THE STARS ARE BEAUTIFUL - WATTYS AWARD NEW ADULT WINNER 2019

Callum | 28

"AN ASSASSIN," NICK SAID.

"No."

He tried again. "A Chinese spy."

"She's American, idiot. Blonde hair, green eyes."

"Human trafficking. Brighton smuggled her in and married her at age fifteen."

I sighed as we watched the ocean waves roll. "I thought you were good at conspiracy theories, Nick. Who the hell is going to believe any of those?"

"I thought the last one seemed pretty legit, given the shit you've told me about her dad." He shrugged, swallowing down the last sip of his beer.

"It should be something positive. I don't want Everly remembered as a damn traitor or child bride."

"So, an assassin, then?"

"Be-leave-A-bull."

He laughed, sinking down into the sand. "I'm no good with fairy tales, brother."

Tatum found us on the beach and took a seat on Nick's lap, handing him another beer. He took a sip and passed it back, but she shook her head.

"What's with you tonight?" he asked. "You're sober as a... Callum. You're as sober as him."

She smiled. "Just don't wanna get all sleepy."

"You're a liar," he said before he took a long sip. "What's with you? Tell me."She glanced between us and then said, "Pregnant women can't drink."

"Yeah, so, what does that have to do—? Oh holy Christ."

I smiled but looked away, feeling too much like I was spying on a secret.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't want to say anything this weekend."

I shook my head, knowing what she meant. "I'm happy for you, Tater."

"Yeah?"

"Of course. You're my best friend."

I glanced to Nick, but he was still as a statue.

"Think he's going into shock?" She laughed.

But before I could reply, he pulled her against him so fiercely, I was almost afraid he would crush her from his hold. They spoke in hushed Greek as I watched the waves. And dreamed.

And dreamed.

And dreamed.

And dreamed.

***

When I reached the top of the lighthouse, I pulled one of the pictures Pearl had given me from my pocket. I showed it to the sun and allowed the wind to dance across her innocent face. Then, with one flick of my fingers, I gave her back to the sky, as I allowed the picture to fly away, answering her question from the last Fourth of July.

"That's what a bird would feel like, Everly Anne," I said to myself. "That's what it would feel like to fly in Montauk."

The picture disappeared too quickly for my eyes to follow. I wondered what someone might think if they ever found it on the beach. Would they keep it? Would they stuff it into a bottle and send it out into the ocean with a note, hoping that it would find its rightful home?

There was a group of children playing on the beach below, running to and from the water, screaming and laughing. So young. So free. Their stories unwritten. I wondered what they would think of her picture if it washed up on the shore. What would they say about a mysterious little girl trapped inside of a bottle?***