task to replicate.

Dakota had always been the type of person who put others at ease. Maybe it had something to do with the attentive warmth in his eyes or the genuine passion he put into his work, but the effect was like an emotional sedative. You wanted to open up to him, confess all the things you didn't even know you wanted to say until the words stumbled out of your mouth.

It was why I'd needed to slam the door in Dakota's face last night. My resolve to lie to him was fading, and he was persistent in a way that convinced me that he cared - not just about getting the answer but understanding what had changed between us. That was something I was still trying to wrap my mind around.

Once I solidified my emotional armor, I started for the front door and rang the doorbell. It was one of those ornate ones with a chime that seemed to go on for a little too long. I shifted my weight from one foot to another in anticipation. I didn't have to wait too long as Katrina Black flung open the door before the chime could end, and nearly blinded me with her smile.

"I'm going to need to take a picture," she announced, ushering me inside. "You'll want to look back on a night like this. I promise that one day, you'll thank me."

"Mrs. Black," I greeted breathlessly. "It's great to see you."

"No, it's great to see you," she said. Her enthusiasm winded me like the final 100 yards in a 1600 meter dash. "I'd love to hear about Ireland when you get the chance. You have family in Dublin, right?

"Galway," I corrected.

"How lovely. I know Ireland is at the top of Dakota's list of travel destinations."

"Oh." I blinked, unsure of how much I should read into the comment. "He should go. It's beautiful there."

"You know, I've always wanted to plan an Irish wedding," Mrs. Black mused thoughtfully.  "The Claddagh rings and handfasting are such soulful traditions."

Tiny stars sparked in the corners of my vision, and I choked back what I thought was a laugh. It probably sounded more like a kitten who just had its tail stomped on.

"Are you done self-advertising?"

I whirled around to face the staircase and saw Dakota standing on the third step from the bottom. His dark hair was slicked back with glossy hair gel, and he was clean-shaven. For a split second, I didn't recognize him and blamed the white dress shirt and khakis that made him look like a walking Polo Ralph Lauren advertisement.

"Dakota, dear," Katrina said, unfazed. "All I want is one nice picture before you leave."

"Yeah, sure," Dakota nodded wearily. "Can I borrow Allix first, though?"

She directed her attention back to me. "We'll catch up more later."

"I'd like that," I said with a forced smile and followed Dakota up the stairs.

As soon as the door to his bedroom closed behind us, we both exhaled a breath. It was somewhat jarring to see Dakota all dressed up while standing in a space that completely contrasted his current style. For starters, the room looked like a hurricane had torn through it with all of the scattered manuscripts, books, and outdoor wear. The unmade bed and open closet only enchanted the mess, and my eyes searched for something more aesthetically pleasing to latch onto.

On the wall above his desk, there was a collection of black and white photographs. Most of them were of various Washington landscapes, but some were of our friend group from high school. It only took me a few seconds to find myself thanks to my long hair and the fact that I was far too thin to be healthy. I inwardly cringed.

I was so fed up with the past haunting me, and I fought the urge to tear down the photos of me and burn them.

"I wasn't sure you'd show up," Dakota said, extracting me out of my thoughts.

I shrugged. "Everyone appreciates a subtle plot-twist."

He sent me a tight-lipped smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "About last night," he predicactly started. "I get why you slammed the door in my face. Maybe I was...a little too accusatory."

I waved off the point of controversy. "We don't need to talk about it. I'm just here to be your chauffeur."

"Ha-ha," Dakota said with just the right dose of sarcasm to be charming. He turned his back on me to sort through the mess of clothing on his bed. A moment later, he faced me once again with a tie in each hand. "Which one?"

"Blue," I answered instantly. "It's less pretentious."

He frowned. "You're wearing blue."

"Your point?"

"You're not any less pretentious."

I ignored Dakota's jab and decided to accelerate the process. Stepping up to him, I snatched the blue tie out of his hand, and he froze as I started the neck loop. "We're going to be late. Is a Half Windsor Knot okay?"

He barely nodded, but I felt the firmness of the movement. I guided the tie through the knot front and carefully tightened it as I drew it up to the collar of his shirt. The red knuckle of my pointer finger grazed the skin of his neck. It was burning.

"It's been a rough day," Dakota said, finding his voice. "Go easy on me."

I smoothed his tie before stepping away. "I don't go easy on anyone."

"Consider making an exception." His eyes briefly dropped to my knuckles. "Not for me, but yourself."

I hummed, reminding myself of a live wire. "I'm touched."

"And I'm serious."

As I looked at him - really looked at him - a tightness began to spin inside my chest like a spider's web. The sincerity in his eyes was so raw it was terrifying.

"I'll meet you in the car," I blurted out, and played the Cinderella card far earlier in the evening than I'd anticipated.

It was a small miracle that I managed to dodge Mrs. Black on my way out of the house, and the cool evening air only alerted me to just how warm I felt. The rational part of my brain knew that the absence of air conditioning in the Black's old house was somewhat partially responsible, but then again, it didn't help that I had to keep lying to everyone. There were times when everything I did felt like it was a lose-lose situation, and it was hard to remind myself that I deserved time to make sense of my emotions. I owed myself that much.

When Dakota emerged from the house five minutes later, it was in a rush of some expensive cologne that I didn't recognize and with his jacket slung over one shoulder.

"Change of plans," he said. "We're taking the Mercedes."

"No way," I protested, placing my hands on my pointy hip bones. "I didn't drive here just to have you drive me. That's so counterproductive."

He stared at me, unwavering in his conviction. "Allix, come on."

"I'm not getting into your fancy car when my Subaru and I are perfectly capable of driving us."

"It's from 2005. I wouldn't call that fancy."

I recalled my conversation with Syd. "What about the paparazzi?"

"You're the one who's worried about being late," Dakota said, aiming his car keys at the Mercedes. It unlocked with a dignified beep. "If we're in my car, we'll get priority parking."

While I wasn't above throwing a temper tantrum in Dakota's driveway, I wanted to make it through the evening without any major conflicts.

"Fine," I huffed indignantly, and stormed past him to access the passenger side of his car.

When Dakota joined me inside the car, he opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it. He presumably decided against saying whatever had come to mind. With one final complicated look, he stuck his keys in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life.

I tilted my head to look through the sunroof and up at the fading blue sky. I convinced myself for what felt like the hundredth time that I was doing the right thing. Lies could be justified, even when the consequences turned from ripples into waves.

*

With the radio cranked up and the wind rushing through the open windows, it was easy for me to drown out the cries of my inner turmoil. The soft evening light enhanced the deep green of the passing pine trees, and I inhaled the comforting scent.

The abundance of pine trees in Washington was what I missed the most when I was living in New York City. I'd never fully appreciated them until I left, and I wondered if Dakota felt the same way when he was in Los Angeles.

When we pulled into downtown, I observed how hectic it was. Saturday evenings were always the busiest time of the week with there being plenty of tourists on the island, but the banquet at the Whaling Museum appeared to have increased the traffic tenfold.

As we eased to a low speed in front of the museum, a small brick building that stood out amongst the Victorian architecture, it became very apparent that there was no available parking. A large portion of the sidewalk was roped off and armed with burly security guards. I noted the colorful crowd of well-dressed guests - a mix of high profile locals and those hailing from Hollywood - and instantly knew that I was going to be miserable while socializing. Small talk alone was enough to give me a migraine.

I sighed and slid Dakota a sideways glance. "So much for special celebrity parking treatment."

"I don't need celebrity treatment," he retorted and continued to drive with his eyes trained on something further down the street.

I watched him with a quizzical expression tugging at my features, unsure of what he was looking at until he flicked on his left turn signal. I leaned over the center console to examine what was definitely not an actual parking spot and laughed.

"Don't even try to park there," I said. "You're practically begging for a parking ticket."

Dakota heaved out a sigh and accelerated through the intersection. "You're impossible."

"That's not exactly what a girl wants to hear."

"What does a girl want to hear?"

"Asking kind of defeats the purpose," I deflected, sinking back against my seat. "Turn left. There's usually an open spot behind the library."

Dakota obeyed my instructions and turned into the tiny lot. As I predicted, there was an open spot, and I slid him a smug grin. He pretended to ignore it.

Once we parked, we didn't waste any time chatting, swiftly exiting the car and setting out down the sidewalk towards the museum. As we ascended a small hill, the wind picked up, repeatedly tugging at the bottom hem of my dress. It seemed determined to give everyone on the street a view of my lacy underwear.

"This is why I hate wearing dresses," I muttered, grasping the fabric in an attempt to keep it down.

The wind carried Dakota's laugh away. "You shouldn't. It's a nice dress."

I scoffed, still wrangling the wild hem. "Wow, thank you."

"You look nice, too, of course," he spluttered, eyes trailing over to me as we walked. "I meant to say that earlier, I swear."

"I think I look a little better than nice."

I wasn't fishing for compliments, but rather maintaining control of my perspective. I refused to allow other people to shape how I viewed myself. That was a dangerous perspective to rely on.

"You do." Dakota cleared his throat as we approached the entrance to the museum and the crowd that surrounded it. "You really do."

There was no time for me to respond as several of the more official-looking security guards flocked over to Dakota and insulated both of us from the eyes of the crowd.

The following minutes passed by in an obstacle course like fashion; I displayed my driver's license multiple times, strolled through a metal detector, and had my purse searched. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of Dakota and couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. However, I knew I was probably better off by keeping my distance for the time being.

I wasn't a social butterfly, and Dakota might as well be the Palos verdes blue - the world's rarest butterfly - and consequently, the center of attention.

As I navigated through the crowd, searching for familiar faces, it became apparent that the museum had undergone a glamorous makeover in order to prepare for the banquet. There were elaborate flower arrangements, silver and gold decorations, and clothed tables complete with name tags.

It was elegant but in an artificial way that I'd never associated with Friday Island or the Whaling Museum. The establishment itself promoted stewardship of whales as well as the Salish Sea ecosystem through funding education and research.

It also documented the darker years where wild orcas were relentlessly stolen from their families and put into tanks around the world for public display. In school, I remembered learning how in 1964, a wild orca from the Southern Resident population, named Moby Doll, was harpooned and shot near Saturna Island in B.C. with the hope of displaying him at the Vancouver Aquarium.

The attack on the Southern Resident population continued until the escalating public concern, and the impact on the orcas population forced the Canadian and American governments to suspend the removal of orcas from the Pacific Northwest. Unfortunately, the population never fully recovered, and the remaining population was dying off at an alarming rate.

Thinking about the orcas made me sick to my stomach, and I wrinkled my nose as I walked through an exhibit of the traditional equipment carried on whaleboats - tubs of coiled lines, harpoons, and other fishing tools.

Eventually I located Brenna and Syd. It shouldn't have taken me as long as it did since one was a movie star and the other a noisy extrovert, but I was relieved nonetheless. They were laughing alongside people who I recognized as Brenna's costars and their smiles were the most authentic details that I'd encountered so far. I almost felt bad for interrupting.

I was about to call out to them when an elbow jabbed against my ribcage, and I winced.

"Excuse me," I stated forcefully. When I turned around to face my clumsy assailant, a coldness seeped into my bloodstream.

I'd only caught a glimpse of him through a bifold closet door, but Conrad Kane's face was one that I won't ever forget. The situation only worsened when recognition flashed across Conrad's features like a lightning bolt and it registered with a resounding boom inside my head.

He knew who I was.

✘ ✘ ✘

but what does a girl what to hear?