At the Water's Edge by Sara Gruen

ignorant to realize he was as honorable as any of them. We knew the truth.
I
knew the truth. It would be difficult, but together we could withstand the scrutiny until the war ended.
    Ellis turned on me with such ferocity I almost didn’t recognize him.
    Of course
there was a monster, he said. Only an idiot would think there wasn’t a monster. Never mind all the sightings and photographs,including his own father’s—which, by the way, were still the best of the lot—Scotland Yard itself had confirmed the beast’s existence when they asked the Colonel not to harm it.
    Even as he continued shouting at me, waving his arms around the tiny, luggage-filled room, even as I absorbed that he had essentially called me an idiot, what really caught my attention was that he’d done a complete about-face regarding his father’s pictures.
    I tried to process this as Ellis pointed at the wallpaper, which was curling at the corners, at the water stains on the ceiling, as he wiped his finger along the windowsill and then held it up so I could inspect the grime. I wondered if he’d believed his father all along and, if so, why he’d made such a terrible accusation the night before—never mind the things he’d said as we left the party.
    I hadn’t uttered a word since my initial plea, but he continued his tirade as though I were arguing with him.
    Did I really want to live in this dump, sitting around like hostages, waiting to see if the Colonel was going to cut off his allowance completely? And what if he did? What then? Did I think it was all right to act like Scott Lyons, running tabs up to the hilt and then skipping out, moving from hotel to hotel? Because he certainly didn’t.
    We were going to Scotland, it was our only option, and we would not set foot on this continent again until he had found the monster the Colonel had faked.
    He stopped, red and sweaty, huffing and puffing and waiting for me to challenge him, but my brain was stuck on the fact that he’d flip-flopped on the subject of his father yet again, and all in a matter of seconds.
    I had witnessed firsthand how badly society treated Ellis—particularly his own father—and was well aware of the toll it was taking. For four years, I’d stood by helplessly as the happy, confident young man I’d met in Bar Harbor eroded into the bitter, suspicious man currently raging in front of me, a man who constantly believed people were giving him dirty looks and whispering behind his back, a man who was increasingly irritated by my Pollyannaish platitudesbecause he recognized them for what they were. But because I’d watched this devolution happen in dribbles and bits, I hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d already been pushed beyond his limits. What was currently at stake was his entire self-worth.
    Hank was right. Ellis needed this.
    I crossed the half dozen feet that divided us and put my arms around him, pressing my face to his chest. After a moment of shocked hesitation, he put his arms around me, too, and a few seconds after that, I felt him relax.
    â€œI’m so sorry, my darling, I don’t know what came over me,” he said.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said.
    â€œI should never have spoken to you like that. It’s inexcusable. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”
    â€œI understand, darling. It’s okay.”
    â€œOh God, Maddie,” he said, breathing into my ear. “Hank’s right. They broke the mold when they made you. I can’t imagine what I did to deserve you.”
    For a moment, as absurd as it was, I thought he might want to make love, but from his chest movements, I could tell he was starting to cry. I held him even tighter.
    If finding the monster was what it was going to take to make Ellis feel whole again, then so be it. I just hoped there was a monster to be found.
    And so, three days later, we sailed into the Battle of the