SIMON&SCHUSTEReGalleyDisclaimer
Donotquoteforpublicationuntilverifiedwiththefinishedbook.Thisadvance,uncorrectedreader’sproofisthepropertyofSimon&Schuster.Itisbeingmadeavailableforpromotionalpurposesandreviewbytherecipientandmaynotbeusedforanyotherpurposeortransferredtoanythirdparty.Simon&Schusterreservestherighttoterminateavailabilityoftheproofatanytime.Anyduplication,saleordistributiontothepublicisaviolationofthelaw.Thisfilewillnolongerbeaccessibleuponpublicationofthisbook.FromtheacclaimedNewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofAlltheMissingGirls,asuspensefulnewnovelaboutanidyllictowninMainedealingwiththesuspiciousdeathofoneoftheirown—andherbest“summer”friend,whoistryingtouncoverthetruth…beforefingerspointherway.
Littleport,Maine,hasalwaysfeltliketwoseparatetowns:anidealvacationenclaveforthewealthy,whosesummerhomeslinethecoastline;andasimpleharborcommunityfortheyear-roundresidentswhoselivelihoodsrelyonservicetothevisitors.Typically,fiercefriendshipsneverdevelopbetweenalocalandasummergirl—butthat’sjustwhathappenswithvisitorSadieLomanandLittleportresidentAveryGreer.Eachsummerforalmostadecade,thegirlsareinseparable—untilSadieisfounddead.Whilethepolicerulethedeathasuicide,Averycan’thelpbutfeeltherearethoseinthecommunity,includingalocaldetectiveandSadie’sbrother,Parker,whoblameher.Someoneknowsmorethanthey’resaying,andAveryisintentonclearinghername,beforethefactsgettwistedagainsther.AnotherthrillingnovelfromthebestsellingauthorofAlltheMissingGirlsandThePerfectStranger,MeganMiranda’sTheLastHouseGuestisasmart,twistyreadwithastrongfemaleprotagonistdeterminedtomakeherownwayintheworld.
-Nationaladvertising-Nationalmediacampaign-Nationalauthortour-Advancereader’sedition-ExtensiveARCmailing-Goodreadsgiveaway-RGGandQ&A-Bloggeroutreachcampaign-Authorvideo-TeaserchapterinThePerfectStrangerandAlltheMissingGirls-Crosspromotionwiththeauthor’swebsite:MeganMiranda.com-Crosspromotionwiththeauthor’sFacebookpage:Facebook.com/AuthorMeganMiranda-Crosspromotionwiththeauthor’sTwitteraccount:@MeganLMiranda-Crosspromotionwiththeauthor’sInstagramaccount:@MeganLMiranda-SimonandSchuster.commonthlye-newsletterfeature-SimonandSchuster.comfeature-Onlinepromotionsandfeatures
MeganMirandaistheNewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofAlltheMissingGirls.Shehasalsowrittenseveralbooksforyoungadults,includingFracture,Hysteria,Vengeance,Soulprint,andTheSafestLies.ShegrewupinNewJersey,graduatedfromMIT,andlivesinNorthCarolinawithherhusbandandtwochildren.ThePerfectStrangerishersecondnovelofpsychologicalsuspenseandTheLastHouseGuestisthelatest.Follow@MeganLMirandaonTwitter,orvisitMeganMiranda.com.
ALSOBYMEGANMIRANDA
ThePerfectStranger
AlltheMissingGirls
ComeFindMe
FragmentsoftheLost
TheSafestLies
Soulprint
Vengeance
Hysteria
Fracture
ForRachel
SUMMER
2017ThePlus-OneParty
Ialmostwentbackforher.Whenshedidn’tshow.Whenshedidn’tanswerherphone.Whenshedidn’treplytomytext.
Buttherewerethedrinks,andthecarsblockingmein,andtheresponsibility—Iwassupposedtobekeepinganeyeonthings.Iwasexpectedtokeepthenightrunningsmoothly.
Anyway,shewouldlaughatmeforcomingback.Rollhereyes.Say,Ialreadyhaveonemother,Avery.
Theseareexcuses,Iknow.
IHADARRIVEDATtheoverlookfirst.
Thepartywasattherentalonthecul-de-sacthisyear,athree-bedroomhouseattheendofalongtree-linedroad,barelyenoughroomfortwocarstomaneuveratthesametime.TheLomanshadnameditBlueRobin,forthepaleblueclapboardsidingandthewaythesquaredrooflookedlikethetopofabirdfeeder.ThoughIthoughtitwasmorefittingforthewayitwassetbackinthetrees,aflashofcolorasyousteppedtotheside,somethingyoucouldn’treallyseeuntilyouwerealreadyuponit.
Itwasn’tthenicestlocationortheonewiththebestview—toofartoseetheocean,justcloseenoughtohear—butitwasthefarthestfromthebed-and-breakfastdowntheroad,andthepatiowassurroundedbytightlypackedevergreens,sohopefully,noonewouldnoticeorcomplain.
TheLomans’summerrentalsalllookedthesameontheinside,anyway,sothatsometimesI’dleaveawalk-throughcompletelydisoriented:aporchswinginplaceofthestonesteps;theoceaninsteadofthemountains.Eachhomehadthesametiledfloor,thesameshadeofgranite,thesamestyleofrusticmeetsupscale.Andthewallsthroughout,decoratedwithscenesofLittleport:thelighthouse;thewhitemastsdancingintheharbor;thefoam-crestedwavescollidingwiththeseacliffsoneitherside.Adrownedcoast,itwascalled—fingersoflandrisingfromtheocean,therockycoastlinetryingtostanditsgroundagainstthesurf,islandsappearingandvanishinginthedistance,withthetide.
Igotit,Idid.Whythelongweekenddrivesfromthecitiesorthetemporaryrelocationforthesummerseason;whytheexclusivityofaplacethatseemedsosmallandunassuming.Itwasatowncarvedoutoftheuntouchedwild,mountainsononeside,oceanontheother,accessibleonlybyasinglecoastalroadandpatience.Itexistedthroughpurestubbornness,pushingbackagainstnaturefrombothsides.
Growingupheremadeyoufeelasifyouwereforgedfromthissamecharacter.
Iemptiedtheboxofleftoverliquorfromthemainhouseontothegraniteisland,hidawaythefragiledecorations,turnedonthepoollights.ThenIpouredmyselfadrinkandsatonthebackpatio,listeningtothesoundsoftheocean.Achillofautumnwindmovedthroughthetrees,andIshivered,pullingmyjackettighter.
Thisannualpartyalwaysteeteredontheedgeofsomething—onelastfightagainsttheturningoftheseason.Wintersettledintheboneshere,darkandendless.Itwascoming,justassoonasthevisitorswereleaving.
Butfirsttherewouldbethis.
Anotherwavecrashedinthedistance.Iclosedmyeyes,countingtheseconds.Waiting.
Wewereheretonighttoringoutthesummerseason,butithadalreadysweptouttoseawithoutourpermission.
LUCIANAARRIVEDJUSTASthepartywashittingitsmomentum.Ididn’tseehercomein,butshestoodaloneinthekitchen,unsureofherself.Shestoodout,tallandunmovinginthehubofactivity,takingitallin.HerfirstPlus-Oneparty.Sodifferent,Iknew,fromthepartiesshe’dbeenattendingallsummer,herwelcometotheworldofSummersinLittleport,Maine.
Itouchedherelbow,stillcoldsomehow.Sheflinchedassheturnedmyway,thenexhaledlikeshewasgladtoseeme.“ThisisnotexactlywhatIexpected,”shesaid.
Shewastoodoneupfortheoccasion.Haircurledjustso,tailoredpants,heels.Likeshewasattendingabrunch.
Ismiled.“IsSadiewithyou?”Ilookedaroundtheroomforthefamiliardarkblondhairparteddownthemiddle,thethinbraidswovenfromhertemplesandclippedtogetherattheback,achildfromanotherera.Istoodonmytoes,tryingtotuneintothesoundofherlaughter.
Luceshookherhead,thedarkwavesslippingoverhershoulders.“No,Ithinkshewasstillpacking.Parkerdroppedmeoff.Saidhewantedtoleavethecaratthebed-and-breakfastsowecouldgetouteasierafter.”ShegesturedinthegeneraldirectionofthePointBed-and-Breakfast,aconvertedVictorianeight-bedroomhomeatthetipoftheoverlook,completewithmultipleturretsandawidow’swalk.There,youcouldalmostmakeouttheentiretyofLittleport—allthepartsthatmattered,anyway—fromtheharbortothesandystripofBreakerBeach,itsbluffsjuttingoutintothesea,wheretheLomanslivedatthenorthernedgeoftown.
“Heshouldn’tparkthere,”Isaid,phonealreadyinmyhand.SomuchfortheownersoftheB&Bnotnoticing,ifpeopleweregoingtostartleavingcarsdownthere.
Luceshrugged.ParkerLomandidwhatParkerLomanwantedtodo,neverworryingabouttherepercussions.
Iheldthephonetomyear.Icouldbarelyheartheringingoverthemusicandcuppedahandovertheotherside.
Hi,you’vereachedSadieLoman—
Ipressedend,slidthephonebackintomypocket,thenhandedLucearedplasticcup.“Here,”Isaid.WhatIreallywantedtosaywas,MyGod,takeabreath,relax,butthiswasalreadyexceedingthetypicallimitsofmyconversationswithLucianaSuarez.SheheldthecuptentativelyasImovedthehalf-emptybottlesaround,lookingforthewhiskeyIknewshepreferred.ItwasonethingIreallylikedabouther.
AfterIpoured,shefrownedandsaid,“Thanks.”
“Noproblem.”
Afullseasontogetherandshestilldidn’tknowwhattomakeofme,thewomanlivingintheguesthousebesideherboyfriend’ssummerhome.Friendorfoe.Allyorantagonist.
Thensheseemedtodecideonsomething,becausesheleanedalittlecloser,asifgettingreadytoshareasecret.“Istilldon’treallygetit.”
Igrinned.“You’llsee.”She’dbeenquestioningthePlus-OnepartysinceParkerandSadiehadtoldheraboutit;hadtoldhertheywouldn’tbeleavingwiththeirparentsonLaborDayweekendbutwouldbestayinguntiltheweekaftertheendoftheseasonforthis.OnelastnightforthepeoplewhostayedfromMemorialDaytoLaborDay,theweeksmakingupthesummerseason,plusone.Spillingoverintothelivesofthefolkswholivedhereyear-round.
UnlikethepartiestheLomanshadtakenhertoallsummer,thispartywouldhavenocaterers,nohostesses,nobartenders.Intheirplacewouldbeanassortmentofleftoversfromthevisitorsemptyingtheliquorcabinets,thefridges,thepantries.Nothingmatched.Nothinghadaplace.Itwasanightofexcess,alonggoodbye,ninemonthstoforgetandtohopethatothershad,too.
ThePlus-Onepartywasbothexclusiveandnot.Therewasnoguestlist.Ifyouheardaboutit,youwerein.Theadultswithrealresponsibilitieshadallgonebacktotheirnormallivesbynow.Theyoungerkidshadreturnedtoschool,andtheirparentshadleftalongwiththem.Sothisfelltothemidgap.Collegeageandup,beforetheresponsibilitiesoflifekeptyouback.Untilthingslikethisworeyouthin.
Tonightcircumstancesleveledusout,andyoucouldn’ttelljustfromlookingwhowasaresidentandwhowasavisitor.Wepretendedthat:Stripusdownandwe’reallthesame.
Lucecheckedherfinegoldwatchtwiceinasmanyminutes,twistingitbackandforthovertheboneofherwristeachtime.“God,”shesaid,“he’stakingforever.”
PARKERARRIVEDLAST,HISgazeseekingusouteasilyfromthedoorway.Allheadsturnedhisway,asoftenhappenedwhenParkerLomanenteredtheroom.Itwasthewayhecarriedhimself,analoofnesshe’dperfected,designedtokeepeveryoneontheirtoes.
“They’regoingtonoticethecar,”Isaidwhenhejoinedus.
HeleaneddownandslippedanarmaroundLuce.“Youworrytoomuch,Avery.”
Idid,butitwasonlybecausehe’dneverconsideredhowheappearedtotheotherside—theresidentswholivedhere,whobothneededandresentedpeoplelikehim.
“Where’sSadie?”Iaskedoverthemusic.
“Ithoughtshewasgettingaridewithyou.”Heshrugged,thenlookedsomewhereovermyshoulder.“Shetoldmenottowaitforherearlier.GuessthatwasSadie-speakfornotcoming.”
Ishookmyhead.Sadiehadn’tmissedaPlus-Onesincethefirstonewe’dattendedtogether,thesummerwewereeighteen.
Earlierintheday,she’dthrownopenthedoortotheguesthousewithoutknocking,calledmynamefromthefrontroom,thenagainevenassheenteredmybedroom,whereIsatwiththelaptopopenonthewhitecomforter,inmypajamashortsandlong-sleevethermalwithmyhairinabunontopofmyhead.
Shewasalreadydressedfortheday,whereasIwascatchinguponmyresponsibilitiesforGrantLoman’spropertymanagementcompany,onethreadofhismassiverealestatedevelopmentfirm.Sadie,wearingablueslipdressandgoldstrappysandals,hadleanedonherhipsoIcouldseethejutofherbone,andsaid,Whatdowethinkofthis?Thedressclungtoeverylineandcurve.
I’dreclinedagainstmypillows,bentmyknees,thinkingshewasgoingtostay.Youknowyou’llfreeze,right?I’dsaid.Thetemperaturehadplummetedthelastfewevenings—aprecursortotheabandoning,asthelocalscalledit.Inaweek,therestaurantsandshopsalongHarborDrivewouldchangehours,whilethelandscapersbecameschoolmaintenanceandbusdrivers,andthekidswhoworkedaswaitressesanddeckhandstookofffortheslopesinNewHampshiretoworkasskiinstructors.Therestofuswereaccustomedtosuckingthesummerdry,asifstockpilingwaterbeforeadrought
Sadiehadrolledhereyes.Ialreadyhaveonemother,she’dsaid,butshe’dpiecedthroughmyclosetandshruggedonachocolatebrownsweater,whichhadbeenhersanyway.Itturnedheroutfittheperfectblendofdressyandcasual.Effortless.She’dspuntowardthedoor,herfingersrestlessintheendsofherhair,herenergyspillingover.
Whatelsecouldshehavebeengettingreadyforifnotthis?
Throughtheopenpatiodoors,InoticedConnorsittingattheedgeofthepool,hisjeansrolledupandhisbarefeetdanglinginthewater,glowingbluefromthelightbelow.Ialmostwalkeduptohimandaskedifhe’dseenher,butthatwasonlybecausedrinkingopenedupasenseofnostalgiainme.Eventhen,Ithoughtbetterofit.Hecaughtmestaring,andIturnedaway.Ihadn’texpectedtoseehimhere,wasall.
Ipulledoutmyphone,sentheratext:Whereareyou?
IwasstillwatchingthescreenwhenIsawthedotsindicatingshewaswritingaresponse.Thentheystopped,butnomessagecamethrough.
Isentonemore:???
Noresponse.Istaredatthescreenforanotherminutebeforeslippingthephoneawayagain,assumingshewasonherway,despiteParker’sclaim.
Someoneinthekitchenwasdancing.Parkertippedhisheadbackandlaughed.Themagicwashappening.
Therewasahandonmyback,andIclosedmyeyes,leaningintoit,becomingsomeoneelse.
It’showthesethingsgo.
BYMIDNIGHT,EVERYTHINGHADturnedfragmentedandhazy,theroomthickwithheatandlaughterdespitetheopenpatiodoors.Parkercaughtmygazeoverthecrowdfromjustinsidethepatioexit,tippedhisheadslightlytowardthefrontdoor.Warningme.
Ifollowedhiseyes.Thereweretwopoliceofficersstandingintheopendoorway,thecoldairsoberingusasthegustfunneledfromtheentranceoutthebackdoors.Neithermanhadahaton,asiftheyweretryingtoblendin.Ialreadyknewthiswouldfalltome.
ThehousewasintheLomans’name,butIwaslistedasthepropertymanager.Moreimportant,Iwastheoneexpectedtonavigatethetwoworldshere,likeIbelongedtoboth,whenreallyIwasamemberofneither.
Irecognizedthetwomenbutnotwellenoughtopulltheirnamesfrommemory.Withoutthesummervisitors,Littleporthadapopulationofjustunderthreethousand.Itwascleartheyrecognizedme,too.I’dspenttheyearbetweenageseighteenandnineteeninandoutoftrouble,andtheofficerswereoldenoughtorememberthattime.
Ididn’twaittoheartheircomplaint.“I’msorry,”Isaid,makingsuremyvoicewassteadyandfirm.“I’llmakesurewekeepthenoiseleveldown.”Already,Iwasgesturingtonooneinparticulartolowerthevolume.
Buttheofficersdidn’tacknowledgemyapology.“We’relookingforParkerLoman,”theshorterofthetwosaid,scanningthecrowd.IturnedtowardParker,whohadalreadybegunpushingthroughthecrowdinourdirection.
“ParkerLoman?”thetallerofficersaidwhenhewaswithinearshot.Ofcoursetheyknewitwashim.
Parkernodded,hisbackstraight.“WhatcanIdoforyougentlemen,”hesaid,becomingbusinessParkerevenasapieceofdarkhairfellintohiseyes;thesheenofsweatmadehisfaceglowbrighter.
“Weneedtospeakwithyououtside,”thetallermansaid,andParker,evertheappeaser,knewthelinetowalk.
“Ofcourse,”hesaid,notmovinganycloser.“Canyoutellmewhatthisisaboutfirst?”Healsoknewwhentotalkandwhentodemandalawyer.Healreadyhadhisphoneinhishand.
“Yoursister,”theofficersaid,andtheshorterman’sgazeslippedtotheside.“Sadie.”HegesturedParkercloser,loweringhisvoicesoIcouldn’tmakeoutwhattheyweresaying,buteverythingshifted.ThewayParkerwasstanding,hisexpression,thephonehanginglimplyathisside.Isteppedcloser,somethingflutteringinmychest.Icaughttheendoftheexchange.“Whatwasshewearing,lasttimeyousawher?”theofficerasked.
Parkernarrowedhiseyes.“Idon’t…”Helookedattheroombehindhim,seemingtoexpectthatshe’dslippedinsidewithouteitherofusnoticing.
Ididn’tunderstandthequestion,butIknewtheanswer.“Abluedress,”Isaid.“Brownsweater.Goldsandals.”
Themeninuniformsharedaquicklook,thensteppedaside,allowingmeintotheirgroup.“Anyidentifyingmarks?”
Parkerpressedhiseyesshut.“Wait,”hesaid,likehecouldredirecttheconversation,altertheinevitablecourseofeventstofollow.
“Yes,shedoes,right?”Lucesaid.Ihadn’tnoticedherstandingthere;shewasjustbeyondParker’sshoulder.Herhairwaspulledbackandhermakeuphadstartedtorun,faintcirclesunderhereyes.Lucesteppedforward,hergazedartingbetweenParkerandme.Shenodded,moresureofherself.“Atattoo,”shesaid.“Righthere.”Shepointedtothespotonherownbody,justontheinsideofherlefthipbone.Herfingertracedtheshapeofafigureeightturnedonitsside—thesymbolofinfinity.
Thecop’sjawtensed,andthatwaswhenthebottomfellawayinarush.
Wehadbecometemporarilyunmoored,smallboatsintheocean,andIsensedthatseasickfeelingIcouldneverquiteovercomeoutonthewateratnight,despitegrowingupsoclosetothecoast.Adisorientingdarknesswithnoframeofreference.
ThetallercophadahandonParker’sarm.“YoursisterwasfoundonBreakerBeach…”
Theroombuzzed,andLuce’shandswenttohermouth,butIstillwasn’tsurewhattheyweresaying.WhatSadiewasdoingonBreakerBeach.Ipicturedherdancing,barefoot.Skinny-dippingintheice-coldwateronadare.Herfacelitupfromtheglowofabonfirewe’dmadefromdriftwood.
Behindus,halfthepartycontinued,butthenoisewasdropping.Themusic,cut.
“Callyourparents,”theofficercontinued.“Weneedyoutocomedowntothestation.”
“No,”Isaid,“she’s…”Packing.Gettingready.Onherway.Thecop’seyeswidened,andhelookeddownatmyhands.Theyweregrippingtheedgeofhissleeve,myfingertipsblanchedwhite.
Ireleasedhim,backedupastep,bumpedintoanotherbody.Thedotsonmyphone—shehadbeenwritingtome.Thecopshadtobewrong.Ipulledoutmyphonetocheck.ButmyquestionmarkstoSadieremainedunacknowledged.
Parkerpushedpastthemen,chargingoutthefrontdoor,disappearingaroundthebackofthehouse,headeddownthepathtowardtheB&B.Inthecommotion,youcouldn’tcontainus.LuceandIsprintedafterhimthroughthetrees,eventuallycatchingupinthegravelparkinglot,pushingintohiscar.
TheonlynoiseaswedrovepastthedarkstorefrontsliningHarborDrivewastheperiodichitchinLuce’sbreath.IleanedclosertothewindowwhenwereachedthecurveleadingtoBreakerBeach,thelightsflashingahead,thepolicecarsblockingtheentrancetothelot.Butanofficerstoodguardbehindthedunes,gesturingwithaglowingstickforustodriveonby.
Parkerdidn’tevenslowdown.HetookthecaruptheinclineofLandingLanetothehouseattheendofthestreet,standingdarkbehindthestone-edgeddrive.
Parkerstoppedthecarandwentstraightinside—eithertocheckforSadie,alsodisbelieving,ortocallhisparentsinprivacy.Lucefollowedhimslowlyupthefrontsteps,butshelookedoverhershoulderfirst,atme.
Istumbledaroundthecornerofthehouse,myhandonthesiding,tosteadymyself,passingtheblackgatesurroundingthepool,headingstraightforthecliffpathbeyond.ThepathtracedtheedgeofthebluffsuntiltheyendedabruptlyatthenortherntipofBreakerBeach.Buttherewasasetofstepscutintotherockfromthere,leadingdowntothesand.
Iwantedtoseethebeachformyself,tobelieve.Seewhatthepoliceweredoingdownbelow.SeeifSadiewasarguingwiththem.Ifwehadmisunderstood.EventhoughIknewbetterbythen.Thisplace,ittookpeoplefromme.AndIhadgrowncomplacentinforgettingthat.
Icouldhearthecrashofthewavescollidingwiththecliffstomyleft,couldpicturethewaytheforceofthewaterfoamedinthedaylight.Buteverythingwasdark,andImovedbysoundalone.Inthedistance,thelighthousebeyondthePointflashedperiodicallyasthelightcircled,andIheadedtowarditinadaze
Therewasmovementjustaheadinthedark,fartherdownthecliffpath.AflashlightshininginmydirectionsoIhadtoraiseanarmtoblockmyeyes.Theshadowofamanwalkedtowardme,hiswalkie-talkiecrackling.“Ma’am,youcan’tbeouthere,”hesaid.
Theflashlightswungback,andthatwaswhenIsawthem,aglintcaughtinthebeamoflight.Ifelttheearthtilting.
Afamiliarpairofgoldstrappysandals,kickedoffjustbeforetheedgeoftherocks.
SUMMER
2018CHAPTER1
Therewasastormoffshoreatdusk.Icouldseeitcomingintheshelfofdarkercloudsloomingnearthehorizon.Feelitinthewindblowinginfromthenorth,colderthantheeveningair.Ihadn’theardanythingintheforecast,butthatmeantnothingforasummernightinLittleport.
Isteppedbackfromthebluffs,imaginedSadiestandinghereinstead,asIoftendid.Herbluedresstrailingbehindherinthewind,herblondhairblowingacrossherface,hereyesdriftingshut.Hertoescurledontheedge,aslowshiftinweight.Themoment—thefulcrumonwhichherlifebalanced.
Ioftenimaginedthelastthingshewaswritingtome,standingontheedge:Therearethingsevenyoudon’tknow.
Ican’tdothisanymore.
Rememberme.
Butintheend,thesilencewasperfectly,tragicallySadieLoman,leavingeveryonewantingmore.
THELOMANS’SPRAWLINGESTATEhadoncefeltlikehome,warmandcomforting—thestonebase,theblue-grayclapboardsiding,doorsandglasspanestrimmedinwhite,andeverywindowlituponsummernights,likethehousewasalive.Reducednowtoadarkandhollowshell
Inthewinter,ithadbeeneasiertopretend:handlingthemaintenanceofthepropertiesaroundtown,coordinatingthefuturebookings,overseeingthenewconstruction.Iwasaccustomedtothestillnessoftheoff-season,thelingeringquiet.Butthesummerbustle,thevisitors,thewayIwasalwaysoncall,smileinplace,voiceaccommodating—thehousewasastarkcontrast.Anabsenceyoucouldfeel;ghostsinthecornerofyourvision.
NoweacheveningI’dwalkbyonmywaytotheguestcottageandcatchsightofsomethingthatmademelooktwice—ablurofmovement.Thinkingforanawful,beautifulmoment:Sadie.ButtheonlythingIeversawinthedarkenedwindowswasmydistortedreflectionwatchingback.Myownpersonalhaunting.
INTHEDAYSAFTERSadie’sdeath,Iremainedontheoutskirts,comingonlywhensummoned,speakingonlywhencalledupon.Everythingmattered,andnothingdid.
Igavemystiltedstatementaboutthatnighttothetwomenwhoknockedonmydoorthenextmorning.Thedetectiveinchargewasthesamemanwho’dfoundmeonthecliffsthenightbefore.HisnamewasDetectiveCollins,andeverypointedquestioncamefromhim.HewantedtoknowwhenI’dlastseenSadie(hereintheguesthouse,aroundnoon),whethershe’dtoldmeherplansforthatnight(shehadn’t),howshe’dbeenactingthatday(likeSadie).
Butmyanswerslaggedunnaturallybehind,asifsomeconnectionhadbeensevered.Icouldhearmyselffromaremoveastheinterviewwashappening.
You,Luciana,andParkereacharrivedatthepartyseparately.Howdidthatgoagain?
Iwastherefirst.Lucianaarrivednext.Parkerarrivedlast.
Here,apause.AndConnorHarlow?Weheardhewasattheparty.
Anod.Agap.Connorwasthere,too.
Itoldthemaboutthemessage,showedthemmyphone,promisedshe’dbeenwritingtomewhenallofuswerealreadyatthepartytogether.Howmanydrinkshadyouhadbythen?DetectiveCollinshadasked.AndI’dsaidtwo,meaningthree.
Hetoreasheetoflinedpaperoffhisnotepad,wroteoutalistofournames,askedmetofillinthearrivaltimesaswellasIcould.IestimatedLuce’sarrivalbasedonthetimeI’dcalledSadieandParker’sonthetimeI’dsentthetext,askingwhereshewas.
AveryGreer—6:40p.m.
LucianaSuarez—8p.m.
ParkerLoman—8:30p.m.
ConnorHarlow—?
Ihadn’tseenConnorcomein,andI’dfrownedatthepage.ConnorgottherebeforeParker.I’mnotsurewhen,I’dsaid.
DetectiveCollinshadtwistedthepaperbackhisway,eyesskimmingthelist.That’sabiggapbetweenyouandthenextperson.
ItoldhimIwassettingup.Toldhimthefirst-timersalwayscameearly.
Theinvestigationthatfollowedwastightandtothepoint,whichtheLomansmust’veappreciated,allthingsconsidered.Thehousehadremaineddark,sinceGrantandBiancawerecalledbackinthemiddleofthenightwithwordofSadie’sdeath.WhenthecleaningcompanyandthepoolvanshowedupbeforeMemorialDay—dustingoutthecobwebs,shiningthecounters,openingupthepool—I’dwatchedfrombehindthecurtainsoftheguesthouse,thinkingmaybetheLomanswouldbeback.Theywerenotonestolingerinsentimentalityoruncertainty.Theywerethetypewhofavoredcommitmentandfacts,regardlessofwhichwaytheybent.
So,thefacts,then:Therewerenosignsoffoulplay.Nodrugsoralcoholinhersystem.Noinconsistenciesintheinterviews.ItseemednoonehadmotivetohurtSadieLoman,noropportunity.AnyonewhohadarelationshipwithherwasaccountedforatthePlus-Oneparty.
Itwashardtosimultaneouslygrieveandreconstructyourownalibi.Itwastemptingtoaccusesomeoneelsejusttogiveyourselfsomespace.ItwouldhavebeensoeasyButnoneofushaddoneit,andIthoughtthatwasatestamenttoSadieherself.Thatnoneofuscouldimaginewantingherdead.
Theofficialcauseofdeathwasdrowning,buttherewouldhavebeennosurvivingthefall—therocksandthecurrent,theforceandthecold.
Shecould’veslipped,Itoldthedetectives.This,Ihadwantedsobadlytobelieve.Thattherewasn’tsomethingIhadmissed.SomesignthatIcouldtraceback,somemomentwhenIcould’veintervened.Butitwastheshoesatfirstthatmadethemthinkotherwise.Adeliberatemove.Thegoldsandalsleftbehind.Likeshe’dstoppedtounstrapthemonherwaytotheedge.Amomentofpausebeforeshecontinuedon.
Ifoughtitevenasherfamilyacceptedit.Sadiewasmyanchor,mycoconspirator,theforcethathadgroundedmylifeforsomanyyears.IfIimaginedherjumping,theneverythingtiltedprecariously,justasithadthatnight.
Butlaterthatevening,aftertheinterviews,theyfoundthenoteinsidethekitchengarbagecan.Possiblysweptupinthemessofanemptiedpantry,everythinglaidoutonthecounters—theresultofLucetryingtoclean,tobringsomeorder,beforeGrantandBiancaarrivedinthemiddleofthenight.ButknowingSadie,morelikelyadraftthatshehaddecidedagainst;acommitmenttothefactthatnowordswoulddo.
Ihadn’tseenthewarnings.ThecauseandeffectthathadbroughtSadietothismoment.ButIknewhowfastaspiralcouldgrabyou,howfarthesurfacecouldseemfrombelow.
IknewexactlywhatLittleportcoulddo.
IWASALONEUPherenow.
Stilllivingandworkingoutoftheguesthouse.
Theinsideoftheone-bedroomapartmentwasdecoratedlikeadollhouseversionofthemainresidence,withthesamewainscotinganddarkwoodfloors.Butthewallsweretighter,theceilingslower,thewindowsthinenoughthatyoucouldhearthewindrattletheedgesatnight.Theoceanviewwaspartiallyobstructedthroughthetrees.
Isatatthedeskinthelivingroom,finishingupthelastofthepaperworkbeforebed.Therehadbeendamageatoneoftherentalsearlierintheweek—abrokenflat-screentelevision,thesurfacefractured,thewholethinghangingcrookedlyfromthewall;andoneshatteredceramicvasebelowthetelevision.Therenterssworeithadn’tbeenthem,claiminganintruderwhiletheywereout,thoughnothingwastaken,andtherewasnosignofforcedentry.
I’ddrivenstraightoveraftertheycalledinapanic.Surveyedthesceneastheypointedoutthedamagewithtremblinghands.AnarrowweatherwornhousewecalledTrail’sEndlocatedonthefringesofdowntown,itsfadedsidingandovergrownpathtothecoastlineonlyaddingtoitscharm.Nowtherenterspointedtotheunlitpathandthedistancefromtheneighborsasalapseinsecurity,thepotentialfordanger.
Theypromisedtheyhadlockedupbeforeleavingfortheday.Theyweresure,implyingthatthefaultlayonmyendsomehow.Thewaytheykeptmentioningthisfact—Welockedthedoors,wealwaysdo—wasenoughtokeepmefrombelievingthem.Orwonderwhethertheyweretryingtocoverupforsomethingmoresinister:anargument,someonethrowingthevase,endoverend,untilitconnectedwiththetelevision.
Well,damagedone,eitherway.Itwasn’tenoughforthecompanytopursue,especiallyfromafamilywho’dbeencomingfortheentiremonthofAugustthelastthreeyears,despitewhatmightbehappeningwithinthosewalls.
Istretchedoutonthecouch,reachingfortheremotebeforeheadingtomybedroom.I’dgottenintothehabitoffallingasleepwiththetelevisionon.Thelowhumofvoicesinthenextroom,beneaththesoundofthegentlyrattlingwindowframe.
I’veknownenoughoflosstoacceptthatgriefmayloseitssharpnesswithtime,butmemoryonlytightens.Momentsreplay.
Inthesilence,allIcouldhearwasSadie’svoice,callingmynameasshewalkedinside.ThelasttimeIsawher.
Sometimes,inmymemory,shelingersthere,intheentranceofmyroom,likeshe’swaitingformetonoticesomething.
IWOKETOSILENCE.
Itwasstilldark,butthenoisefromthetelevisionwasgone.Nothingbutthewindowrattlingasastronggustblewinfromsomewhereoffshore.Iflippedtheswitchonthebedsidetablelamp,butnothinghappened.Theelectricitywasoutagain.
It’dbeenhappeningmoreoften,alwaysatnight,alwayswhenI’dhavetofindaflashlighttoresetthefuseintheboxbesidethegarage.Itwasaconcessionforlivinginatownlikethis.Exclusive,yes.Buttoofarfromthecityandtoosusceptibletothesurroundings.Theinfrastructureoutonthecoasthadn’tcaughtuptothedemand,moneyornot.Mostplaceshadbackupgeneratorsforthewinter,justincase;agoodstormcouldknockusoffthegridforaweekormore.Summerblackoutsweretheotherextreme—toomanypeople,thepopulationtripledinsize.Everythingstretchedtoothin.Gridoverload.
ButasfarasIcouldtell,thiswaslocalized—justme.Somethinganelectricianshouldtakealookat,probably.
Thesoundofthewindoutsidealmostmademedecidetowaititoutuntilmorning,exceptthechargeonmycellwasinthered,andIdidn’tliketheideaofbeingupherealone,withnopowerandnophone.
ThenightwascolderthanI’dexpectedasIraceddownthepathtowardthegarage,flashlightinhand.Themetaldoortothefuseboxwascoldtothetouchandslightlyajar.Therewasakeyholeatthebase,butI’dwedgeditopenmyselfearlierthismonth,thefirsttimethishappened.
Iflippedthemasterswitchandslammedthemetaldoorclosedagain,makingsureitlatchedthistime.
AnothergustofwindblewasIturnedback,andthesoundofadoorslammingshutcutthroughthenight,mademefreeze.Thenoisehadcomefromthemainresidence,ontheothersideofthegarage.
Icycledthroughthepossibilities:apoolchaircaughtinthewind,apieceofdebriscollidingwiththesideofthehouse.OrsomethingIforgottosecuremyself—thebackdoorsleftunlatched,maybe.
Thelockboxforthesparekeywashiddenjustunderthestoneoverhangoftheporch,andmyfingersfumbledthecodeinthedarktwicebeforethelidpoppedopen.
Anothergustofwind,anothernoise,closerthistime—thehingesofagateechoingthroughthenightasIjoggedupthestepsofthefrontporch.
IknewsomethingwaswrongassoonasIslidthekeyintothelock—itwasalreadyunlocked.Thedoorcreakedopen,andmyhandbrushedthewalljustinside,connectingwiththefoyerswitch,illuminatingtheemptyspacefromthechandelierabove.
ItwasthenthatIsawit.Throughthefoyer,downthehallatthebackofthehouse.Theshadowofamanstandingbeforetheglasspatiodoors,silhouettedinthemoonlight.
“Oh,”Isaid,takingastepbackjustashetookastepcloser.
Iwouldknowtheshapeofhimanywhere.ParkerLoman.
CHAPTER2
JesusChrist,”Isaid,myhandfumblingfortherestofthelightswitches.“Youscaredmetodeath.Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“It’smyhouse,”Parkeranswered.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
Everythingwaslightthen.Theopenexpanseofthedownstairs,thevaultedceilings,thehallwayspanningthedistancebetweenmeandhim.
“Iheardsomething.”Ihelduptheflashlightasevidence.
Hetippedhisheadtotheside,afamiliarmove,likehewasconcedingsomething.Hishairhadgrownin,orelsehewasstylingitdifferently.Butitsoftenedhisedges,smoothingoutthecheekbones,andforasecond,whenheturned,IcouldseetheshadowofSadieinhim.
Heshiftedandshewasgone.“I’msurprisedyou’restillhere,”hesaid.Asiftheirlocalbusinesshadcontinuedtooperateforthepastyearonmomentumalone.Ialmostanswered:WhereelsewouldIgo?Butthenhegrinned,andIimaginedImust’veshakenhimprettygood,walkinginhisfrontdoorunannounced.
Thetruthwas,Ihadthoughtaboutleavingmultipletimes.Notjustherebutthetownitself.I’dcometobelievetherewassometoxicityhiddenatitscorethatnooneelseseemedtonotice.Butmorethanthebusiness,morethanthejob,Ihadmadealifeformyselfhere.Iwastootiedupinthisplace.
Still,sometimesIfeltthatstayingwasnothingmorethanatestofenduranceborderingonmasochism.Iwasn’tsurewhatIwastryingtoproveanymore.
Icouldfeelmyheartbeatslowing.“Ididn’tnoticeacar,”Isaid,takinginthedownstairs,categorizingthechanges:twoleatherbagsatthebaseofthewidestaircase,akeyringthrownontheentrywaytable;anopenbottleonthegraniteisland,amugbesideit;andParker,sleevesofhisbutton-downrolledupandcollarloosenedlikehe’djustarrivedfromwork,notsometimeinthemiddleofthenight.
“It’sinthegarage.Justdroveupthisevening.”
Iclearedmythroat,noddedtohisbags.“IsLucehere?”Ihadn’theardhernameinawhile,butGrantkeptourconversationsfocusedonthebusiness,andSadiewasnolongerheretofillmeinonthepersonaldetailsoftheLomans’lives.There’dbeenrumors,butthatmeantnothing.I’dbeenthesubjectofplentyofunfoundedrumorsmyself.
Parkerstoppedattheisland,awholeexpansebetweenus,andpickedupthemug,takingalongdrink.“Justme.We’retakingabreak,”hesaid.
Abreak.ItwassomethingSadiewould’vesaid,inconsequentialandvaguelyoptimistic.Buthisgriponthemug,hisglancetotheside,toldmeotherwise.
“Well,comeonin.Joinmeforadrink,Avery.”
“Ihavetobeatapropertyearlytomorrow,”Isaid.Butmywordstrailedoffwithhisreturninglook.Hesmirked,pulledasecondmugout,andpoured.
Parker’sexpressionsaidheknewexactlywhoIwas,andtherewasnopointinpretending.Didn’tmatterthatIwascurrentlyoverseeingallofthefamily’spropertiesinLittleport—sixsummers,andyougettoknowaperson’shabitsprettywell.
I’dknownhimlongerthanthat.Itwasthewayofthings,ifyou’dgrownuphere:theRandolphs,onHawksRidge;theShores,who’dremodeledanoldinnatthecornerofthetowngreen,thenproceededtohaveaseriesofaffairsandnowsharedtheirmassiveplotlikeachildofdivorce,neverseenatthesametime;andtheLomans,wholiveduponthebluffs,overlookingallofLittleport,andthenexpanded,theirtendrilsspreadingoutaroundtownuntiltheirnamewassynonymouswithsummer.Therentals,thefamily,theparties.Thepromiseofsomething.
ThelocalsreferredtotheLomans’mainresidenceastheBreakers,asubtlejabthatoncebondedtherestofustogether.Itwaspartlyanodtothehome’sproximitytoBreakerBeachandpartlyanallusiontotheVanderbiltmansioninNewport,alevelofwealtheventheLomanscouldn’taspireto.Alwayswhisperedinjest,ajokeeveryonewasinonbutthem.
Parkerslidthesecondmugacrossthesurface,liquidsloshingouttheside.Hewasthishaphazardonlywhenhewaswellonhiswaytodrunk.Itwistedthemugbackandforthonthecountertop.
Hesighedandturnedaround,takinginthelivingroom.“God,thisplace,”hesaid,andthenIpickedupthedrink.BecauseIhadn’tseenhiminelevenmonths,becauseIknewwhathemeant:thisplace.Now.WithoutSadie.Theirenlargedfamilyphotofromyearsearlierstillhungbehindthecouch.Thefourofthemsmiling,alldressedinbeigeandwhite,thedunesofBreakerBeachoutoffocusinthebackground.Icouldseethebeforeandafter,sameasParker.
Heraisedhismug,clankeditagainstminewithenoughforcetoconveythiswasn’thisfirstdrink,justincaseIhadn’tbeenabletotell.
“Hear,hear,”hesaid,frowning.ItwaswhatSadiealwayssaidwhenweweregettingreadytogoout.Shotglassesinarow,amessypour—hear,hear.FortifyingherselfwhileIwasgoingintheotherdirection.Glassestippedbackandtheburninmythroat,mylipsonfire.
Iclosedmyeyesatthefirstsip,felttheloosening,thewarmth.“There,there,”Iansweredquietly,outofhabit.
“Well,”Parkersaid,pouringhimselfhalfaglassmore.“Hereweare.”
Isatonthestoolbesidehim,nursingmymug.“Howlongareyoustaying?”IwonderedifthiswasbecauseofLuce,ifthey’dbeenlivingtogetherandnowheneededsomewheretoescape.
“Justuntilthededicationceremony.”
Itookanothersip,deeperthanintended.I’dbeenavoidingthetributetoSadie.Thememorialwastobeabrassbellthatdidn’twork,thatwouldsitattheentranceofBreakerBeach.Forallsoulstofindtheirwayhome,itwouldsay,thewordshand-chiseled.Ithadbeenputtoavote.
Littleportwasfullofmemorials,andI’dlongsincehadmyfillofthem.Fromthebenchesthatlinedthefootpathstothestatuesofthefishermeninfrontofthetownhall,wewerebecomingaplaceinservicenotonlytothevisitorsbuttothedead.Mydadhadaclassroomintheelementaryschool.Mymom,awallatthegalleryonHarborDrive.Agoldplaqueforyourloss.
Ishiftedinmyseat.“Yourparentscomingup?”
Heshookhishead.“Dad’sbusy.Verybusy.AndBee,well,itprobablywouldn’tbebestforher.”I’dforgottenthis,howParkerandSadiereferredtoBiancaasBee—nevertoherface,neverinherpresence.Alwaysinaremovedaffect,liketherewassomegreatdistancebetweenthem.Ithoughtitaneccentricityofthewealthy.Lordknows,I’ddiscoveredenoughofthemovertheyears.
“Howareyoudoing,Parker?”
Hetwistedinthestooltofaceme.Likehe’djustrealizedIwasthere,whoIwas.Hiseyestracedthecontoursofmyface.
“Notgreat,”hesaid,relaxinginhisseat.Itwasthealcohol,Iknew,thatmadehimthishonest.
Sadiehadbeenmybestfriendsincethesummerwemet.Herparentshadpracticallytakenmein—fundingmycourses,promisingworkifIprovedmyselfworthy.I’dbeenlivingandworkingoutoftheirguesthouseforyears,eversinceGrantLomanhadpurchasedmygrandmother’shome.Andafterallthistimewhenwe’doccupiedthesameplaneofexistence,Parkerhadrarelymadeacommentofanydepth.
Hisfingersreachedforasectionofmyhair,tugginggentlybeforelettingitdropagain.“Yourhairisdifferent.”
“Oh.”Iranmypalmdowntheside,smoothingitback.Ithadbeenlessanactivechangeandmorethepathofleastresistance.I’dletthehighlightsgrowoutovertheyear,thecolorbacktoadeeperbrown,andthenI’dcutittomyshoulders,keepingthesidepart.Butthatwasoneofthethingsaboutseeingpeopleonlyinthesummer—therewasnothinggradualaboutachange.Wegrewinjolts.Weshiftedabruptly.
“Youlookolder,”headded.Andthen,“It’snotabadthing.”
Icouldfeelmycheeksheatingup,andItippedthemugbacktohideit.Itwasthealcohol,andthenostalgia,andthishouse.Likeeverythingwasalwaysjustamomentfrombursting.Summerstrung,Connorusedtocallit.Anditstuck,withorwithouthim.
“Weareolder,”Isaid,whichmadeParkersmile.
“Shouldweretiretothesittingroom,then?”hesaid,butIcouldn’ttellwhetherhewasmakingfunofhimselforme.
“Gonnausethebathroom,”Isaid.Ineededthetime.Parkerhadawayoflookingatyoulikeyouweretheonlythingintheworldworthknowing.BeforeLuce,I’dseenhimuseitadozentimesonadozendifferentgirls.Didn’tmeanI’dneverthoughtaboutit.
Iwalkeddownthehalltothemudroomandthesidedoortotheoutside.Thebathroomherehadawindowoverthetoilet,uncovered,facingthesea.Allofthewindowsfacingthewaterwereleftuncoveredtotheview.Asifyoucouldeverforgettheocean’spresence.Thesandandthesaltthatseemedtopermeateeverythinghere—lodgedinthegapbetweenthecurbandthestreet,rustingthecars,therelentlessassaultonthewoodenstorefrontsalongHarborDrive.IcouldsmellthesaltairasIranmyfingersthroughmyhair.
Isplashedwateronmyface,thoughtIcaughtashadowpassingunderneaththedoor.Iturnedoffthefaucetandstaredattheknob,holdingmybreath,butnothinghappened.
Justafigmentofmyimagination.Thehopeofalong-agomemory.
ItwasaquirkoftheLomanhousethatnoneoftheinteriordoorshadlocks.Ineverknewwhetherthiswasadesignflaw—atrade-offforthesmoothantique-styleknobs—orwhetheritwasmeanttosignifyanelitestatus.Thatyoualwayspausedatacloseddoortoknock.Ifitinspiredinpeoplesomesortofrestraint;thattherewouldbenosecretshere.
Eitherway,itwasthereasonI’dmetSadieLoman.Here,inthisveryroom.
ITWASNOTTHEfirsttimeI’dseenher.Thiswasthesummeraftergraduation,nearlysixmonthsafterthedeathofmygrandmother.Aslickofice,aconcussionfollowedbyastrokethatleftmeasthelastGreerinLittleport.
Ihadricochetedthroughthewinter,untetheredanddangerous.Graduatedthroughthegenerosityofmakeupassignmentsandspecialcircumstances.Becomeequallyunpredictableandunreliableinturn.AndstilltherewerepeoplelikeEvelyn,mygrandmother’sneighbor,hiringmeforoddjobs,tryingtomakesureIgotby.
AllitdidwasbringmeclosertomoreofthethingsIdidn’thave.
Thatwastheproblemwithaplacelikethis:Everythingwasrightoutintheopen,includingthelifeyoucouldneverhave.
Keepeverythinginbalance,incheck,andyoucouldopenastorefrontsellinghomemadesoap,orrunacateringcompanyfromthekitchenoftheinn.Youcouldmakealiving,orclosetoit,outonthesea,ifyouloveditenough.Youcouldsellicecreamorcoffeefromashopthatfunctionedprimarilyfourmonthsoftheyear,thatcarriedyouthrough.Youcouldhaveadreamaslongasyouwerewillingtogivesomethingupforit.
Justaslongasyouremainedinvisible,aswasintended.
EVELYNHADHIREDMEfortheLomans’WelcometoSummerparty.Iworetheuniform—blackpants,whiteshirt,hairback—thatwasmeanttomakeyoublendin,becomeunnoticeable.Iwassittingontheclosedlidofthetoilet,wrappingthebaseofmyhandintoiletpaper,silentlycursingtomyselfandtryingtostoptheblood,whenthedoorswungopenandthenquietlylatchedagain.SadieLomanstoodthere,facingaway,withherpalmspressedtothedoor,herheadtippeddown.
Meetsomeonealoneinabathroom,hiding,andyouknowsomethingaboutherrightaway.
Iclearedmythroat,standingabruptly.“Sorry,I’mjust…”Itriedtoedgebyher,keepingclosetothewallasImoved,tryingtoremaininvisible,forgettable.
Shemadenoefforttohideherassessingeyes.“Ididn’tknowanyonewasinhere,”shesaid.Noapology,becauseSadieLomandidn’thavetoapologizetoanyone.Thiswasherhouse.
Thepinkcreptupherneckthen,inthewayI’dcometoknowsowell.LikeI’dbeentheonetocatchherinstead.Thecurseofthefair-skinned,she’dexplainedlater.Thatandthefaintfrecklesacrossthebridgeofhernosemadeherlookyoungerthanherage,whichshecompensatedforinotherways.
“Areyouokay?”sheasked,frowningatthebloodseepingthroughthetoiletpaperwrappedaroundmyhand.
“Yeah,Ijustcutmyself.”Ipresseddownharder,butitdidn’thelp.“You?”
“Oh,youknow,”shesaid,wavingherhandairilyaround.ButIdidn’t.Notthen.I’dcometoknowitbetter,theairywaveofherhand:Allthis,theLomans.
Shereachedherhandoutformine,gesturingmecloser,andtherewasnothingtodobutacquiesce.Sheunwoundthepaper,leaningcloser,thenpressedherlipstogether.“Ihopeyouhaveatetanusshot,”shesaid.“Firstsignislockjaw.”Sheclickedherteethtogether,likethesoundofabonepopping.“Fever.Headaches.Musclespasms.Untilfinallyyoucan’tswalloworbreathe.It’snotaquickwaytodie,iswhatI’msaying.”Sheraisedherhazeleyestomine.ShewassocloseIcouldseethelineofmakeupunderhereyes,theslightimperfectionwhereherfingerhadslipped.
“Itwasaknife,”Isaid,“inthekitchen.”Notadirtynail.Iassumedthatwaswhattetanuswasfrom.
“Oh,well,still.Becareful.Anyinfectionthatgetstoyourbloodstreamcanleadtosepsis.Alsonotagoodwaytogo,ifwe’remakingalist.”
Icouldn’ttellwhethershewasserious.ButIcrackedasmile,andshedidthesame.
“Studyingmedicine?”Iasked.
Sheletoutasinglebiteoflaughter.“Finance.Atleastthat’stheplan.Fascinating,right?Thepathtodeathisjustapersonalinterest.”
Thiswasbeforesheknewaboutmyparentsandthespeedatwhichtheydidordidnotdie.Beforeshecould’veknownitwasathingIoftenwondered,andsoIcouldforgivehertheflippancywithwhichshediscusseddeath.Butthetruthwas,therewassomethingalmostalluringaboutit—thispersonwhodidnotknowme,whocouldtossajokeaboutdeathmywaywithoutflinchingafter.
“I’mkidding,”shesaidassheranmyhandunderthecoldwaterofthesink,thestingnumbing.MystomachtwistedwithamemoryIcouldn’tgrasp—asuddenpangofyearning.“Thisismyfavoriteplaceintheworld.Nothingbadisallowedtohappenhere.Iforbidit.”Thensherummagedthroughthelowercabinetandpulledoutabandage.Underneaththesinkwasanassortmentofointments,bandages,sewingkits,andbathroomproducts.
“Wow,you’repreparedforanythinghere,”Isaid.
“Exceptvoyeurs.”Shelookedupattheuncoveredwindowandbrieflysmiled.“You’relucky,”shesaid,smoothingoutthebandage.“Youjustmissedthevein.”
“Oh,there’sbloodonyoursweater,”Isaid,appalledthatsomepartofmehadstainedher.Theperfectsweaterovertheperfectdressonthisperfectsummernight.Sheshruggedoffthesweater,balleditup,threwitintheporcelainpail.SomethingthatcostmorethanwhatIwasgettingpaidfortheentireday,Iwassure.
Shesneakedoutasquietlyasshehadentered,leavingmethere.Achanceencounter,Iassumed.
Butitwasjustthestart.Aworldhadopeneduptomefromtheslipofablade.Aworldofuntouchablethings.
NOW,CATCHINGSIGHTOFmyselfinthatsamemirror,splashingwateronmyfacetocoolmycheeks,Icouldalmosthearherlowlaughter.Thelookshewouldgiveme,knowingherbrotherandIwerealoneinahouse,drinking,inthemiddleofthenight.Istaredatmyreflection,thehollowsundermyeyes,remembering.“Don’tdoit.”Iwhispereditoutloud,tobesureofmyself.Theactofspeakingheldmeaccountable,containedsomethingelsewithinme.
SometimesithelpedtoimagineSadiesayingit.Likeabellrattlinginmychest,guidingmeback.
PARKERWASSPRAWLEDONthecouchundertheoldfamilyportrait,staringouttheuncoveredwindowsintothedarkness,hisgazeunfocused.Ididn’tknowifitwassuchagoodideatoleavehim.Iwasmorecarefulnow.Lookingforwhatwashiddenunderthesurfaceofawordoragesture.
“You’renotgoingtofinishthatdrink,areyou,”hesaid,stillstaringoutthewindow.
Adropofrainhittheglass,thenanother—aforkoflightninginthedistance,offshore.“Ishouldgetbackbeforethestormhits,”Isaid,buthewavedmeoff.
“Ican’tbelievethey’rehavingthepartyagain,”hesaid,likeithadjustoccurredtohim.“AdedicationceremonyandthenthePlus-One.”Hetookadrink.“It’sjustlikethisplace.”Thenheturnedtome.“Areyougoing?”
“No,”Isaid,asifithadbeenmyowndecision.Icouldn’ttellhimthatIdidn’tknowanythingaboutanyPlus-Onepartythisyear,whetheritwashappeningagainorwhereitwouldbe.Therewereahandfulofweeksleftintheseason,andIhadn’theardawordaboutit.Buthe’dbeenhereamatterofhoursandalreadyknew.
Henoddedonce.IntheLomanfamily,therewasalwaysarightanswer.Ihadlearnedquicklythattheywerenotaskingquestionsinordertogatheryourthoughtsbuttoassessyou.
Irinsedoutmymug,keepingmydistance.“I’llcallthecleanersifyou’regoingtobestaying.”
“Avery,holdup,”hesaid,butIdidn’twaittohearwhathewasgoingtosay
“Sleepitoff,Parker.”
Hesighed.“Comewithmetomorrow.”
Ifroze,myhandonthegranitecounter.“Comewithyouwhere?”
“Thismeetingwiththededicationcommittee,”hesaid,frowning.“ForSadie.LunchatBayStreet.Icoulduseafriendthere.”
Afriend.Asifthat’swhatwewere.
Still.“Allright,”Isaid,feeling,forthefirsttimeinalmostayear,thefamiliarstirringsofsummer.BayStreetsoundedlikealocationselectedbyParker,notbythecommittee.TheLomanshadatablethere,thoughtechnically,BayStreetdidnothaveareservationsystem.Itsoundedlikesomethinghewoulddotomakethemrememberhisplace,andtheirs.
Ithoughttherewasafifty-fiftyshothewouldn’trememberthisconversationinthemorning.Orwouldregrettheinvitation,pretenditdidn’texist.
ButifI’dlearnednothingelsefromtheLomans,I’datleastlearnedthis:Promisesmadewithoutclarityofthoughtstillcounted.Acarelessyesandyouwerebound.
OUTSIDE,INTHEDARK,Icouldhearthesteadypatterofrainpickinguponthegutters.Iduckedmyhead,readytomakearunforit.Butinthebeamoftheflashlight,Isawwhathaddrawnmehereinthefirstplace.Thegarbagecantuckedintothealcoveoutsidethemudroomentrance,tippedover,contentsexposed.Thegateofthetallwhitelatticefencingthatkeptitenclosed,nowswingingajar.
Ifroze,flashlightscanningthetrees,theedgeofthegarage.Anothergustblewinwiththerain,andthegatecreakedoncemore,knockingagainstthesideofthehouse.
Thewind,then.
I’dfixitinthemorning.Theskyopenedup.Thestormwashere.
CHAPTER3
Iwassurfacingfromadreamwhenthephonerangthenextmorning.Itwasanolddream:thefeeloftherockingofthesea,everythingunsteady,likeIwasinsideoneofmymother’spaintings—strandedinthechaosofthewavesoutsidetheharbor,lookingin.
TheroomwasspinningwhenIopenedmyeyes,mystomachplummeting.Itwastheliquorinthemiddleofthenight,thelackofsleep.IfumbledformyphoneasIglancedattheclock—eighta.m.onthenose.Ididn’trecognizethenumber.
“Hello?”ItriedtosoundlikeIhadn’tbeensleeping,butIwasstillstaringupattheceiling,tryingtorecovermybearings.
“Ms.Greer?”
Isatuprightbeforeresponding.Ms.Greermeantbusiness,meanttheLomans,meantthetypeofpeoplewhowouldexpectmetobesittingatadeskbythishourinsteadofcross-leggedinbed,tastingstalewhiskey.“Yes.Who’sspeaking?”Ireplied.
“KevinDonaldson,”heanswered,“stayingattheBlueRobin.Somethinghappened.Someone’sbeeninhere.”
“Pardon?Whowasthere?”Isaid.ItriedtothinkwhenIhadscheduledthecleaners,whetherIscreweduptheDonaldsons’checkoutdate.Peoplelikethisdidn’tlikesomeonecomingandgoingunannouncedwhentheywereaway,evenme.Itwaswhytheystayedinoneofourpropertiesinsteadofabed-and-breakfastorahotelsuite.Iwasalreadyheadingformydesktuckedawayinthelivingroom,openingthefoldersinastackbesidemylaptopuntilIfoundtherighthouse.
Ihadhisrentalagreementinmyhandevenasheresponded:“Wegothomelate,aroundmidnight.Someonehadobviouslygonethroughourthings.Nothingwastaken,though.”
Iwasrunningthroughalistofwhohadakey.Whethertherewereanynewhiresatanyofthevendorsweused.Whomtocallnext,whichoneI’dbetmymoneyon.“I’msosorrytohearthis,”Isaid.
Mynextquestionwouldbe:Didyouleaveanydoorsorwindowsopen?ButIdidn’twanttoseemlikeIwasblamingtheDonaldsons,especiallyifnothinghadbeentaken.Still,itwouldhelptoknow.
“Didyoucallthepolice?”Iasked.
“Ofcourse.Lastnight.Wetriedcallingyoufirst,butyoudidn’tanswer.”Ofcourse.Theymust’vetriedmewhenIwasatthemainhousewithParkerlastnight.“Someonecameandtookourstatement,tookaquicklookaround.”
Iclosedmyeyes,drawinginaslowbreath.ProtocolwasalwaystocallGrantLomanbeforeinvolvingthecops.Apolicereportatarentalpropertywasn’tgoodforbusiness.
“Look,”hecontinued,“itdoesn’tmatterthatnothingwastaken.Thisisobviouslyunsettling.We’llbeleavingthismorningandwouldlikearefundfortherestofourstay.Threedays.”
“Yes,Iunderstand,”Isaid,fingerstomytemple.Eventhoughtherewereonlytwodaysremainingontheircontract.Notworththefightintheserviceindustry,Iknewfromexperience.“Icangetthatinthemailbythisafternoon.”
“No,we’dliketopickitupbeforewego,”hesaid.Histoneofvoicetoldmethiswasnotupfordebate.Ihaddealtwithhistypebefore.Halfmyjobinvolvedbitingmytongue.“We’llbestayingatthePointBed-and-Breakfastfortheremainderoftheweek,”hecontinued.“Where’syourofficelocated?”
MyofficewaswhereverIhappenedtobe,andIdidn’twantanyoneshowingupontheLomanpropertywithabusinessconcern.Wehandledagreementsandfinancesonline,primarily,andIusedmyP.O.boxforanythingelse.“IwillpersonallydeliverittothePointlaterthisafternoon.Thecheckwillbeatthefrontdeskbeforetheendofthebusinessday.”
ITEXTEDPARKERSOIcouldplanmyday’sschedule,butmymessagesbouncedbackasundeliverable.
DespitethefactthatI’doverslept,thewalk-throughwasn’tscheduleduntilten.IhadtimeforamorningrunifIkeptitshort.IcouldcheckinwithParkeronthewayback.
THEONLYEVIDENCEOFthestormlastnightwasthesoftgiveoftheearthbeneathmyfeet.Themorningwascrispandsunny,thewayofLittleportpostcardsinthedowntownshops.Thesewerethedaysthatcateredtothetourists,thatkeptusinbusiness:picturesque,quaint,protectedandsurroundedinturnbyuntamablenature.
Intruth,theplacewaswildandbrutalandswungtoextremes.Fromthenor’eastersthatcouldquicklydropaneasyfootofsnowandice,downinghalfthepowerlines,tothesummercalmwiththebirdscalling,thebuoybelltollinginarhythmoutatsea.Fromthehigh-crestedwavesthatcouldtearaboatfromitsmooring,tothegentlelappingofthetideagainstyourtoesinthebeachsand.Thequaintbustletothebarrenloneliness.Apowderkegtoaghosttown.
AsIpassedthegarage,Inoticedthatthegarbagecanhadbeenfixed,thegatesecured.Parkerwasapparentlyupandout,unfazedbythelatenightandtheliquor.
Ihadjustsetmyfootonthefirststepoftheirporchwhenthefrontdoorswungopen.Parkerstoppedabruptly,doingadoubletake.
Itwasthesamelookhe’dgivenmethefirsttimehesawme.I’dbeensittinginSadie’sroom,cross-leggedonherivorybedspread,whileshepaintedournailsashimmeringpurple,thevialbalancedprecariouslyonherkneebetweenus,nothingbutseaandskybehindherthroughtheglassdoorsofherbalcony,blueonbluetothecurveofthehorizon.
Herhandhadhoveredinmidairatthesoundoffootstepscomingdownthehall,andshe’dlookedupjustasParkerwalkedby.Hewasnineteenthen,oneyearolderthanwewere,justfinishedwithhisfirstyearofcollege.Butsomethinghadstoppedhimmidstride.He’dlookedatme,thenbackatSadie,andthecornerofhermouthhadtwitched.
“Dad’slookingforyou,”he’dsaid.
“He’snotlookingveryhard,then.”She’dgonebacktopaintinghernails,buthehadn’tleftthedoorway.Hiseyesflickedtomeagain,thenaway,likehedidn’twanttogetcaughtstaring.
Sadiehadaudiblysighed.“ThisisAvery.Avery,mybrother,Parker.”
Hewasbarefoot,inwornjeans,afreeadvertisementT-shirt.Sodifferentthanhelookedinthecarefullystagedportraitdownstairs.Afaintscarbisectedtheedgeofhislefteyebrow.I’dwavedmyhand,andhedidthesame.Thenhetookastepbackintothehallandcontinuedon.
I’dbeenlookingattheemptyhallwaywhenhervoicecutthroughthesilence.“Don’t,”she’dsaid.
“What?”
Sheshookherhead.“Justdon’t.”
“Iwon’t.”
She’dcappedthebottle,blowinglightlyonhernails.“Seriously.Itwon’tendwell.”
Asifeverythingthatpromisedtofollowwouldbecontingentonthis.Herattention,herfriendship,thisworld.
“IsaidIwouldn’t.”Iwasnotaccustomedtobeingbossedaround,totakingorders.IthadbeenjustmeandmygrandmothersinceIwasfourteen,andshe’dbeendeadsixmonthsbythen.
Sadiehadblinkedslowly.“Theyallsaythat.”
PARKERLOMANHADGROWNbroaderintheyearssincethen,moreputtogether,self-assured.Hewouldnotfalterinthehallway.ButIraisedmyhand,justlikeIdidbackthen,andhedidthesame.“Hi.Itriedtextingyoufirst.”
Henodded,continuedondownthesteps.“Changedmynumber.Here.”Heheldouthishandformyphoneandupdatedhiscontactinfo.Iwonderedifhe’dchangedhisnumberbecauseofLuce.OrSadie.Ifpeoplecalledhim,friendswithcondolences,journalistslookingforastory,oldacquaintancescomingoutofthewoodworkinatragedy.Whetherheneededtocullhislist,hisworldshrinkingbacktothecoreandrebuilding—likeIhadoncedone.
“Whattimeisthelunch?”Iasked.
“It’sscheduledforone-thirty.Ialreadyaddedyoutothereservation.Wanttodriveovertogether?”
Iwastakenaback,notonlythatherememberedbutthathewasfollowingthrough.“I’vegotafewerrandstorunafter,betterdrivemyself.”
“Allright,seeyouthen.”Hewalkedbackwardafewstepsinthedirectionofthegarage.“Offtopickupsomegroceries.There’snothinginthehouse.Imean,otherthanthewhiskey.”Hesmirked.“ShouldIgetanythingelse?”
I’dforgottenhowcharminghecouldbe,howdisarming.“No,”Isaid.“We’regood.”
“Well,”hecalled,stillsmiling,“guessI’llletyougettothatearlyappointment.”
IKEPTTOAfamiliarpath.TakingtheinclinedownLandingLane,stretchingmylegsintheprocess.ReachingtheedgeofdowntownbeforeloopingbackandendingatBreakerBeach.
AugustusedtobemyfavoritetimeofyearinLittleport,frombothsidesofthedivide.Therewassomethingintheair,athrumming,thetowninperpetualmotion.ThisplacewasnamedfortheLittlefamily,buteveryonehere—residentsandvisitorsalike—hadadoptedthemonikerlikeamission.Everythingmustremainminusculeinthetowncenter.Smallwoodensignswithhand-paintedletters,lowawnings,narrowedplanks.Thevisitorsduringthesummersatatsmallbistrotableswithoceanviews,andtheydrankfromsmallfluteglasses,speakinginsmallvoices.Therewerelittlelightsstrungfromrafters,asifwewereallsayingtoeachother:It’salwaysaholidayhere.
Itwasanact,andwewereallplaying.
Stepoutsidethetowncenter,andtheactwasgone.Thesummerhomestoweredtwo,threestoriesabovetheperfectlylandscapedyards,perchedevenhigheroncliffsides.Longstone-lineddrives,sprawlingwraparoundporches,portrait-stylewindowsreflectingtheskyandthesea.Beautiful,magnificentmonstrosities.
I’dgrownupclosertotheinlandedgeoftown,inathree-bedroomranchwithoneroomconvertedtomymother’sstudio.She’drippedoutthecarpetingandpulledofftheclosetdoors,liningtheshelveswithrowafterrowofpaintsanddyes.Everyroomhadbeenpaintedabrightcolorexceptthatone,asifsheneededablankandneutralpalettejusttoimaginesomethingmore.
Ouronlyviewthenwasofthetreesand,beyondthat,theboatintheHarlows’driveway.ConnorandIusedtoracethetrailbehindourhomes,startlingthehikersaswewovearoundthem,slowingdownfornothing.
Mygrandmother’sbungalow,whereI’dspentmyteenageyears,wasinanolderwaterfrontcommunity.ThescentofturpentineandpaintI’dgrownaccustomedtohadbeenreplacedwiththesweetsearosesthatlinedtheperimeterofherbackyard,mixedwiththesaltair.FamilieshadlivedintheStoneHollowneighborhoodgenerationsgoneback,stakingtheirclaimbeforetherisingpricesandholdingit.
I’dknowneveryfacetofthisplace,livedalifeineachdifferentquarter.Hadbelievedatonetime,wholeheartedly,initsmagic.
IstoppedrunningwhenIhitthesandystripofBreakerBeach.Handsonknees,catchingmybreath,sneakerssinkingintothesand.Laterintheday,thetouristswouldgatherhere,soakingupthesun.Kidsbuildingsandcastlesorrunningfromthetide—thewaterwastoocold,evenintheheatofsummer.
Butfornow,Iwastheonlyonehere.
Thesandwasdampfromthestormlastnight,andIcouldseeoneothersetoffootprintscrossingthebeach,endinghere,justbeforetheparkinglot.Iwalkedacrossthesand,towardtheedgeofthecliffsandtherockystepsbuiltintothesideofthebluffs.Here,thefootstepsstoppedabruptly,asifsomeonehadheadeddownthispathintheotherdirection,leavingfromthehouse.
Istopped,handonthecoldrocks,achillrising.Lookingatthedunesbehindmeandimaginingsomeoneelsethere.Theseprintswererecent,notyetwashedawaybytheencroachingtide.Thatfeeling,oncemore,thatIwasnotalonehere.
Thepoweroutagelastnight,thenoisesinthedark,thefootprintsthismorning
Ishookitoff—Ialwaysdidthis,wentthreestepstoofar,tryingtomapthingsforwardandback,soIcouldseesomethingcomingthistime.AhabitfromatimewhenIcouldtrustonlymyselfandthethingsIknewtobetrue.
ItwasprobablyParkeroutforarunearlier.Thecallaboutthesecondbreakin,shakingme.Theunsteadydreamofthesealingering—thememoryofmymother’swordsinmyearassheworked,tellingmetolookagain,totellherwhatIsaw,eventhoughitalwayslookedexactlythesametome.
Itwasthisplaceandeverythingthathadhappenedhere—alwaysmakingmelookforsomethingthatdidn’texist.
ThiswaswhereSadiehadbeenfound.Acalltothepolicearound10:45p.m.fromamanwalkinghisdogthatnight.Alocalwhoknewtheshapeoftheplace.Whosawsomethingintheshadows,ashimmerofblueinthemoonlight.
Herleg,caughtontherocksatlowtide.Theoceanforgettingherinitsretreat.
CHAPTER4
BayStreetmeanttryinghardwithoutlookinglikeyouweretryingatall.Ipiecedthroughmycloset,acollectionofmyownitemsandSadie’shand-me-downs,imaginingSadietakingoutanoutfitatrandom,holdingituptomyshoulders,thefeelofherfingersatmycollarboneasshetwistedmebackandforth,deciding.
Attheendofeachseason,she’dleavemesomedresses,orshirts,orbags.Everythingthrownonmybedinaheap.Mostofitwoundupbeingeithertootightortooshort,whichshedeclaredperfectbutalsokeptmefromtrulyblendingintohercircle.Theirworldwasoldmoneythatsaidyoudidn’thavetoshowittoproveit.Theclothesdidn’tmatter;itwasthedetails,thewayyoucarriedit,andIcouldnevergetitjustright.
Evenwhenshedressedlikeme,shecommandedattention.
THEWEEKENDAFTERSHE’Dfoundmehidingoutinherbathroom,sherememberedme.AbonfireandacoupleofcarshiddenbehindthedunesofBreakerBeachatnight,therestofusarrivingonfoot.Boatcoolersrepurposedforcheapbeer.Matchestakentoapileofrottingdriftwood.
Itwasthesilencethatmademeturnaroundandseeher.ApresenceIcouldfeelratherthanhear.“Hithere,”shesaid,likeshe’dbeenwaitingformetonoticeher.Therewasagroupofusgatheredaroundthefire,butshewasspeakingjusttome.ShewasshorterthanIremembered,ormaybeitwasbecauseshewasbarefoot.Herflip-flopshungfromherlefthand;sheworeloosejeanshortsfrayingatthehem,ahoodedsweatshirtzippedupagainstthenightchill.“Notetanus,Isee?Orsepsis?Man,I’mgood.”
Iheldupmyhandtoher.“Apparently,I’lllive.”
Shesmiledherface-splittingsmile,allstraightwhiteteeth,shininginthemoonlight.Thelightfromtheflamesmovedlikeshadowsoverherface.“SadieLoman,”shesaid,holdingoutherhand.
Ihalf-laughed.“Iknow.I’mAvery.”
Shelookedaround,loweredhervoice.“Isawthesmokefrommybackyardandgotcurious.I’mneverinvitedtothesethings.”
“You’rereallynotmissinganything,”Isaid,butthatwaskindofalie.Thesenightsonthebeachwereafreedomforus.Awaytoclaimsomething.I’dshownupoutofhabitbutimmediatelyregrettedit.Everyonewascelebrating—graduation,anewlife—andforthefirsttime,IhadstartedtowonderwhatIwasdoinghere.Whathadbroughtmehereandnowwhatwaskeepingmehere.Beyondtheboundariesofthistown,therewasadirectionless,limitlesswild,butanywheremightaswellhavebeennowheretosomeonelikeme.
MydadhadgrownupinLittleport—afterattendingalocalcollege,he’dcomebackwithhisteachingdegree,ashe’dalwaysknownhewould.Mymotherhadfoundherselfherebyaccident.She’ddriventhroughonherwayupthecoast,thebackseatofhersecondhandcarstuffedfullofluggageandsupplies,everythingsheownedintheworld.
Shesaidtherewassomethingaboutthisplacethathadstoppedher.Thatshewasdrawninbysomethingshecouldn’tletgo,somethingshewaschasing.SomethingIlatersawindraftafterdraftinherstudio,hiddenawayinstacks.Icouldseeitinherfaceasshewasworking,shiftingherangle,herperspective,andlookingagain.Liketherewassomeintangibleelementshecouldn’tquitegrasp
Thebeautyofherfinishedpieceswasthatyoucouldseenotonlytheimagebutherintention.Thisfeelingthatsomethingwasmissing,anditpulledyoucloser,thinkingyoumightbetheonetouncoverit.
Butthatwasthetrickoftheplace—itluredyouinunderfalsepretenses,andthenittookeverythingfromyou.
Sadiewrinkledhernoseatthescenearoundthebonfire.“It’sgoingtorain,youknow?”
Icouldfeelitintheair,thehumidity.Buttheweatherhadheld,andthatwashalfthefun.Likeweweredaringnaturetodosomething.“Maybe,”Isaid.
“No,itis.”Andasifshehadcontrolovertheweather,too,Ifeltthefirstdroponmycheek,heavyandchilled.“Wanttocomeback?Wecanmakeitifwerun.”
IlookedatthegroupofkidsI’dgonetoschoolwith.Everyonecastingglancesmyway.Connorsittingonanearbylog,doinghisbesttopretendIdidn’texist.Iwantedtoscream—myworld,shrinkingasIwatched.AndthisfeelingIcouldn’tshakerecently,thatallalongIhadjustbeenpassingthrough.
“Youknow,there’sashortcut.”Ipointedtothestepscutintotherocks,thoughfromwherewestood,youcouldn’tmakethemout.
Sheraisedaneyebrow,andIneverfiguredoutwhethershe’dknownaboutthestepsfromthestartorI’dopenedupsomethingnewforherthatnight.ButwhenIwalkedovertothesteps,shefollowed,herhandsgrippingtherockholdsafterme.Therainstartedfallingwhenwewereontopofthebluffs,andIcouldseethecommotionbelowintheglowofthebonfire—theshadowsofpeoplepickingupcoolers,runningforthecars.
Sadiehadahandatmyelbowasshetookastepback.“Don’thurtyourself,”shesaid.
“What?”
Inthemoonlight,Icouldonlyseehereyesclearly—largeandunblinking.“We’reclosetotheedge,”shesaid.Shepeeredtotheside,andIfollowedhergaze,thoughitwasonlydarknessbelow.
Weweren’tthatclose—notcloseenoughwhereamisstepcouldbefatal—butIsteppedbackanyway.Shegrippedmywristasweranfortheshelterofherbackyard,laughing.Wecollapsedontothecouchjustundertheoverhangofthepatio,thepoollitupbeforeus,theoceanbeyond.Thewindowsweredarkbehindus,andsheslippedinsidebriefly,returningwithabottleofsomeexpensive-lookingliquor.Ididn’tevenknowwhatkind.
Theperimeteroftheiryardwaslitupinanamberglow,hiddenlightsaroundtheblackpoolgate,sowecouldseetherainfallinginacurtain,likeitwasseparatingherefromthere.“WelcometotheBreakers,”shesaid,placinghersandyfeetuponthewoventableinfrontofus.AsifshehadforgottenthatI’dbeenworkingapartyherejusttheweekearlier.
Istaredatthesideofherface,soIcouldseethecornerofherlipcurledupinaknowingsmile.“What?”shesaid,facingme.“Isn’tthatwhatyoucallthisplace?”
Iblinkedslowly.Ithoughtmaybethiswasthekeytosuccess:eternaloptimism.Takinganinsultandrepurposingitforyourownbenefit.Takingeverything,eventhis,andowningit.Lookingagainandseeingsomethingnew.AndIfelt,inthatmoment,completelysureofonesingletruth:Mymotherwouldloveher.
“Yes,”Isaid,“it’sjust—I’vealreadybeenherebefore.”
Hersmilegrewuntilitreachedhereyes,andherheadtippedbackslightly,almostlikeshewaslaughing.Ifeltherlookingmeoverclosely.IfsherecognizedthesweaterIwaswearing,shedidn’tsay.
Sheraisedthebottletowardme,thentowardtheocean.“Hear,hear,”shesaid,tippingthebottleback,wipingherhandacrossherlipsafter.
IthoughtofConnordownatthebeach,ignoringme.Mygrandmother’semptyhouse,waitingforme.Thesilence,thesilence.
Itookalongdrink,mymouthonthecoolglass,theedgesofmynervesonfire.“There,there,”Isaid,andshelaughed.
Wedrankitstraight,watchingthelightningoffshore,closeenoughtosparksomethingintheatmosphere.Ifeltlikealivewire.Herfingersclosedovermineasshereachedforthebottle,andthenIwasgrounded.
IIGNOREDSADIE’SCLOTHEShanginginmycloset,settlingformyownbusinessattire—dresspantsandawhitesleevelessblouse—becauseIcouldn’tstomachthethoughtofParkerseeingmeinhissister’sclothes.
IarrivedatBayStreetfirst,becauseIwasalwaysearly.AvestigialfeareversinceIstartedworkingforGrantLoman,thathecouldfiremeforanyreasonandallofthiswouldbeover.
Whenherparentsfirstmetme,I’darrivedasaseriesoffailures:somethingSadiehadfoundonthebeachandwouldhopefullygetoverjustasquickly.Theyallmust’vethoughtIwasaphaseSadiewouldoutgrow.Afinelytuned,controlledrebellion.
She’dsprungthemeetingonmewithnotimetoeitherprepareorbackout.“ItoldthemIwasbringingafriendtodinner,”shesaidaswewalkedupthefrontstepslaterthatfirstweek.
“Oh,no,Idon’t—”
“Please.They’llloveyou.”Shepaused,crackedasmile.“They’lllikeyou,”sheamended.
“Orvaguelytoleratemeforyourbenefit?”
“Oh,itwouldn’tbeformybenefit.Comeon,it’sjustdinner.Please,savemefromthemonotony.”Thatairywaveofherhandagain.Allthis.Mylife.
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutthem,”Isaid,eventhoughthatwasn’ttrue.
Shestoppedjustbeforethefrontdoor.“Allyoureallyneedtoknowisthatmydadisthebrainsoftheoperation,andmymomisthebrawns.”I’dlaughed,thinkingshewasjoking.Biancawaspetite,slight,withachildlikepitchtohervoice.ButSadiejustraisedaneyebrow.“Mydadsaiditwasn’tsafetobuilduphere.Andyet,”shesaid,gesturingasshepushedopenthefrontdoor,“hereweare.Andsherunsthefamilycharitablefoundation.”Hervoicehaddroppedtoawhisperthen,whileIwasdesperatelytryingtotakeeverythingin.“AllmustworshipattheshrineofBiancaLoman.”
“Sadie?”Awoman’svoiceechoedfromsomewhereoutofsight.“Isthatyou?”
“Herewego,”Sadiemumbled,nudgingmyhipwithhers.
Icametounderstandthatthiswaswhattheflourishofherhandalwaysmeant—themother,Bianca.Granthadonlyonemood,stableandunrelenting,butatleastitwaspredictable.Fromhim,Ilearnedwhatpowertrulywas.Biancacouldlullyouintocomplacencywithherpraise,onlytostrikewhenyourguardwasdown.Butanyonecouldtakesomeonedown;evenIcoulddothat.Tohoistsomeoneoutofoneworldandintoanother—thatwastruepower.
Thatfirstdinner,IcopiedSadie’severymovement,sittingquietly,hopingtoslidein.ButInoticedtheirjawstensingasthelistofoffensesmounted:nocollegeonthehorizon;nocareerplan;nofuture.
Sadiewonthemoverforme,insmalldoses,inherway.Iwasaproject.Bytheendofthatsummer,herfatherhadofferedmeastipendtotakesomebusinesscoursesnearby,aninvestmentinthefuture,hesaid.Thenext,theypurchasedmygrandmother’shouse,lettingmestayattheirguesthouseaspartofthetrade.AtasteofwhatitmeanttobeSadieLoman.
EVENTUALLY,IWASWORKINGfull-timeforLomanProperties,managingandoverseeingalloftheirassetsinLittleportwhiletheywereaway.Ihadworkedmywayup,hadprovedmyself.
Butitwashardtoshakethesortofparanoiathatcomesfromthedoorbellringingtwiceinthemiddleofthenight,longaftermyparentsshould’vebeenhome,whenIexpectedtoopenthedoortomymotherriflingthroughherpurse,laughing,pushingthedarkhairfromhereyes—Ilostthekeysagain—andmydad’sslysmileashewatchedher,shakinghishead.Onlytorevealpoliceofficersonthefrontporchinstead.
SoIwasalwaysearly—forameeting,awalk-through,aphonecall.FalselybelievingIwasinapositiontoseesomethingcominghead-onthistime.
“ReservationforParkerLoman,”Itoldthehostess.TherewasalwaysathrillingivingtheLomanname,watchingthesubtleshiftinanexpression,thequickaccommodation.Shesmiledassheledmetothetable,inservicetosomethinggreaterthanme.
Isatwithmybacktothewall,facingtheopenroomandthewindowsoverlookingthedockandtheharborbeyond,fromonestoryabovegroundlevel.ButIfrozeafewmomentslater,whenDetectiveCollinswasledbythesamehostessinmydirection.Aflipofherhairasshegesturedtomytable,andmystomachdropped.Hissmilefracturedforjustasecondwhenhesawme,butIhadcomposedmyfacebythetimehesatdown.“Hi,Avery,Ididn’trealizeyou’dbejoiningus,”hesaid.
Thenapkinwasbunchedtogetherinmylap,andIslowlyreleasedmygrip.“Didn’trealizeyouwereamemberofthiscommittee,either,Detective.”Butitmadesense;hadIgivenitmuchthoughtatall,Iprobablywouldhavelandedonhisname.
“Ben,please,”hesaid.
AlongwithJustineMcCann,thetowncommissioner,DetectiveBenCollinsorganizedandhostedmostpublicrelationseventsintown,fromthekids’paradeonJulyFourthtotheFounder’sDayfestivitiesonHarborDrive.HewasthemanwhomI’dseenonthecliffsthatnight.Whohadshonehisflashlightinmyface,blindingmewiththelight.Andhewasthemanwhohadinterviewedme,after.WhowantedtoknoweverythingaboutthepartyandwhyI’dbeenbackattheedgeofthecliffs.
Hewasconsideredtraditionallyhandsome—broad-shouldered,strong-jawed,bright-eyed,justbeginningtoshowthesignsofage,whichsomehowseemedtoheightenhisappealwithothers,butIcouldonlyeverseehiminnegativespace.Always,asonthatnight,withabeamoflightcuttinghimintohorrificangles.
“Well,”hesaid,takingasipofhiswater,“it’sgoodtoseeyou.Beenawhile.Where’veyoubeenstayingthesedays?”
Ididn’tanswer,pretendingtolookoverthemenu.“Goodtoseeyou,too,”Isaid.
Itwashardtoknowwheresmalltalkendedandinterrogationbegan.Beforethey’dfoundSadie’snote,he’dsatacrossfrommeatmykitchentableandpickedthroughmystoryofthatnightoverandover.Asifhe’dheardsomethinginmyinitialstatementthathadstruckhimasoff.
Whowereyouwith?Whydidyoucallher?Texther?Andhere,hewouldalwaysstop:Butyoudidn’tgobackforher?
Itwasrapid-fireandbrutal,sothatsometimesIcouldn’ttellwhetherIwaspullingamemoryofthatnightorjustofwhatI’dtoldhimlast.
Whoelsewasthere?DidyouknowshewasseeingConnorHarlow?
“I’mgladyou’rehere,”hesaid.“Truthis,Iwasgettingreadytocallyouthisafternoon.”
Iheldmybreath,waiting.Thatlistofnameshe’dgivenme,I’drealized,wasawaytofindaholeinsomeone’sstory.Toshakeoutthetruth.Sowhenhe’dstoodtotakeacallduringtheinterview,andhispartnerhadturnedaway,I’dsnappedaphotoofthatlistwithmyphone,tryingtoseewhattheysaw.Itwasallfornothing,though.TheyfoundSadie’snotethesameday,andnoneofitmatteredanymore.Butsittingacrossfromhimnow,Ihalfexpectedhimtopickatadetailagain,searchingforadiscrepancy.
“Heardtherewassometroubleatoneofthepropertieslastnight,”hesaid.
“Oh,yes.”Ishookmyhead.“Nothingwastaken.”
Hesmoothedthetableclothinfrontofhim.“Thetenantswerespookedprettygood.”
Myheaddartedup.“Youwerethere?”
Henodded.“Itookthecall.Walkedin,lookedaround,madethemfeelsafe.”
“Whydidn’tyoucallmelastnight?”MyonlymissedcallhadbeenfromtheDonaldsons.
“Wasn’tworthwakinganyoneupover,”hesaid.“Honestly,Icouldn’tseeanyevidencethatsomeoneelsehadbeenthere.”
“Well,”Isaid,myshouldersrelaxing,“we’renotgoingtobefilingaclaimeitherway.Thetenantsdecidedtoleave.Noneedtowriteupareport.”
Hewatchedmecarefullyforalongbeatofsilence.“Iknowhowtodomyjob,Avery.”
Ilookedaway,thatsamefeelingtakingrootagain.Liketherewassomethinghewaslookingfor,hiddenunderneathmywords.
“Oh,there’sParker,”Isaid,watchinghimentertheroomwithJustineMcCannandanotherwoman.Whentheygotcloser,Irecognizedthethirdpersonbutcouldn’tputanametotheface.Shelookedaboutmyage,lightbrownhairinaFrenchbraid,red-rimmedglassesthatperfectlymatchedherlipstick.
Parkerleaneddownandair-kissedmycheek,whichwassurprising.“Sorryifyou’vebeenwaitinglong,”hesaid.
“Notatall.”
Heshookthedetective’shandandfinishedupintroductions.“Justine,youknowAveryGreer?”
“Ofcourse,”Justineanswered,politesmile.Shewastheoldestpersoninourgroupbyatleasttwodecades,andshecommandedattentionwiththatfactalone.“Gladyoucouldjoinus,Avery.Thisismyassistant,EricaHopkins.”
“Actually,we’vemetbefore,”Ericasaid,herhandscurledonthebackofachair.“Youandyourgrandmotherusedtolivenextdoortomyaunt.Evelyn?”
“Right.Yes.Hi.”ThatwashowIrecognizedher.EricaHopkinshadn’tgonetoschoolwithus,butshe’dvisitedherauntinthesummers.Ihadn’tseenherinyears,though.
Shesmiledtightly.“Nicetoseeyouagain.”
“Howareyourparents,Parker?”DetectiveCollinsaskedastheytooktheirseatsaroundthecirculartable.
“Allright.”Parkerranahandthroughhishair,histhumbdownthesideofhisface.Anervoushabit,scratchingthefaintshadowofabeard.“They’llmakeitupforthededicationafterall.”
“That’swonderful,”Justinesaid,handsclaspedtogether.Asifwecouldpullapositiveoutofthis.Atributetoadeadgirl.Avisitfromhergrievingparents,whohadwantedtoblamethiswholethingonthepeopleintown.Ididn’tevenrealizeIwasshakingmyheaduntilInoticedthedetectivelookingatmecuriously.
“Afewrequests,though,”Parkeradded,rubbinghishandsagainsthispantsunderthetable.IwatchedashebecamebusinessParker.Readjustingthesleevesofhisbutton-down,awarningofwhatwastocome.Itwouldbeeasytoattributehispositiontonepotismalone,butIhadtoconcedethathewasstartlinglyeffective,makingusallbelievewewereonthesameside,wantingthesamething—andheknewjustwhatweneeded.
Eventually,IzonedoutastheydiscussedthepressfortheLomans’newfoundation.Asuicide-preventioncommunityoutreachprogram,dedicatedtoprovidingmentalhealthservicesandscreenings.Iknewallaboutitalready,hadreadthepieces,thepublicintereststories.Sadie’sdeathhadsomehowonlymadetheLomansmoreinteresting,moreworthy.Asiftheyhadbeenhumanizedbytragedy.LeveledbySadie’sdeathandslowlyemergingoncemore,re-formedfromtheashesoftheirlives.Thewholethingwasnauseating.
Ifocusedonthelobstersaladthathadbeenservedtotheentiretable,lightandsatisfying,tryingtorecallthelasttimeI’djoinedtheLomanshere.
Irememberedinasuddenjolt:Sadie’sbirthday.LateJulyoflastyear.HerparentsandParkerandLuceandme.She’dbeenunfocused.Jumpy.She’drecentlychangedrolesatherjob.I’dthoughtshewaspreoccupied.Distantanddetached,washowthepolicedescribeditafter.Asifthiswasthefirstsignwehadmissed.
“Avery?”Parkerwaslookingatmelikehe’djustaskedmeaquestion.“Willyouhandlethenewspaperpiece?Findtherightphoto?”
“Ofcourse,”Isaid.AndthenIunderstoodmyrole.Justinehadbroughtherassistant,andParkerhadbroughthis.IwasanemployeeoftheLomans,asetpiece,ashowofclout.I’devendressedthepart.
“I’llbeintouchsoon,”Ericasaidaswesteppedoutside,handingmehercard.Shewalkeddownthewoodenstepsbeforetherestofus.Whenshereachedthecar,shestaredbackup,butIcouldn’treadherexpression.
IcouldonlyimaginewhatEvelynhadtoldher.
PARKERSTOODBESIDEMEastheothersdroveaway.Hetouchedmyshoulder,andIflinched.
“Areyouupset?Avery,I’msorry.Myparentssentmehere,thinkingIcouldhandlethis.ButIcan’t.Ireallyneedyourhelpwiththis.”
Icrossedthestreettomycar,wedgedbetweentwoexpensiveSUVs,andhematchedmestrideforstride.“Jesus,Parker.Alittleheads-upnexttime?Also,Ididn’trealizeDetectiveCollinswouldbepartofthis.God.”
Heputahandontheroofofmycar,leaningoverme.“Iknow.Iknowitisn’teasy.”
Iwasguessinghedidn’t.BythetimeParkerhadgivenhisstatement,thefamilylawyerwaswithhim.Hisfatherwasprobablyintheroomaswell,overseeingeverything.Parkerwasthevictim’sbrotherandwastreatedaccordingly.IwasaproductofLittleport,apieceseverelyoutofplace,andDetectiveCollinsdidn’ttrustmefromthestart.
Cananyonevouchforyoutheentiretime,Avery?
Parker,Luce,therewasahousefulofpeople.Theysawme.Iwasthere.
Youcould’veleft.Theycan’taccountforeverysinglemoment.
ButIdidn’t.AndItoldyou,shewasmessagingme.Shewasfine.
WhataboutConnorHarlow?
Whatabouthim?
Wouldyouknowhisstateofmindlastnight?
Iwouldn’tknowanything.MeandConnordon’tspeakanymore.
“Itwouldmeanalot,”Parkersaid,“ifyouwouldhelpmehere.”Changingtacticstogetmeonhisside.
“Ithoughtyousaidyourparentsweren’tcomingupforthededication,”Isaid,unabletohidetheaccusationinmyvoice.
Helookeddownathisphone,sendingamessage.“Well,it’snotdefinite.Theyprobablywon’t.”Halfpayingattention.Halfcaring.“Butbetteriftheothersthinkthat.It’llmakeeverythingeasier.”Parkeralwaystoldpeoplewhattheywantedtohear,andIcouldn’ttellwhichofushewasplayingrightthen.
Hislies,eitherthenornow,soeffortless.
As,Ihadbelieved,theirentireliveshadbeen.
CHAPTER5
WhenIsteppedinsidethePointBed-and-Breakfast,Mr.Sylvasmiledpolitely.Inthesummer,wekeptourfacescalmandpredictable,amask,partoftheendlesscharade.Mr.Sylvagavenoindicationthatwhenwewerekids,FaithandIonceracedthesehallways,ourbarefeetstompingintimetoourlaughter,whilehecalledafterus,Girls!Becareful!Orthatyearslater,he’dhadtocallthepolicetoremovemefromthepremises
“Goodafternoon,”hesaid.Faith’sfatherhadthelookofafisherman,withaweatheredtanandhandsgnarlednotfromhaulinginlobstercratesbutfromcarpentry,notthatanyonecouldtellthedifference.TheSylvasalllookedliketheywereonewiththeMainecoast,partoftheproduct.ThoughMrs.Sylva’shairhadgonegrayathertempleslastI’dseen,therestwasstillafieryred.Andthelinesaroundherfaceweredeeplygrooved,likeshe’dspentyearsonthebalcony,watchingtheocean,facingthewind.Faith’shairwasclosertoauburn,butitwascurlyandwildandsheneverbotheredtotameit—perfectlyFaith.Whatevertheywereadvertising,peoplewerebuying,judgingfromthelooksoftheplace.
Iwalkedstraighttothelargeoakreceptiondeskinthetwo-storyfoyer,placingtheenvelopeonthesurface,myscrawlingscriptonthefront:KevinDonaldson.“Hi,Mr.Sylva.IbelievetheDonaldsonfamilywasscheduledtocheckinsometimetoday?Wouldyoumindpassingthisalong?”
Thedoorsopenedfromthekitchenentrancebehindthedesk,andFaithfrozeinhersteps,thedoorsswayingbehindher.“Oh.Ididn’tknowanyonewasouthere.”Sheclearedherthroat,obviousthatbyanyone,shemeantme.
“Hi,Faith.Welcomeback.”HerlooseT-shirthungfromoneshoulder,soIcouldseethejutofhercollarbone.Blackleggingsandblackslip-onsandherhairinaponytail.Ataquickglance,shecouldstillbethatgirlsneakingintothekitchenforamidnightsnackduringweekendsleepovers,whoroamedthepropertybarefootbothinsideandoutwithaliteralspringtoherstep—likeshewaswaitingforthestartinggun.Butshe’dgottenskinniersinceI’dseenherlast.Fromthewayshewaslookingmeover,shewasprobablyassessingthechangesinme,too.
“Thanks.”Shequicklypivotedtowardthefrontdesk.“Momneedsthenumbersforlunch,whenyougetachance.”
Mr.Sylvanodded,andFaithdisappearedbehindtheswingingdoorsoncemore.I’dheardshe’dfinishedhergraduateprogram,movedback,andwaspoisedtotakeoverthebed-and-breakfastassoonasherparentsretired.
“Mustbenicetohaveherhomeagain,”Isaid.
“Itis.You’llhavetostopbytovisitandcatchupsometimewhenshe’snotsobusy.”
“Definitely.”Pleasantries.Hedidn’tmeanthem,andneitherdidI.
Footstepsechoedfromthehallabove,andIlookeduponinstinct,catchingnothingbutshadowsatthetopofthecurveddoublestaircase.
Themainhousewasenormousandhadexpandedsteadilywithtime;Iusedtothinkitwasacastle.Therewerearcheddoorways,hiddenwindowseats,closetswithinclosets.Awoodenrailalongthecliffsoutbackmadeofrawlumber.Balconiesloomingdangerouslyclosetotheedgeoftheoverlook,saltwatermistperpetuallycoatingtherailings.Faithhadlivedthere,too,uponthetopfloor,aconvertedatticspacewhereweallpassedaroundabottleforthefirsttimeinmiddleschool.
ForasecondIrememberedConnorashewasbackthen,howhecouldneverseemtostandstill.Howhecoulddisappearwhileyouwereturnedaway,onlytowalkinthedoorjustwhenyounoticedhewasgone.Thisfeelingthathewaslivinganentiresecondlifeinthepause,whiletherestofuswerestuckinslowmotion.
Mr.Sylva’sgazefollowedminetothestaircaselanding,andasthefootstepsretreated,heleanedcloser,loweringhisvoice.“TheDonaldsonshavealreadysettledin.Seemedabitshaken,tobehonest.Whathappenedupthere,Avery?”Hejuttedhischintotheside,inthedirectionoftherentalsontheoverlook.Theywerewithinwalkingdistance,thoughnotplainlyinsight.
“Don’tknow,”Isaid,peeringupattheempty,shadowedhalloncemore.“I’mofftotakealook.”
THEDONALDSONFAMILYHADbeenstayingattheBlueRobin,thelocationofthelastPlus-Oneparty.Thiswasn’tthefirsttimeI’dbeenbacksincethen,butIneverlingeredforlong.Ikeptmywalk-throughsbriefandefficientbetweenvisitors.Therewastoomuch,otherwise,toremindme.
Thiswasn’tthesceneofSadie’sdemise,sothepolicehadleftitwellenoughalone.ButitwouldalwaysbetheplaceI’dbeenthelasttimeIcouldimagineheralive.WhereIwaswaitingforherfinalmessage,thelastthingshewantedtotellme:
Nooneunderstands.
I’llmissyou.
Forgiveme.
Iwouldneverknowexactlywhatshehadwantedtosay.Thoughthepolicehadtriedtofindherphone,theGPShadbeendeactivatedforaslongasI’dknownher—aleftoversuspicionfromherteenyearsthatherparentsweretrackingher,watchinghereverymove.Thephonehadbeenofflinewhenthepolicetriedtoreachit,mostlikelylosttotheseawhenshejumped.
TherewasapaththatwovethroughthetreesfromtheB&Btotheoverlook,passingrightbehindtheBlueRobin.Icouldtakemycarjustaseasily,loopingbackdownthedrivetothenextturnoff,butIdidn’twanttoalertanyonethatI’dbecoming;Ididn’twantanyonetonoticemycarandaskwhatwasgoingon.
IwalkedthesamepathI’draceddownnearlyayearearlier,followingParkerandLuce.Racingtowardsomethingwehadnoabilitytostop.Inhindsight,IknewthatParkershouldn’thavebeendriving.Noneofusshouldhave.Thenighthadblurrededges,aspartiesoftendidforme.Bitsandpiecescamebacktomeinsurprisingflashesduringthequestioning,morphingintoastiltedtimelineofthingsIhadsaidordone,seenorheard.
Standingonthefrontporchnow,Icouldalmostfeelthepeopleontheotherside—theheat,thelaughter—beforeeverythinghadturned.
TheDonaldsonshadfollowedprotocol,leavingthehousekeyinanenvelopeinsidethemaildropbesidethefrontdoor.Notthemostsecuremethod,Iknew,butitwasallpartoftheact.Partofthestorywetoldaboutthisplace.TherewerealotofobviousdangersinLittleport,despitetheclaimswemadetothecontraryforthetourists.Asafeplace,wetoldthem,andtechnically,ifyoulookedatthecrimestatistics,thatwastrue.
Buttherewereotherdangers.Acaronadark,windingroad.Aslickoficeonthesidewalk.Theedgeofthecliffs,thecurrent,therocks.
Themountainsandthewater;thecoldinthewinter;thecomplacencyofthesummer.
Thenear-missesthatwereneverreported:thehikerswhowentmissing(foundtwodayslater),thewomanwhofellintoagorge(shemanagedtocallforhelp,butshewasluckyshehadherphone),thekayakerswhogotpulledinbythelobstermen,oneaftertheother,allseasonlong,misjudgingthecurrentandpanicking.
Andthereweremore,theoneswepretendeddidn’texist.
ThehousestillsmelledofbreakfastwhenIsteppedinside.They’dlefttheirdishesinthesink,soakinginthewater,eventhoughtheyweresupposedtoloadupthedishwasherbeforethecleaningcompanycamein.
Icouldn’tseeitatfirst,thesignsofsomeoneelse,likeDetectiveCollinshadsaid.Thechairsoffcenterinthediningroom,probablyfromtheDonaldsonfamily.Samewiththedirtyfingerprintsonthesurfacesandthecornerofthelivingroomrug,flippedupandinverted.
Butthenthesmallerdetailscameintofocus:theupside-downcushiononacouch,likesomeonehadremovedthecushionsandreplacedthisonethewrongway.Thelegsofthediningroomtablenolongerliningupwiththeindentationsonthethrowrugbeneath.Ididn’tthinktheDonaldsonswould’vehadanycausetorearrangethefurniture.
Icircledthehouse,runningmyfingersalongthewindowsills,thedoorframes,checkingthelocks.Everythingseemedsecure.Istoppedatthesecondwindowfacingtheback,alittlesleekerthanalltheothers.IthadbeenreplacedsometimeafterthePlus-Oneparty,becausetherewasaspiderwebofcracksrunningthroughit.Anaccidentthenightoftheparty,therisksofinvitingacrosssectionofthepopulationintoyourhome.
Ihadorderedthereplacementwindowmyself.NowIranmyfingersaroundtheedges,slightlythinner,withasleekerlock.Itwasinthelockedposition.Butitwasanewermodelthantheotherwindows,thelatchsonarrowIwasn’tsureitfitproperly.Iliftedfromthebase,andtheglassslidupwithnoresistance,lockornot.Icursedtomyself.AtleastIdidn’thavetoworryaboutsomeonewithakey.
Inthemeantime,Ineededtoconfirmthatnothingofourshadbeentaken;wedidn’tusemuchofvaluetodecoratetherentals,butbesttodoaquickcheckanyway.Withthewaythecushionswereturnedup,itseemedlikewhoeverhadbeeninherewaslookingforhiddenvaluables.Inaplacewithoutasafe,that’swhattheguestsareknowntodo:putlaptopsbetweenthemattressandboxspring.Leavejewelryinthebottomofdrawers,stowedunderclothes.
Thedoortothemasterbedroomattheendofthehallwasclosed,butIfiguredthatwaswhereanythingofvaluewould’vebeenhidden—wheresomeonewould’vegonelooking.
AssoonasIopenedthedoor,Igotawhiffofseasaltandlavender.Acandleleftburningonthewhitewoodendresser.ForgottenwhentheDonaldsonscheckedout.Thereweren’tanyrulesexpresslyforbiddingit,butitmademesecond-guesshavingcandlesinthehouse.Iblewouttheflame,thewispofblacksmokecurlinginfrontofthemirrorbeforedisappearing.
Thedrawershadeachbeenemptiedofanyclothesinside,andtherewasnothingleftbehindonthebathroomsurfaces.Thequeen-sizebedwasunmade,withjustthewhitequiltcrumpledatthebase.Iopenedthechestatthefootofthebed,wherewekeptextrablankets,andthescentremindedmeofmygrandmother’soldattic,staleandearthy.Aspiderscurriedacrossthetopblanket,andIjumpedback,goosebumpsformingonmyarms.Theseblanketshadprobablyremaineduntouchedallseason.Theyneededtoberunthroughthewash,theentirechestcleanedoutwithfurniturepolishandavacuum—therewasonelastfamilyscheduledfornextweek.
Iscoopedoutthestackofblanketsandquilts,holdingmybreath,andsomethingcaughtmyeyeinthebottomcorner.
Itwasaphone.AtfirstIassumedithadbeenleftbehindbytheDonaldsons,hiddenawayjustlikeIwould’vedone.Butthefrontscreenwascrackedintheupper-leftcorner,anditappeareddead,probablylostandforgottenbyafamilywho’dbeenhereearlierintheseason.Iwenttoslipitintomypocket,butastreakofredonthecornerofthesimpleblackcasecaughtmyeye.Nailpolish,Iknew.Fromthebeginningoflastsummer,whenshe’dbeentextingbeforehernailsweredry.
Attemptingtowipeitoffhadonlymadeitworse.Givesitcharacter,shesaid.
Isatontheedgeofthebed,myhandshaking.
IknewIwasholdingSadieLoman’sphoneinmyhand.
SUMMER
2017ThePlus-OneParty
9:00p.m.
Thiswasamistake.
IstoodonthefrontporchoftheBlueRobin,watchingaspeopleemergedfromthesurroundingtreesingroupsoftwoandthree,carryingdrinks,laughing.Traipsingthroughthewoodedlotsfromtheircars,somenotbotheringwiththefrontdoor,cominginthroughthepatioinstead.Ihopedthesoundofuswouldgetswallowedupbythesea.
ThepartywassupposedtobeattheLomans’housethisyear,butSadiewasdeadsetagainstit.SheandParkerhadbeenarguingaboutit,Parkersayingitwasonlyfair,asifhewereaccustomedtoplayingbytherules,andSadieappealingtohissenseofcontrol:Youreallywanttheminourhouse?Goingthroughourthings?Inourrooms.Comeon,youknowhowitcanget.
Parkerhadtriedtoaddresseachpoint,whichwashowheworked,inbusinessandinlife:So,Averycanhelpkeepaneyeonthings.So,we’llmakethebedroomsoff-limits.
Oh?shehadsaid,hereyeswideandmocking.Therearenolocks,sohowareyouplanningtoenforcethat,exactly?Withabarricadeoffurniture?Areyougoingtofightthemiftheydisobey?
You’rebeingridiculous,Parkerhadsaid,turningaway,whichwasthewrongmove.
IfeltmyshoulderstensingasSadiesuckedinabreath,leanedtowardhim.Fine.YougoaheadandtellDadhisdeskwasdefacedbyadrunkenlocal.YoucantellBeesomeonevomitedinherkitchen.
Helaughed.Jesus,noone’sgoingtodefaceafuckingdesk,Sadie.Stopactinglikeeveryone’strash.Andreally,hesaid,eyeslevelingonher,nothingworsethanyou’vealreadydone.
ItwasthenthatIsteppedin.Wecouldhaveitatoneoftherentals,Isaid.Bothofthehomesontheoverlookwillbevacantthatweek.
Sadienodded,herfacevisiblyrelaxing,fistsunclenching.IcouldseetheideatakingholdinParker,hisjawshiftingaroundashemulleditover.SunsetRetreat,hesaid,ithasmorespace.
ButIshookmyhead.NooneknewthesepropertiesbetterthanIdid.No,Isaid,theBlueRobinhasmoreprivacy.Noonewillnoticeusthere
BUTNOW,STANDINGONthefrontporchwhilethepartyhitfullswing,Iwasn’tsosureaboutthat.Carslinedthestreetinbothdirections,whichwasprobablysomefirecodeviolationwiththelackofstreetspaceleftbehind.Icranedmynecktoseemycar,whichI’dparkedattheedgeoftheshortdrivewayofSunsetRetreatacrosstheway,facingout,tokeepothercarsofftheproperty.Someonehadalreadyblockedmein,parkingonanangledirectlyinfrontoftheentrancetothedrive.
Betweenthetreesandthedark,Icouldn’tevenseehowfarthelineofcarsstretched.Therewerenostreetlightsuphereyet—justtheporchlightabovemeandtheoccasionalheadlightshiningdownthestretchofpavementwheneveracarturnedin.
“Everythingokay?”Parkerstoodbehindmeintheopendoorway.Hefrowned,peeringovermyshoulderintothedarkness.
“Yes,everything’sfine.”TherewasalistofthingsIcouldworryabout:thenumberofpeoplewhowerestillarriving,theamountofliquor,thefactthat,thoughI’dremovedthefragiledecorations,Ihadnotthoughttopulloutthethrowrugsfromunderthefurniture,andthosewouldbehardertoreplace.
ButtonightIdidnothavetobemyself.Tonightwasforforgetting.
IFOLLOWEDPARKERINSIDE,losthiminthemassofbodiesinthekitchen.Foundmyselfinthemiddleofafamiliargame.
Themusichadturned,somethingfrenetic,andnoonewasdancingorswayingtothebeat.Buttherewasagrouphoveringaroundtheisland,aclusterofshotglassesonthesurfacebetweenthem.
Iwedgedmywayintothegroup.“Hear,hear,”Isaid,pickingoneup,smiling.
“Justintime,”themanbesidemesaid.Irecognizedhimvaguely,buthewasalittleyounger,andI’dlongsincegivenupmemorizingthenamesofthenewervisitors.“IwasjustabouttotelleveryoneaboutGregandCarysFontaine,”hecontinued.
Gregslammedhisglassdown,mouthagape.
“Don’ttrytodenyit,”theothermansaid,widesmile.“Isawyou.DownattheFold.”
Gregshookhisheadandsmiledthen,beforedowningthenextshot.Movingon.
Itwasapurgingofsecrets,oftrystsandregrets.Agamewithnorulesandnoexitstrategybuttodrinksomemore.Asecrettoldoroneexposed,andyouwoulddrink.Andthenlater,youwouldmakesomenewones.
Roundandroundtheywent.Ibarelyrecognizedthebulkofthenamesbynow.
Sixyearsearlier,SadieandIhadstoodsidebysideatatablemuchlikethisone,atmyveryfirstPlus-Oneparty.Wehadslippedintoaneasycomfortafterthatdayatthebeach,spentthemonthsthatfollowedinawaythatfeltbothinevitableandunsustainable,andthePlus-Onewastheperfectwaytoseeitout.
OneofParker’sfriendshadleveledhisfingeratSadie’sfaceandannounced,You’vebeenatmyhouse.Withmybrother.Theredhadcreptupherneck,butinsteadofpullingback,sheleanedintoit.You’reright,Ihave.Canyoublameme?Imean,look,I’mblushingrightnow,justthinkingaboutit
Itmadeherbolder,thewaysheworeherembarrassmentonherskin.Shesaidtherewasnousehidingfromherselfwhenherfacealreadygaveeverythingaway.
Iwatchedthefriend’seyestrailafterhertherestofthenight.Thethingaboutherbackthenwasshewasskinnyinachildishway.Easytooverlookinagroupphoto.Buteventhenshecouldhaveyouinherthrall,quickasthat.
Lookingback,thiswasthethingIwasmosttakenwith—theideathatyoudidn’thavetoapologize.Notforwhatyou’ddoneandnotforwhoyouwere.Ofallthepromisesthathadbeenopeneduptomethatfirstsummer,thiswasthemostintoxicatingofall.
“Hey,”Gregsaid,lookingaroundtheroom,hisslackexpressionlandingbackonme.“Where’sSadie?”
GregRandolph,Iknewfromsixyearscirclingthisworld.FromthesecretsSadiewouldshare,thewayshecouldsumeveryoneupinasentencefragment.Hishome,inamountainenclavecalledHawksRidge,wasalmostasstunningastheLomans’.ButthethingIrememberedmostclearlyaboutherassessmentofGregRandolphwasthefirstthingshe’deversaidofhim:Ameandrunk,likehisfather.Heusedtobebroadandmuscularbutwascurrentlyslidingtowardsoft,theedgesofhisfacelosingdefinition;darkslicked-backhair,atanacrossthebridgeofhisnosethatborderedonaburn.Overtheyears,hehadnotbeenquietinhispursuitofSadie,andshehadnotbeenquietinherresoundingrejection.
Sincewewerepurgingthetruthhere,Ididn’tholdback.“Onherway,”Isaid,“butstillnotinterestedinseeingyou.”
Therewasmuffledlaughteraroundtheisland,butnoonedrank,andGreg’sdarkeyebrowsshotup—aquickburstofangerthathecouldn’thide.Butherecoveredquickly,hislipsstretchingintoaknowingsmile.“Oh,I’mfullyaware.LastIsawyourfriendSadie,shewasgettingoffaboatwiththatlocalguyIjustsaw.”Hejuttedhischintowardthepatio,butIdidn’tseewhomhemeant.“Itwasjustthetwoofthematsunset.Neverthoughtshe’dgoforthatsortofthing,butwhatdoIknow.Figureditwasmyturntoshare.Ashameforhertomissit.”
Ifrowned,andthemanbesideGregsaid,“Theonefromtheyachtclub?”
Greglaughed.“No,no,nothinglikethat.Theguywhorunsthefishingcharters,youknow?”
Connor.HehadtobetalkingaboutConnor.Intruth,Connordidalotmorethanthat.Hepracticallyrantheday-to-dayofhisparents’distributioncompany.Handledthebooks,tookshipmentsfromthedocks,madesuretheday’scatchmadeittoeveryrestaurantintown,bigorsmall.Broughtthevisitorsoutonchartersduringhisdowntime,after.Butthatwasn’thismainjob.
“I’msurprisedyoudidn’tknow,”Gregsaid,andIhatedthathecouldreaditinmyface.Hesmiled,butmyheadwasspinning.Connor.SadieandConnor.Itdidn’tmakesense,butthatmust’vebeenwhyhewasheretonight.Greggesturedtothenextshotglass.“Yougonnatakethisoneforher?”
Ipushedtheglassclosertohim.“Pass,”Isaid,goingforindifference,channelingthewaySadiewouldshakehimoff.
“Whilewe’rechatting,”Gregsaid,leaninganelbowontheisland,stickywithalcohol,“Iwaswondering.Well,wewereallsortofwondering.WhatisitthatyoudofortheLomans,exactly?”
Hewassoclose,Icouldfeelhisbreathontheexhale,sharpandsour.Irecoiledonimpulsefromthestench,thoughhesmiledwider,wronglyassuminghe’dstruckanerve.I’dheardtherumors.ThatIwasGrant’smistress.OrBianca’s.ThatIwasinservicetosomethingdarkandsecret,somethingtheytriedtocoverupbyplantingmerightoutintheopen.Asiftheideaofgenerosity,offriendship,ofafamilythatextendedbeyondthecircumstancesofyourbirth,wassomethingtoohardtofathom.
Jealousy,Sadiewouldsay.Anugly,uglything.Andthen:Don’tworry,we’retheBreakers.Theyhavetohateus.
“Thisisn’thowthegamegoes,”Isaid.BecauseIknewthatdefenseonlyredoubledtheircuriosity.
Gregleanedtowardme,almostlosinghisbalance.Barelytwohoursintotheparty,andalreadyhewassloppydrunk.“ThegamegoeshoweverIwantittogo,friend.”
Itoccurredtomethenthatheneverusedmyname.Iwonderedifheevenknewit,orifthiswasallpartofsomepowerplaytohim.Ibackedaway,spinningdirectlyintoLuce,herbrowneyesunnaturallywide.Shehadahandonmyarm,colderthanexpected.“I’vebeenlookingforyou,”shesaid.“Somethinghappened.”
“What?Whathappened?”ButIwasstuckinthepreviousconversation,mymindplayingcatch-up.
“Thewindow.”
Shedraggedmethroughthekitchentothecornerofthelivingroom.Oneofthewindowsfacingthebackyardbesidethepatiohadbeenbroken.No,ithadbeenalmostbroken.Theglasswasinonepiece,butitwouldhavetobereplaced.Itlookedlikesomeonehadtakenabattoit.IloweredmyfacesoIwaseyelevelwiththepointofimpact,ranmyfingersoverthespiderwebofgroovesradiatingoutfromthecenter.
Throughtheglass,Connorwasarguingwithsomeoneintheshadows.Ishiftedmyperspective,tryingtosee,buthisimagethroughthewindowfracturedintoadozenpiecesagainstthenightsky.
Helookedinmydirection,andthenhesteppedaway,outofframe.Iclosedmyeyes,breathinginslowly.“Weshouldcoveritup,”Isaid,“sonoonegetshurt.”
Iknewwekeptafirst-aidkitinthemasterbathroomdownthehall,alongwithathletictape.Thetapeseemedthebestoption,bothasadeterrentandastopgapuntiltomorrow.
Butthedoortothemasterbedroomwasalreadylocked.“Dammit,”Isaid,slammingmyhandintothewood,thenoiseechoingthroughthenarrowhallway.Ihopeditmadethemjump.
“GuessSadiewasrightnottohavethepartyattheirhouse,”Lucesaid.
Isighed.“It’sfine,”Isaid.EventhoughIhadfelttheglassundermyfingersreadytogiveway.Itwasonepushfromshattering,fromreallyinjuringsomeone.Ihadbeenpreparedforsomeonetoendupinthepoolbeforethenightwasout.Expectedacouplespills,astainthatwouldhavetobeprofessionallytreated,maybe.ButIhadnotbeenexpectinganyrealdamage.
Awomanraisedaredcupintheair.“Tosummer!”shesaid.
Luceraisedhersinresponse,thenspottedsomeoneacrosstheroom—Parker,Iassumed.Sheleftmestandingtherealone,attheentrancetothedarkhallway.
NooneseemedtonoticewhenIslippedoutthefront.WhenIcircledtothesideofthehouse,breathinginthesolitude.Nothingbuttreesandthemuffledsoundofpeopleinside.
Iwasn’ttheonlyoneouthere.Atwigcracking,abrittleleafcrunching,therustleoffabriccomingcloser.“Hello?”Icalled.Andthen:“Sadie?”
Shemovedlikethat.Lightonherfeet.Sureofherself.Notlikelytopauseforthesakeofanybodyelse.
Butthewoodsfellsilentafterthat,andwhenIpulleduptheflashlightonmyphone,Isawnothingbutshadowscrisscrossingthedarkness.
SUMMER
2018CHAPTER6
Isatthereontheedgeofthebedforminutes,moments,staringatthephoneinmyhand.
Sadie’sphone,whichthepoliceneverfound.Sadie’sphone,presumablylosttothesea,tornfromherhandwhenshejumped,ortossedintotheabyssinthemomentsbefore.
IfSadiewasalonethatnight,howdidherphoneenduphere?
NowIpicturedthedotslightingupthemessagewindow,imaginedherfinaltext:
Helpme—
Therewasacreakfromoutsidethebedroom,andIstoodquickly,myheartpounding.
“Avery?Youinhere?”
IslidthephoneintomybackpocketasIwalkedoutoftheroom,downtheshorthall.Connorwasstandinginthemiddleofthefrontfoyer,lookingupthestaircaseinstead.“Oh,”hesaid.
“Hey,hi.”Icouldn’torientmyself.NotwiththephoneinmybackpocketandConnorbeforeme,inthehousewherewe’dallbeenwhenshedied.
Iwascaughthalfastepbehind,becauseConnorandInolongerhadthetypeofrelationshipwherewespoketoeachotherorsoughteachotherout.Andnowthathewasstandingintheroomwithme,itseemedhedidn’tknowwhathewasdoinghere,either.
Hewasdressedforwork,injeansandaredpolowiththeHarlowfamilylogoontheupperleftcorner.Evenso,Connoralwaysremindedmeoftheocean.Hisblueeyeshadasheentothem,likehe’dbeensquintingatthesunfortoolong.Thesaltwatergritleftbehindonhispalms.Hisskintwiceastanasanyoneelse’s,fromoutonthesea,wherethesungetsyoudouble:oncefromaboveandoncefromthereflectionoffthesurface.Andbrownhairstreakedthroughfromthesummermonths,escapingoutthebottomofhishat.He’dalwaysbeenthin,morewirythanstrong,buthe’dgrownintothesharperanglesofhisfacebythetimewewereinhighschool.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iasked.
Hedidn’tspeakatfirst,juststoodbetweenmeandthefrontdoor,lookingmeover.Iknewwhathewasseeing:theslacks,thedressshoes,thesleevelessblousethattransformedmeintoadifferentpersonwithadifferentrole.OrmaybeitwasjustthewayIwasstanding,frozeninplace,unsurehowtomove—likeIhadsomethingtohide.Andforamoment,Icouldonlyhearthedetective’squestions:WhataboutConnorHarlow?Wouldyouknowhisstateofmindlastnight?
Connorfrowned,likehecouldtellwhatIwasthinking.“Sorry,”hesaid.“Thedoorwasopen.IsawyourcarattheB&BwhenIwasmakingmydelivery.Mr.Sylvatoldmewhathappened.Everythingokayhere?”Helookedaround,takinginthedownstairs.
“Nothing’smissing,”Isaid.
“Kids?”
Inoddedslowly,butIwasn’tsure;Ithoughtweweretalkingourselvesintosomething.IfnotforthepresenceofthephoneI’djustfound,itwasthemostlogicalexplanation.Somethingwewerealltoofamiliarwithhere.Intheoff-season,wehadayouthproblem.Wehadadrugproblem.Wehadaboredomproblem.Aninescapable,existentialproblem.Wewoulddoanythingtopassthewinterhere.Itwasabiggerproblemifitwasbleedingoverintothesummer.
Wehadallpeeredinsidethehomesintheoff-season.Curiosity,boredom,atemptingoffate.Seeinghowfarwecouldgetandhowmuchwecouldgetawaywith.
ConnorandIknewaswellasanyone.HeandFaithandIhadstoodatthebaseoftheLomans’houseonewinterlongago,meonhisshoulders,climbingontoasecond-storybalcony,shimmyingthroughawindowofthemasterbedroomthathadbeenleftopen.Wedidn’ttakeanything.Wewereonlycurious.Faithhadopenedthefreezer,thefridge,thebathroomcabinets,thedeskdrawers—allempty—herfingerstrailingeverysurfaceasshemoved.Connorhadwalkedtheroomsoftheunoccupiedhome,nottouchinganything,asifcommittingthemtomemory.
ButIhadstoppedinthelivingroom,stoodbeforethepicturehangingonthewallbehindthesofa.Staringbackatthefamilythere.Themotheranddaughter,blondandslight;fatherandson,darkerhair,matchingeyes.Ahandontheshoulderofeachchild.Fourpiecesofaset,smiling,withthedunesofBreakerBeachbehindthem.TheclosestI’dbeentoSadieLoman.I’dsteppedcloser,seenthefinerdetails:thecrookedeyetooththathadyettobefixed.Ipicturedhermotherholdingthecurlingirontoherotherwisepin-straighthair.Thephotographersmoothingoutanyimperfectionssothatherfrecklesfadedaway,intoherskin.
Eventually,Connorhadcircledback,foundmestandinginfrontofthatfamilyportraitintheirlivingroom.He’dnudgedmyshoulder,whisperedintomyear,Let’sgetoutofhere.Thisplacegivesmethecreeps.
NOWHESTOODONtheothersideoftheroom,andIstilldidn’tknowwhathewasdoinghere.Whyhewassointerestedinabreakinatarentalwherenothinghadbeentaken.
“Whoeveritis,theycameinthroughthatwindow,”Isaid,shakingoffthechill.“Thelockdoesn’tlatch.”
Hiseyesmetmineforabriefmoment,likehewasremembering,too.“Youneedthenumberforawindowrepair?”
“No,Igotit.”Istaredouttheglass,picturingConnor’sfaceasitappearedthatnight,fracturedinmymemory.“Doyourememberhowitbroke,thenightSadiedied?”
Heflinchedathername,thenrubbedthescruffofhisjaw,tohideit.“Notsure.Justsawthatgirlstandingontheotherside,checkingitout.ParkerLoman’sgirlfriend.”
“Luce,”Isaid.EverymoveImadethatsummer,itseemedthatshewaswatching
Heshruggedwithoneshoulder.“Sheseemedupset,soIfiguredshedidit,honestly.Why?”
“Noreason.Justthinkingaboutit.”BecauseSadie’sphonewasinmypocketandnothingmadesenseanymore.Iwasholdingmybreath,willinghimtoleavebeforehenoticedmyhands.HowIhadtopressthemtothesidesofmylegstokeepthemfromshaking.ButConnorpacedtheroomslowly,eyesroamingoverthewindows,thefurniture,thewalls.
“Irememberthatpicture,”hesaid,pointingatthepaintingthathungfromthewall.
Itwasmymother’sprint,takenfromConnor’sdad’sboatoneevening,intheautumnbeforethecarcrash.Wewereinmiddleschool,thirteen,maybe.Outsidetheharbor,she’dtakenphotoafterphotoofthecoastlineaseveningturnedtoduskturnedtodark.Thehomesalongthecoastwerenolongerlitupandwelcomingbutappearedmonstrous,darkershadowsstandingguardinthenight.Shekepttakingpictureseverytimethelightshifted,untilthedarkhadsettled,complete,andIcouldn’tmakeouttheshadowsanymore,couldn’ttellseafromlandfromsky,andIlostallsenseoforientationandvomitedovertheedgeoftheboat.
“Ithinkthekidshavehadenough,Lena,”Mr.Harlowsaidwithalaugh.
She’dtriedtocaptureitinthispainting,afterendlessdraftsinherstudio.Thefinalproductexistedinshadesofblueandgray,somethingbetweenduskandnight.Thegrayofthewaterfadingintothedarkofthecliffs,disappearingintotheblueofthenight.Asifyoucouldtaketheimageinyourhandandshakeitbackintofocus.
Yearslater,I’dhaditreprinted,andI’dhungitfromthelivingroomwallofeveryhomeIoversaw.ApieceofherinalltheLomanhomes,andnobodyknewitbutme.
Staringatherpainting,Iwasovercomewiththeimpulsetodoit—toreachoutandgrabit.Iwantedtotakethismomentandshakeitintofocus.StretchahandthroughtimeandgraspontoSadie’sarm.
UntilSadie’snotewasfound,DetectiveCollins’squestionskeptcirclingbacktoConnorHarlow,eventhoughhisalibipannedout.He’dbeenattheparty;nooneeversawhimleave.Still.HehadbeenspottedwithSadieearlierthatweek.Sadiehadtoldnooneaboutit.AsfarasIknew,neitherhadConnor.
“Didyouseeherthatnight,Connor?”Iaskedashewasstillfacingaway.
Hefroze,hisbackstiffening.“No,”hesaid,knowingexactlywhatIwasreferringto.“Ididn’tseeherthatnight,andIwasn’tseeingheratall.WhichItoldthepolice.Overandover.”
WhenConnorwasangry,hisvoicedropped.Hisbreathingslowed.Likehisbodywasgoingintosomesortofprimitivestate,conservingenergybeforeastrike.
“Peoplesawyoutwo.”IrememberedwhatGregRandolphhadsaidaboutSadieandConnoronhisboat.“Don’tlieformybenefit.”Asiftherewassomethingremaining,sevenyearslater,thatheneededtohandlewithcare.
Heturnedbackaroundslowly.“Iwouldn’tdare.Whatwouldbethepointofthat?”
Icouldseethetensioninhisshoulders,thewayhisteethwereclenchedtogether.ButallIcouldrememberwasthelistDetectiveCollinshadputinfrontofme.Thenames.Thetimes.AndthefactthatIcouldn’tanswerforConnor.“Whendidyougettothepartythatnight?”
Heshiftedonhisfeet.“Whyareyoudoingthis?”
Ishookmyhead.“It’snotahardquestion.I’massumingyoutoldthepolicealready.”
Hestaredback,eyesblazing.“Sometimeaftereight,”hesaid,monotone.“Youwereinthekitchen,withthatgirl—withLuce.”Hisgazedriftedtotheside,tothekitchen.“Youwereonthephone.Iwalkedrightbyyou.”
Iclosedmyeyes,tryingtofeelhimthereinmymemory.Thephoneheldtomyear,thesoundofendlessringing.Ihadmadeonlyonecallthatnight—thecalltoSadiewhenshedidn’tpickup.
“Youknow,”hecontinued,eyesnarrowing,“Iexpectedthesequestionsfromthepolice.EvenfromtheLomans.Butthis…”Hetrailedoff.“Shekilledherself,Avery.”
Maybethesilencebetweenuswasbetterafterall.Becausethethingswehadtosayweregoingtoslidetoplacesneitherofuswantedtogo.
Heshookhisheadasifherealizedthesamething.“Well,it’sbeenfuncatchingup.”
Myarmswerecrossedovermychestashemadehiswaybackoutsidetothedeliveryvaninthedrive.Fromthefrontdoor,Isawthesheerwhitecurtainsinthehouseacrossthestreet—SunsetRetreat—fallbackintoplace.Icouldseetheoutlineofashadowthere.Asinglefigure,unmoving,watchingasIlockedthefrontdoorandmademywayaroundthehousetowardthewoodedpath,disappearingintothetrees.
ThebiggestdangerofallinLittleportwasassumingthatyouwereinvisible.Thatnooneelsesawyou.
CHAPTER7
Icouldn’ttellifParkerwasbackhome,butIdidn’twanthimseeingme,stoppingme,followingme.Ipracticallyranfrommycarintotheguesthouse,lockingthefrontdoorbehindme.Myhandswerestillshakingwithmisplacedadrenaline.
SadieandIhadthesamemodelphone.Mychargershouldwork.Iconnectedherphonetothewireonmydeskandstaredattheblackscreen,waiting.Pacinginfrontofthelivingroomwindows.Hearingherwordsagain,thelastthingshesaidtome:Whatdowethinkofthis?
ThistimethesceneshifteduntilIsawadifferentpossibility:She’dbeenplanningtomeetsomeone.Thepaleskinofhershoulders,thenervousenergythatIhadmistakenforanticipation,athrummingexcitementforthepartythatnight.
NowIwaswalkingthroughanotherpotentialversionofevents.
Somewhereinmyphone,Ihadacopyofthatlist,theoneDetectiveCollinshadwrittenoutformelastsummer.IscrolledbackintimeuntilIfoundit,slightlyblurred,myhandalreadypullingawayasItookthephotojustwhenthedetectiveturnedback.Ihadtozoomintoseeit,twistittotheside,buttherewewere.Thelistofnames:AveryGreer,LucianaSuarez,ParkerLoman,ConnorHarlow.Ourarrivaltimeswritteninmyhandwriting.
Therewassomethingthepolicehadbeenlookingforinhere.Astorythatdidn’taddup.Itoreablanksheetofpaperfromthenotepadonmydesk,copyingthelist—nowcompletewiththeinformationConnorhadgivenme:
Me—6:40p.m.
Luce—8p.m.
Connor—8:10p.m.
Parker—8:30p.m.
Itappedthebackofmypenagainstmydeskuntiltherhythmmademeanxious.MaybeSadieandConnorhadplanstomeetup.MaybewhenshetoldParkernottowaitforher,itwasbecauseConnorwassupposedtogiveheraridetotheparty.
Ihadnoideawhatshe’dbeenuptoearlierintheday,whileIwasworking.Shewasdressedandreadybytheearlyafternoon,whileIhadbeenreconcilingtherentalpropertyfinancesallday,caughtupintheend-of-seasonwork.LucesaidshethoughtSadiewaspacking.ParkersaidSadietoldhimnottowaitforher.
ButsomehowherphonehadendedupattherentalhouseacrosstownwhileherbodywaswashingupontheshoreofBreakerBeach.Wasitpossiblethatsomeonehadhiddenitinsidethechestrecently?Orhaditbeenthereeversincethenightshedied?
Assoonasthedisplayofherphonelitup,promptingthepasscodescreen,Ipressedmythumbtothepad.Thescreenflashedamessagetotryagain,andmystomachdropped
SadieandIhadjustcomeoutofaroughspotintheweeksbeforeshedied.Untilthen,we’dhadaccesstoeachother’sphonesforyears.Sowecouldcheckatext,seetheweather,takeapicture.Itwasashowoftrust.Itwasapromise.
Ithadneveroccurredtomethatshemight’velockedmeoutwhenthingsturnedcold.
Iwipedmyhandagainstmyshirtandtriedtoholdperfectlystillbutcouldfeelmypulseallthewaytothetipsofmyfingers.IheldmybreathasItriedoncemore.
Thepasscodegriddisappeared—Iwasin.
Thebackgroundofherhomescreenwasapictureofthewater.Ihadn’tseenitbefore,butitlookedasifithadbeentakenfromtheedgeofthebluffsatsunrise—theskytwoshadesofblueandthesunglowingamberjustoverthehorizon.Asifshe’dstoodouttherebefore,contemplatingthemomentthatwouldfollow.
LastI’dseenherphone,thebackdrophadbeenagradientinshadesofpurple.
ThefirstthingIdidwasopenhermessages,toseeifshe’dsentmesomethingthatnevercamethrough.Buttheonlythingsinherinboxwerethemessagesfromme.Thefirst,askingwhereshewas.Thesecond,astringofthreequestionmarks.
IwaslistedasAvieinherphone.Itwasthenameshecalledmewheneverwewereoutinacrowd,apressofbodies,theblurofalcohol—Whereareyou,Avie?—asifsheweretellingpeoplethatIbelongedtoher.
Therewasnothingelseinthere.Nomessagesfromanyoneelse,andnoneofourpreviouscorrespondence.Iwasn’tsurewhetherthepolicecouldaccessheroldmessages,eitherwithorwithoutthephone,buttherewasnothinghereforme.Hercalllogwasemptyaswell.NocallsormessageshadcomethroughaftertheonesIhadsent.Ihadpresumedthatherphonehadbeenlosttothesea,andthatwasthereasonithadbeenofflinewhenthepolicetriedtopingit.ButIlookedatthecrackintheuppercorneragain,wonderingifherphonehadbeendroppedorthrown—ifthesameeventthathadcrackedthescreenhadknockedthepowerout,too.
Hadshebeenafraidasshestoodattheentrancetomyroom?Hadherfacefaltered,likeshewaswaitingformetocomewithher?Toaskherwhatwaswrong?
Iclickedontheemailicon,butherworkaccounthadbeendeactivatedintheyearsinceherdeath.Shehadasecond,personalaccountthatwasoverstuffedwithnothingofrelevance—spam,salealerts,recurrentappointmentremindersthatshe’dnevergottenthechancetocancel.Anythingpriortoherdeathwasnolongeraccessible.Itriednottodoanythingpermanentortraceableonherphone,likeclickinganyoftheunreademailsopen.Buttherewasnoharminlooking.
Icheckedherphotosnext,apageofthumbnailsthathadnotbeendeleted.Isatonmydeskchair,scrollingthroughthemwhilethephonewasstillgainingcharge.ScenicpicturestakenaroundLittleport:awindingmountainroadinatunneloftrees;thedocks;thebluffs;BreakerBeachatdusk.I’dnevergottenthesensethatshe’dbeeninterestedinphotography,butLittleporthadawayofdoingthattopeople.Inspiringyoutoseemore,tocrackopenyoursoulandlookagain.
Scrollingbackfurther,Isawmorepicturesofapersonalvariety:Sadiewiththeoceanbehindher;SadieandLuceatthepool;ParkerandLuceacrossthetablefromher,outtodinnersomewhere.Clinkingglasses.Laughing.
Istoppedscrolling.Animageofaman,familiarinawaythatstoppedmyheart.
Sunglasseson,handsbehindhishead,lyingback,shirtlessandtan.Connor,onhisboat.Sadie,standingabovehimtogettheshot.
Maybethesephotoshadbeenaccessiblefromelsewherebythepolice.MaybethiswaswhythepolicekeptaskingaboutConnor.Aboutthetwoofthemtogether.Hecoulddenyitallhewanted,butherehewas.
SADIEHADKNOWNCONNOR’Snamealmostaslongasshe’dknownmine.ButasfarasIwasaware,theyhadneverspokenbefore.Thatfirstsummer,whileSadie’sworldwasopeninguptome,shewaslookingatminewithasortofunrestrainedcuriosity.
Hereyeslitupatmystories—themoreoutrageous,thebetter.Itbecameaddictive,takingthesepiecesofthatdark,lonelywinterandre-formingthemforherbenefit.
HowIspentthewinterinastupor,liketimehadfrozen.HowIdranklikeIwassearchingforsomething,sosureIwouldfindit,thedeeperIsank.HowIfoughtmyfriends,pushingthemaway,thestupid,recklessthingsIdid.Trustingnooneandlosingeveryone’strustinreturn.
Foralongtime,Iwasforgivenmytransgressions—itwasgrief,andwasn’tIatragiccliché,stuckinaloopofangerandbitterness?Butpeoplemust’verealizedwhatItoosoonunderstood:thatgriefdidnotcreateanythingthathadnotexistedbefore.Itonlyheightenedwhatwasalreadythere.Removingthebindsthatonceshieldedme.
Here,then,wasthetrueAveryGreer.
ButSadiedidn’tseeitthatway.Orshedid,butshedidn’tmindit.Didn’tthinkIwassomethingtoshyawayfrom.
We’dspendlateafternoonssittingonthepatioofHarborClub,overlookingthedocksandthestreetsofdowntown,orderinglemonadeandwatchingthepeoplemeanderingthegridofshopsbelow.Sadiealwaysaddedextrapacketsofsugarasshedrank,eventhoughIcouldalreadyseethegranulesfloating,impossibletodissolve.
She’dpointsomeoneoutbelow,whenevertheycaughthereye:StellaBryant.Ourparentsarefriends,soshe’soverallthetime.Insufferable,truly.Andanother:Olsen,oneofParker’sfriends.KissedhimwhenIwasfourteen,andhe’sbeenscaredtotalktomeeversince.Cometothinkofit,Istillhavenoideawhathisfirstnameis.
Onceshepointedherstrawovertheedgeoftherailing,towardthedock.Who’sthat?
Who?
Sherolledhereyes.Theguyyoukeeplookingat.
Shedidn’tblink,andneitherdidI,untilIsighed,leaningbackinmychair.ConnorHarlow.Friendturnedflingturnedterribleidea.
Oh,shesaid,herfacelightingupassheleanedcloser,chininhands.Comeon,don’tstopthere.Tellmeeverything
Iskippedtheworstpart,aboutwhoIbecameoverthepastwinter.ThethingsaboutmyselfI’drathernotknow.Iskippedhowhehadbeenmyoldestfriend,mybestfriend,theroleshewascurrentlyreplacing.Typicalstory.Sleptwithhimonce,beforeIknewitwasabadidea.Icringed.Andthenoncemore,afterIalreadyknewit.Shelaughed,loudandsurprising.Andthen,Icontinued,becauseself-destructionknowsnobounds,hefoundmeonthebeachwithhisfriendthenextweek.
Sheblinkedtwice,hereyessparkling.Well,hellothere.Nicetomeetyou.I’mSadie.
Ilaughed.Andthen,Itoldher,fueledbyherresponse,Ishowedupdrunkatourfriends’house.ThePointB&B,youknowit?Imeanout-of-my-minddrunk,lookingforhim.ConvincedheandmyfriendFaithwerebondingovermycurrentstate.AndwhenFaithtriedtogetmetocalmdown,Imadesuchascene,herparentscalledthepolice.
Sadie’smouthformedaperfectO.Shewasdelighted.
Onemorepart,thepunchlineofmylife:ThepolicearrivedjustintimetoseemepushFaith.Shetrippedbackwardononeofthosepoolhoses,youknow?Brokeherarm.Thewholethingwasamess.
TheconfessionwasworthitjusttoseeSadie’sface.Wereyouarrested?sheasked,hereyesunnaturallywide.
No.Smalltown,andFaithdidn’tpresscharges.Awarning.Anaccident.Iaddedairquotestoaccident,eventhoughitwas.Ihadn’tmeanttohurtFaith,notthatIcouldrememberthedetailsthatwell.Still,itturnedoutthegeneralpopulationwasmuchlessforgivingwhenphysicalassaultwasinvolved.
Shesippedherlemonadeoncemore,neverbreakingeyecontact.Yourlifeissomuchmoreinterestingthanmine,Avery.
Ireallydoubtthat,Isaid.Later,FaithhadsaidIwascrazy,fuckedup,inneedofsomeserioushelp.Whenevenyourclosestfriendsgiveuponyou,you’reasgoodasdone.ButIlovedSadie’sreaction.SoIkeptsharingthestoriesofthatwinter—therecklessness,thewildness—owningallofit.Feelingtheweightlessqualitythatcomeswithturningoverpartsofyourlifetosomeoneelse.Whenwefinallystood,sheputahanddownonthetable,catchingherself.Headrush,shesaid.IthinkI’mhighonyourlife.
Icurtseyed.Ifeelit’sonlyfairtoprepareyou.
Allthesethingsthathadpushedpeopleaway,theyonlypulledherincloser,andIwantedtofindevenmore.Tomakeherlaughandshakeherhead.Towatch,whileIkeptslidingtowardsomeundefinableedge.TobecomeeverythingIhadbeentryingtoforget,untiltheseasonturnedtwomonthslaterandshewasgone.AquickstopbackhomeinConnecticutbeforereturningtocollegeinBoston.
Wetexted.Wecalled.
ThefollowingMay,whenshefinallyreturned,Iwaswaitingforheronthebluffs,andshesaid,Doyoutrustme,andIdid—therewasnothoughttoit,nootherchoice.Shedroveusstraighttothetattooparlortwotownsupthecoast,andsaid,Closeyoureyes.
CONNORWASMINE.HEwasmystory,mypast.Butovertheyears,Sadie’sandmylivesstartedtoblur.Herhousebecamemyhouse.Herclothesinmycloset.Carkeysoneachother’skeyrings.Sharedmemories.IadmiredGrantbecauseshedid;resentedBiancabecauseshefeltthesame.Wehatedandlovedinpairs.Iwatchedtheworldthroughhereyes.IthoughtIwasseeingsomethingnew.
Butshehadn’ttoldmeaboutConnor,andIhadn’tnoticed.I’dbeentoodistractedbythemoneythathadgonemissingatworkandtheresultingfallout.ThewayI’dbeenavoidedandignoredafter—afeelingIcouldnottolerateyetagain.
NowIscrolledthroughhercontactsinalphabeticalorder.Bee,Dad,Junior.IknewthelastreferredtoParker,hadbeenajoke,anameshestartedtocallhim,tobotherhim,whenhecastasidetheexpectedrebellionofhisyouth.
He’lltakeoverthecompanyoneday,she’dexplainedwhenIquestionedit.Alittlestarprotégé.Ajuniorasshole.
Whataboutyou?Iknewshewasstudyingfinance,interningwithherfather,learningtheropesofthecompanyherself.Itcould’vejustaseasilybeenrightfullyhers.
Neverme.I’mnottallenough.
IhadscrolledthroughboththeC’sandH’swithoutstumblinguponanythingrelatedtoConnor,when,attheendofthelist,therehewas.Listedas*Connor,sohisnamefelltothebottomofthealphabet.
IneverknewwhatSadie’ssuicidenotesaid.Iknewonlythatitexisted,andthatitclosedthecaseinawaythatmadesense.
Butbeforetheyfoundthenote,therewasareasonthepolicekeptaskingmeaboutConnorHarlow,anditmust’vebeenthis—thehintofasecretrelationship,somethingworthhiding.
Andnow:hisimageinherphone,hisnamewithanasterisk,asifshewereguidingthewaybacktohim.
Well,healwayswasaterribleliar.
IPLUGGEDSADIE’SPHONEintomylaptop,copyingherphotos.
Theimageswerestilltransferringwhenacarpulledslowlyupthedrive.IpeeredthroughthewindowbesidemyfrontdoorintimetoseeParkersteppingoutofhisidlingcartoslideopenthegaragedoor.IfoldedthelistofnamesandtimesI’djustcopieddown,sliditcarefullyintomypurse.
Ineededtotalktohim.Therehadbeentwoconfirmedbreakinsattheirrentalproperties.Noisesinthenight,footstepsinthesand.
AndnowIwasthinkingofsomeoneelsewithSadieafterIhadsentherthatmessage.Someoneoutthereonthebluffswithher.Arguing.Pushingher,maybe.Thephonefallingontherocksintheprocess,shattering.Theotherpersonpickingitup,comingtotheparty,hidingherphonewhenthepolicearrived.Someonewhohadbeenatthepartyafterall.Someonewhocould’veslippedoutandcomebackwithnooneknowing.
CHAPTER8
Thegaragedoorwasopen,butParkerstoodwithhisbacktome,riflingthroughthetrunkofhisblackcar.
“Doyouhaveaminute?”Iasked,makinghimjump.
Heclosedthetrunkandturnedaround,handtoheart,thenshookhishead.“Nowyou’retheonegivingmeaheartattack.”
Thegarageherewasasexclusiveasthemainhouse:aslidingdoorlikethatofabarn,withthesameslanted-ceilingarchitecture.Anditwasimmaculatelyorganizedinside—redcontainersofgasolineforthegenerator,inthecorners;toolshungalongthewalls,probablytouchedonlybythelandscapingcompany;cansofpaintontheshelves,leftbehindwhenthepainterscamethroughtwoyearsearlier.
Buttherewasalayerofdustovereverythinghere,anditsmelledfaintlyofexhaustandchemicals.AforgottenextensionoftheLomans’property.
Ishiftedonmyfeet.“Haveyounoticedanythingoffsinceyou’vebeenback?”
Hefrowned,linesformingaroundhismouthwherethere’dbeennone,lastI’dnoticed.“Whatdoyoumeanbyoff?”
“Thepowerwentoutintheguesthouselastnight.It’shappenedacoupletimes.Yousawthegarbagecan,right?”Ishookmyhead,tryingtoshowhimthatIdidn’tthinkitwasserious,either.
Thefamiliarlineformedbetweenhiseyes.“Probablythewind.IcouldfeelitevenwhenIwasdrivinginlastnight.”
“No,you’reright.Iwasjustwondering.Themainhouse,everythingseemsfine?”
“Iguessso.Notlikeweleftmuchbehind.Comeon,”hesaid,gesturingmeoutofthegarage.“Iwanttolockup.”Asifsomethingworrisomehadworkeditswayinsidehisheadregardlessofhiswords.Hishandtrembledfaintlyasheslidthegaragedoorclosed,engagingthelock.TheParkerIonceknewwasunflappable,butlosscanmanifestinotherways.Signsofage,ofillness,ofpain.Atremorinthefingers,nervoussystemonoverdrive.Awoundslowtoheal.
Thesummeraftermyparentsdied,aheavyachewouldsettleinmylegseverynight,eventhough,byallaccounts,Iwastoooldforgrowingpains.Still,everynight,mygrandmotherwouldrubmycalves,thebacksofmyheels,thebendofmyknees,whileIbracedmyselfonthebed,untilthetensionreleased.IfIclosedmyeyes,Icouldstillimaginethefeelofherdryfingertips,hersingularfocusonthisonethingshecouldfix.Sothatbythetimeitpassed,monthslater,IbelievedIhadearnedmyplaceintheworld,inthisbody.
MaybeSadie’sdeathwouldmakeParkermorethanhehadpreviouslybeen.Givehimsomedepth,somecompassion.Aperspectivehe’dalwaysbeenlacking.
Hewalkedtowardthehouse,andIfellintostridebesidehim.Hestoppedontheporchsteps,thekeyringloopedonhisfinger.“Thatall,Avery?I’mworkingremotelythisweek.HaveacouplecallsIneedtojumponsoon.”
“No,that’snotall.”Iclearedmythroat,wishedwewerebackinthenightbefore,sittingonthecouchinside,whenhewasloosewithliquor,morevulnerableandopen.“Iwaswonderingabouttheinvestigation.Aboutthenote.”
Parkerrockedbackonhisheels,thewoodcreakingunderneathus.
“Iwaswondering,whowasitfor?”Icouldn’thelpit,wantingtoknow.Sadiehadlefthertexttomeunfinished.Whohadsheleftherlastwordsforinstead?
ThefrownlinesaroundParker’sfaceweredeepeningagain.“Idon’tknow.Imean,itwasn’taddressedtoanyoneinparticular.Wefounditinthetrash.”
“Youdon’tthinkshemeanttoleaveitforyou?”
Herubbedahanddownhisface,thenputthekeysbackinhispocketandsatontheporchstep.“Idon’tknow.Idon’tknowwhySadiedidhalfthethingsshedid,mostofthetime.”
InalltheyearsI’dknownthem,SadieandParkerhadneverseemedclose.Eventhoughtheysharedthesamecircle,bothprofessionallyandpersonally,neitherseemedthatinterestedintheother’slifebeyondthesurfaceofthings.
Ifrowned,sittingbesidehim,choosingmywordscarefully,quietly,soasnottodisturbthebalanceofthemoment.“Whatdiditsay?”
“Whatdoesitmatternow?Idon’tknow,shewasmakingpeaceorwhatever.IguessitwasforDadandBee.”
“Makingpeaceforwhat?”Iwasalreadylosinghim.He’dputhishandsontheporchstep,pushinghimselfupright,butIgrabbedhiswrist,surprisingusboth.“Please,Parker.Whatdidshesay,exactly?It’simportant.”
Hestaredatmyhandonhiswrist,andIslowlyuncurledmyfingers.“No,Avery,it’snotimportant.It’sdonewith.Idon’tremember.”
AndthatwashowIknewhewaslying.Howcouldhenotbe?Herlastwords,theonesI’dbeentryingtoconjureintobeing,picturingthedotsonmyphone,giventohim.Butmaybehereallydidn’tcare.Didn’tseeherasIdid.Didn’tstoreherwordseverytimeshespokethem,keepingthemall,filingthemawaytorevisitlater.
“Doyoustillhaveit?”
Heshruggedandthensighed.“Myguess,it’sstillwiththepolice.”Weweresoclose,Icouldseethemuscleinhisjawtensing.
“Butifitwasreallythatvague,makingpeaceorwhatever,thatshouldn’tbeenough,right?Thepolicecan’tknowforsureshejumped.Notonehundredpercent.”
Helookedatmeoutofthecornerofhiseye.“Shewasobsessedwithdeath,Avery.Comeon,youknewthat,too.”
Iblinkedslowly,remembering.Itwastruethatshewasquicktomentionthethingsthatmightharmus,butInevertookitseriously.Itwashowwemet—awarningoftetanus,sepsis.Anditcontinuedon,pokingthroughthesurfaceatrandomtimes.Awarning,ajoke,thedark,darkhumor.Anelaborateplay.ButsometimesIwasn’tsure.Whetheritwasanactornot.WhetherIwasinonthegameoranunsuspectingbystander.
Iflashedtosleepingontheloungechairsonherpooldeck,theafternoonsunwarmingmyskin.HowI’dfeltherhandrestingonmyneck,herfingersjustundermyjaw.Myeyeshadshotopenathertouch.
Ithoughtmaybeyouweredead,she’dsaid,notmovingaway.
Iwassleeping.
Itcanhappen,youknow—thebrainfailstosendamessagetoyourlungs,tobreathe.Usuallyyouwakeup,gaspingforair.Butsometimesyoudon’t.
I’dpushedmyselftositting,andonlythendidherhandslipaway.Iplacedmyownhandthere,oninstinct,untilIcouldfeeltheflutterofmypulse.Youseemreallybrokenupaboutit,Ijoked.
Well,I’malittleupsetthatIwon’tbeabletopracticemyrecentlyacquiredCPRskillsandsaveyourlifeandhaveyouforeverinmydebt.
Ismiledthen,myfacemirroringhers.
Sheneversawthethreatofdeathinthethingsthatcouldtrulyharmus:drinkingtoexcesssoclosetothewater,thecarswegotinto,thepeoplewebarelyknew.Thewaywepushedeachothertomoreandmoreuntilsomethinghadtogive,andthethingthatfinallygavewastheseason,andshewasgone,andthewintercoolslowedeverything:myheartrate,mybreathing,time.Untilitgrewunbearableintheotherextreme,andeverydaywaswaitingforthesparkofspring,thepromiseofsummeronthehorizononcemore.
Parkercalleditobsession,butitwasn’t.
Isawobsessioninthestacksofpaintingsinmymother’sstudio;intheboatssettingoutontheoceanbeforedawn,dayafterday.Obsessionwasthegravitythatkeptyouinorbit,aforceyouwerecontinuallyspiralingtoward,evenwhenyouwerelookingaway.
“Justbecauseyoutalkaboutitdoesn’tmeanyouwanttodoit,”Ifinallyreplied.Theotherpossibilitywastoopainful:thatshehadbeencryingoutforhelp,andwehadmerelystoodbackandwatched.
Parkertookadeepbreath.“Shewouldstareatherveinssometimes…”Hecringed,andIcouldfeelmyownbloodpulsingthere.“Youdidn’tknowwhatwasgoingonunderthesurface.”Heshookhishead.“Whenyoutakeeverythingtogether,it’sthethingthatmakesthemostsense.”
“Buthowaretheysurethenotewasevenhers?”
“Theymatchedherhandwriting.”Hepushedhimselfofftheporchstep,pullingouthishousekeys.
Iwaswrongaboutthephonesignifyingsomethingdangerous,then.Thephonewasnotwhereitshould’vebeen,buttherewereotherwaysitcould’vegottentothehouseinthelastelevenmonths.MaybeSadiehaddroppeditonherwaytotheedgeorleftitbehind,besidehergoldshoes.MaybesomeonehadgonebackforherthatnightwhenIhadnot.Whofoundthephoneandtookitinanimpulsivemove.Somethingworthprotectinginside,tokeephidden.
KnowingwhatIknewnowaboutConnor’sphoto,hisnameinherphone,Iwonderedifithadbeenhimallalong.Ifhe’dsomehowendedupwithherphoneandpanicked,knowingwhatmightlayinside.Losingorleavingitinthechaosofthatnight,whenthepolicearrived.IfthatwaswhyhehadshownupattheBlueRobinafterIwastheretoday.Ifhe’dheardaboutthebreakinandbeenworried.
Therewereways,afterall,tocapturesomeonewithoutputtingtheminjail.Acivilcaseforwrongfuldeath.I’dheardaboutthatonthenewsbefore—thepeoplewhopushedsomeonetosuicide,convincedthemtodoit,orpressedthemtoseenootheroption,takenforalltheywereworthbythefamilyleftbehind.
Thereweremanyformstojustice.Somethingmoresatisfyingthananimmobilebrassbellwithamelancholyphrase—everythingaboutitsofarfromthepersonSadiehadbeen.
Ipicturedherhastilywritinganote.Ballingitup.Staringoutthewindow.Herjawhardening.
Sadiedidn’thandwritemanythings.Shekeptnotesonherphone,senttextsandemails.Alwayshadherlaptopopenonherdesk.
“Parker,”Isaidasthekeyslidintothelock.“Whatdidtheymatchitto?”
Hishandfroze.“Herdiary.”
ButIshookmyheadagain.Nothingmadesense.“Sadiedidn’tkeepadiary.”
Thedoorcreakedopen,andhesteppedinside,turningaround.“Obviously,shedid.Obviously,there’splentyyoudidn’tknow.Isitsuchasurprisethatshewouldn’trevealthecontentsofherdiarytoyou?Shedidn’ttellyoueverything,Avery.Andifyouthinkshedid,yousuredohaveahighopinionofyourself.”
Heshutthedoor,madeashowofturningthelockafter,soIcouldhearthethunkechoinsidethewoodenframe.
AndtothinkI’dalmostshownhimSadie’sphone.
PARKERNEVERWANTEDMEhere.Hemadethatclear,bothverballyandnot,afterthedecisionhadalreadybeenmade.Granthadwantedmygrandmother’sproperty,whichIwasindangeroflosinganyway.Themortgagehadbeenpaiddownwithmyparents’smalllifeinsurancepayout—notenoughtoliveonbutenoughtogiftmethesecurityofaplacetocallmyown.Sotheremainingmonthlypaymentsweren’ttheprimaryproblem.Itwasalltheaccompanyingcosts—theinsurance,thetaxes,theappliances.Itwasthelastofmygrandmother’smedicalbillsandeveryresponsibilitysuddenlyfallinginmylap.Butstill,itwashome.AndIhadnowhereelsetogo.Thevisitorshadpricedusalloutofourownhomes,sothebestIcouldhopeforwouldbeanapartment,alone,milesfromthecoast.
Othershadalsoofferedtobuythehome—theotherresidentsofStoneHollowdidn’twantthelandtogotorentals—buttheLomanswereofferingmesomethingelse.Tostepintotheirworld,liveontheirproperty,becomeapartoftheircircle.SoIsoldmyhouse,andthereforemysoul,totheLomans.
WhenGrantofferedtoletmeusetheirguesthouse,IsaidI’dneedthatpartinwriting—experiencehadturnedmewaryoftakinganyoneattheirword,despitetheirbestintentions—andhetippedhisheadbackandlaughed,justlikeSadiewoulddo.You’regoingtobeokay,kid,waswhathesaidtome.Itwasthesmallestsortofcompliment,butIrememberedthewarmththatsweptthroughmethen.ThisbeliefthatIwould,thathecouldseeitinme,too.
ButIcouldhearthemarguingaboutitlater,afterGrantdrewupthepapers.Parker’svoicewastoolowtohearclearly,butIheardSadiecallinghimselfish,andGrant’ssteadyvoiceexplainingwhatwastohappen,noroomforquestionsItisfair,andit’stherightthingtodo.Thehouseisneverused.Growup,Parker.
Parkerdidn’targueanymoreafterthat,buthewastheonlyonewhohadn’thelpedmemove.
Biancahadhandledthepracticalities—havingmesetupaP.O.boxandlistheraddressasthephysicallocationsothat,officially,Iexistedinrelationtothem:AveryGreer,c/o1LandingLane.
Granthimselfhadhelpedatmygrandmother’shouse,hiringafewmentotransporttheboxesashesurveyedthelot,theframeofthehouse,therooms.Assessingeverything,assigningitavalue,decidingwhetheritwasworthmorestandingordemolished.
Sadiecame,too,sayingnooneshouldhavetodealwithGrantLomanontheirown,butIappreciatedhisefficiencyinallitsunsentimentalbrutality.
Ifeltmyselfbecomingsomethinginhisgrip.Aslicehere,apiecedeemedunnecessaryandtossedaside.Untilyouwereleftwithonlythethingsworthkeeping.Abrutalefficiencyheappliedtoprojectsandpeoplealike.
Attheend,Ihadjustastackofboxes,alllabeledbySadie’sredSharpie.TheloopingSforSell,theslantingKforKeep.Mylife,restructuredinhercapablehands.
Therewerefourboxesofmyownthingsworthkeeping.Andonemorethatwasstackedfullofmyparents’things,mygrandparents’things.Weddingalbumsandmementos.Familypicturesandarecipebookfrommygrandmother’skitchen,ashoeboxoflettersfromandtomygrandfatherwhenhewasoverseas.Thefileofpaperworkshiftingeverythingthatoncewastheirsintomypossession.LikeIwasmovingnotonlymebutmyentirehistory.Allthepeoplewhohadbroughtmetothismomentintime.
NowIpicturedSadiewiththemarkerinherhand,thecapbetweenherteeth.
Themomentwhenshesatbackandgazedaroundmyempty,emptyhouse.ThelonelyexistenceIwasleavingbehindforsomethingnew.Grantstoodbeyondthewindow,facingaway,onehandonhiship,theotherwithaphonetohisear.Insidewasonlysilence.Sadielookedmomentarilystunned,herlipspressedtogether,asiftheemotionmightspilloveratanysecond.Itwaslikeshewasseeingmeassomeoneelseforthefirsttime.Thisisgoingtobegood,Avery.
Andrightthen—withthehouseI’dbeenindangeroflosingstrippeddowntoitsroots,feelinglikeIhadfinallyfoughtmywayoutofsomething—Ibelievedher.
ITHADSEEMEDSOgenerousofthematthetime.ButI’dspentthelastyearaloneuphere,withnothingbuttheghostsforcompany.Sadie,lingeringinmydoorwaythelasttimeIsawher.Mymother,whisperinginmyear,askingwhatIsee.
AndsoI’vekeptlookingback,tryingtofindtheplacewhereeverythingveeredofftrack.Istart,everytime,atthebeginning:
IseeGrantandBianca,watchingasSadiebroughtmehome.Iimaginethemaskingaroundtown,mentioningmyname,hearingthestories,knowingeverythingtherewastoknow.WitnessingthethreadconnectingmeandSadiebecomingtautandstrong.Iwonderediftheyfearedtheirdaughterbeingdraggeddownintomyworld,justasIfeltmyselfbeingpulledupintotheirs.Theymusthaveunderstoodthattheonlywaytokeeptheirdaughterontrack,undercontrol,wastogetmethere,too.
ThatwaswhateveryonemissedwhentheywonderedwhatIwasdoingintheLomanhome.Theirrumorswerewrong,butsowasmydefense.Ihadseenitfirstasagenerosityofspiritbutthenhadstartedtoseeitasanactofcontrol.AtruetasteofwhatitwasliketobeSadieLoman.Abeautifulpuppetonastring.Somethingthatcould’vepushedhertothebrink.
Buyyourhouseandkeepyouhere.Fundyoureducation,directyouinkind.Employyou,monitoryou,moldyourpath.
Myhomeisyourhome.Yourlifeismylife.
Therewillbenolocksorsecretshere.
CHAPTER9
TherewasonlyonechangeImadetoSadie’sphonebeforeleaving.Onlyonethingremoved,whichIdidn’tthinkanyonewouldnotice.
Inthesettings,Ideletedtheextrathumbprintbeforeshuttingitdown.
THEDRIVETOTHEpolicestationwasalmostthesameasthedrivetotheharbor.Thefightagainstthegridlockofcarsandpedestriansinthedowntownsection.Therubberneckingatthesightoftheoceanandthevillagegreen.Ihadtopassstraightthroughitalltoreachthebuildingontheriseofhillattheedgeoftheharbor.
Ipulledintotheparkinglotoverlookingtheharborbelow,allglasswindowsandsmoothwhitestone.
IaskedforDetectiveCollinsatthecurvedfrontdeskofthelobby,whichwasmorefittingforahotelthanapolicestation.Thewomanbehindthedeskpickedupthephone,gavemyname,andaskedmetowait,gesturingtothegridofchairsbythewindow.Itwasdeceptive,theopenness,thebuzzingbrightlightsoftheplace—madeyouthinkyouhadnothingtohide.
I’djustsunkintothestiffcushioningwhenIrealizedsheknewwhoIwaswithoutasking.NotthatIshouldbesurprised.MynamehadbeenknownaroundheresinceIwasfourteen,inonewayoranother.
Therewasanaccident.
Suchasimple,benignphrasefortheupheavalofeverythingI’deverknown.
Adarkroad,amountaincurve,andmyentirelifehadbeenchangedinaninstantwhileIslept.I’dbeendriventothehospital,placedinasmallwaitingroom.GivenfoodIcouldn’ttouch,sodathatfizzedagainstthebackofmythroatuntilIgagged.I’dsattherethen,onlyhalfbelieving,tryingdesperatelytorememberthelastinteractionI’dhadwithmyparents:
Mydadcallingdownthehall,There’sleftoverpizzainthefridge,mymomduckingintomyroom,oneshoeon,theoneinherhand,Don’tstayuptoolate.I’dgivenherathumbs-upwithoutremovingthephonefrommyear.Faithhadbeenontheotherend,andmymom,noticing,hadmouthed,Bye.ItwasthelastthingIcouldrememberfromeitherofthem.Theywereheadingforagalleryshowafewtownsaway,bringingmygrandmotheraswell.
I’dfallenasleepwatchingtelevision.Ihadn’tevennoticedsomethingwaswrong.
ApolicewomanplacedahandonmyshoulderwhileIsatatthehospital,staringatthefizzingsoda—Istheresomeoneelsewecancall?
They’dtriedtheHarlowsfirst,butitwasMrs.Sylvawhocametopickmeup.I’dstayedinavacantroomattheB&Buntilmygrandmotherwasreleasedthenextnight.Shedidn’thaveascratchonher,butherneckwasinabracefromtheimpactofthetree,thefrontofthecarcrushedlikeanaccordion.They’dthoughtshewasdeadatfirst.Thatwaswhatthefirstofficeronthescenesaid.Itwasinthearticle,howhestumbleduponthescene,newonthejob,shakenbythehorrorofitall—hisownjoltintoreality,itseemed.
Ireaditonlyonce.Oncewasmorethanenough.
Thepolicesaidmyfatherdidn’tevenhitthebrakesuntilhewasofftheroad,hadprobablydriftedoff,asmygrandmotherhadinthebackseat.Ithoughtofthatoftenatnight,howwewereallsleepingwhenithappened.Howyoucanhurtlethroughdarknessbymomentumalone,withoutasingleconsciousthought,withnoonetoseeyougo.
Fouryearslater,I’dbeenbroughttothestationafterthefightwithFaith.Bythentheonlypersonlefttocallwasmygrandmother’sneighbor,Evelyn.
“Avery?”DetectiveCollinswaitedattheentrancetothehallbehindme.HenoddedasIstood.“Nicetoseeyouagain.Comeonback.”Heledmetoasmallofficehalfwaydownthehallandtookaseatbehindhisdesk,gesturingformetotakethechairacrossfromhim.Hisofficewassparse,withnothingonthesurfaceofthedesk,andglasswindowstothehallbehindme.Therewasnowheretolookbutrightathim.“Isthisaboutthededicationceremony?”heasked,leaningbackinhischairuntilthespringscreakedinprotest.
Iswallowednothing.“Yesandno.”Iclenchedmyhandstokeepthemfromshaking.“IwantedtoaskyouaboutSadie’snote.”
Hestoppedrockinginhischairthen.
“Thenotesheleftbehind,”Iclarified.
“Iremember,”hesaid.Hedidn’tsayanythingmore,waitingformetocontinue.
“Whatdiditsay?”Iasked.
Afterapause,hesatuprightandpulledhimselfclosertohisdesk.“I’mafraidthat’sthefamily’sbusiness,Avery.Youmightdobetteraskingoneofthem.”AsifheknewI’dalreadytriedtofindoutandfailed.
Ilookedatthewalls,athisdesk,anywherebutathisface.“I’vebeenthinkingaboutthatnightagain.Iseveryonesurethenotewashers?Imeancompletely,totallysure?”
TheroomwassoquietIcouldhearhisbreathing,thefainttickingofhiswatch.Finally,hedrewinabreath.“It’shers,Avery.Wematchedit.”
Iwavedmyhandbetweenus.“Toadiary,Iheard.ButDetective,shedidn’thaveone.”
Hiseyeswerefocusedonmine—green,thoughI’dnevernoticedbefore.Hisexpressionwasnotunkind,somethingborderingonsympathy.“Maybeyoudidn’tknowheraswellasyouthought.”
“Or,”Isaid,myvoicelouderthanIanticipated,“maybethenotewassomethingelse.LucianaSuarezwasstayinginthehouse,too.Oritcould’vebeenthecleaningcompany.Someoneelsecould’veleftit.”Theycould’vematchedherhandwritinginarushbecausetheywantedto.Makingthepiecesfitinsteadoftheotherwayaround.
I’dbeentoocaughtoffguardbythenewslastyeartoaskquestions.I’dbeenblindsidedbythefactthatIhadmisunderstoodthingssodeeply.ThattherewassomethingmomentousIhadfailedtoseecomingonceagain.
Hefoldedhishandsslowlyonthesurface,fingerbyfinger.Hisnailswerecutdowntothequick.“Listen.It’snotjustthatthewriting’samatch.”Heshookhishead.“It’smorelikeajournal—theinnerworkingsofhermind.Andit’svery,verydark.”
“No,”Isaid.“Shedidn’tmeanit.”ThesamethingIhadsaidtoParker.Butwasn’tthatthetruth?Thewayshe’dtalliedthedangersofftomethedaywemet,asifshecouldseethem,closetothesurface,alwaysreadytoconsumeus.Thecasualnessofdeath;somethingshewascourting.Don’thurtyourself,she’dsaidwhenIstoodtooclosetotheedgeinthedark.Asif,eventhen,shehadimaginedit.
Heshookhisheadsadly.“Avery,you’renottheonlyonewhomissedsomething,okay?Noonesawitcoming.Sometimesyoucanonlyseethesignsinhindsight.”
Mythroatfelttight.Hereachedacrossthetable,histhickhandhoveringnearminebeforepullingback.“It’sbeenayear.Igetthat.Howthingscomeback.Butwe’vebeenthroughallofthis.Thecaseisclosed,wegaveParkerheroldpersonalitemstoday.”Thatmust’vebeenwhatParkerwaslookingatinhiscarwhenIsurprisedhiminthegarage—theitemsreturnedfromthepolicestation.“Everythingfits.Writethearticle,comecelebrateherlifeatthededication,andmoveon.”
“Everythingdoesn’tfit,”Isaid.“Shewassupposedtomeetusthere.Somethinghappened.”Ireachedmyhandintomybag,placedherphonebeforehim.
Hedidn’ttouchit,juststaredatit.Apiecehehadnotanticipated.“What’sthis?”
“Sadie’sphone.Ifoundittodayattherental.TheBlueRobin,whereweallwerethenightshedied.”
Hiseyesdidn’tmovefromthephone.“Youjustfoundit.”
“Yes.”
“Oneyearlater.”Incredulous,eyesnarrowed,likeIwasplayingajokeonhim.Howquicklyhisdemeanorhadchanged.Ormaybeitwasme,changingbeforehim.
“Itwasatthebottomofachestinthemasterbedroom.IfounditwhenIwastakingouttheblanketstofreshenup.Idon’tknowhowlongit’sbeenthere,butshedidn’tloseitwhenshedied.”Iswallowed,willinghimtomaketheleap:thatiftheywerewrongaboutthis,theycouldbewrongaboutallofit.
Heshookhishead,stillnottouchingthephone.
Once,severalsummersago,Sadiehadtriedtogetherselfarrested.Atleastitseemedthatwaytomeatthetime.I’dtakenherdowntothedocksatnight,wantingtoshowhersomething.Aworldsheneverhadaccesstoherself,awaytoprovemyownworth.IknewhowtogetinsidethedockofficefromwhenConnorusedtodoit—liftingthehandle,givingthedoorawell-anglednudgeatthesametime—andthentakinghisfather’skeyfromthebackofficeinside,untyingtheboatandpushingitadriftbeforeturningontheengine.
Butsomeonemust’veseenussneakinginside.I’dgottenasfarasthefrontroomwhentheflashlightshoneinthewindow,andIdartedintheotherdirection,towardtherarelyusedbackdoor.Sadiehadfrozen,staringatthelightinthewindow.Ipulledherbythearm,butbythentheofficerwasinside—Iknewhim,thoughnotbyname.Didn’tmatter,becauseheknewmine.
Heledusoutside,backtohiscar.Hedidn’taskmethequestionI’dgrowntoexpect,aboutwhomtocall;hemust’veknowntheanswerbythen.
“What’syourname?”heaskedSadie,butshedidn’trespond.Hereyeswerewide,andshepressedherlipstogether,shakingherhead.Themanaskedforherpurse,whichshehadloopedoverhershoulder.Hepulledoutherwallet,shonetheflashlightonherdriver’slicense.“Sadie…”andthenhetrailedoff.Clearedhisthroat.Slippedthelicensebackinside,returningherpurse.“Listen,girls.Thisisawarning.Thisistrespassing,andthenexttimewecatchyou,you’llbeprocessed,booked,amIclear?”
“Yes,sir,”Isaid.Therelieflikethatfirstsipofalcohol,warmingmybloodstream.
Hereturnedtohiscar,andSadiestoodthereinthemiddleoftheparkinglot,watchinghimgo.“Whatdoesagirlhavetodotogetarrestedaroundhere?”sheasked.
“Changeyourname,”Isaid.
Hernamecarriedweight.Butshedidn’tthrowitaround.Shedidn’thaveto.
ItoccurredtomethataslongasIwaswithher,Imightbeaffordedthatsameprotection.
HERNAMESTILLCARRIEDthatweight,withherphoneonthedetective’sdesk,thathestillwouldn’ttouch.Deadornot,therewerethingsyouhadtobecarefulwitharoundhere.Hepickeduphisofficephonebuthesitatedfirst.
“I’msorry.Iwishitdidn’thavetobethisway,”DetectiveCollinsfinallysaidbeforewavingmeoutoftheroom.
“What?Whatway?”
Heshookhishead.“Hernote.That’swhatitsaid.”
CHAPTER10
I’msorry.Iwishitdidn’thavetobethisway.
IslammedonmybrakesinthemiddleofHarborDrivejustasawomansteppedoutintothecrosswalkwithoutlooking.Shestoodinfrontofmycar,staringbackthroughthewindshield.Myhandswereshakingonthewheel.Thereweremereinchesseparatingus.
Intherearviewmirror,Icouldstillseethepolicestation,perchedatthetopofthehill.Thewomaninfrontofmeraisedherhandlikeabarrierbetweenherandmycar,mouthedWatchit,beforemovingon.AsifIhadn’tnoticedhowcloseI’dcome.Asifshehadn’tyetprocessedhowcloseshehadcome.
IsawSadiethen,standingattheedgeofthecliffs.Thebluedressblowingbehindherinthewind,astrapslidingdownhershoulder,themascararunningunderhereyes,herhandsshaking.Sawherturnaroundandlookatmethistime,hereyeswide—
Stop.
IHADTOCALLsomeone.
Notthedetective,whohadjuststaredatherphonewithsuchdisbelief.NotParker,whohadn’ttoldmehe’djustretrievedSadie’spersonalitemsfromthepolice.NotConnor,whohadkeptthingsfromallofuswithhissilence—
MyphonerangjustasIwasworkingitthrough.Anothernumbernotinmycontacts.IwonderedifitwasDetectiveCollinsalready,tellingmetocomeback.Thatthey’ddiscoveredsomethingelseinherphone,ortheyneededmyhelptotellthemwhatsomethingmeant.Iplacedthecallonspeaker.
“IsthisAvery?”Itwasagirl.Awoman.Somethinginbetween.
“Yes,who’sspeaking?”
“EricaHopkins.Fromlunch.”
“Right,hi.”
Sheclearedherthroat.“Justinewantedmetocheckin.We’llneedthepieceforSadietomorrow—byafternoonatthelatest.”
Yesterdayfeltlikeforeverago.“Icanemailyouthepiecetonight,butthephotowillprobablybeaphysicalcopy.Idon’thaveaccesstoascanner.”IwouldnotcontactGrantorBiancatoaskforahigh-resolutionimageoftheirdeceaseddaughter,thoughitwouldhavetobeoneoftheirs,somethingthatoncegracedthewallsoftheBreakers.Intruth,Icouldthinkofnothingmorefitting.
“We’vegotameetingatthededicationsitewithParkerLomantomorrowaroundeleven.RightattheentranceofBreakerBeach.Wanttomeetustherewiththephoto?”
SomewhereinthathousewereSadieLoman’spersonalitems,justreturnedtoParkerfromthepolicestation.Parkerhadsaidhe’dbeworkingfromhometoday,andIcouldseethelightsfromtheupstairsofficefromtheirdrive.
Tomorrow,aroundeleven,hewouldbeout.Thehousewouldbeempty.
“Whydon’tyoustopbyafter,”Isaid,edgingthecartotheothersideofthegarage.“I’llmeetyouattheirguesthouse.Justsendmeatexttoletmeknowwhenyou’reonyourwayup.”
Insidetheirhousewasthatjournal,givenbacktoParker.TheitemtheyusedtodeterminethepresumedlastwordsofSadieLoman.Thethingtheyrestedtheircaseon.
AndIneededtoseeit.
Somethinghadworkeditswayinside,darkandsinuous.LikeIhadjustsetsomethinginmotionthatInowhadnopowertostop.
BACKINSIDETHEBEDROOMoftheguesthouse,Iopenedtheclosetdoor,pullingoutthesingleboxthathadneverbeenunpacked—markedKforKeep,inSadie’shandwriting.TherestIhadsteadilyunpackedwithtime,thefewthingsofmyownworthbringing.Butthiswastheboxthatheldmyparents’things,mygrandmothers’things.
Thoughthehouseitselfdidnotbelongtome,Iknewnoonewoulddaretouchthisbox.ForallthetimesthatSadiehadreachedintomycloset,she’dneverplacedherhandsonthis.
Iliftedmyparents’weddingalbum,mygrandmother’sletters,placingthemcarefullyaside.UntilI’dunearthedthesmallshoeboxunderneath.
InsidewerethephotosofSadiethatoncewerescatteredaroundtheLomanhouse.Replacedeachyearwithanewset.ButBiancahadaddedthemwithoutremovingthepreviousphotos,stackingthemoneontopofthenextintheirframes,sotheyremainedasone.Likelayersofpaint,slowlygrowinginthickness,untilI’dremovedtheolderimagesformyownsafekeeping.
Thesurfacesweredamagedslightly,adheredtothenewerversions,thecornerscrimpedanddiscoloredfromtheframe.Wherethereoncewerechildhoodportraits,thereweregraduationpictures.Wherethereonceweregraduationpictures,therewerevacationshots—SadieattheEiffelTower,Sadieinredsnowgearwithmountainsbehindher,SadiesittingbesideParkersomewheretropical,withtheoceanbehindthem.
Isortedthroughtheseforgottenpicturesnow,tryingtofindtherightfitforthepiece.God,shewouldhatethis.Ineachphoto,shewaseithertooyoung-lookingortoohappy.Toodisconnectedtothepurposeofthearticle.Theywouldwantsomethingtoappealtoeveryone,insiderandoutsideralike.Shehadtoappearbothapproachableanduntouchable.
Intheend,Isettledonhercollegegraduationpicture.Sheheldthediplomainherhand,butherheadwastippedbackslightly,likeshewasstartingtolaugh.ItwasperfectlySadie.Anditwasperfectlytragic.
Thisphotocapturedthebeginningofsomething.Itwasonthenose,butitwouldcuthard.Thebeginningofalaugh,ofherlife.SomethingthatInowfelthadbeentakenfromher.
AndthenIplacedtherestofthephotosbackinsidethebox,hiddenwithinthecloset,wheretheywouldremainalongsidealltheotherpeopleIhadlost.
SADIEJANETTELOMANTObehonoredinLittleportmemorial
Myfingerstappedagainsttheedgeofthekeyboard,waitingforthewordstocome.Istaredatthephotoofherinthegraduationgown,theblueskybehindheroverthedomeofthebuilding.
SadieLomanmayhavespentninemonthsoutoftheyearinConnecticut,butLittleportwasherfavoriteplaceintheworld.
She’dtoldmethatthefirsttimewemet.Andnowshewasabouttobecomeapartofitshistory.
Forasmalltown,wehadalongpastthatlivedinourcollectivememory.Itwasaplacefilledwithghosts,fromoldlegendsandbedtimestoriesalike.Thefishermenlostatsea,thefirstlighthousekeeper—theircriesinthenightechoedinthehowlingwind.Benchesinmemoryof,inhonorof;boxesmovedfromhometohome.Wecarriedthelostwithushere.
Itwasaplaceforrisk-takers,aplacethatfavoredthebold.
IwastryingtofindaplaceforSadieinthishistory.Somethingtobepartof.
Shewasbold,ofcourseshewas.Butthatwasn’twhatpeoplewantedtohear.Theywantedtohearthatshelovedtheocean,herfamily,thisplace.
WhatIwouldsayifIweretellingthetruth:
Sadiewouldhateeverythingaboutthis.Fromthebell,tothequote,tothetribute.She’dsitontherocks,lookingdownonthebeachwherewewouldallbegathered,holdingadrinkinherhand,andlaughing.Littleportwasunsympatheticandunapologetic,andsowasshe.Asmuchaproductofthisplaceasanyofus.
Shemightdemandthatshebeforgiven.Shemightcompensateforaperceivedwrongwithanover-the-topcounterbalance.Shemightknowit,deepinside,whenshehadgonetoofar.
ButSadieLomanwouldneverapologize.Notforwhoshewasandnotforwhatshe’ddone.
I’MSORRY.IWISHitdidn’thavetobethisway.
Twosimplesentences.Thenotetheyfound.Crumpledinthetrash.
Whatwasthechancethatallofthiswasamistake?Thatthepolice,andherfamily,hadseenonethingandbelievedanother?
WhatweretheoddsthatSadiehadchosenthoseverysamewords,theonesIhadusedearlierthatsummer—theonesIhadwrittenmyself,foldedinhalf,andleftonthesurfaceofherdeskforher?
SUMMER
2017ThePlus-OneParty
9:30p.m.
Ithappenedallatonce.Thelight,thesound,themood.
Thepowerhadgoneout.Themusic,thehouselights,theblueglowfromunderthewaterofthepool.Everythingwasdarkness.
Inside,thereweretoomanybodiesallpressedtogether.Myearsstillbuzzedfromthemusic.Someonesteppedonmyfoot.Iheardthesoundofglassbreaking,andIhopeditwasn’tthewindow.Everythingbecamesoundandscent.Lowwhispers,nervouslaughter,sweatandthewhiffofsomeone’shairproductastheywalkedby,andthenaspicedcologne
Ifeltahandonmyshoulder,abreathonmyneck.Ifroze,disoriented.AndthenIheardascream.Everythingstopped—thewhispers,thelaughter,thepeoplebrushingupagainstoneanother.Thelightfromaphoneturnedonacrosstheroom,andthenanother,untilIpulledmycelloutofmybackpocketanddidthesame.
“She’sallright!”someoneyelledfromoutside.Everyoneshiftedtowardthebackofthehouse.
Ipushedmywaythroughthecrowd,myeyesadjustingtothedarkness.Outside,thecloudscoveredthestarsandthemoonlight.Therewasonlythebeamofthelighthousecuttingthroughtheskyabove,swallowedupintheclouds.
ItwasParker,ofcourse,whohadher,surroundedbyasemicircleofonlookers.AtfirstIcouldseeonlyadarkshapecurledupinParker’sarms.Herubbedherbackasshecoughedupwater.“Okay,you’reallright,”hewassayingtoher,andthensheturnedherfaceup.EllieArnold.
Sadiehadknownherforever,foundherannoying.Saidshewoulddoanythingforattention,andsomyfirstthoughtwasneithergenerousnorsympathetic.
ButwhenIcroucheddownbesideher,shewassoshaken,somiserable-looking,thatIknewshehadn’tdoneitonpurpose.
“Whathappened?”Iasked.
Shewassoaked,clothesclingingtoherskin,trembling.
“Shecouldn’tsee,”Parkeransweredforher.“Shelostherplace.”
“Someonepushedme,”Elliesaid,armsfoldedaroundherself.“Whenthepoollightswentout.”Shecoughedandhalfsobbed.Herlonghairwasstucktoherface,herneck.
“Allright.You’reokay.”IrepeatedParker’swordsandsmiledtomyself,gladforthedark.Thepoolwasfourfeetdeepallthewayacross—shewasneverinanyrealdanger,despiteherpresentdemeanor.Allshehadtodowasplantherfeet.
Iwasmoreworriedaboutthesoundofherscreamcarryinginthenight.
OneofEllie’sfriendsfinallymadeitthroughthecrowd.“OhmyGod,”shesaid,handtohermouth.ShereacheddownforEllie’shand.
“Getherinside,”Parkersaid,helpingherstand.Elliewobbledslightly,thenleanedonherfriendasthecrowdpartedforthem.
“Thereareplentyoftowelsinthebathrooms,underthesinks,”Isaid.“Probablyarobesomewhere,too.”
Parkerlookedbacktowardthehouse.Anamberglowflickeredinthewindow—someone’slighter,theflametouchedtothewickofacandle.
“I’llgotakealook,”Isaid.Fromhere,wecouldn’ttellwhetherthepowerhadgoneoutintheentiretownorjustonourstreet.Ifitwasjustourstreet,I’dhavetomakeacall,andthispartywouldbeover.Betterifitwasatown-wideoutage.Bestifthehousehadbeentrippedonitsownfromthespeakersandthelightsallrunningatonce—gridoverload.
Inside,someonehadfoundtherestofthecandlesandlinedthemalongthewindowsills,placingthepillarfromthemantelinthecenterofthekitchenisland.Theguywiththelighterfinishedcirclingthedownstairs,andnoweverythingwassubduedinpocketsofdimlight.Thefaceswerestillinshadows,butIcouldseemywaytothebreakerpanel.
Thedoortothemasterbedroomdownthehallwasajar—atleastthecommotionhadmanagedtoclearoutthepeopleinside.
Thebreakerpanelwasinsidethehallcloset,andIusedmyphonetolightupthegrid.Iletoutasighofrelief—thiswassomethingIcouldfix.Everycircuitwastripped,intheoffposition.Iflippedthembackoneatatime,watchingasthelightscameback,aspeoplelookedaroundtheroom,momentarilydisorientedbywheretheyfoundthemselves.
Atthelastswitch,thesoundfromthespeakersblaredunexpectedly,andmyheartjumped.
“Getsomeonetoturnthatdown,”Isaidtotheguybesideme.Thesameonewho’daccusedGregRandolphofhavingaflingwithCarysFontaine.“Andunplugsomeofthoselights.”
“Yes,ma’am,”hesaidwithalopsidedsalute.
Imademywayintothemasterbathroom,wheretwoofEllie’sfriendswerehoveringaroundher.EllieArnoldwasclearlybothmortifiedandshaken,andforthefirsttimeIdoubtedSadie’simpressionofher.
“Hey,”Isaid,“everythingokayinhere?”Someonehadfoundthetowels,halfofwhichwereheapedonthefloorbesideEllie’swetclothes.Shewaswrappedinaplushivoryrobe,dryingherhairwithamatchingtowel.Thereweredarksmudgesunderhereyeswherehermakeuphadrun.Thefloorwasslick,thewaterpuddlinginsections,themirrorfogged.Shemust’vetakenaquickshowertowarmup.
Ellieshookherhead,notmakingeyecontact.“Someasshole’sideaofajoke.”Sheleanedtowardtheopendoor.“Well,fuckyou!”sheyelled.
“Jesus,”Isaid,halfundermybreath,thoughtherewasnooneinthebedroomtohearheryelling.
Thetallerofherfriendsgrimaced,sharedawide-eyedlookwiththeother.“Calmdown,El.”
“Thepowerwasout,”Isaid.“Noonecouldsee.I’msureitwasanaccident.”EventhoughIknewattemptingtoreasonwithsomeonefortifiedbyanunknownquantityofalcoholwasalostcause.
ButElliepressedherlipstogether.Hershouldersslumped,thesharpnesssubsiding.“Ijustwanttogohome.”
Ilookedfromfacetoface,debatingwhetheranyoneinthisroomwassoberenoughtogiveheralift,beforedecidingnot.“I’llseeifanyoneouttherecantakeyou.”
Herfacedidn’tchange.Shestaredatthewall,hereyesunfocused,untilIrealizedthathomemeantsomewhereoutsideLittleport,wherevershe’dbeheadingtomorrow.
“Comeon,”theshorterfriendsaid,armonhershoulder.“You’llfeelbetterindryclothes.MeandLivhavehalftheluggageinthetrunk.Let’sseeifwecanfindyousomething?”
Thatgotafaintsmilefromher,andthethreeofthemwalkedoutofthebathroomtogether,despitethefactthatElliewasinnothingmorethanabathrobe.
MaybeSadiewasrightafterall.
Igrabbedafewgarbagebagsfromthekitchen,usingonetostoreEllie’swetclothes,whichshe’dabsentlyleftbehind.Istuffedtheusedtowels,splotchedwithgrime,intotheotherbag,thenpulledafewmorefromunderthesinktocleanthewateranddirtyfootprintsleftbehind.
“Don’tdothat,Avie.”IturnedaroundtoseeParkerstandingintheentranceofthebathroom,watchingme.“Leaveit.”
Hiseyeshadgonedark,asheenofsweatoverhisface,hisbrownhairfallingoverhisforehead.Hesmelledlikechlorine,andhisshirtclungtohischestfromtheimpressionofEllie’swetbody.
“Someonehastodoit,”Isaid,waitingforhimtoleave.InsteadIheardthedoorclickingshut.
Hetookthegarbagebagfrommyhand,finishedstuffingthedirtylaundryinside.Weweretooclose.Withthehumidityoftheroom,itwashardtotakeadeepbreath,tothinkclearly.
“DoyouthinkI’magoodperson?”heasked,hisfacesocloseIcouldseeitonlyinsections—hiseyes,thescarthroughhiseyebrow,theridgeofhischeekbones,thesetofhismouth.
EverythingaboutParkerwashypotheticaluntilmomentslikethis,whentherewassomecrackinhisfacade.Showmeachipinthedemeanorandwatchmefall.InevermetaflawIdidn’tlove.Thehiddeninsecurity,thebriefuncertainty.Thewaverbehindthearrogance.
Here’sthething:Ididn’twantParkeratfirst.NotinalltheyearsIknewwhohewasbeforewemet,andnotwhenIfirstsawhiminthathouse.NotreallyuntilSadiesaidIcouldn’thavehim.Iknewitwascliché,thatIwasnodifferentfromsomanyothers.Buttherewassomethingaboutthat—someuniversalappealtothethingyoucouldnothave.Somethingthat,foracertaintypeofperson,settlesinandredoublesdesire.
Butitwasmomentslikethisthatfocusedeverything—likeIwasseeingsomethingthathekepthiddenfromeveryoneelse.Somethingshared,justforme.
Ipushedthehairbackfromhisface,andhereachedformyhand.
“Sorry,”Isaid.Buthedidn’tpullback.Westayedlikethat,mereinchesapart,theroomtoohumid,myvisionunfocusedattheedges.
Someoneknockedonthedoor,andIjumped.ImaginingLuceseeingusinhere.“Occupied,”Icalled,standingup.
Someonegroanedontheotherside,butitwasaman.Still,itwasenoughtoshockusbothtooursenses.
Parker’sfingerswereloopedaroundmywrist,andheletoutaslowsigh.“OnedayI’llprobablymarryLucianaSuarezandhavebeautifulchildrenthatareoccasionalassholes,butthey’llbegoodpeople.”
“Yeah,okay,Parker.”Isteppedback,myvisionclearing.Ithoughtheshouldn’tbediscussingbeingagoodpersonwhilestandingtooclosetomeinabathroomwhilethewomanhewasdiscussingmarryingwaitedsomewhereontheotherside,butthatwasjustpartofhisallure.
“Oh,”hesaid,shakinghishead.“Icameheretotellyou.There’ssomeguyouttherelookingforyou.”Henoddedtowardthedoor.“Yougofirst.I’lltakecareoftherest.”
Icrackedopenthedoor,makingsuretherewasnoonewaitingontheotherside,wherearumorcouldtakeholdandgrow.WhenIsawtheroomwasempty,Islippedout.
BeforeIshutthedooragain,Parkercalledafterme:“Becareful,Avery.”
SUMMER
2018CHAPTER11
Fridaymorning,quartertoeleven,andParker’scarwasstillatthehouse.AtleastIassumeditwas.Ihadn’tseenitpulloutfromthegarage,andI’dbeenwatchingforitsinceIwokeup.
Hecouldbewalking,though,downLandingLanetotheentranceofBreakerBeach.Iwouldn’tbeabletoseeifhe’dleftonfootfromtheguesthouse.Iopenedthelivingroomwindowssurroundingmydeskandtriedtolisten,soI’dhearadoorclosingorhisfootstepsonthegravel,disappearingdowntheroad.
I’dpushedbackameetingwiththegeneralcontractorforoneofthenewhomesinStoneHollowuntilMonday.I’dcanceledthewindowreplacementfortheBlueRobin,tellingthevendorwe’dhavetoreschedule.Myemailsatunanswered;phonecallswentunreturned.Ididnotwanttobedistractedandmissmychance.
Byeleven,Istillhadn’theardhim,andIstartedtowonderifhe’dbeenhomeatallthismorning.Butatfiveafterthehour,Ifinallyheardthegaragedoorslidingopen,thefaintturnoverofanengine,thewheelsslowlyeasingdownthedrivewaybeforefadinginthedistance.
Iwaitedanotherfiveminutesjusttomakesurehewasgone.
ISTILLHADTHEkeyfromthelockbox.Icould’vesneakedinanyofthedoors—frontorbackorside—butthoughtitwouldlookleastsuspicioustogostraightinthefront.Ihadalreadycomeupwithanexcuseifseen:Iwascheckingtheelectricityafterwe’dhadafewoutages,beforecallinginaserviceappointment.
AfterIentered,Ilockedthedoorbehindme.ThehouselookedmuchthesameaswhenParkerarrived.Barelylivedin.Asinglepersoncouldleavesuchlittleimpressionhere.Thehousewasthedefinitionofsprawling,withlargeareasofopenspace.Placestositandwatchthewater.
IfiguredI’dbeabletospotaboxofSadie’sthingsprettyeasilydownhere.
Atfirstglance,itseemedthatParkerhadn’tleftherthingsinanyofthecommonroomsdownstairs.Hiscoffeemugwasonthecounter,anemptycartonofeggsbesideit.
Apileofneatlystackedmailsatonthecorneroftheisland,mostaddressedtotheLomanFamilyCharitableFoundation.Parkermust’veretrieveditearlierintheday—theirlocalmailwasalwaysheldatthepostofficeuntiltheyreturned.Theenvelopeshadbeenslitopen,withthereceiptsandthank-younotesforyourcontinuedsupportseparatedintopiles.Eachfromlocalcauses—thepolicedepartmentbuildingfund;theLittleportdowntownrehabilitationproject;thenaturepreservationinitiative.Alltheirgenerosityreducedtoasterilepileofpaper.
Theonlyotherdisturbancetotheperfectionwerethethrowpillowsonthecouch,whereParkerhadbeensittingwhenwewereheretogetherthatfirstnight.
Iheadedupstairsnext,takingthewidecurvingstaircase.AttherightendofthehallwasParker’sbedroom,whichIcheckedfirst.Allthebedroomsupstairsfacedtheocean,withsweepingfloor-to-ceilingdoorsthatledtoprivatebalconies.
Parker’sroomlookedasitalwayshad—bedunmade,emptyluggageinthecloset,drawershalfclosed.Therewasnoboxinthecloset.Justacouplepairsofshoesandthefaintlyswayinghangers,disturbedbymypresence.Sameforunderthebedandthedressersurfaces.Iopenedafewofthedrawerstocheck,butitwasjustthesummerclotheshe’dbroughtwithhim.
Thenextroomwasthemaster,anditappeareduntouched,asexpected.Still,Ididacursorysweep,lookingforanythingoutofplace.Butitwasimmaculate,withaseparatesittingarea,abrightbluechairbesideastackofbooksthatseemedtobepickedmorefordesignthanreadingdesire,allinshadesofivoryandblue.
Sadie’sroomwasattheotherendofthehallupstairs.Herdoorwasopen,whichmademethinksomeonehadbeeninhererecently.Butnothinglookedoutofplace.Iknewthatthepolicehadbeenthroughhere,andIwonderedwhatelsetheyhadtaken.Itwashardtoknowwhatmightbemissingifyoudidn’tknowwhatyouwerelookingfor.
Herbedspreadwassmoothanduntouched,thecornerofthebeechwoodheadboardwheresheusuallyhungherpursenowempty.
I’dassumedherfamilyhadtakenherpersonalitems,alongwithherclothes,backtoConnecticut.Butthebackofmyneckprickled.TherewasjustenoughofSadieleftbehindformetofeelherstill.Tolookovermyshoulderandimagineherfindingmehere.Sneakinguponme,lightonherfeet,handsovermyeyes—thinkfast.Myheartinmystomachevenasshewasalreadylaughing.
Iturnedaround,andtheairseemedtomove.Itwasthelayout.Theacoustics.Adesignthatshowcasedthecleanlinesbutalsorevealedyourpresence.
ThefirsttimeI’dsleptoverhere,I’dwokentothesoundofadoorclosingsomewheredownthehall.Sadiehadbeenasleepbesideme,onearmthrownoverherhead—completelystill.ButIthoughtIsawaflashoflightthroughtheglassdoorstoherbalcony.I’dslippedoutofbed,feltafloorboardpopbeneathmyfeet.
Istoodinfrontofthewindows,soclose,mynosealmostpressedupagainstit,peeringout.Myeyesskimmedthedarknessbeyondmyreflection,strainingforsomethingsolid.ItwasthenthatIsawthepaleshadowovermyshoulder,inthesecondbeforeIcouldfeelher.
Whatareyoulookingat?Sadiestoodbehindme,mirroringmyposition.
Idon’tknow.IthoughtIsawsomething.
Notpossible,she’dsaid,shakingherhead.
IunderstoodwhatshemeantasIsteppedaway.Theonlythingyoucouldseeinthewindowsatnightwasyourself.
Now,whenIpeeredoutthosesamewindows,Ifelttheshadowofherthere,watching.
Herattachedbathroomstillhadanassortmentofproducts,shampoos,conditioners.Ahairbrush.Acontaineroftoothpaste.Anassortmentofglassvials,morefordecorationthanpracticality.
Herdeskhadgottenanoverhaulinthelastcoupleyears,tuckedintoanalcovethatusedtobeasittingarea.Shehadstartedworkingfull-timeremotelylastsummer,andherdeskwassleekernow,wiredforalaptopandaprinter.ItwastheplaceI’donceleftthatnote,alongwithaboxofherfavoritefudge,thatI’ddrivenanhourdownthecoasttoget.Anapologyandapeaceoffering.
Atthestartoflastsummer,Sadiehadbeenmyboss,technically.ThepersonIreportedto,atleast.BeforeGrantdecidedIcouldhandleallofthelogisticsoftheLittleportpropertiesonmyown,andshehadbeenreassigned.
Rightnowthesurfaceofherdeskwascompletelybare.Nothinghereappearedoutofplace.
ThelastroomIthoughttocheckwasGrant’soffice—nowParker’s.Itwastheonlyupstairsroomthatfacedthefrontofthehouse,otherthanthelaundryroomandabathroom.Therewereblindscoveringthewindowhere,tofighttheglareoffthecomputerscreen,whichwasnowonthesurfaceofthedesk,redlightglowing.
IcouldseeParkersubtlytakingover,everythingjustalittledifferentthanI’dremembered.Ajuniorasshole,Sadiehadcalledhim.Thedeskwasthesame,situatedontopofaredornamentalrug,butthesurfacelayoutwasdifferent.Ayellownotepadtothesideofthelaptop,asinglepen,asloppilywrittenlist,halftheitemscrossedout.Grantusedtokeepeverythinginsidethedrawerswhenhewasout,ameticulousdedicationtoclearingthedesk,bothfigurativelyandliterally,everytimeheleft.
Parker’sleathersatchelwastuckedunderthedesk.Ipeeredinsidebutsawonlyafewpaperfileshemust’vebeenworkingon.Thelaptopscreenwasblack,butitwasclearthatParkerhadleftinarush,maybelosingtrackoftime.Icarefullyslidopenthesidedrawers,buttheyweremostlyempty,exceptfortheitemsthatmust’vebeenleftfromlastsummer:astackoffreshnotepadsandacontainerofpens.
Thebottom-rightdrawerwaslocked,butitseemedtobethetypethatheldfiles—notaplaceI’dexpectaboxofSadie’sthingstobehidden.Still,Iopenedthetopdrawertocheckforakeyandfoundonetuckedawayinapileofflashdrives,allbearingthelogoforLomanProperties,whichtheyusedtohandoutasgiveawaysinlieuofkeychains.Somethingmorelikelytobeusedandappreciated.
Butthiskeywastoolargeforadesklock.Toosmallforahousekey.
Isatinhischair,surveyingtheroom.Theclosetwassituatedbesidethewindow,tuckedintothecorner.I’dneverlookedcloselybefore,neverhadcausetospendtimeinthisroom—butthatdoorknobwastheonlyoneinthehousethatdidn’thavethesamesmoothantiquelook.Therewasakeyholeinthemetaldoorplate,justbelowtheknob.Theonlyplaceinthishouseaffordedprivacy,itseemed.
Thekeyfitperfectly,thelatchdisengaging.
Openingthedoornow,IexpectedtoseetheboxofSadie’sthings.Secretsworthkeeping.Detailsworthhiding.Buttheshelveswerestackedwithbound-upfilefolders,eachlabeledinblockyprint—afileforeachoftherentalproperties,contractsandblueprintsinside;anothermarkedCharityReceipts,wherethelettersdownstairswouldinevitablybefiled;anothermarkedMedical.NothingbelongingtoSadie.Justthenormaldocumentsforsafekeeping,keptoutofsight.Nothingsecretaboutthem.
Chanceswere,theboxofSadie’sthingswasstillinthetrunkofParker’scar.I’dsurprisedhimthere,andhe’dleftitalloutofsight,safelylockedbehindthegaragedoor.
I’djuststackedthefilesbacktogetherwhenIheardthesoundoftiresongravel.Ispunabruptlyandcaughttheglareofsunoffmetalthroughtheslatsofblinds.Isteppedcloser.Therewasadarkcardrivingdownthelanetowardthegarage,withasecondcarrightbehind,butitstoppedbeforereachingthegarage.Someonesteppedoutofthedriver’sside.Brownhairfallingpasthershoulders,beigelightweightsweater.Redglasses.Erica.
Dammit.Sheraisedherhandtohereyes,turningtowardthehouse,andIjumpedaside,hopingshedidn’tseemyshadowuphere.Shewassupposedtotextmefirst,soI’dhavefairwarning.
Ilockedtheclosetdooranddroppedthekeyintothetopdeskdrawer,movingtheflashdrivesaround,hopingitlookednatural.Aquickscanoftheroom,makingsureI’dlefteverythingasI’dfoundit.Straighteningthechair,makingsurehisbagunderthedeskwasclosed.ThenIraceddownstairs,holdingmybreath,listeningforthem.Parker’svoicecarriedfromsomewhereoutfront,onehalfofaconversationIcouldn’tdecipher.
IfIsneakedoutthepatiodooratthebackofthehouse,Iriskedbeingcaughttryingtoletmyselfouttheblackirongate.Ioptedforthesidedoor,locatedjustoffthekitchen,throughthemudroom.
IeasedthedoorshutasIsteppedoutside,thenslidthekeysilentlyintothelock,makingsuretosecurethehouseoncemore.IheardtheriseandfallofErica’svoice,Parker’slaughinresponse.ButIwashiddenbythegarbagecanandthelatticefencing.IwaiteduntilIheardlaughteragain,andthenIdartedthedistancetothegarage,keepinginthetrees,hopingnoonenoticed.
Tensecondstoslowmybreathing,andIsteppedoutfromtheothersideofthegarage,wavingmyhandovermyhead.“Heythere.Erica?ThoughtIheardyouguys.”
Theybothturnedtolookatme,theirfacesgivingnothingaway.Ericasmiledfirst.“Sorry,Iwasjustabouttotextyou.”
“Noworries,”Isaid.“Areyouready?Comeonin.”
ERICASTOODINTHEmiddleofthelivingroom,makingnoefforttohidethefactthatshewasappraisingtheplace.
Myheartwasstillracing,andIopenedthefridgetocoolmyface.“CanIgetyousomethingtodrink?”Iasked.
“No,thanks.”ShemadeashowofcheckingherwatchasIpulledoutadrink.“I’vegottogetbacktotheofficesoon.”
ItookthepictureofSadiefrommydesk,handingittoherwithoutlooking.“Willthatwork?”
Ericastaredatthephotoinherhand,eyesunmoving,socloseIcouldseethecolorsofthepicturereflectedinherglasses.Ihopeditwasgutting.“Yes.It’sgood.”Shesliditintoherbag,thenleanedovermydesk,peeringoutthewindow.“Itisprettyuphere,I’llgiveyouthat,”shesaid.LikeshewaspickingupfromaconversationI’dmissed.
“Itis.YoulivinginLittleportfull-timenow?”
Shenodded,stilllookingoutthewindow.“MovedupafterIgotmydegreeinMay.StayingwithmyauntuntilIcangetonmyfeet.Shesetmeupwiththisjobinthemeantime.”
“Youshouldseetheviewfromthemainhouse,”Isaid.
“Ihave,”shesaid,thenturnedtofaceme,handsonherhips.“Youreallydon’tremember,doyou.”
Ishookmyhead,eyeswide,desperatelytryingtofitherfaceintoamemoryoftheLomans.
“No,Iguessyouwouldn’t.Iworkedthatpartywithyouhere.Rightafteryougraduatedhighschool?”
“Oh.”Myhandtomymouth.Ididremember.Notherspecifically,butIrememberedEvelynassigningeachofusarole.Erica,patio.Avery,kitchen.Butthosemomentshadgottenovershadowedbythepartsthathadshonesobrightly:theblood,thebathroom,Sadie.“Sorry.Itwasalongtimeago.”
“It’sokay,myaunttoldmewhathappenedbackthen.Shewarnedmetokeepmydistance,nooffense.”Ericaclearedherthroat,hergazedriftingofftotheside.“Butlookslikeyou’redoingprettywellforyourselfhere.”
Inodded.Whatdidonesaywhenfacedwithanembarrassingpast?Iwantedtobrushitaway,tellheritwasalongtimeago,thatIbarelyremembereditmyself.Thatitwasamatterofherauntbeingoverprotective,blowingeverythingoutofproportion.
Instead,Ileanedintoit,likeI’dlearnedfromSadie,becauseasshe’dtaughtme,therewasnousehidingfrommyself.Especiallynothere.“Itwasabadtime,”Isaid.
Sheblinkedonce,thennodded.“Well,weallgrewup,Iguess.”
“YourauntwasgoodtomewhenIdidn’tdeserveit.Ican’timaginemostpeoplewould’vehiredmeforsomethinglikethisaroundthen.”
Shesmiledthen,liketherewasajokeshewasremembering.“Don’tgivehertoomuchcredit.Shewould’vedoneanythingtheLomansasked.Probablystillwould.”
Ishookmyhead,notunderstanding.
Ericajuttedherthumbtowardthemainhouse.“SadieLoman,yourfriend,right?Shecalledbeforetheparty,askedforyoubyname.Ithoughtyouknew?”
“No,”Isaid.Thatwaswrong.Ericahaditbackward.“Imetherthatday.Attheparty.”
Ericatiltedherheadasiftryingtoreadsomethinginmywords.“No,Iremember.Irememberbecausemyauntwasnothappyaboutit.SaidI’dhavetokeepaneyeonyou,makesureyouwerekeepingup.”Sheshrugged.“Likeyousaid,itwasalongtimeago.”Asifforgivingmeformylapseinmemory.
Butno.Thatmomenthadsharpenedandheightenedovertheyears.Ericawaswrong.Sadiedidnotknowmethen.Ithadbeenanaccident.Sadiehadcaughtmeinthebathroom,whenI’dbeenhiding,tryingtostoptheblood.
Achanceencounter,andmyworldchangedforthebetterbecauseofit.
“Well,I’dbetterbegoing.”Ericapattedherbagwiththephoto.“Thanksforthis,Avery.”
Shewalkeddownthepathtowardhercar,andIstoodinthedoorway,watchingherdriveoff.Shehadtobemistaken.Confused.Swappingonememoryforanother,hervisitstoLittleportblurring.
Istartedtoclosethedoor,butsomethingcaughtmyeye.Parker,standingattheedgeofthegarage,watchingme.
Ijumped.Handtoheart.Uneasysmile.“Thisisgettingtobeahabit,”Icalled,goingforlevity.Ihadnoideahowlonghe’dbeenstandingthere.
Buthedidn’tsmileinreturn.“Wereyouinthehouse?”
Myheartratepickedupagain,andIfelttheflushofmycheeks,gladforthedistancebetweenus.“What?”Iasked,tryingtobuysometime,comeupwiththerightexcuse.HadIleftsomethingoutofplace?Orhadtheyaddedasecuritysystem?DidthecameraofhislaptopcapturemeintheofficeasIsearchedthedeskdrawers?
“Thebackdoor,”hesaid,comingcloser.“Tothepatio.Itwasopen.”
Ishookmyhead.Thathadn’tbeenme.Ihadn’ttouchedit.“Maybeyouforgottolockit,”Isaid.
Hepressedhislipstogether.“Imean,itwasn’tevenclosed.”
Achillranthroughme.WhenIhadsearchedthedownstairs,everythinghadappearedexactlyasitshould’vebeen.“Ifyoudon’tlockit,sometimesit’snotreallylatchedalltheway.Thewindcandothat,”Isaid.Buttherewasawaverinmyvoice,andIwassureheheardit,too.
Heshookhisheadasifclearingathought.“Iknowthat.IthoughtIlockedit.Ijust—Idon’trememberthelasttimeIwentoutthere.Doesanyoneelsehaveakey?Imean,otherthanyou.”
Iranmyfingersthroughmyhair,tryingtounravelhiswords—subtlyaccusingbutalsothetruth.“Thecleaningcompanyhasthecodeforthelockbox.Ihavethekeyrightnow,though.Fromtheothernight.It’stheoneforemergencies.I’llgetitforyou.”AshowofgoodfaithtoprovethatIhadn’tabusedmyposition,andthatIwouldnotinthefuture,either.
Hewavedmeoff.“No,it’sfine.Ijustwantedtocheck.Iwouldn’thavebeenangryifitwasyou.”
ButfromthelookonhisfacewhenIfirstsawhimstandingattheedgeofthegarage,Ididn’tthinkthatwastrueatall.
AndnowIwasthinkingthatsomeoneelsehadbeenupherewithus.HadbeeninsidethathousejustasIhadbeen.ApresenceIhadfeltwhilestandinginSadie’sroom.Whohadalmostbeencaughtandhadleftthedoorajarintherushtoleave.
Someonewho’dhadthesameideaIhadandwaslookingforsomething,too.
CHAPTER12
SomeonewassnoopingaroundtheLomanproperty.Someonehadbeensnoopingaround.Fromthenoisesatnight,tothepoweroutages,tothefactthatParkerhadarrivedhometodaytoanopenbackdoor.
Whatevertheyweresearchingfor,Ihadtofinditfirst.AndnowIwasprettysureIknewexactlywheretolook.
Thegaragewasalwayskeptlocked.Therewasaseparatekeyjustforthatbuilding—sotheLomanscouldleavethelandscapersaccesswithoutworryingabouttheirhome.Ihadnowayinsideonmyown.ThemostlogicalwaytogetintothetrunkofParker’scarwastogetthecarout.
“Parker,”Icalledwhenhewashalfwaybacktothemainhouse.Ijoggedthedistancebetweenus,closingthegap.“Letmetakeyououttonight.”Iframeditlikeanapology.Awelcome-home.AFridaynight.“Youshouldgetout.”
Helookedmeoverslowly.“Iwasplanningto,anyway.It’ssoquietuphereallthetime.”
He’dneverstayedherealone,Irealized.BiancawasusuallyinLittleportallsummer.Andwhensheleftattheendoftheseason,Sadiestayedbehindwithhim
“Eight?”Iasked.“Icandrive.”
“No,I’lldrive,”hesaid.WhichI’dknownwouldhappen.Nowayhe’dbecaughtinthepassengerseatofmyoldcar,whichhadbeenleftexposedtotheelementsovertheyears,snowandiceandsaltwaterwinds.“TheFold?”
Ihadn’tbeentotheFoldinnearlyayear.ItusedtobemyveryfavoriteplacetogowithSadie.Itwaspartofherworld,oneofthoseplacesthatoperatedonlyinthesummermonths,liketheicecreamshop.
NowthebarsIvisitedweremostlythelocalones.MyclosestacquaintanceswerethepeopleIworkedwithinonecapacityoranother.Thepropertyinspector,Jillian.Thegeneralcontractor,Wes,thoughIwasarepresentativeoftheLomans,soIwasneversurewhereIstoodwithhim.OnlythatanytimeItextedhimtomeetup,he’darrive.AndtheonetimeI’daskedifhewantedtohangoutathisplaceafter,he’dsaidyes.Ididn’tinitiateagain,andneitherdidhe.
Thenthereweremycontactsfromthevariousvendorsaroundtown,whowerealwaysfriendlywhentheysawmeout,butalwaysfromaremove.
Otherfriendshipshadnotsurvivedovertheyears.I’dneverreconciledwithConnorandFaith.AndI’ddriftedfromthegroupImetwhenIstartedbusinesscoursesatthecommunitycollege,madeexcuses,turneddownanofferforasharedapartmentleaseinadifferenttown.IwassetuptoworkinLittleport.Andnowhereelsewould’vehadthisview.Thisperspective,lookingoutovereverythingI’deverknown.Nowhereelsewould’vehadSadie.
ITWASAFTERSIXP.M.whenIgotthecallfromawomanwhointroducedherselfasKatherineAppleton,stayingattheSeaRose—asmallcabindownbyBreakerBeach,nottoofarfromhere.Shesaiditwasherdadwho’drentedtheplace,butshewastheonestaying.Ihatedwhenpeopledidthis—rentedinthenameofsomeoneelse.Aslongasnothingwentwrong,Iletitslide.Aslongasitwasn’tagroupofcollegekidswithnorespectforothers’property,whowouldleavethevenuewithmoredamagethanitwasworth.TheLomanshadanexpressruleagainsthomesbeingrentedinsomeoneelse’sname,butIonlypartiallyenforcedit.Iwasmoreinterestedinkeepingtheweeksbooked:mybottomline,Isupposed.Therestwasuptometohandle.Iwasalwaysoncall,regardlessofthefactitwasaFridaynightduringthelastweekofAugust.
“Ifoundyournumberinthepaperwork,”shesaid.Herwordswereunnaturallystilted.
“Yes,I’mthepropertymanager.WhatcanIdoforyou,Katherine?”Fingerstomytemples,hopingthiscouldwait.
“Someonelitourcandles,”shereplied.
“What?”
“Someone.Lit.Our.Candles,”sherepeated,eachworditsownsentence.“Andnooneheredidit.Sotheysay.”Iheardlaughterinthebackground.
Theyweredrunk.Wastingmytime.Callingmeupwhennoonewouldfessup,onadare—tellmeorI’mcallingtheowners.ButthenIrememberedthecandleleftburningattheBlueRobin,thescentofseasaltandlavender.
“Okay,Katherine,holdon.Werethereanysignsofforcedentry?”
“Oh,Idon’trememberifwelockedup.Sorry.”Moretalkinginthebackground.Someoneaskingforthephone,Katherineignoringtherequest.
“Wasanythingtaken?”Iasked.
“No,Idon’tthinkso.Everythinglooksthesame.Justspooky,withthecandles.”
Icouldn’tfigureoutwhattheywantedfromme.WhytheywerecallingonaFridaynight;whytheywerestillontheline.
“Wewerejust—wewerewondering,”shecontinued.Anotherlaughinthebackground.“Iftherewereanyghoststoriesaboutthisplace?”
Iblinkedslowly,tryingtocatchup.“You’recallingforaghoststory?”Itwasn’tthemostridiculouscallIhadreceivedonaFridaynight,butitwasclose.Whatwaswrongwithpeople,thattheywouldimagineaghostfirstandnotsomethingreal?Eitherway,IfiguredIshouldbegratefultheyweren’tthreateningtoleave,demandingarefundormyimmediateattention.
Thelaughterinthebackgroundmademethinkitwasprobablyoneofthem.ThatI’dswingbyandfindtoomanypeopleinthespace,evidenceofairmattresses,anoverflowingrecyclingbin.
“I’llbebyinthemorning,”Isaid.“Tocheckthelocks.”
AFTERHANGINGUP,Ipulledoutthestackofcurrentrentalagreements.TomorrowI’dhavetocheckalltheproperties,justtosee.ThereweretwodefinitebreakinsthatIknewof,andnowthis.
Saturdaywaswhenmostoftheturnovershappenedanyway,unlessafamilywasstayingforlongerthanoneweek.Anyoneleavingtomorrowshouldbeoutbyten.Ilinedupthecleaningcompaniestohitthepropertiesfirstthathadvisitorsexpectedthefollowingweek.Saturdaywaschaos:Wehadsixhourstoturnaplaceover,makesureitwasreadyforthenextbatch.
Icheckedthelistofhomes,makingascheduleformyself.Thereweretwenty-twounitsIoversawinLittleport,andeighteenwerecurrentlyoccupied.Sixteenwouldbetakenthefollowingweek.
Iflippedthroughthelistagain,wonderingifI’dmisplacedsomething.Ididn’thavealistingforSunsetRetreat.Notforlastweekorthecomingone.
SunsetRetreat,acrossfromtheBlueRobin,whereI’dseenacurtainfall,seensomeonewatchingafterIfoundthephone.
Noonewassupposedtobethere.
Mystomachtwisted.Someonehadbeenwatching.NotjusttheLomanhouse.Notjusttherentals.Butme.
CHAPTER13
AsharpthrillranthroughmeasParkerandIwalkedfromtheparkinglotintotheFold.Itwasthedark,thepromise,themanbesideme.Itwasmyplace,restored.ItwastheFridaynight,thecrowd.TheanticipationofwhatIhopedtouncoverandcouldfeelhoveringjustinchesaway.
Thebarhadthefeelofalocaljoint—thedistressedwoodenbeams,thethickwoodhigh-toptables,thelaminatedplasticmenus.Butitwasallforshow.Theprices,thebartenders,theview,thiswasaplacegearedforthevisitors.Theownersknewwhattheyweredoing.Ahiddengem,tuckedawayuparicketyflightofwoodensteps,behindaweatherwornsign.Anexposedbalconyoverlookingtherockycoast,apromisethatthiswasthetrueLittleport,uncoveredjustforthem.
Ithadbeenmarketedexactlythisway.Theownersaccruedenoughincomeonfourmonthsalone,boardingupthewindowsandthebalconycomeOctober,andmovingtheiroperationbacktotheirmainheadquarters—aburger-and-beerplacetwomilesinland.
Theroomwasloudandboisterous,butthevolumedroppedassoonasthedoorshutbehindus.ItwasareactiontoParker.Theyhadn’tseenhimhereallsummer,andnowtheycametopaytheirrespects,onebyone.Girlsinjeansandfittedtops.Guysinkhakishortsandpolos.Eachofthemblendinginwiththenext.Handsonhisshoulder,fingerscurledaroundhisupperarm.Asympatheticsmile.Acaress.
I’mallright.
Thanksforthinkingofus.
Yeah,I’mhereforthememorial.
Inthesilencethatfollowed,oneofthemenraisedashotglassandsaid,“ToSadie.”
Parkerwaspulledintoagroupatthecornertable.Hepeeredoverhisshoulderatme,raisedtwofingers,andImademywaytothebar.
Thebartenderraisedhiseyesbrieflytomeetmine,thenwentbacktowipingdownthecountertop.“What’llitbe,”hesaidabsently,asifheknewIdidn’tbelong.
AmantooktheseatbesidemeasIordered—abourbonontherocksforParker,alightbeerontapforme—andIcouldfeelhimstaringatthesideofmyface.Iwasn’tinthemoodforsmalltalk,butheknockedonthebartoptogetmyattention.“Knockknock,”hesaid,justincaseIhadn’tnoticed,andthenheadded,“Hithere,”whenIfinallyfacedhim.GregRandolph,whohadtakensuchdelightintellingmeaboutSadieandConnoratthepartylastyear.“Rememberme?”
Inoddedhello,smilingtightly.
Heaskeditasifhehadn’tseenmearoundforthelastsevenyears.Asifhehadn’tmetmebesidetheLomans’poolmanysummersago,atafund-raisingpartyhostedbyBiancawhenI’dbeendressedupinSadie’sclothes,tuggingatthebottomofthedress,whichsuddenlyhadfelttwoinchestooshort,whenGregRandolphhadsteppedbetweenthetwoofus,tellingSadiesometrivialgossipthatsheseemedwhollydisinterestedin.Hepausedtopolitelyaddresseveryadultwhowalkedby.
Don’tletthenice-guyactfoolyou,she’dsaidwhenhe’dturnedaway.Underneath,he’sameandrunk,likehisdad.
Shehadnotloweredhervoice,andmyeyeswidened,thinkingsomeonemight’veheard.Greg’sdad,maybe,whowasprobablyoneoftheadultsinthegroupbehindus—ifnotGreghimself.ButSadiehadsmiledatmyexpression.Noonelistensthathard,Avie.Onlyyou.She’dwavedherhandaroundinthatairyway,asifitwereallsoinconsequential.Allthis.Thisnothingness.
IneverknewwhathappenedbetweenSadieandGreg.
Thebartenderplacedthedrinksonthecounter,andIleftmycardtokeepthetabopen.
“Thatforme?”Gregasked,juttinghischintowardParker’sglass.
“Nope,”Isaid,turningaway.
Hegrabbedmyarm,liquidspillingoverontomythumbashedid.“Wait,wait.Don’tgososoon.Ihaven’tseenyouaroundallsummer.Notlikeweusedto.”
Icouldsensethebartenderwatching,butwhenIlookedovermyshoulder,hehadmovedon,wipingdownthefarendofthebar.
IstaredatGreg’shandonmyarmandplacedthedrinksbackonthecounter,soasnottomakeascene.“I’msorry,doyouevenknowmyname?”
Helaughedthen,loudandoverconfident.“OfcourseIdo.You’reSadie’smonster.”
Everythingprickled.Fromthewayheusedhername,totheleerofhiswhisper.“Whatdidyoujustsay?”
Hegrinned,didn’tanswerrightaway.Icouldtellhewasenjoyingthis.“Shecreatedyou.Amini-Sadie.Amonsterinherlikeness.Andnowshe’sgone,buthereyouare.Stillouthere,livingherlife.”
Parkerwasstandingjustafewfeetaway.Iloweredmyvoice.“Fuckoff,”Isaid.
ButGreglaughedasIpickedupthedrinksagain.“ThatdrinkforParker?”hesaidasIturnedtoleave.“Ah,Iseehowitis.FromoneLomantothenext,then.”
Ikeptmoving,pretendinghe’dsaidnothingatall.
ParkersmiledasIsetthedrinksonthehightablewherehewasstanding.“Thiswasagoodidea,”hesaid.“Thankyou.”
Isippedandshivered,tryingtoshakeofftheconversationatthebar.
Parkerhadbarelyraisedhisglasstohislipswhenthreewomenapproachedusfromtheside.“Parker,sogoodtoseeyouhere.”
EllieArnold.LastI’dseenherwasthepartytheyearbefore,shakenfromherfallintothepool.Nowherlongblondhairwasbothwavyandshiny,hermakeupexpertlydone.Herfingerscurledaroundhislowerarm,perfectlymanicurednailsinasubtleshadeofpink.Twoofherfriendsstoodbetweenus,offeringtheircondolenceswhilefillinghiminonallhe’dmissed.
Itwastime.Ipattedmypockets.“Parker,”Isaid,interruptingthemall.“Sorry,IthinkIleftmyphoneinthecar.CanIgetthekeysforasec?”
Heabsentlyhandedmehiskeyring,andIwovemywaythroughthecrowd,pushingoutthedoor.ThenightwassilentasIstrodeforhiscarinthepackedlot,exceptfortheonetimethebardoorswungopen,aburstofsoundandlightescapingassomeoneelsewentinside.
Iunlockedthecar,thebeepcuttingthroughthenight,andopenedthepassengerdoor,fishingmyphonefromthecupholder.I’dleftitherejustincaseheinsistedoncomingwithme.
ThenIlookedovermyshoulderandwalkedtothebackofthecar,pressingthebuttononthekeytopopthetrunk,unpreparedforthelightglowingfromwithin.
Ilookedaroundquickly,butthelotappearedempty.
Iopenedthetrunkfarther,myhandsalreadyshakingwithanticipation.Therewasasinglecratejammedinthecorner.Itwascoveredbyafeltblanket,likeonethatmightbestoredinthetrunkforemergencies.Thishadtobetheboxofpersonalitemsreturnedfromthepolicestation.
ThefirstthingsIsawwhenIremovedtheblanketwereSadie’ssandals.ThesameonesIsawthatnight,soclosetotheedgeofthebluffs.
Iranmyfingersoverthem.Theyhadbeenherfavorite,andtheylookedit.Goldbutscuffedatthetops.Stitchingshowingwherethestrapshadpulledfromthebase.Theholestretchedfromthebuckle,theleftshoemissingonesideoftheintricateclasp.Alowheel,andthesoundofherstepsechoinginmymemory.
Thedoortothebaropenedbehindmeagain,aburstofsoundmomentarilyfloodingthelot.Itwistedaroundtosee,buttherewasnooneoutsidethatIcouldtell.Istaredintothedarkness,watchingforanysignofmovement.
Eventually,Iturnedbacktothetrunk,pushingtheshoesaside—andsawit.Ajournal.Purple,withblackandwhiteinkswirlsonthefront.Acornerofthefrontcovermissing,sothetatteredpagesrippledbelow.
Mystomachdropped,theedgesofmyvisiongoneblurry.Andsuddenly,everythingmadesense.Whythenotematchedherdiary.Whythediarygavethepolicepause.Ihadn’tseenthisinyears.Thefamiliar,angrypenindentationsonthecover,thetatteredcorners,theblackenededges.
Ishoveditquicklyintomybag,thenshutthetrunkagain,joggingtherestofthewaybackinside,feelingasunsteadyasIhadthatnight.
Thenotematchedthejournalperfectly,yes.Becausetheywerebothmine.
CHAPTER14
ParkerwaswaitingformewhenIreturned.Ellieandherfriendshadlefthimalone.“Findit?”heasked.
Ihandedhimhiskeys,showedhimmyphone.“Gotit.Thanks.”
Gregarrivedatourtable,balancingthreeshotglassesbetweenhisfingers.“Herewego,”hesaid,likethey’dbothbeenwaitingforme.
“No,Ishouldn’t,”Isaid.“I’lldriveusback.”
ButParkerwasn’touttorelaxorreminisce,andapparently,neitherwasI.“Justtheone,”hesaid,slidingitmyway,hiseyesonmine.
Iraiseditintheair,justastheydid.“Hear,hear,”Parkersaid,staringrightintomyeyesastheglassesclinkedtogether.
Theshotglasscollidedwithmyteeth.Astheliquorsliddownmythroat,goosebumpsformedonmyarms,eventhoughtheroomwaswarm.
Istaredbackintohiseyes,wonderingwhatheknew.“There,there,”Ianswered.
THREEHOURSLATER,WEwerefinallyontheroadbackhome.ThoughIhadn’thadanymoretodrink,Ifeltparched,dehydratedbythetalking,themindlesslaughter.
“Whatwasthataboutbackthere?”Parkerasked,hisheadrestingagainstthepassengerseatasIdrove.
“Withwhat?”Iasked,holdingmybreath.Mybagwasinthebackseat,andthejournalwasinside,andIwasscaredthathekneweverything.
“Idon’tknow,you’vebeenactingweirdeversincewegotthere.”
“Thatguy,”Isaid,scrambling.“Greg.”
“Whatabouthim?”
“Hewasanasshole,”Isaid,myteethclenching.
Parkerletoutasinglelaugh.“GregRandolphisanasshole.Sowhat?”
“Sadiecouldn’tstandhim.”
“Sadiecouldn’tstandalotofpeople,”hemumbled.
Sadie’smonster.Itwistedinmyseat.“Healwayshadathingforher,”Isaid,andParkerfrowned.Icouldseehimthinkingitover.Allthesepeoplewholovedher,yes.Butthesewereallpeoplewhocouldn’thaveher,too.
THEPORCHLIGHTWASoffwhenIpulledintothedrive.Thebluffswerenothingbutshadowsinthedarkness.IlefttheheadlightsonwhileParkerslidopenthegaragedoor.Hemayhavebeenintoxicated,buthehadtheframeofmindtolockuphiscarinside.
Afterparkinghiscarinthegarage,Iwaitedoutsidewhilehelockedtheslidingdoorbackup,thenightnothingbutshadows.
“Goodnight,Parker.”
“Areyoucomingin?”heasked,restlessonhisfeet.
“It’slate,”Isaid.“Andbelieveitornot,eventhoughit’stheweekendforyou,Ihaveworkinthemorning.”
Butthatwasn’twhathewasasking,andwebothknewit.“Sadie’sgone,Avery.”Heknewthen,too,theedictfromSadie,keepingmeback.Maybeshesaidthesametohim.WhenSadietoldmeDon’t,hebecameallIcouldthinkabout.WheneverIpassedhisroom,wheneverIsawhisshadowbehindtheglasswindows.
Anactiverestraintwassomethingtodo,apractice,somethingtofocuson.Itwasanewsortofgame,sodifferentfromyieldingtoimpulse,asIhadgrownaccustomed.Iwasforgedofresilience,andIletthetensionstretchmetightasawire.
ButnowSadiewasgone,andLucewasgone,andParkerwashere,andwhatwastherelefttoruin,really?Withouttheothershere,therewassomethingsimmeringandunfulfilled,andnothingtostopme.Something,suddenly,withinmyreach.
Hewaswaveringinthepathway,hiseyesdartingofftotheside,tentativeandunsure,andthatwaswhatdiditforme.Thatwaswhatalwaysdidit.Thewayaninsecuritystrippedthemback,revealingsomethingthatputmeintemporarypower.
Isteppedcloser,andheranhisfingersthroughmyhair.Iraisedmyhandtohisface,mythumbbrushingthescarthroughhiseyebrow.
Hegrabbedmywrist,fast.Theimperfectionmadeyoubelievehehadfoughthiswaythroughsomethingonhiswaytothislife.
Hiseyeslookedsodarkintheshadows.Whenhekissedme,hishandtraileddownmyneck,sohisthumbrestedatthebaseofmythroat.Myneck,inhisgrip.
Icouldn’ttellwhetheritwassubconsciousornot.Withhim,itwashardtotell.ButIcouldn’tshakethevisionofthreestepsfromnow—pressedupagainstthesideofthegarage,hishandstightening,thememoryofSadie’svoice:Itcanhappen,youknow.Youcan’tswallow,youcan’tbreathe.It’snotaquickwaytodie,iswhatI’msaying.
Igaspedforair,pullingback.Myhandtomythroat,andParkerlookingatmecuriously.IwonderedwhatelseIhadmissedinthishouse—ifParkerwascapableofharmingme.IfParkerwascapableofharmingher
Ihadgrownupanonlychild,didn’tunderstandwhatanormalsiblingdynamicshouldbe.Thoughttheburstsofanimosity,thecasualcruelty,weretheexpectedresultofapairofsiblingsfightingtheirwayoutofeachother’sshadow.
ButmaybeSadieknewsomethingIdidn’t.MaybewhenshesaidDon’t,shewassavingmeinstead.
Moreandmore,Iwasconvincedsomeonehadharmedher.Thatnotewasn’thers.Thatjournalwasn’thers.Withoutthose,thepolicewouldstillbeinterviewingallofus,overandover,untilsomethingbroke.Someone’sstory.Alie.Awayin.
Parker’sbreathwashotandsharp,andtherewasnooneupherebutus.“What’swrong?”
Iclearedmythroat,tookanotherdeepbreathofcoolnightair.“You’redrunk,”Isaid.
“Iam.”
“I’msober,”Isaid.
Hetippedhisheadtotheside,thecornerofhismouthquirkingup.“Soyouare.”
Ineverknewhowtosaynotohim,toanyofthem.Howtonavigatethenuancesoftheirwordsandmannerisms.
Buttherewastoomuchatstakeherenow.ToomuchIhadn’tseenclearlythefirsttime.
“Let’sgobackthirtyseconds,”Isaid,steppingback,feigninglevity.“Goodnight,Parker.Seeyouinthemorning.”
Eveninthedark,Icouldseehiswidesmile.IfelthimwatchingmeasIwalkedaway.
ILOCKEDTHEDOORtotheguesthousebehindme.WhenIflippedthelightswitch,nothinghappened.Itriedagain,buttherewasonlydarkness.
Shit.Iwasn’tabouttogobackouttheretoresetthebreaker.NotwithParkerstandingnearby,watching.Notwithwhateverwashappeningattherentalproperties.
IpicturedtheshapeoftheshadowinsideSunsetRetreatandshivered.Usingonlymyphoneforlight,Icircledtheapartment,pullingallthecurtainsclosed.ThenIcollectedthetealightsfromthebathroom,theonesatthecornersofthetub,andlitthemaroundthebedroom.Ilockedthatdoor,too.Pulledthejournalfrommybag.Feltthefamiliargroovesinthecoverandopenedthenotebook.
Thecliffs,itbegan.
Theroad.
Thebottleinthemedicinecabinet.
Theblade.
Thewritingwassoangry,thepenleavingdeepindentationsinthepage;Icould’vefelttheemotioninthewords,runningmyfingersoverthelinesinthedark.Iturnedthepage,myhandshaking.Thereweremorelists,pageafterpageofthem,justlikethis.Thetimesdeathwasrightthere,withinreach.Thetimesdeathhadcomesoclose.
Walkedtotheedge,balancedthere.
Topofthelighthouse,leaningforward.
Wokeuponthebeachgaspingforair,dreamedthetidehadrisen.
Slipoftheblade.Thebloodinmyveins.
Itriedtoseethisasthepolicewould,readingthesepages.PicturedSadiedoingthesethings,writingthesethings.Staringatherveins,likeParkerhadtoldme.Listingthewaysshecoulddie.
Ihadn’tseenthisjournalinyears.Notsincethatwinter.Whenthesparkofspringnevercaught,andsummerrolledinjustthesameaswinter,emptyandendless.Itwasthestoryofgrief,ofdisappointment,ofasoulobliterated.
ItwasthestoryofwhoIhadbeenuntilthemomentImetSadieLoman,andIchoseher.Mylifeinherhands,restructured,recast.Nolongeradriftoralone.
ThiswasmyjournalfromatimeinmylifeIwouldhaveratherforgotten—butwhichhadcoloredeverythingthatfollowed.WhenIhadsunkbeneaththesurfaceandallIhadwantedwastoslidedeeperintoit,liketherewassomethingIwaschasing,waitingatthebottom.YoucouldtellwhereIhadbeenbythedestructioninmywake.
Withinthesepages,IcouldseeexactlywhereI’dlostConnor,whereI’dlostFaith,andwhereI’dlostmyself.
WhenhadSadiefoundthis?Icouldn’trememberwhereIhadkeptit.Ithadmaybebeeninmycloset,atmygrandmother’splace.IthadbeenforgottenafterI’dmetSadieandanewworldhadopeneduptome.Theworld,throughhereyes.
IwonderedifSadiehadfounditwhensheandGrantwerehelpingmemove.Evenso,Ididn’tunderstandwhyshe’dkeptit.
Butthepolicehadfounditinherroomanddecidedapersonlikethis,shewoulddoit.Itwasvery,verydark.That’swhatthedetectivehadtoldme.Apersonlikethis,theybelieved,didn’twanttolive.Sheexistedinthedarknessandwouldstepofftheedge.
Thisjournal,sadandangry,wasjustamomentintime.Lookingbackatthesepages,IknewthatIhadbeentryingtofindmywaythroughit.
OnlynowthatIwaspastitdidIseehowcloseItrulycame.ThedarknessthatIwasreadytodiveheadfirstinto.
Ikeptlookingatalltheplacesdeathmightbelurking.Insomanylists,Iendedwiththeblade.Iremembered,then,thefeelingofmybloodpulsingunderneathmyskin.Theimageofacarcrash,bodiesversusmetalandwood.Thepressureofthebloodinmygrandmother’sskull.Staringatmyveins,atthefrailtyofthem,soclosetothesurface.
Theblade,theblade,Ikeptcomingbacktotheblade.
Thesharpglintofsilver.Theemptykitchen.Theimpulseandchaosofasinglemoment.
Ihadn’tanticipatedtheamountofblood.Thesoundoffootsteps.Icouldn’tgetittostop.
Ihidinthebathroom,pressingthetoiletpapertothebaseofmyhand.
Thinking,NoNo.UntilSadieslippedinside.
You’relucky,she’dsaid.Youjustmissedthevein.
IBARELYSLEPT.FEELINGsoclosetothepersonI’dbeenateighteen.Likemynerveswereonfire.
Atthefirstsignoflight,Itookmycardownthroughtown,atthehourwhenitwasjustthefishermenatthedocksandthedeliverytrucksinthealleys.Idroveupthehill,pastthepolicestation,uppastthePointBed-and-Breakfast,towhereIcouldseetheflashofthelighthousebeckoning,evenindaylight.AndthenIturneddowntheforkintheroad,headingforthehomesontheoverlook.
MostoftheLomanrentalpropertieswerelocatedalongthecoast.Aviewdroveupthecostofrentnearlytwofold—evenmoreifyoucouldwalktodowntown.Tocompensate,thehomesontheoverlookweremorespacious,typicallyrentingouttolargerfamilies.Andwithschoolstartingupsoon,thesewereusuallythefirsthomestogovacant.
Ihadallthekeyswithme,eachlabeledwithadesignatednumberthatcorrespondedtoaspecificproperty.Bythispoint,Iknewthemallbyheart.
SomeonehadbrokenintothehomecalledTrail’sEndlastweekattheedgeofdowntown,smashingatelevision.SomeonehadsneakedinsidetheBlueRobinuphere,lookingforsomething.AndsomeonehadlitthecandlesattheSeaRose,downbyBreakerBeach.
IwasstartingtoseethepatternnotasathreattotheLomansbutasamessage
Someoneknewwhathadhappenedthatnight.SomeonehadbeenatthatpartyandknewwhathadhappenedtoSadieLoman.
AsIdroveupthelaneoftheoverlook,IsawadarkcarparkedinfrontoftheBlueRobinacrosstheway,lingeringatthecurb.
Ashadowsittinginside.Eyespeeringintherearviewmirror.
Iparkedbehindit,waiting,myowncaridlinginadare.UntilDetectiveBenCollinsemergedfromthecar.Hewalkedinmydirection,frowning.
“Funnyseeingyouhere,”hesaidasIexitedthecar.
“Ihavetocheckthepropertieseachweekend.Beforethenewfamiliesarrive,”Isaid.
“Someonestayingherenextweek?”heasked,thumbjuttingattheBlueRobin.
“Yes.”
“No.”Heshookhishead.“Movethem.We’regonnaneedtoseeinside.”
Myheartplummeted,butIclungtohiswords.“Areyoureopeningthecase?”Iasked.Maybehebelievedmeafterall.
DetectiveCollinsstoodback,assessingthehouse—quaintandunassuming,likeabirdhousehiddenamidthetrees.“Iwastryingtoseehowsomeonemightleavewithoutnotice.There’sapathbehindthehouse,right?”Notansweringmyquestionbutnotdenyingit,either.Hebelieveditwaspossible,then,thatsomethingelsehadhappenedthatnight.
“Right.Tothebed-and-breakfast.”Youcouldwalkitinfivetotenminutes.Youcouldrunitmuchfaster.
“Showmeinside?”
Iledhiminthefrontdoor,watchedashepeeredaroundthevacantspace.Hehadn’tbeenoneoftheofficerswho’dcometogetParkerthatnight.Buthe’dtakenthecallfromtheDonaldsonsaboutthebreakinearlierthisweek.
“Showmewhereyoufoundthephone,”hesaid.
Iopenedthedoortothemasterbedroom,pointedtothenowclosedchestatthefootofthebed.Thepileofblanketssatbesideit,untouched.“Inthere,”Isaid.“Ifounditinthecorner.Seemedlikeithadbeentherealongtime.”
“Thatso,”hesaid.Thelidcreakedopenashepeeredinside.Hestaredintoemptydarkness,thencloseditagain.“Here’sthething,Avery,”hesaid,pivotingonhisheel.“Wegotagoodlookatherphone,andit’sreallynothingwedidn’tknow.”
“Otherthanhowitendeduphere?”
Hepaused,thennodded.“Exactly.”Hepacedtheroom,peeringintothebathroomwhereI’doncecleanedtheflooralongsideParker.“TherewasonethingInoticed,though.Inallthosepicturesonherphone,youweren’tthere.”
Ifroze.SadieandLuce;SadieandParker;Connor;thescenicshots.Everythingbutme.
“Ithoughtyouwereherbestfriend,”hesaid.“That’swhatyoutoldme,right?”
“Yes.”
“Butyou’renotinherpictures.Shedidn’trespondtoyourtextthatnight.Andwegotalotofconflictinginformationduringtheinterviews.”
Ifeltsomethingsurginginmyveins,myfiststighteningoftheirownaccord.“Shedidn’trespondbecausesomethinghappenedtoher.AndI’mnotinthepicturesbecauseIwasbusythatsummer.Working.”ButIcouldfeelmypulsedowntothetipsofmyfingersasIwonderediftherehadbeenrumors—abouttherift,aboutme,abouther.Ithoughtnoonehadknown—IthoughtGranthadkeptitquiet.
“Aboutthat.Yourwork,”hecontinued,andmystomachdropped.“LucianaSuarezprovideduswithsomeinterestingdetails.Thiswasherfirstsummerintown,wasn’tit?”
“Yes.She’dstarteddatingParkerthefallbefore.”
“IsittruethatyoutookoverSadie’sjob?”Andthereitwas.Luce.Ishouldhaveknown.
“Lucesaidthat?”Iasked,buthedidn’trespond.Justheldeyecontact,waitingfortheanswer.Ibrushedthecommentawaywithawaveofmyhandintheair,likeSadiemightdo.“Theydidn’tneedtwopeopletodoit.Shewasreassigned.”Notfired.
“But,tobeclear,youhaveherrole.”
Ipressedmylipstogether.“Technically.”
“YouknowwhatelseLucianasaid?”Hepaused,thencontinuedlikehedidn’texpectmetoanswer.“Shesaidshe’dneverheardofyoubefore.”Atwitchofhismouth.“Saidthatshedidn’tknowanythingaboutyouuntilshearrived.Noonehadseenfittomentionyourexistence.NotevenSadie.”
“BecauseLucewasParker’sgirlfriend,”Isnapped.“TherewasnoreasonIwould’vecomeup.”Iwasbeingblindsidedyetagain.Thiswasaninterrogation,andI’dwalkedrightintoit.
“Shetoldusshe’dbeenafriendofthefamilyfirst.”
“Sowhat?Thatdoesn’tmeansheandSadiewereclose.”
Helookedatmeclosely,steadily.“RumorhasityouandSadiewereontheouts.”
“Rumorsareshithere,andyouknowit.”
Hesmiledthen,asiftosay,Thereyouare.Thatgirltheyallremembered.“Ijustthinkit’sodd,isall,thatSadieneverwould’vementionedyou.”
Luce.Shehadcomplicatedeverything.Alwayswithaquizzicallookinmydirection—somethingdangerousthatkeptmesecond-guessingmyself.Lucebecametheunwittingwedgethatsummer,leavingeverythingoffbalance.Ifanyoneunderstoodwhathadhappenedinthathouse,itwasher.AlwaystherewhenIthoughtwewerealone.Ihadnoideawhatshe’dtoldthepoliceduringherinterview.Ithadn’tmatteredthen,becauseofthenote.
DetectiveCollinspacedtheroomagain,thefloorboardscreakingunderhisfeet.“IfIhadtomakeaprofessionalassessment,I’dsaythefriendshipwasalittleone-sided.IfI’mbeinghonestwithyou,itseemsalittlelikeyouwereobsessedwithher.”
“No.”IsaiditlouderthanImeantto,andIloweredmyvoicebeforecontinuing.“Weweregrowingup.Wehadotherresponsibilities.”
“Youlivedontheirproperty,workedfortheirfamily,ranaroundwithhercrowd.”Hehelduphishand,eventhoughIhadn’tsaidanything.“Youconsideredthemfamily,Iknow.But,”hecontinued,loweringhisvoice,“didtheyconsideryouthesame?”
“Yes,”Isaid,becauseIhadto.Itrustedthembecausetheychoseme.Takingmein,welcomingmeintotheirhome,intotheirlives.Whatotherchoicewasthere?Ihadbeenadrift,andthenIwasgrounded—
“Iknowwhoyouusedtobe,Avery.Whatyou’vebeenthrough.”Hisvoicedropping,hisposturechanging.“Shittyhandtodraw,Igetit.Butareyousayingyouneverthought,justonce,thatyouwantedtobeherinstead?”
Ishookmyheadbutdidn’trespond.BecauseIdid,itwastrue.Backthen,whenImether,Iwantedtocrawlinsidesomeoneelse’shead.Stretchtheirlimbs.Flextheirfingers.Feelthebloodpulsingthroughtheirveins.Seeiftheycouldhearit,too,therhythmoftheirownheartbeat.Orifsomethingelsesurgedintheirbones.
Iwantedtofeelsomethingbesidesgriefandregret,andIdid.Ihad.
“Thisphonedoesraisesomequestions,inmorewaysthanone.Ofcourse,yourprintswouldhavetobeonit,sinceyouweretheonewhofoundit.Right?”
Ijerkedback.DidhethinkIwaslying?
Iwantedtotellhim:Thenotewasn’thers,thejournalwasn’thers.
ButIknewwhattheywouldhavetoasknext:“I’msorry.Iwishitdidn’thavetobethisway.”Whatwereyouapologizingfor,exactly,Avery?
Iknewbetterthantogiveanymoreofmyselfaway.
“Well,”hesaid,“thishasbeenenlightening.We’llbeintouch.”Hetappedthebedroomdooronthewayout.
CHAPTER15
IwasshakingasIwatchedthedetectivedriveaway,loopinghiscartoofastaroundthecul-de-sac,passingSunsetRetreatonthewaydownthestreet.
Theywouldbeback.That’swhathewasimplying.Theywouldbeback,andtheywerelookingathowsomeonemight’veleftthepartythatnight.
Ihadbeenatthepartytheentiretime—I’dprovedit.Butthephonemeantsomething.Itmeantthatbeingatthepartydidnotabsolveus.Chanceswere,ifherphonehadbeenlefttherethenightofherdeath,she’dbeenmurderedbysomeoneattheparty.
ThatlistDetectiveCollinshadhandedme,thedetailsIhadgivenhiminreturn—
Me—6:40p.m.
Luce—8p.m.
Connor—8:10p.m.
Parker—8:30p.m.
Whathadoncebeenouralibisnowbecameacastofsuspects.
ITDIDN’TLOOKGOODthatIwasthereforsolongalone.Itdidn’tlookgoodthatIwastheonewhofoundthephone.DetectiveCollinswasfixatingonmyroleintheLomans’livesasiftherumorshadreachedhimaswell.
Therehadbeennopublicfight.Nothingpeoplecould’vewitnessedandknownforsure.Justalingeringchill.Afeeling,ifyouknewwhatyouwerelookingfor.Abriefshrug-offinpublicatherplannedbirthdaylunch,whenI’dtriedtocatchherafter—Ican’ttalktoyourightnow—whereshelookedatmyhandonherarminsteadofme.Andahumiliatingmomentthenextnight,thoughI’dthoughtwewerealone.
I’dbeenheadingtowardtheFold—shehadn’tbeenansweringmycalls,mytexts—whenIsawherslipouttheentrancewithLuce.Theywerestandingclosetogether,SadieaheadshorterthanLuce,whowasrelayingastoryinavoicetoolowandfasttohearclearly,herhandsmovingtoaccentuateherpoints.Buttheypartedatthecorner,Luceheadingfortheoverflowofcars,Sadiewalkingtowarddowntown.
IwaiteduntilLucewasoutofsighttocallhername,thenagain:“Sadie,”thewordechoingdowntheemptystreet.Shestoppedwalkingjustunderadimcornerstreetlight.Herskinlookedwaxypale,herhairmoreyellowthanblondinthehalooflight.Sheranherfingersthroughtheendsofherhairassheturnedaround,eyesskimmingtheroadandthenskimmingrightoverme—pretendingshedidn’tseemestandingthere,lookingback.Thecasualcrueltyshe’dperfectedwithParker.LikeIwasinvisible.Inconsequential.Somethingshecouldbothcreateandunmakeatherwhim.
Sheturnedawayagainwithoutasecondthought.
IwonderednowifGregRandolphhadwhisperedthosewordsbefore—Sadie’smonster.Ifothershad,too.
Ifitwasblindingthedetectivetoeverythingelse.
Ihadtonaildownmytimeline,andeveryoneelse’s,beforeeverythinggottwisted.
ButfirstIneededtoclearthishouse.I’dthoughtaboutmovingthefamilywhowassupposedtostayattheBlueRobinintoSunsetRetreatacrosstheway—therewasevenmorespace,andIdidn’tthinkthey’dcomplain.ButIneededtocheckitoutfirst,especiallysinceIwassureI’dseenashadowwatchingmethedayI’dfoundthephone.
Thekeyforthepropertywasinmycar.AssoonasIsteppedacrossthethreshold,Iknewsomethingwaswrong.Theairhadathicknesstoit,someunfocusedqualityIcouldn’tquiteputmyfingeron,untilIdrewinaslowbreath.
MyhandwenttomymouthevenasIwasbackingawayonpureinstinct.Thescentofgas,sothickIcouldpracticallytasteit.
Theroomwasfullofit.Ishutthedoorbehindme,runningdownthefrontpath.
Idialed911fromthefrontroomoftheBlueRobinacrossthestreet,safebehindalayerofwoodandconcrete.
IWASWATCHINGOUTthewindowwhenthefiretruckarrived—expectingtoseeanexplosion,everythingreducedtorubble.Butastreamofpeopleinuniformenteredthehome,onebyone.Eventually,anothervanarrived,deliveringacrewofmaintenanceworkers.
Aftertheycamebackout,removingtheirgear,conferringwithoneanother,Iwalkedoutfront,meetingtheminthestreetbetweentheproperties.“Everythingokayinthere?”
“Youthepersonwhocalledthisin?”theclosestfirefighterasked.HestillworethebottomhalfofhisuniformbuthadremovedtherestandwaswearingaT-shirtandballcap.Helookedagooddecadeolderthantherest,andIassumedhewasincharge.
“Yes,I’mAveryGreer.Imanagetheproperty.”
Henodded.“Aconnectionatthebackofthestove,comeloose.Probablyaslowleak.Butmust’vebeengoingonforawhile,withnobodytheretonotice.”
“Oh,”Isaid.Ifeltnauseated,sick.Theshadowinsidethehouse—hadtheybeenwaitingformetowalkinsidenext?
Heshookhishead.“Luckynothingmadeaspark.”Thenhemotionedforthemaintenancecrewthatitwassafetoenter.“Still,I’dgiveitsometimetoairout,”hesaid.Then,asifhecouldseesomethingsimmeringwithinme,somefearmadeclear,heputahandonmyshoulder.“Hey,it’sallright.Youdidtherightthing,andwecaughtitintime.Everything’sokay.”
I’DBEENDEBATINGCALLINGGrantonthedrivehome.Ihatedtodosounlessitwasurgent,didn’twanthimtothinkIcouldn’thandlethingsonmyown.
AsIwaspassingBreakerBeach,Idecidedtodoit.
Hewouldknowwhomtocontact,andhisnamewouldcarrymoreweightthanmine.Weweretaughttoalwaysconsultwiththecompanylawyerbeforeengaging.I’dalreadyfailedwhenI’dletDetectiveCollinsinside.Ifthegasleakwasacrime,IneededGrant’sinputonhowtoproceedbeforeinvolvingthepolicefurther.
Hiscellranguntilitwenttovoicemail.IturnedthecaruptheinclineofLandingLane,leavinghimamessageonspeakerphone.“Grant,hi,it’sAvery.Sorrytobotheryou,butthere’saproblem.Withtherentals.IthinkIneedtotalktothepolice.Pleasecallmeback.”WhenIturneddownthestone-edgeddrive,Itappedmybrakes.Therewasanothercarinthedriveway—dark,expensive-looking,familiar.
Iswungaroundthecornerofthegarage,parkedinmyspot,hiddenoutofsight.Icouldhearvoicescomingfromthebackyard—Parker’sandsomeoneelse’s,deepandfirm.
ImovedasquietlyasIcould,hopingnoonenoticedmyarrival.SoIwasn’tpayingattentionasIapproachedthedooroftheguesthouse.
Thefrontdoorwasunlatched.Asliveroflightescapingfrominside.Iheldmybreath,pushedthedoorslowlyopen.
Thelivingroomwasindisarray.Myboxofthingsinthemiddleoftheroom.Myclothespulledoutofthecloset,heapedonthecouch.AndwaitinginthecenteroftheroomstoodBianca.
“Hello,”shesaid.Herblondhairwaspulledbacksoseverelyitseemedtoblendinwithherscalp.Shewasimposing,evenatSadie’sheight,bothofthematleastfourinchesshorterthanIwas.
“Hi,Bianca,”Isaid.I’dbeenwaitingforBiancaandGranttoreturnsincethestartoftheseason.
NoonehadmentionedanythingaboutmyjobinallthetimesinceSadie’sdeath.Themoneykeptcoming.Ithoughtmaybeitwasjustamomentwhenwe’dsaidthingsthateachofuswouldrathertakeback,andwecouldchalkituptogrief,onbothsides.
Thestateofmylivingroomsuggestedotherwise.
Bianca’sfaceremainedexpressionless,andIknewI’dhaditallwrong.“IthoughtItoldyoutoleave,”shesaid.
SUMMER
2017ThePlus-OneParty
10p.m.
Thepolicewerecoming.ThatwaswhateveryonewaswhisperingwhenIsteppedoutsidethemasterbedroom,joiningtherestofthepartyattheotherendofthedarkenedhall.
Theblackout.Ellie’sscreamasshefellintothepool.Someonehadheardit,calleditin.Threepeopletoldmeinthecourseoftwominutes.Ididn’tknowanyofthembyname,butIassumedoneofthemwasthepersonParkerhadtoldmeaboutwho’dbeenlookingforme.ItwasasmallthrilltorealizethattheyknewwhoIwas,thatIwastheonetoturnto.ThatIwasthepersoninchargehere
Dependingonthesource,therewaseitherapolicecaroutside,oranofficeroutfront,oroneoftheguestshadreceivedacallinwarning.Butthemessagewasclear:Someonewascoming.
Okay,okay.Iclosedmyeyes,tryingtofocus,tryingtothink.Parker’sfamilyownedthehouse;EllieArnoldwasfine.IscannedtheseaoffacesuntilIsawher—there—acrosstheroom,halfinthekitchen,halfinthelivingroom.Hairwetandnowbraidedoverhershoulder,facecleanofmakeup,inaloose-fittingblouseandrippedjeansthathungalittlelowonherhips.Enoughtogiveawaythattheyweren’thers.Butshewashere,andshewasfine.Laughing,atthatmoment,atsomethingGregRandolphwassaying.
Iletmyselfoutthefrontdoor,thehingessqueakingbehindmeasIpulleditshut,inhopesofintercedingifthepolicehadalreadyarrived.I’dexplainwhathadhappened,retrieveasafeandunharmedEllieArnold,awitnessortwo,andkeepeverythingoutside.
Butthenightwasempty.Ithaddroppedatleastfivedegreesinthelasthour,maybemore,andtheleavesrustledoverheadinthewind.TherewasnopolicecarthatIcouldsee—notwiththelightson,anyway—andtherewasnoofficeronthedoorstep.Justthecricketsinthenight,thesoftglowoftheporchlight,andnothingbutdarknessasIstaredintothetrees.
Iwalkeddownthefrontporchsteps,waitingformyeyestoadjusttothenightsoIcouldseefartherdowntheroad.Thestarsshonebrightthroughtheshiftingcloudsabove.Itwaspartofthetownbylawstokeepthelightsdim,tooptforfewerstreetlampsratherthanmore,leavingthetownuntouched,poetic,onewiththesurroundings,bothaboveandbelow.Itwaswhywehadthedarkwindingroadsinthemountains.Thebeachlitonlybybonfire.Thelighthouse,thesolebeaconinthenight.
Fromtheedgeofthefrontlawn,Isawaquickflashofredattheendoftheroad.Brakelightsrecedingandthendisappearing.Ikeptmyfocusonthedistance,justtomakesurethecarwasn’tcomingback.Thatithadn’tbeenturningaroundandparking.Istaredforminutes,moments,butnoonereappeared.
Myhope:Maybethepolicedidcome.Maybetheygotthecallanddroveupthestreetandrealizedthiswasjustaparty,justahouse.ThePlus-Oneparty,theymust’verealized.AndwhentheysawthestreetandrealizedthehousebelongedtotheLomans,theyleftitwellenoughalone.
Worstcase,IhadthekeyforSunsetRetreat.Icouldmoveeveryoneifneeded.
Isawexactlywhatneededtobedone,couldseeeverythingplayingout,threestepsforward.Theliquorcoursingthroughmyveinsonlyheightenedmysenseofcontrol.Ihadthis.Everythingwasokay.
“Hey,canItalktoyou?”Connorshiftedastepsohewasblockingmypath.HisbreathwassocloseIshivered.Hishandshoveredjustbesidemyupperarms,likehehadmeanttotouchmebeforethinkingbetterofit.
Connorstandingbeforemecouldgooneoftwoways.Therecouldbetheslidetonostalgia,whereheturnedhisheadtothesideandIcaughtaglimpseoftheoldhim,theoldus;ortherecouldbetheslidetoirritation—thisfeelingthathehadsecretsIcouldnolongerunderstand,anexteriorIcouldnotdecipher.Anentiresecondlifehewaslivinginthegap.
Heheldmygazelikehecouldreadmythoughts.
Lookagain,andnowIcouldn’tseeConnorwithoutpicturingSadie.Thearchofherspine,thesmileshe’dgive,thescentofherconditionerasherhairfelloverhisface.Andhim—thewayhe’dlookather.Thecrookedgrinwhenhewastryingtohidewhathewasthinking,givingwayassheleanedcloser.
Istartedtoturnbutfelthishanddropontomyshoulder.Ishruggeditoff,moreviolentlythannecessary.“Don’t,”Isaid.Thiswasthefirsttimewe’dtouchedinoversixyears,buttherewassomethingaboutitthatfeltsofamiliar—theemotionsnappingbetweenus.
Hestoodthere,eyeswideandhandsheldupinsurrender.
SIXYEARSEARLIER,CONNORhadfoundmeonBreakerBeachkissinganotherguy.I’dstumbledafterhim,clothesandskincoveredinwetsand,solesofmyfeetnumbfromthenight.Ireachedahandforhisshoulder,togethimtostop,towait.Butwhenhespun,Ididn’trecognizehisexpression.Hisvoicedroppedlower,andachillrandownmyspine.“Ifyouwantedmetoseethis,”hesaid,“missionaccomplished.Butyoucould’vejustsaid,Hey,Connor,Idon’tthinkthisisgoingtoworkout.”
I’dlickedmylips,thesaltwaterandtheshamemixingtogetherand,myheadstillswimming,said,“Hey,Connor,Idon’tthinkthisisgoingtoworkout.”Tryingtogethimtolaugh,tocrackasmileandseehowridiculousthewholethingwas.
Butallheheardwasthecruelty,andhenoddedonce,leavingmethere.
ThefirsttimeIsawhimafterthatnightwasatFaith’s,whenshebrokeherarm.Thesecondtime,atthebonfireatBreakerBeach,whereSadiefoundmeandourfriendshipbegan.Afterthat,forasmalltown,ithadbeensurprisinglyeasytoavoideachother.Ikeptawayfromthedocksandtheinlandedgeoftown,wherehelived.Hekeptawayfrommygrandmother’splaceatStoneHollowandfromtheworldtheLomansoccupied—theorbitinwhichIsoonfoundmyself.
Afterawhile,itwaslessanactiveprocessthanapassiveone.Wedidn’tcall,didn’tseekeachotherout,sothateventually,wedidn’tevennodinpassingonthestreet.Likeawoundthathadthickenedasithealed.Nothingbutroughskinwherenerveendingsonceexisted.
Butonthisnight,atthePlus-Oneparty,whenI’djustlearnedhe’dbeenseenwithSadieearlierintheweek,itwashardertofeelnothingwhenhishanddroppedonmyshoulder.Suddenly,hisinterestinSadiefeltlikeapersonalslightmeanttohurtme.
Andmaybeitwas.Butitworkedbothways;SadieknewexactlywhoConnorwas.We’dcrossedpathsafewtimesovertheyears.I’dglancedinhisdirection,thenlookedaway,andshe’ddonethesame;whenI’dfallensilent,sohadshe,inashowofunderstanding.ThoughmaybeIhadunderstatedhisimportance.Sheshould’vereaditonmyface,seenmethenasIhadseenher.Ifeltmyteethgrinding,becauseshemusthave.Shemusthaveknown.Andshe’ddoneitanyway.Takingeverything,eventhis—owningitall.
Connorlookedaroundthepartyandshookhisheadtohimself.“Ishouldgo.Idon’tbelonghere,”hesaid,butIhadtoleanintohearhim.Couldfeelthebladepressagainstmyribs,thecloserIgot.
Thenleave,Iwantedtosay.BeforeSadiegetshere.BeforeIhavetoseeit,too.
“I’msorry,”Isaid.WhatIshould’vesaidthefirsttimebutneverdid.
Connorfrownedbutdidn’trespond.
Iheardvoicesfromthesecondfloor,thesoundofsomethingdropping.“Ihaveto…”Igesturedtowardthehallway,turningaway.“Just—”Butthewordwaslostinthechaos,andwhenIturnedaroundtotryagain,hewasalreadygone.
Upstairs,therewerethreedoorssetbackfromtheopenloft.Thedoortothebedroomontheleftwasopenbutthelightwasoff.Inside,aheapofjacketsandbagswerepiledontopofthebed.Thesecondbedroomdoorwasclosed,thoughastripoflightescapedfromthegapbetweenthedoorandthefloorboard.Inbetweenthetworooms,thedoortothebathroomwasslightlyajar,andIheardawhispered“Shit”
Ipushedthedooropenfarther,andayoungwomaninsidejumpedbackfromthemirror.“Oh,”shesaid.
“Sorry.Youokay?”
Shehadherhandoverhereye,andsheleanedoverthesinkagain,undisturbedbymypresence.Ittookmeasecondtorealizeshewastryingtoremoveacontactlens.“It’sstuck,Icanfeelit.”ShetalkedtomelikeIwassomeonesheknew.Maybeshewasexpectingsomeone.
“Okay,okay,”Isaid,takingherwristsinmyown.“Letmesee.”Ihaddonethisoncebefore,forFaith.Whenshegotcontactsourfreshmanyearofhighschool.Backwhenwetrustedeachotherwiththemostfragilepartsofourselves.Youpokedmyeye.No,youmoved.Tryagain.Andagain,andagain.
Thisgirlheldperfectlystilluntilitwasover,thenblinkedrapidly,givingmethetypeofsuddenhugthatsimultaneouslyrevealedherbloodalcoholcontent.
“Thanks,Avery,”shesaid,butIstillhadnoideawhoshewas.Iblinked,andshewasFaithagain,fallingawayfromme.Butthenshecameintofocus—darkbrownhair,widebrowneyes,somewhereinhertwenties,probably,thoughIwouldn’tbetmoneyonit.Ididn’tknowwhethershewasaresidentoravisitor.Inwhichcontextshehadheardmyname.Icouldn’torientmyselfhere.Nottonight,notwhenwewereallplayingatpeoplewhodidn’texist.
MaybeitwasseeingConnor.Mypastandpresentblurring.Theoldmeandthenewme,bothfightingforthesurface.
“Areyou—”Ibegan,justassomethingbangedagainstthewall,hardenoughtorattlethemirror.
Herheaddartedtotheside.“That’sthesecondtimethathappened,”shesaid.Weheldperfectlystill,listening.Lowvoices,growinglouder.
IrealizedthatwaswhatI’dheardfromdownstairs—notthesoundofsomethingdroppingbutsomethingelse.Adoorslammingshut;afistmakingcontactwiththewall.
Isteppedoutintotheloft,listening,andthegirlcontinuedon,downthestairs.Lightonherfeet,likeaghost.Notinterestedinthesecretshiddenbehindcloseddoors.
Somethingscratchedagainsttheloftwindow,andIjumped,peeringoutintothedarkness.Butitwasjustabranchbrushingagainstthesiding.
Iheadedtotheclosedbedroomdoor,tryingtoworkupmynervetoknock.Ididn’tknowwhatI’dbewalkinginto.
AsIapproached,thedoorswungopen,andawomanbarreledstraightoutoftheroom.
IttookmeamomenttorealizeitwasLuce,wildandunlikeherself.Upclose,hereyeslookeddarkandimperfect,themakeuprunning;herlipsticksmeared,andthestrapofhertopslippedhalfwaydownhershoulder.
Sheslammedthedoorshutbehindherasshereadjustedhertop,backpedalingwhenshesawmethere.Thenherfacesplit,andshelaughedassheleanedinclose.“Whatisitaboutthisplace?”shesaid,andIwassosureI’dsmellsomethingforeignonher,somethingstrangeandunfamiliarthathadtakenherover.Somethingthathadstrippedthefacadeandmadeheroneofus.Hereyeslockedonmine.
RightthenIthoughtshecouldseeeverything:meandParkerinthebathroom;meandConnoronthestairs;everythoughtI’dhad,allsummerlong.Ididn’tknowwhethershemeantthepartyorallofLittleport,butatthatmoment,itfeltliketherewasn’tanydifferencebetweenthetwo.
“Areyouokay?”Iasked,andshelaughed,deepandsharp.Shetookastepback,anditwaslikethelastminutehadn’thappenedatall.ShewasLucianaSuarez,unshakeable.
“Youwouldknowbetterthanme,Avery.”
Iclosedmyeyes,couldfeelParkerstandingovermeinthebathroom,watching.“Letmeexplain—”
Hereyessharpened,asifsomethingnewhadjustshakenlooseandbecomevisible.“You,too?”sheasked.“MyGod.”Sheleanedincloser,herlipspullingbackintoagrinoragrimace.“Ihaveneverseensomanyliarsinoneplace.”
SUMMER
2018CHAPTER16
Intheend,IbackedoutofthedrivewayofOneLandingLanewithnothingmorethatI’darrivedwithsevenyearsearlier:alaptopontheseatbesideme;theboxofthelostandmyluggagetossedintothebackseat;theremainingitemsfromthekitchen,bathroom,anddeskhastilythrownintoafewplasticgarbagebagsthatfitonthefloorboard.Ididn’tevenhavetoopenmytrunk.
SADIE’SSERVICETHEYEARearlierhadbeeninConnecticut,anunseasonablywarmdaywithatraitorousbrightbluesky.
I’dpickedmyoutfitbecauseithadbeenhersfirst,becauseIcouldfeelherbesidemeasIslippedmyarmsintotheshortbellsleevesofthedress,couldimaginethedarkgrayfabricbrushingagainstherlegs.Ithoughtitwouldhelpmeblendin.ButIfelttoolargeinherclothes,thezippercinchingatmywaist,thehemlinemorefestiveonmethanserious,asithadbeenonher.Ifeltthesidewaysglancefromthecouplebesideme,andthefabricprickledmyskin.
Iheardoncethatyoucan’tdreamafaceuntilyou’veseenitinreallife.Thatthefiguresindreamsareeitherrealpeople,orblurryandunformed,thingsyoucan’trecallwhenyouwake.
ButthatdayitfeltlikeImust’vedreamedupthewholetown.Rowafterrowofflat,stiffexpressions.EverywhereIlooked,asenseofdéjàvu.Namesonthetipofmytongue.FacesImust’veconjuredfromSadie’sstoriesofhome.
WheneveryonereconvenedtotheLomans’statelybrick-fronthomeaftertheservice,therewasanoddfamiliaritytoit,likesomethingIalmostknew.MaybeitwasthewayBiancahaddecorated,asimilarfootprinttothehomes.Orafamiliarscent.Thebackgroundofphotosthroughouttheyearsthathadpiecedtogethersubconsciouslyinmymind.SothatIcouldopenadoorandknowwhatwouldbethereinthesecondbeforeitwasrevealed.Onmyright,thecoatcloset.Thethirddoorontheleftdownthehallwouldbethebathroom,anditwouldbeashadeofalmostblue.
Ibelievethatapersoncanbecomepossessedbysomeoneelse—atleastinpart.Thatonelifecanslipinsideanother,givingitshape.Inthisway,IcouldjudgeSadie’sreactionbeforeitoccurred,pictureanexpressioninthesecondbeforeshesharedit.ItwashowIcouldanticipatewhatshewoulddobeforeshedidit,becauseIbelievedIunderstoodhowshethought,andthepushandpullthatwouldleadhertoanygivenmoment—exceptherfinalones.
AsImovedthroughthehouse,theonlypersonIbelievedcouldseethatpossessioninmewasLuce,standingbesideParkerontheothersideofthelivingroom,glassinhand,watchingmeclosely.EversinceParkerhadintroduceduswhentheypulledupinthedrivethatsummer,she’dbeenwatchingme.Atfirst,Ithought,becauseshedidn’tunderstandmyhistorywiththeLomansandthereforeParker.Butlately,Ibelieveditwassomethingelse:thatshecouldsensethingsfromaremove.AsifthereweresomethingIhadbelievedinvisiblethatonlyshecouldseeclearly.
Parkerleaneddowntowhispersomethinginherear,andsheflinched,distracted.Herfacewasstoicassheturnedtofacehim,andIusedthemomenttoslipaway,takingthestepstothesecond-storylanding.Thehallwaywasbrightandairy,evenwiththedarkerwoodfloorsandcloseddoors.IknewassoonasIputmyhandontheknob,secondonedownthehall,thatthisroomwashers.
ButtheinsidewassodifferentthanI’dimagined.Therewererelicsfromchildhoodlingering,likethehorsefigurinesonahighshelf.Photostuckedintotheedgeofherdressermirror—agroupofgirlsImight’veseendownstairs.SadiehadspentherhighschoolyearsataboardingschoolandsummersinLittleport.Herroomwasastemporaryaplaceasany,filledwiththethingsleftbehind,neverfullygrowingwiththepersonwhoreturnedtoiteachtime.
Herquiltwasdesignedinburstsofcolor—purple,blue,green—theoppositeofherbedinLittleport,whichwasallinshadesofivory.Shehadn’tbeenheresincebeforethestartofthesummerseason,butIkeptsearchingforsomesignofher,somethingleftbehind,thatcouldfillthevoidsheonceoccupied.
Iranmyhandovertheridgesofwoodgrainonthesurfaceofherdresser.Thenoverthejewelrybox,monogramedwithherinitials,paintedpeachonwhite.Besideit,apewtertreewaspositionedinfrontofthemirror,itsbranchesbareandcraggy,meanttodisplayjewelryinachild’sroom.Asinglenecklacehungfromthefarthestpoint.Thependantwasrosegold,aswirling,delicateS,andsetwithafinetrailofdiamonds.Iclosedmyfistarounditandfelttheedgespokingintothefleshofmypalm.
“Ialwaysknewyouwereathief.”
Isawherinthemirrorfirst,paleandunmoving,likeaghost.Ispunaround,releasingthenecklace,comingface-to-facewithBianca.Shestoodinthedoorway;herblacksheathdresshitjustbelowherknees,butshewasbarefoot.HertoesflexedwhileIwatched.
“Iwasjustlooking,”Isaid,panicked.TryingdesperatelytoholdontosomethingthatIcouldfeelslippingaway.
Sheswayedslightlyinthedoorway,herfacefracturing,likeshewasovercome—picturingSadiehere,seeingmeinstead,inherdaughter’sroom,inherdaughter’sdress.ButthenIwasn’tsure—whethershewastheonemovingorwhetheritwasme.Shelookedsopale,IthoughtifIblinked,shemightfadeawayintothebone-coloredwalls.
“Wheredoesyourmoneygo,Iwonder?”shesaid,shiftingonherfeet,thehardwoodpoppingbeneathhersoles.Icouldfeelthemoodshifting,theroomchanging—anewwaytochannelhergrief.“Youmakealivingwagedirectlyfromus.Youhavenobills,noexpenses,andIknowexactlywhatwepaidforyourgrandmother’splace.”Shetookastepintotheroom,thenanother,andIfelttheedgeofthedresserpressingintomyback.“Youmayhavehadmyhusbandfooled,butnotme.Isawexactlywhatyouwerefromthestart.”
“Bianca,I’msorry,but—”
Sheputahandout,cuttingmeoff.“No.Youdon’tgettotalkanymore.Youdon’tgettoroammyhouse—myhouse—asifit’syourown.”HereyescaughtonaphotoofSadie,wedgedintothecornerofthemirror.Herfingerhoveredjustoverherdaughter’ssmile.“Shesavedyou,youknow.ToldGrantthatstealingthemoneywasheridea,thatshewastheonlyoneresponsible.ButIknowbetter.”Herhandmovedtothenecklace,thedelicateS,enclosingitinherpalm.
Isetmyjaw.Biancawaswrong.ShebelievedIhadstolenfromtheircompany,takenSadie’sjob,lethertakethefallforit,butitwasn’ttrue.
Inmid-July,overamonthbeforeSadie’sdeath,I’dbeenreconcilingtherentalpropertyfinanceswhenIrealizedthenumbersdidn’tlineup.Thatmoneyhadgonemissing,systematicallyandquietly,andhadneverbeenflagged.
Forabriefmoment,IconsideredaskingSadieaboutitfirst.ButIworriedIwasbeingsetup—allsummerI’dfeltshe’dbeenholdingmeatadistance.Itwasthereminderthateverythinginmylifewassofleeting,sofragile.Thatnothingsogoodcouldlast.
Isummarizedthedetails,passedthemalongtoGrant,didn’tsaywhatIknewtobetrue:Ifitwasn’tme,itwasSadie—whowastechnicallythepersonincharge.Iwasmanythings,butIwasn’tathief.IwouldnotloseeverythingI’dworkedforbecauseofhermisplacedrebellion.
Thefalloutwashandledbehindcloseddoors,andIneveraskedSadieaboutit.SheshutmeoutwhenItriedtomentionit.BackthenIthoughtitwasjustherrecklessness.Likeherfixationondeath—somethingtograbattention.Shewasalwaysstrivingforanedge,seeingwhatshecouldgetawaywith,neverstoppingtoconsiderthecollateraldamage.
Foramonthafterward,she’davoidedme,notrespondingtomytextsormycalls.LatchedherselffirmlyontoafriendshipwithLuce.WithParker,theybecameanimpenetrablegroupofthree.OnemonthandI’dbeencastoutofeverythingI’dknown,asIhadbeenoncebefore.ButIwasolderthistime.Icouldseethingsthreestepsforwardandback,andIknewexactlywhatSadiewoulddowhenpresentedwitheachmove.
Ileftheranote,anapology,besideaboxofherfavoritefudge.Positionedinthecenterofherdesk,soIwassureshe’dseethem.
I’msorry.Iwishitdidn’thavetobethisway.
SoshewouldknowIwasn’tupsetanddidn’tthinkanyworseofher.Iunderstoodher,ofcourseIdid.Anyapologywouldneedtocomefromme.Iwasn’tevensuresheknewhowtoapologize,howtofeelit.Butthatwasthethingaboutlovingsomeone—anapologyonlycountedwhenyouknewtheirflawsandmadeitanyway.
Theverynextnight,shesentmeatext—Avie,we’regoingout,come!—nevermentioningwhathadhappened,andIwasback;everythingwasfine.
She’dknockedonmylivingroomwindow—herfacepresseduptotheglass,hercheekandonehazeleye,crinkledfromlaughter.SheremindedmeofSadieateighteen,andmaybethatwasthepoint.IcouldhearLuceandParkerinthedriveway
ShehadabottleofvodkainherhandwhenIopenedthedoor,andshepulleddownafewglassesfrommycabinetherself,pouredatleasttwoshots’worthintoeach.“Ithoughtweweregoingout,”Parkersaid,standingintheopendoorway
“Weare.Inaminute.Don’tjuststandthere,”shesaid,rollinghereyessoonlyIcouldsee.Lucecrossedtheroom,followingorders,glassraisedtoherlips.
“Wait!”Sadiesaid,handout,andLucefroze.“Waitforeveryone.”Weeachpickedupaglass.“Hear,hear,”Sadiesaid.Sheclinkedherglassagainstmine.Hereyeswerelargeandunblinking,andIbelievedIcouldseeeverythingreflectedinside,everythingsheneversaid.
“Tous,”Lucesaid,andParkerrepeatedinecho.Icouldfeelmyheartbeatinmytoes,myfingers,myhead.Sadiestaredbackatme,waiting.Thesilencestretched,themomentintoxicating.
“There,there,”Isaid,andhersmilecrackedopen.
THENIGHTSHEDIED,shetraipsedintomyroomwithoutathought,orsoitseemedatthetime.We’dbeenbacktonormalfortwoweeks,andIdidn’twanttoshakethefoundation.Ifsomethingwasoff,I’dbeentoofocusedonmyworktonotice.
ButtoBianca,Ihadseteverythinginmotion.I’dgottenSadiefired.Ihadruinedher.Takenherjob.Revealedhertoherparents.Pushedhertothisinevitableoutcome.
StandingacrossfromBianca,IthoughtIfinallyknewtherealreasonSadiehadtakenthatmoney—notasarecklessactofrebellionatall.ItwassomethingshehadsaidafterI’dbeenwelcomedbackintoherlife,whenwewerealloutattheFold.Fromacornerofthebar,ParkerhadSkypedintoaboardmeetinghe’dforgottenabout,withadrinkinhishand,laughingsheepishly.
Parkercangetawaywithliterallyanything.Ican’tevengetaway,Sadiehadsaid.Theclosestshehadcometomentioningthefalloutofhermissteps.
Inretrospect,thatwaswhatIhadmissed.Shewantedout.OutoftheLomans’grip,outofherlife,byanymeanspossible.Out—intothedirectionless,limitlesswild.Soshestockpiledthemoney.Andthatwasn’tmyfaultatall.No,theblamecouldbetracedbackafewmoresteps.
“Youdidthis,”Isaid,steppingtowardBianca,myvoicerising.“Ican’timaginewhatitmust’vebeenlikeforher,growingupinthishouse.”Thesamewaygriefhadtakenholdofmeyearsearlier.ExceptIwasn’tsinkingbutsharpening.Wasn’tchasingsomethingatthebottombutlettingsomethingfreeinstead.
IhadbeenarmedforattackwithallthethingsSadiehadevertoldme.Herwhisperinmyear,oneofthefirstthingsshe’dsaidabouthermother:AllmustworshipattheshrineofBiancaLoman.“Whydoyouthinkshediditthere?”Iasked.“Attheplaceyouweresodesperatetolive?Itwasn’tsafe,isn’tthatwhatGrantthought?Livingsoclosetothebluffs?Butyouinsisted.”Pushandpushuntilsomethingshatters.
“Andnowlook,”Iwenton.Iwasshaking,myexpressionferociousinthemirror.DidSadie’sparentseverseeherforthepersonshewasandnottheonetheyexpectedhertobe?
Bianca’sfacedidnotchange.Amaskoffury.“Out,”shesaid.“Iwantyouout.”
“Yeah,I’mgoing.”Iedgedbyher,butshereachedouttograbme,hercoldfingersfirmonmywrist,hernailsgrazingthesurface,asiftoletmeknowthatshewasonlychoosingnottodrawblood.
“No,”shesaid,“Imeanoutofthisfamily.Outofourhouse.YouarenolongerwelcomeatOneLandingLane.”
HERWORDSHADHELD.ButwhenIreturnedtoLittleportthatnight,noonewastheretotellmetogo.Thedistancemadeeverythinghazyandungrounded.
Noonecalled,noonechecked.Andthetime,likethedistance,onlysoftenedthings.
Icontinuedoverseeingtheproperties,andthemoneycontinuedcomingintomyaccount.
Itwasamistake.Afight,then,likeinanyfamily.Wordsnotholding,emotionthatwouldsettle.
FORNEARLYAYEAR,I’dbeenwonderingifBiancahadreallymeantit.AndnowIknew.
Ieasedmycardownthehill,passingBreakerBeach,headingintodowntown.Likemymother,drivingthroughtown,lookingforareasontostop.Everyearthlypossessioninthecarbesideme.
AsItappedmybrakesatthecrosswalk,Iheardtherattleofmetalunderthepassengerseat.Ireacheddown,felttheedgesofthemetalbox—thekeysthatIhadn’tbroughtbackinsideonmyreturnearlier.
Likeasign.LikeSadie,callingmyname.Alltheghosts,remindingmethatthiswasmyhome.RemindingmeofallthereasonsIstillhadtostay.
THESEAROSEWASsetthreeblocksbackfromthewater,inarowofcloselybuiltone-storyhomeswithpebblesinplaceofgrassyards.Atonepoint,theclusterofhomesmadeupanartists’colony,butnowtheyweremostlyquirkyyetexclusivesecondhomes,occupiedonlyinthesummersoronlongweekendsinthespringandfall—andtheyrarelywentonthemarket.
ItwasaplaceIcould’veimaginedmymotherchoosinginanotherlife.WhereshecouldcarryhersuppliesdowntoBreakerBeachandworkuninterruptedbackatherhouse—thelifeshemust’veenvisionedforherselfwhenshesetoutinhercar.Insteadofthediscordantoneshehadlived—workinginthegallery,raisingme,andpaintingonlyatnight,inthehallowedsilence.Tornbetweentwoworlds—theoneinfrontofherandtheoneinherheadthatshewascontinuallytryingtouncover.
Still,shenevercould’veaffordedaplacelikethishere.
TheLomans’companyoutbidthenearestofferforthepropertybyalmostathirdtocompensateforthefactthatitwouldbeaseasonalrental,butsofar,ithadpaidoff.Beingsoclosetothedowntown,onahistoricstreet,inaplacewhereothersoncecraftedfamouspoemsandart,offsetthesmallersizeandthelackofaview.
Therewerenodrivewayshere,justhomessetbackfromthesidewalkinasemicircle,withfirst-come,first-servedstreetparking.Wecalledthembungalows,butthatwasonlybecausenoonewantedtopaysomuchforacabin.
UnliketheDonaldsons,KatherineAppletonandfriendshadnotfollowedprotocol.Therewasnokeyinthemailbox,andthefrontdoorwasunlocked.Nosurprisethatsomeonehadgotteninsidethenightbefore.Iwasstartingtothinkwhoeverwasmessingaroundatthepropertieswasjustpickingtheeasytargets:ThebrokenwindowlatchattheBlueRobin.TheelectricalboxoutsideattheBreakers.AndKatherineAppletonfailingtolockup.TheonlyhouseIcouldn’tfigureouthowthey’dgotteninsidewasSunsetRetreat.
Thecleanersweren’tscheduledtoarriveuntillaterintheday—therewerenoguestsscheduledforthefollowingweek—butitwasevenworsethanIhadexpectedinside.
Eventhoughitwasmidday,adimnessfelloverthehouse—thecurtainspulledclosed,thetrashbagsinthecorners.Andthesceneleftbehindinthelivingroom,likeaseance.“Jesus,”Isaid,runningmyfingeralongthecounter,thenrecoiling,wipingtheresidueagainstthesideofmyjeans.Thekeywasinthemiddleofthecounter,besidethelaminatedbinder,wheretheymust’vefoundmynumberthenightbefore.Amysteryhowthey’dseenthatyetfailedtonoticethecheckoutprocedure.
Icaughtsightofthecandlesmentionedinthecall,onestillburningonthekitchenwindowsill.Ileanedcloseandblewitout.Therestofthecandleshadbeengatheredinthelivingroom,clumpedtogetherontheendtablesandfireplacemantel,asinsomesortofoccultritual.Therewasnowaythey’dbegettingbackthecleaningdeposit.
Iwasscrollingthroughthecontactinformationonmyphonetosendanemailtothemanwhorentedtheplace—withanoteaboutthestatehisdaughterhadleftitin—whenIsawastackoftwenty-dollarbillsonthecoffeetable.Ipicturedtheguestsopeningtheirwallets,pullingoutthecontents,absolvingthemselvesintheprocess.Asifmoneycouldundoanyslight.
Fanningthroughthebills,IrealizedthesumwasmorethanIwould’veaskedforonmyown.Ideletedtheemailandcalledthecleaningcompanyinstead.“CancelingtheappointmentfortheSeaRosetoday,”Isaid.
ThenIwenttotheclosetbythelaundryroom,pullingoutthesupplies.Istrippedthebeds,threwthesheetsinthewashingmachine,andbeganscrubbingthecountersasthewashran.
Itdidn’ttaketoolong,allthingsconsidered.
Therewasnogarage,butcarslinedthegridofstreetsintheblocksfromheretodowntown.Noonewouldnoticeanextracar.Inoddedtomyself,dragginginthelastofmythings.
Thiswoulddo.
SETTINGMYLAPTOPUPatthekitchentable,IloggedontotheWi-FiandsentGrantanemail,referencingthevoicemailI’dlefthimearlier.Ikeptthingsbusinesslikeandtothepoint,nothingbutfactsandfiguresasIlistedtheissueswiththehouses.Itoldhimaboutthewindowthatwouldn’tlatchatBlueRobin,thegasleakatSunsetRetreat,thepropertydamageatTrail’sEndtheweekearlier,andthereportofsomeoneinthehomefromtheDonaldsons.Iaskedifhewantedmetomakethereplacements—askedifhewantedmetofileareport.
Itoldhim,even,aboutthepoweroutagesupathisproperty.Saidhemightwantsomeonetolookintothat,lethimdecidewhattomakeofitall.
ThenIpulledtheshadesandopenedthefolderonmyscreenwhereI’dcopiedSadie’spictures.Istartedpiecingthroughthemonebyone.LookingforsomethingthatIhadn’tseenthefirsttimearound.Believing,withoutadoubt,thatsomethingterriblehadbeendonetoher.Iclickedthephotosoneafteranother,tryingtoretracethestepsshe’dtakenintheweeksleadinguptoherdeath.
Thepolicehadaccesstothese,too,now,butDetectiveCollinsseemedfocusedonlyonthethingthatwasn’tthere.WhenSadiewasshowingussomethingrighthere—theworld,throughhereyes.
ThereshewaswithLuce,laughing.TherewasParker,bythepool.Theviewofthebluffs,whereshe’dstoodatleastoncebefore.Theshadedmountainroad,withthelightfilteringthroughtheleavesabove.BreakerBeachatdawn,theskyacoolpink.
Next,aphotoofGrantandBiancastandingsidebysideinthekitchen,inthemidstofatoast.BiancalookingupatGrant,herfaceopenandhappy.ThesmilelinesaroundGrant’seyesashestaredoutatthehiddenguests.
AndthenConnor.Connorontheboat,shirtlessandtan.Thepiecethatdidn’tfit.Ikeptcomingbacktothisshot.Theshadowofher,fallingacrosshischest.Astrandofblondhair,blowingacrossthelensassheleanedoverhim.
IzoomedinonConnor’ssunglassesuntilIcouldseeSadieherselfinthereflection.Herbareshoulders,theblackstrapofherbathingsuit,herhairfallingforward,andherphoneheldinfrontofherasshecaughthim,unaware.
CHAPTER17
IknewI’dfindConnoratthedocks,eventhoughmostoftheday’sworkwouldbeover—thecratesweighedandshipped,theboatstieduptothemoorings.Connorwasthetypewhowouldlendahandtowhomeverhappenedtobeworkingdownthere.
Hewascleaninghisboat,currentlytiedtothefarthestpost.Eventurnedaway,hewashardtomiss.Icouldseethesinewofhisbackasheworked,thelate-afternoonsunhittingthecurveofhisshoulders,darkerthanalltherestofhim
Myfootstepsechoedonthedock,andConnorturnedasIapproached,pushingthehairoffhisforehead.
“Youbusy?”Iasked.
“Abit,”hesaid,raginhand.
“IneedtotalktoyouaboutSadie,”Isaid,mywordscarryingintheopenair
Hefrowned,focusingsomewherebeyondmyshoulder.Hedroppedhisrag,thenstarteduntyingtheropeholdinghisboattothedocks.“Getontheboat,Avery,”hesaid,voicelowandunsettling.Likewhenhe’dgetangry.Ishivered.
Iplantedmyfeetonthelastboardofthedock.“No,Ineedyoutoanswermyquestions.Itwon’ttakelong.”
Hestartedtheenginethen,notevenpausingtolookatme.“Askmeontheboat,orwouldyouratherhavethisconversationwithDetectiveCollins?”
Myshoulderstightened,andIstartedtoturn.
“Don’tlook,”hesaid.“He’sheadingthisway.”
Ifelthimcomingthen,intheshudderofthewoodenplanksundermyfeet.Lastyear,whenIwasquestioned,IhadtoldDetectiveCollinsthatConnorandIdidn’ttalkanymore,andthatwastrue.ButhereIwas,face-to-facewithhim,seekinghimout,even—andthedetectivehadprobablyseenus.Iwasn’tsurewhetherhewascomingformeorforConnor,butafterourlastconversation,Ididn’twanttowaittofindout.Hewaslookingintothecase,yes,butheseemedmoreinterestedinhowI’dfoundthephone—asif,oncemore,I’dbeenkeepingsomethingfromhim.
Thatlistofnames,itmeantsomething,though.AndConnorwasonit.He’dtoldmewhenhe’darrivedattheparty,butallIhadtogoonwashisword—andhe’dalreadyliedtomeonce.
Iswallowed,steppingdownontotheboat.Connorofferedahandwithoutlooking,butIsteadiedmyselfontherail,takingtheseatnexttohisbehindthewheel,justashepulledintherope.Heangledtheboatawayfromthedock,norush,likewehadallthetimeintheworld.Buthisjawwasset,andhekepthisgazeonthemouthoftheharbor.
Ididn’tlookbackuntilwewereinlinewiththerocksofthePointtoourright.AndwhenIdid,DetectiveCollinswasstandingthere,justadarkshadowontheedgeofthepier,handsonhiships,watchingusgo.
ITHADBEENAlongtimesinceIwasoutonaboatmadeforfunctioninsteadofcomfort.ThethingConnorpromisedwithhischartersandtourswasauthenticity.Nothinghadbeenchangedforthecomfortofhisguests,butthatwastheexcitement.Thiswasn’tthesameboatwe’dtakenoutwhenwewereyounger—thathadbeenhisfather’s—butthisonewasnewer,andslightlylarger,andcaredformeticulously.
Hecuttheenginewhenwewerestillintheprotectionoftheharbor,withthesteadyriseandfalloftheseabelow,andallyoucouldhearwasthehulldippinginandoutofthewater,thewatergentlylappingagainstthesides.“It’snice,”Isaid,meaningtheboat.
“It’sgoingtoturnsoon,”hesaid,lookingupatthesky,thenbackatthewater.Bothwereinshadesofdarkblue,butthewindblewinfromoffshorewithanunexpectedchill.Fallstormsapproachedlikethat,withacoldercurrentfromboththeskyandthesea.“Whatisityouwantedtoaskme,Avery?”Hesatacrossfromme,barefeetandkhakishorts,armslungonthebackoftheseat,everywordandmannerismchosenwithcare.LikehewaspretendingtobethepersonIthoughtIknew.
Iknewthedangersofthewater,hadknownthemhalfmylife,growinguphere.ButIhadnotconsideredthedangersinsideotherpeople.Thatkeptmefromtrustingmyself.WonderingwhatelseI’dgottenwrong.
“Yourpicturewasonherphone,”Isaid,circlingcautiouslyratherthanaskingoutright.
Hiseyesnarrowed,buthedidn’tmove.“Whatphone?”
“Sadie’sphone.Theyfoundit.Ifoundit.AttheBlueRobin.”IwatchedhimcarefullyasIspoke,lookingforatellinhisexpression.
Hisfaceremainedimpassive,buttheriseandfallofhischestpaused—hewasholdinghisbreath.“When?”
“WhenIwenttochecktheproperty,afterthebreakin.”
Hiseyebrowsrosesharply.“YoumeanwhenIwastherewithyou?”Hisvoicedroppedlower,andIknewI’dstruckanerve.Ididn’tanswer,andheclosedhiseyes,shakinghishead.“Idon’tknowwhatyouexpectmetosay.”
“Iexpectyouto…Iwantyoutotellmethetruth,”Isaid,myownvoicerising.Toanyonenearby,itwould’vesoundedlikeaone-sidedconversation:me,growinglouder;Connor,fallingsofter.Bothofusonedge.“Youtoldmeatthehousethatyouweren’tseeingher.Butyourpictureisinherphone.Andyouwereonthisboattogether.Someonesawyoulastyear,whichIguessyoucould’vetriedtoexplainaway,butSadiehadyourpicture.Whyelsewouldshetakeyourphotoifshedidn’t…”Itookadeepbreath,saidwhatI’dcomeheretosay.“Youlied,Connor.Youliedtothepolice,andyouliedtome.”
“Don’tgetallsanctimoniousonme,Avery.Notyou.”Hislipcurled,andhestoodabruptly,pacingthesmallopendeck.Wewerealoneonaboatinthemiddleoftheharbor.Ilookedaroundforothervessels,butConnorhadpickedasecludedarea.Toanyoneelse,wewerejustablurinthedistance,astheyweretous.“Itoldthepolicethis,”hesaid.“Shepaidmetotakeheroutonce,foratour.That’sall.”
“Yournumberisinherphone.Withanasterisk.Tryagain.”
Hestoppedpacing,fixedhiseyesonmine.“Once,”hesaid.“Justonce,”herepeated,likehewasbeggingmetounderstandsomethingmore.ButIwasn’tcatchingon.Heranahandthroughhishair,squintedattheglareofsunoffthewater.“Shefoundmeonthedocks.Calledmebyname,likesheknewwhoIwasalready.”
“Shedidknow,”Isaidquietly.
Henodded.“Sheaskedhowmuchitwouldbetotakeheronaprivatetour.”Hefrowned.“Idon’tliketodoprivatetourssomuch,honestly.Notjustoneperson,andnotsomeonelikeher.”
“Likewhat?”
Hewidenedhiseyes,likeIknewbetter,andIdid.“But,”hecontinued,“shetoldmeafriendhadgivenhermyname.Iassumeditwasyou.”Hisgazemetmine,waiting,andIshookmyheadjustslightly.“Youdidn’tgivehermynumber?”heasked.
“Ididn’t.”Helookedoutattheseaagain,likehewasthinkingsomethingthrough.“Yougaveherthetour?”Iasked,dragginghisattentionback.
“Yeah.Ididitrightthen.Shehadthecashonher,morethanIusuallywould’vecharged,butIwasn’tgonnacomplain.Sheaskedmetotellherabouttheislands,allthestoriesfromthechartertours,youknow?”Heshrugged.“Guessthat’swhyshecametome.”
Theseweretheislandsthelocalsescapedtowhenwewantedtogetaway.Anchoringtheboatoffshoreandswimmingthefinalfewmeterswiththecurrent.Oneofthemhadanoldcabin,deterioratedandrotted,onlythewallsleftstanding,lastIsaw.Butatonepointsomeonehadcarriedinthestoneandthewoodandmadethemselvesasecrethome.ConnorandFaithandIspentoneeveningthere,waitingoutastorm.
“Wheredidyoutakeher?”Iasked.
“Itookhertothree.ThetwoinShipBottomCovefirst,becausethetouristsusuallyliketoseethose.Butshewantedonethatshecouldexploreherselfofftheboat,saidshe’dheardtherewereplentyofhiddenplaces.SowewenttotheHorseshoe.”Ifeltmyjawtensingashespoke.“Istayedontheboat,”hesaid,asifheneededtodefendhimselffromtheimplication.
TheHorseshoewaswhatthelocalscalledthehorseshoe-shapedbandofrockandtreesthatatonepointhadbeenconnectedtolandbyabar,atlowtide—sowentthestories.Thewavesbrokeovertheriseoflandyoucouldn’tsee,creatingashelteredcove,whichmadeitafavoriteofkayakersandlocalsalike.Anyconnectinglandhadlongsincedisappeared,butweusedtotellstoriesoftravelerstrappedtherewhenthetidecamebackin.
“Sheswamthere,though?”Iasked,confused.Sadiedidnotlikecoldwater.Orsharpsun.Oruncertaincurrents.Shedidnotlikebeingalone.
“Yeah,well,shewadedouttoit,justhadasmallbackpackwithher,figureditheldherphone,maybeatowel.Itwaslowtide,andIanchoredthere,itwaseasyenough.Butshewasgonesolong,Itookanap.Iprobablywould’vebeenworriedifIhadn’tfallenasleep.Iwokeuptothesoundofacamera.Shewasstandingoverme,inherbathingsuit,shiveringfromthecold.”Heranhishandthroughtheair,likeheknewtheoutlineofher.Likehe’dcommittedittomemory.
Butnoneofthismadesense.WhywouldSadieneedtocomeouthere,withConnor?Icould’vetoldheranythingshewantedtoknowaboutthesespots.Iwould’vecomeoutherewithhermyself.Toldherthestories,notonlyaboutthehistoryoftownbutaboutmyown.Listenedtoherlaughatmystoriesofgettingstranded;watchedhereyeswidenatthetimewetriedandfailedtosneakaboatbacktothedocksatdawn.ThepartsofLittleportonlyIcouldshowher,provingmyownworth.Didyougetintrouble?Icouldimagineherasking.FeelmysmileasItoldherwedidn’t.WewerekidsofLittleport,andyouprotectedyourown.
Sadiemayhaveforgivenmeforturningherintoherfather,butshestillhadn’ttrustedme—notwiththis.She’dcomeherealone.Withouttellinganyofus—somethingshe’dkeptsecret.Somethingthatwould’veremainedthatway,ifGregRandolphhadn’tseenherandConnortogether.
“That’sit?”
“That’sit,”hesaid,jawset.ButIdidn’texpecthe’dtellmethetruth,notafterallthistime.“Idon’tknowwhyshetookmypicture.”Hepressedhislipstogether.“Iknowbetterthantogetinvolvedwithafamilylikethat.”Hegavemealook,asifIshould’veunderstoodthis,too.“ThisiswhyItoldthepolicenothing.Becausejustonething—oneprivatetour—andsuddenly,I’mdraggedintothiswholemess.”
“Thiswholemess?She’sdead,Connor.”Myvoicebrokemidsentence.
Heflinched.“I’msorry,Avery.”
“Shehadyournumber.”
“Shecalledmeafter.Ididn’tpickup.Ididn’tlike…Itwasweird,okay?Whyshewasthere,whatshewantedwithme.Whyshetookmypicture.Icouldn’tfigureitout.AtfirstIthoughtyouhadsenther,but…”
Hehadananswerforeverything.Quickwithanexplanation—andyet.Sadiewasouthereintheweekbeforeherdeath.IfConnorwastellingthetruth,whatcouldshepossiblyhavebeenlookingfor?
“Canyoutakemethere?”
Henarrowedhiseyes,notunderstanding.
“Totheisland.Please.Willyoutakemethere,too.”
OUTSIDETHEPROTECTIONOFtheharbor,thewavesdipped,andthesprayofthewatercoatedmyarms,thebackofmyneck,ashecutapathtothearcoflandinthedistance.
Therewasnowaytoavoidthepastaswegotnearer.Timesnappingcloserasthelandmassgrewlarger.Itwastheplacewe’dcomesevenyearsearlier,justbeforethestartofthesummerseason.
Connorhadshownupatmygrandmother’shouse.“Comeon,”he’dsaid.Ihadn’tleftthehouseintwodays.Ihadn’tslept,myhandswereshaking,thehousewasamess.
Whenwesteppedoffthedockontohisfather’sboat,Iasked,“IsFaithcoming?”
“Nah,”hesaid,“justus.”Andthewayhesmiled,keepinghiseyescastdown,toldmeeverything.
Beforemygrandmotherdied,itwaswherethingsweresliding.Connorandme.Aninevitabilitythateveryonecouldseecomingbutus.Theknowinglooksthatwe’drailedagainstourentirelives.Aswegrewolder,aplayfulnudgewithashoulderorahip,awryjokeandafakelaughandarolloftheeyes.Andthenonedayheblinkedtwice,andrefocused,anditwaslikehewasseeingsomethingnew.Isawsomethingreflectedinhiseyes—ofwhatelsemightbepossible.
Thetouchofhishandbecamemoredeliberate.Aplaykissinfrontofeveryonelatethatlastfall,whenweweredrinkingdownonBreakerBeach,whilehebentmeback,andhiseyessparkledinthebonfireashelaughed.AndI’dsaid,That’sit?That’severything?That’swhatI’vebeenwaitingforalltheseyears?Andtookoffdownthebeach,beforehecouldcatchme,myheartpounding.
Whenhesaid,hourslater,You’vebeenwaiting?
Sowe’dcomeherewithacoolerofbeerandtakeoutfromthedeliandablanket,wadingouttotheislandtogether,gearheldoverourheadstokeepdry.WenevergottothefoodorthedrinksbecauseIknewexactlywhatthiswas,andtherewastoomuchinthelead-up.ButIwasn’tcapableoffeelinganythingthen,justmyownbitterness.Adisappointmentthat,eventhen,hewantedsomethingfromme.Howhecouldn’tseethatIwassofarbeneaththesurface,hemightaswellhavebeenanyone.
Iwasatightballofresentmentwhenhecameovertwodayslaterwithalopsidedsmile,thinkingsomehowthatthisfixedeverything:notonlymebutus.EvenworsewasthenewfearI’donlyjustuncovered,thatmaybehelikedmethisway—watchingmeslidetotheedgeandunravel,sohecouldmakemebackintothepersonhedesired.Itwasthebeginningandalsotheend.
Connoranchoredtheboatoffshorenow,turningofftheengine.Bothofuslookingatthemixoftreeandrockandpebbledshorebeforeusinsteadofateachother.
IpicturedSadiestandinghere,inherwide-brimmedhat,decidingtostripherselfdownandwadeouttotheisland.Thegoose-bumpprickleoverherskin.Thered-pinktonewherethecoldtouchedherflesh.Thesoftnessofherfeetonthecrudeshore.Thedeterminationthathadbroughthertothismoment.
Ipulledmyshirtovermyhead,andConnornarrowedhiseyes.
“I’llberightback,”Isaid.
“Thetideisup.You’llhavetoswim,”hesaid.
ButIcontinuedundressing,andhelookedaway,openingthebenchseatandpullingoutoneoftheorangeflotationdevices.We’dstrippeddowntoourunderwearinfrontofeachotherahundredtimessincewewerekids,wheneverwewereoutonthewater.I’dneverfeltself-consciousaboutituntilhelookedaway.NeverusedtothinkofmyselfincomparisontoSadieuntilIsawusboththroughConnor’seyes.
Igrabbedtheorangeflotationdevicehastilyandjumpedstraightin,theshockofcoldseizingeverythinguptomyribcageasmytoesbrushedtherockyshore.
“Okay?”Connorcalledfromabove.Imust’veletoutagasp.
Ihadtoslowmybreath,justtorelaxthemusclesaroundmylungs.“Fine,”Isaid,usingtheflotationdeviceasakickboard,lettingthecurrentpushmetherestofthewaytoshore.
ITHADBEENSEVENyearssinceI’dsteppedfootontheisland,thoughIcouldalwaysseeitinthedistanceonaclearday:acopseofdarktrees.Theterrainwasroughinperson.Arockybeachgivingwaytothehard-packeddirtandthegreenofthetrees.Thehorseshoeshapecreatedasmallprotectedcove,sokayakswouldoftenstopheretorest.Buttherewerenootherboatsherenow.
Therewasevidenceofpeoplewhohadbeenhere,though—glassbottleshalfburiedintherocksthatlinedthedirtandroots.Alogthathadbeendraggedoverandfashionedintoabenchattheedgeofthebrush.Therewasanovergrowntrailfrombackwhentheislandhadadock.
IshiveredasIwalkedthepaththatIimaginedSadietaking.Mystepsinhersteps.Thethornyroots,thesharpedgesofrocks,thebranchesreachingforherlegs.
Ifeltaprickonmyshin,sawabeadofbloodrollingtowardmyankle,nickedfromaloosevine.ConnorsaidSadiehadbeeninherbathingsuit.Wouldshehavekeptgoing,barefootandbare-legged?Herunmarredskin,thefactthatshecouldn’tevenstandwalkingbarefootonhotpavement—Icouldn’timagineit.Couldn’timaginewhatwouldhavedrivenherhereinthefirstplace.
Shehadabackpack,acamera—didshethinktherewassomethinghereworthfinding?Asecretworthholding?Didsheseesomethingsheshouldn’thavewhileshewashere?
Theterrainwastoounyielding.Shewouldn’thavekeptgoing,notifshedidn’thaveto—butConnorsaidshe’dbeengoneawhile.Inherbathingsuit,withabackpack.
Istoppedwalking.Orwasitsomethingshewasbringing?Lotsofhiddenplaces,she’dtoldConnor.That’swhatshewaslookingfor.
Asafeplacetohidesomethingofherown.
Itracedmystepsbacktotheclearing,spunaround,myeyescatchingonthemakeshiftbenchoncemore.
Theloghadbeenpartiallyhollowedout,andIdroppedtomyhandsandkneesbesideit,peeringinside.Therewasmossgrowingontheunderside,insectsandthingsIdidn’twanttothinktoohardabout.ButIreachedmyhandintothedarkandfelttheslicknessandrustleofplastic.Ishuddered,imaginingwhatmightbeinside.
ItscrapedagainstthebaseasIpulleditout.Therewasalayerofsludgeandgrimecoveringthesurface,butitwasaplasticfreezerbag,airtightandwatertight.Maybesomeone’strashbutmaybenot.
Iwipedoffthemudwithmybarehands,openedthetop,andsawabrownwoodenboxinside,likesomethingthatwouldholdanecklace.Itremaineddry.Idraggedmyhandsagainsttheedgeofthelog,tryingtocleanthem.ThenIopenedthetopofthebox.Setinthemidstofthemaroonliningwasasilverflashdrive,coldtothetouch.
Thetreesrustledinthewind,andIlookedovermyshoulder,feelingthechillriseupmyneck.
Sadiehadbeenhere.Icouldfeelher,inthissamespot,openingherbackpack,pullingoutthisbag.Icouldseeherreachinganarmintothehollowedlog,nosescrunched,eyespinchedshut,holdingherbreath.
Why,Sadie?
Whyhere?Whyacrosstheexpanseofasea,insidealog?Whatsortoffearcould’vedrivenherhere—tothislevelofsecrecy?Wherethewallsofherhomewerenotenough?Aplace,Ihadoncethought,withnolocks,nosecrets.
IwishedIhadsomethingtohidethisinsidenow.Pockets,clothes,awaytokeepitformyself.Buttherewasnowaytoswimbacktotheboat,nowaytokeepithiddenwithoutConnorseeing.He’dtoldmethetruth,atleast—maybenotallofit,butenoughtogetmehere.Toher.
Hewouldn’thavebroughtmehereifhetrulyhadsomethingtohide,right?
CONNORWASWATCHINGASIwadedouttowardhim,holdingthefreezerbagontopoftheflotationdevice.
“What’sthat?”heasked,reachingahanddownforme.
“Notsure.”Idrippedwaterontotheboat,shivering,andlookedforatowel,butConnoralreadyhadoneoutonthebenchforme.
“Isthathers?”
“Notsure,”Irepeated,leaningoverhimforthetowel.“There’saflashdriveinside,though,andIcan’tfigureoutwhyelseitwouldbeouthere.”
Hishandtouchedmystomach,andIflinched.Buthisfingersdidn’tmove.Hisgazewasfixedonthespotjustabovemyunderwear,ontheinsideofmylefthip.Isteppedback,shakinghimoff,andhefrowned.“Whydoyouhavethat?”
Ilookeddowntowherehisgazewasfocused.“It’satattoo,Connor.”
“It’sthesameasSadie’s.”
Mystomachtwisted,andagainIwonderedifhewasplayingme.Howhewouldhavenoticedthatsoclearlyifhe’dseenheronlytheonetime.
Once,justonce,he’dsaid.Asshestoodoverhiminherbathingsuit.“Iknow.Wegotthemtogether.”
Sadiewasallpalepinkskinthatfreckledinthesummer.Shewaswide-brimmedhatsandoversizesunglassesandSPF50ineverylotionsheused;acollectionoffrecklesonherforearmsthatalmostlookedlikeatanfromadistance.Iwasacolorthatborderedonolive,eveninthewinter,likemymother.Ineverhadtoworryaboutthesummersunthisfarnorth.TheonlysimilaritybetweenmeandSadiewasthecolorofoureyes,ashadeofhazel.Andthisink,bindingustogether.
ButConnorwasshakinghishead.“Butwhythat.”
Sadiehadpickedit.Droveusouttotheshopthedayshereturned,oursecondsummer.“Incompleteinfinity,”Itoldhim.Becausetherewasnothingthatlastedforever.Theendsofthesymbolstretchedtowardeachotherbutnevermet.Thecurvedline,loopingwithpromise,truncatingatapoint—soIcouldn’tlookatitwithoutfeelingayearning,too.
Connor’sheaddriftedtothesideasheleanedevencloser.“AllIseeistheletterS.”
CHAPTER18
Duskbegantosettleontherideback.AllIcouldthinkabout,withthethintowelwrappedaroundme,wastheshapeofthetattoo.TheshapeoftheSofSadie’snecklace,leftbehindinherroominConnecticut.Thegoldedgeslinedwithdiamonds,diggingintomypalm.
Doyoutrustme?she’daskedwhenshefoundmewaitingforheronthebluffs.AndIdid.Whatotherchoicewasthere?Ihadbeenadriftandalone,andthenIchosesomethingelse.Ichoseher.Thatday,shedroveusstraightupthecoasttothetattooparlor.She’dhadthedesignready,somethingshehadthoughtaboutallwinter,Ihadbelieved.Somethingthatwouldbepermanentlyetchedontobothourbodies,bondingustogether—forinfinity,oraslongasourbodiesshouldlast.
HowmanytimeshadIfeltanotherpersontracingthelines,toldthemwithconfidence:Nothinglastsforever.Meaning:Notyou,notme,notthis.
IbelievedithadbondedmenotonlytoSadiebuttomyplaceintheworld.Givenmeapurpose,areminder.
Butthenecklace.TheoneI’dfoundwhenBiancacaughtmeinSadie’sroom—Istrainedtoseeitclearlyinmymemory—theloopingS,theedgescurlingtowardeachother—
Connorcuttheboatsharplytotheright,soIhadtogriptherailing.AllthatremainedwereConnor’swarningwords—andthiscreepingrealizationthatmaybeIhadbrandedmyselfnotwithapromiseofwhoIwouldbebutwhoshewasfromthestart.
Igrippedthejewelryboxtightinmyhandasweveeredawayfromthemouthoftheharbor,wherethewaterfunneledandcalmedallatonce.Wewereheadingnorth,towardopensea.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Icalledtohisback,butmywordswereswallowedupbythewind.
Connorkepttheboatheadingdiagonally,andasthesundippedbelowthebluffsinthedistance,Iknewexactlywhathewasdoing.Hecuttheengineabruptly,andIleanedforwardfromthechangeinmomentum.NotConnor,though.Heneverbrokestrideashewalkedacrosstheboat,droppingintotheseatbesideme.
Myearsbuzzedfromthechangeofequilibrium—thesuddenstillness,withouttheragingwind.Wewereatthewhimofthecurrent,thecreakingofthehullbelowusaswemoveduntetheredinthewaves.Inthedistance,onthebluffs,onehousegrewbrighterastheskyturnedadustyblue,plummetingtonight.
“Iremembersittinghereatnightwithyou,”Connorsaid,feetupandcrossedattheankles.“SoIthinkifanyoneshouldbeaskingquestionshere,it’sme.”
Igesturedmyfreehandtowardhim,tryingtokeepitfromshaking.“Itwasalongtimeago,Connor.”
“So,”hesaid,“wasiteverythingyouimagined?”
Ishookmyhead.“It’snotlikethat.”
“No?It’snoteverythingyouhopeditwouldbe?”
“No,Imean,it’snotwhatyou’rethinking.”
Thosesummerswhenwewerefifteen,sixteen,seventeen,sometimesatnight,we’dtakehisdad’sboatfromtheharbor,justbeyondthebluffs.Anchoredhere,farenoughoffshore,youcouldwatchtheminthedark,andnoonecouldseeyoudoingit.
Theyweren’tcloseenoughtoseeclearly,butitwasenough:Thegirlintheupper-rightwindow,staringout.Shadowsbehindthescreens.Bodiesmovingintimetosomerhythmwecouldn’tunderstand,onoppositesidesofadoor.Onoppositeendsofthehouse.Everylighton,everyshadepulledopen—theywereabeaconinthenight,callinguscloser.
Sheseesus,I’dsaid,sosurefromthewayshewasstandingthere,lookingout.
Notpossible,Connorhadpromised.Thelightfromtheboatwasout.Wewereinvisible,asweweretaughttobe.
IfIlivedthere,Iwouldn’tspendalldaystaringout
IfIlivedthere,I’dhangsomecurtainsalready,hesaid,laughing.
Wewatchedtheirlivesfromadistance.Imaginingwhattheyweredoing,whattheywerethinking.Wewerecaptivatedbythem.
SowhenConnoraskedifitwaseverythingIhopeditwouldbe,Iknewwhathewasthinking—thatIhadwormedmywayintotheirlives,becomethethingIonceonlyimagined.
Icouldalmostforgivehimtheimplication.Thetattooonmybody,thewayIwaslivingupthere.ThewayIseemedtoslideintoherlife.Iwasfollowingtheghostofherfootstepsevennow.“Itwasacoincidencethatwemet,”Isaid.“ShewalkedinonmeinthebathroomwhenIwasworking.Evelynhiredme.”ItwaswhatI’dalwaysbelieveduntilEricatoldmesomeonefromtheLomanhousehadrequestedmetoworkthatparty.Butthatdidn’tmakesense.
“Andyet,”hesaid.
Andyetherewewereagain,inaplacewehadn’tbeentogetherinyears.“Didyoueverseemeinthere?”Iwonderedthenifhehadcontinuedonwithoutme.
Hecuthiseyestomebriefly,buthedidn’tmovehishead.“Idon’twatchpeople,Avery.I’vegotbetterthingstodo.”
“Thenwhatthehellarewedoingherenow?”
“BecauseIwasasuspectuntilanotewasfound,andI’vebeenlivingunderacloudforalmostayear.I’msickofit.Idon’tknowwhat’sthetruthanymore.”
Iblinkedslowly,takingasteadybreath.“Idon’tknowanythingmorethanyoudo.I’mtheonewhotoldyouaboutthephone.”
Heshiftedtofaceme,onelegtuckeduponthebenchseat.“Youknow,justbecauseyoudon’ttalktousanymoredoesn’tmeanpeopledon’ttalkaboutyou.”
“Iknow.I’vehearditall.”
Hetiltedhisheadbackandforth,asifeventhatwasupfordebate.“Mostpeopleseemedtothinkyou’refuckingthebrother.Orthefather.”Hesaiditsharpandcruel,likeheintendedtohurtmewithit.“Isayyou’resmarterthanthat,butwhatdoIknow.”
“Iwasn’t.I’mnot.”
Heraisedhishands.“Faithalwaysthoughtitwasthesister,”hecontinued.“ButItoldheryouonlywantedherlife.Nother.”Hedroppedhishandsabruptly.“Anyway,mostlyshewasjustpissedatyou,sonoonereallylistened.”
Mystomachsqueezed,hearinghiswords.EventhoughI’dimaginedthem,heardthewhispers,gottentheimplicationfromthesnidecomments—likeGregRandolph’s.Itwasdifferenthearingthemfromsomeonewhoknewme,fromthepeoplewhoonceweremyclosestfriends.“It’snottrue.Anyofit.”
Henarrowedhiseyes.“Icoveredforyouoncebefore,youknow.ToldthepoliceitwasanaccidentwhenyoupushedFaith.”
Iflinched,thoughhehadn’tmoved.“Itwasanaccident.Ididn’tmeantohurther.”
“Iwasthere,Avery.Isaw.”Inthedusk,Icouldn’treadhisexpression.Everythingwasfallingdeeperintoshadows.
Iclosedmyeyes,seeingherfallinmymemory.Feelingthesurgeinmybones,asIhadbackthen.Therage,fightingitswaytothesurface.“Itwasjust…Ididn’tknowshewouldtrip.”
Hiseyesgrewlarger.“JesusChrist.Sheneededsurgery.Twopinsinherelbow,andGod,Icoveredforyou,evenaftereverything.”
“I’msorry,”Isaid,mythroatcatchingontheword.Itneededtobesaid,nowandthen.“Backthen,youshouldknow,Iusedtothinkaboutdying.Allthetime.”Ithoughtofthejournal,thethingsIhadwritten;thenightmareofmylife.“Idreamedaboutit.Imaginedit.Therewasnoroomforanythingelse.”
“Youwantedtodie?”hesaid,likeithadneveroccurredtohim.
“No.Idon’tknow.”But,theblade.ThelistofthingsIhaddone—leaningforwardfromthelighthouse,fallingasleepattheedgeofthewater—thetimehehadfoundmeonBreakerBeach,drinkingsoIwouldn’thavetomakeadecisioneitherway.
Saltwaterinmylungs,inmyblood.Abeautifuldeath,Ihadbelieved.
ButithadbeenSadie’sdeathinstead,andtherealityofitwashorrible.AllIcouldgivehimwasthetruth.“Itwasabadtime.”
Hesighed,ranhishandthroughhishair.“Iknow.Iknewitwasbadtiming.”Hesawittheotherway—thatitwashisfault.Timing,nottime.“Youweren’tyourself.”ExceptIwas.Inonewayoranother,Iwasnevermoremyselfthanrightthen.Desperately,terrifyingly,unapologeticallymyself.AndI’djustdiscoveredthepowerofit,howitwreakeddestruction,notonlyonmyselfbutonothers.
“WhenIsawyouonthebeach,”hecontinued,“Iwantedtodie,too.”Asmirktosoftenthetruth.
“Ididn’tgotheretohurtyou.SomenightsI’dsleepoutthere.”
“Iknow.That’swhyIwentthere.Youweren’thome,andIwasworried.”
Theyhadjustshownup.Twoguys,abonfire.Iknewthem,ayearolder,butIknewthemthroughConnor.“Everythingjustwenttohell.”
Ithoughtofthatjournal,howfastIwassinking,atthewhimofsomecurrentIcouldn’tsee.
Hesighed,thenspokequietly,asifsomeoneelsemightbelisteningin.Thatdetective,somewhereonthedarkbeachinthedistance,watchingus.“Ineedtoknow,Avery.Whatroleyou’replayinghere.It’snotjustyourlife,yougetthat?It’smine,too.”
Ididn’tunderstandwhathewasimplying.“I’mnot—”
“Stop.”Hisentirebodychanged,nolongerfeigningnonchalance.Everythingonhighalert.“ThepolicekeptaskingwhyIwastherethatnight,attheparty.AndIdidn’tknowwhattosay.”
“Whywereyouthere?”
“Areyoukiddingme?”Hiseyeswentwide.“Yousentmetheaddress.Whydidyouwantmethere?”
“Ididn’t.”Ipulledoutmyphone,confused,eventhoughthiswasayearago.
“Youdid.Yousentmetheaddress.Listen,”hesaid.Heleanedforward,closeenoughtotouch.“It’sjustmeandyouhere.Noonecanprovewhatyousaytomerightnow.ButIhavetoknow.”
Ishookmyhead,tryingtounderstand.“Itmust’vebeenSadie,”Isaid.
ThesamewayI’djustaccessedherphone.Icheckedthepasswordsettingsonmyownphonenow.She’dprogrammedherthumbprint,justasI’ddoneonhers—we’ddoneittogether,yearsearlier.Becausewesharedeverything,foryears.Andwhenthatchanged,we’dforgottentoredefinetheboundaries.
NowIwaspicturingSadiegettingConnor’snumberfrommyphone.AndthensendinghimatextaboutthePlus-Onefromme.Shewantedhimatthepartythatnight.Whichmeantshewasplanningtobethere,too.
“Itwasfromyournumber,”hesaid,hishandbracedonthebenchbetweenus.
“Ididn’tsendyouthattext,Connor.Iswearit.”Andyethehadshownup,thinkingitwasme.Itwasastartlingconfession.ButConnoralwayssawthebestpossibilitiesinpeople.
“It’snotover,Avery.”
“Iknowthat.”
“Doyou?Collinsquestionedme,sure.ButI’mnottheonlyonetheywanttoknowabout.Notbackthen,andnotnow.”Eveninthedark,Icouldfeelhiseyesonthesideofmyface.Ipicturedthatlist.TheoneI’dbeenfillingintomakesenseofthings.Butalso:theoneDetectiveCollinshadslidinfrontofmetheveryfirstday.He’dwrittenouteachname.Avery.Luciana.Parker.Connor.Alistofsuspects.
Minewasfirstonthatlist.He’dpracticallytoldmefromthestart:You
AndI’dgonestraighttohimwiththephone,hopinghe’dreopenthecase.
“Didyoutellthepoliceaboutthetextfromme?”Iasked.
“No.Ididn’tmentionit.”Hiseyesslidtotheside.“Ididn’tmentionyouatall.Sodon’tworry.”
“Whynot?”
“MaybeI’mabetterpersonthanyou.”Heshookhishead.“Ilovedyouonce.”Changinghistunebutprovingthefirstcommenttrueintheprocess.
“Youhatedme,too,”Isaid.
Hegrinnedtightly.“Idon’tevenknowwhoI’mtalkingtoanymore.Whatyou’relike.”
AnechoofGreg’sthoughts,claimingIwasSadie’smonsterinsteadofsomeonefullyformed.Therewerepiecesofotherswhogaveeveryoneshape,ofcoursetherewere.Forme:mymother,myfather,mygrandmother,ConnorandFaith,even.Andyes,Sadie.SadieandGrantandBiancaandParker.Howbizarretoexpectapersontoexistinavacuum.Butmorethananyofthem,Iwasaproductofhere.OfLittleport.SameasConnor,besideme.
“Idon’tliveupthereanymore,”Isaid.Heturnedhisheadquickly,insurprise.“Longstory.”
Heleanedback.“I’vegotnowhereelseIneedtobe.”
Itriedtothinkofsomethingtogivehim.Somethingtrue,thatwouldmeansomethingtohim.IpicturedSadie,standingbehindmeinthewindowofherbedroom—andhowwe’dseenherstandingtherebefore,lookingout.“Atnight,fromtheinside,”Itoldhim,“theonlythingyoucanseeisyourownreflection.”
Aswewerewatchingthehouse,thelightsshutoffunexpectedly,allatonce.Notlikesomeonewasflippingtheswitchesonebyone.Likeapoweroutage.EverywhereIlooked,darkness.
“AndIstillgetseasickatnight.”Asiftherewereonethingthatcouldbridgethetime.Aplacetostart.
“Keepyoureyesfixedonsomething,”hesaid.
“Iremember.”HehadsaidthesamethingtomewhenI’dgottensickovertheside.Buttherewasonlythelighthouseinthedistance,andthebeamoflightkeptcircling,appearingandvanishingasitmoved.
IscannedthedistanceforasteadyobjectasConnorstartedtheengineagain.
There.Onthebluffs.Aflashoflightinthedark.Neartheedge,movingawayfromtheLomanhouse,downthecliffpath.
Anotherperson,watching.Moving.Someonewasthere.
“Connor.Someone’supthere.Watching.Youseethat,right?”
“Iseeit,”hesaid.
CHAPTER19
ThetwinklingglowoflightsalongHarborDrivecameintoviewaswenearedshore.ThelightsofLittleport,steadyingme—guidingmeback.Thedockswereemptyatthishour,nomoreworkersmillingabout.Justahandfulofvisitorsoutforastrollafterdinner
HowmanytimeshadSadieandIbeenouttheretogether,imaginingourselvesalone?WalkingbacktowardLandingLane,thesoundofthewavesaswepassedBreakerBeach.Notnoticingthepeoplearoundwhomightbewatching.Laughterinthenight,stumblinginthemiddleofthestreet—oblivioustothefactthatsomeonecould’vebeenlurkingaroundtheirhouse.Blindedtothetruedangersthatsurroundedus.
Nottetanus,sepsis,oramisstepneartheedge.Notawarningtobecareful—Don’thurtyourself—andahandatmyelbow,guidingmeback.
Butthis.Someoneoutthere.Watching,andwaiting,untilshewasleftallalone.
IHOPPEDOUTOFtheboatasConnortiedusuptothedock,checkingtomakesurethedetectivewasn’tanywhereinsight.“Avery,”Connorcalled,“youtellmewhat’sonthat.”Henoddedattheboxtuckedundermyarm.
Iwastremblingwithcold,thedriedsaltwatercoarseagainstmyskin,myhairstiffattheedges.Thegroundshiftedbeneathmyfeet,asifwewerestilloutonthewater.Inthedistance,thelighthouseflashedoverthedarksea.Ijustwantedtogethome,getwarm.“Iwill,”Isaid—buthonestly,thatdependedonwhatIfound.
WHENIGOTBACKtomycar,Ihadamissedcallandvoicemail.Thesoundofathroatclearingandthenaman’svoice,professionalandserious.“Avery,it’sBenCollins.Iwashopingtorunintoyoutoday,wantedtocheckinonsomethings.Givemeacallwhenyougetachance.”
Ihitdelete,storedhisnumberinmyphone,anddrovetowardtheresidentialsectionbehindBreakerBeach.IdecidedtoparkafewblocksfromtheSeaRoseandwalk,justincasethedetectivewasstillprowlingthestreets,lookingforme
AsIwalkedthetwoblockstowardthecircle,theoutsidelightsofthehomesilluminatedmypath,makingmefeelsafe,cricketschirpingasIpassed.I’djustturnedontothefrontpathoftheSeaRosewhenIheardthesoundoffootstepsonrocks—comingfromthedarkalleybetweenhomes.Ifroze,unsurewhethertorunormovecloser.
Ashadowsuddenlyemerged—awoman,withherhandonthesideofthehouseforbalance.Shewasinplatformshoes,askirtthathitjustaboveherknees,atopthatdrapedlowinfront.Unfamiliarbutfortheredglasses.“Erica?”Iasked
Shestopped,narrowedhereyes,thentookonemorestep.“Avery?Isthatyou?”
Shehadsomethinginherotherhand,andshetwisteditoutofsight,lookingoverhershoulderintothedarkalley,thenbackatme.Herfacenervousandunsure—likeshehadsomethingtohide.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iasked,walkingcloser.Ihadtoseewhatwasinherhand.Whatshewashiding.
“Justwalking.Formycar.”ShesteppedbackasIapproached,asifIweresomethingtofear.
Andthenavoice,fromdeeperinthealley.“What’sgoingon?”
Isawitthen—aphoneheldoutinherotherhand.LikeImightdowhenwalkinginanunfamiliarplace,thelightguidingtheway.Amanjoggedtherestofthewaythroughthealley,calling,“Erica?Youokay?”
Heslidanarmaroundher.Shelookedshaken,confusedbymypresencehere.Likeshewasrememberingthestoriesherauntmusthavetoldher.ThethingsIhaddoneandthereforewasstillcapableofdoing.“Youguysscaredme,”Isaid.“Someone’sbeenmessingwiththepropertiesaroundhere.”
Sheblinkedtwice,slowly,asifunsureaboutwhathadjusthappened.Whethertotrustherowninstincts.Shegavemeasmallsmile,hereyesdriftingtotheside.“Iwasjustcuttingthrough.FromNick’s.”
“Nick’s?”Theguyshewaswith,maybe.Buthedidn’treact.
“ThebarbehindBreakerBeach,”shesaid.“Straightshotfromhere.”Sheextendedherarmlikeanarrowdownthedarkalley.“Wewerejust…goingtogetmycar.”Sheclearedherthroat.Shewasdrunk,Irealized.
“Oh.Oh.”
Thebreakintheothernightcould’vebeenacrimeofopportunity,then.Ahouseonthewaybackfromthebars.Unlocked.
Themanbesideherwatchedmecarefully.Hehadsandyblondhair,theshadowofabeardthatmatched;tallerthanEricabutnotbymuch—Ididn’trecognizehim.Iwasthinkingoftheimageofthepersononthebluffswiththeflashlight.ThefactthatI’dseenthepowergoout,andnowEricawasherewithastrangeman,slippingbesidethishousewheresomeonehadbeenthenightbefore,lightingcandles.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasked.
“Iwasvisitingafriend.Headinghomenow.”
Shenoddedonceandshiftedherweight,leaningintothemanbesideher.Shekeptlookingdown,andIrealizeditwasn’tnerves—shewasembarrassedthatIhadseenthisothersideofher.
Iwantedtotellthemnottodrive.ButEricawasmaybeayearyoungerthanIwas,andtherewerealotofdangersinLittleport.Youlearnedthembylivingthem.
Still.“Icangiveyouaride,”Isaid.
“No,no…”shesaid,wavingmeoff.
“She’sfine,”theguyanswered.“Well,”hecorrected,“I’mfine.AndI’vegotit.”
IWAITEDUNTILTHEYwereoutofsight,thesoundoftheirlaughterdriftingfartheraway,beforelettingmyselfintotheSeaRose.TheplacewasjustasI’dleftit—darkbutwarm.Iwastednotimeinemptyingmypurse,openingtheZiplocbag,pullingoutthebox,andremovingtheflashdrive.
WhenIheldittothelight,IsawasmallcircleengravedonthefrontwiththelogoforLomanProperties.I’dseenacollectionoftheseattheLomans’house,inthedeskdraweroftheofficeupstairs.
MyGod,thiswashers.Thiswasdefinitelyhers.
MyhandsshookasIinserteditintotheUSBportofmylaptop,waitingforthefoldertopopup.Therewasonlyonefileinside,aJPEG,andIleanedcloserasIopenedit.
Itwasascreenshot,alonghorizontalbarwithtworowsinaspreadsheet,slightlyoutoffocus,allblownuponmyscreen.
Sadiehadmajoredinfinance,internedwithherfatherintheprocess.Beforeshe’ddied,she’dbeenworkingwiththecashflowofhiscompany.
Therewerethreecolumns,eachcontainingastringofnumbers,butonlyonemadesense:theonewithadollaramount—$100,000.
TheothertwoIrecognizedasbankaccountandroutingnumbers.Ipulledoutmycheckbookfrommypursetoconfirm.Andyes,itallmadesense.
Accountnumbers.Payments.Somethingshe’dfelttheneedtohideaway,outsidethereachofallofLittleport.Buttherewasn’tenoughinformation.Nonames,nodates.Itallmeantnothing,inavacuum.
Maybethiswaswherethestolencashwasgoing?MaybewhatI’duncoveredlastsummerwasjustasmallpartofitall—
Myphonerang,jarringme.AnameI’dneverthoughtI’dseeagainlightingupthedisplay.
“Hey,”Ianswered.
“Hi.SorryIwasalittleimpatient.”Inalltheyearsthathadpassed,I’dneverdeletedConnor’snamefrommyphone.AndSadiehadfoundhimhere.InthethingsIhadlostbutheldonto.
“It’shers,Connor.It’sbankstuff.Twopayments.Idon’tknowwhatanyofitmeansorwhyshehidit.”Thewordscomingwithoutasecondthought,ahabitoftrust.He’dcoveredformeoncebefore,heclaimed.Likeapromisethathewasonmyside.ButIwantedtotakethewordsbackassoonasIsaidthem,nolongersureofhisintentions—ofanyone’s.Thingsweremovingtoofast,andIkeptmakingmistakes.
Thesoundoflaughterfromthewindowoverthesinkmademeboltuprightandfreeze.Butthefootstepscontinuedpast.AnothergroupcuttingthroughfromthebarafterbeingoutnearBreakerBeach.
“Avery?Youthere?”
Ikeptmyeyesonthedarkwindow.“I’mhere.MaybeIcantrackit,seewhythiswasimportant?”
Apause.“Ithinkyoushouldstop,”hesaid.
“What?”Shehadhiddenthisonanisland,paidConnortobringherthere,andnowshewasdead.AndConnorthoughtthiswastheplacetostop?
“Payments?Avery,comeon.Everyfamilyhassecrets.Andthat’sonefamilyIdon’twanttotouch.She’sdead,andwecan’tchangethat.”
Butitwasn’tjustthatshewasdead.Ifshehadfallen,yes.Ifshehadjumped,even,yes.Buttherewasathirdoption,anditwastheonlyoneIcouldbelieveanymore.“Someonekilledher,Connor.AndIthinkthepolicesuspectoneofus.Areyoujustgoingtositthereandhopeforthebest?”Silence,buthedidn’tobject.“Thatpersonisstillhere.Thatpersonwasatthepartywithus.”Mybreathcaught—couldn’thesee?Wewerelivingwithevil.Someonewhowasstilloutthere.
Eventonight,justoutsideourreach.Theflashlightonthebluffs.Shuttingdowntheelectricityatnight.Hewasashadowbehindthewindow.WatchingmetoseewhatI’ddo.Ormaybe:toseewhatIknew.
Idouble-checkedthelocksaroundthehouse,thephonepressedtomyear,gladI’dparkedafewblocksaway.
“Whereareyou?”heasked,voiceflat.
Ipaused.Itdidn’tseemlikehewantedtohelp.Itseemedlikehewantedtotalkmeoutofsomething.“I’llcallyouwhenIknowmore.”
Isavedthefiletomylaptop,thenrifledthroughmypursefortheclosestpieceofpaper—thelistwithallofournamesandthetimeswearrivedattheparty.AndthenIflippeditoverandcopiedtheaccountdetailsdown.Ispentthenextseveralhoursstaringatthosenumbers.Willingthemtomeansomething.Iknewonlythattheinformationmust’vecomefromsomewhereintheLomanhouse,andSadiedidnotfeelsafeleavingitthere.
Ifellasleeponthecouch,thesoundoffootstepsperiodicallypassingthroughthenight.AsideofLittleportI’dneverknown.AsideofSadie,too.
SomethingnewI’djustuncovered,evenafterallthistime.
CHAPTER20
Iwoketothesoundofgravelfootstepsoutsideagain,andittookamomenttorememberwhereIwas.Toplacethefurniturewiththeroom,thewindowwiththelightslantinginthroughthecurtains.
Thefootstepsreceded—someonewalkingtothebeach,maybe.Headingintheoppositedirectionfromlastnight.
Ihadfallenasleeponthecouch,theopenlaptop,alreadylowoncharge,drainingwhileIslept.Ifumbledmywaythroughthedimroom,findingmybagwiththecabletorechargeit.Whileitwaschargingonthekitchentable,IcrackedopenthewindowsoIcouldsmelltheoceanonagustofwind.Thephonebuzzedfromsomewhereinthecouchcushions,andItookmytimefindingit,expectingConnoragain.
ButitwasGrant’snameonthedisplay.Likehecouldsensemeopeningthatfilelastnight.
“Grant,hi,”Isaidasagreeting.
“Goodmorning,Avery,”hesaid,hisvoicethesamemonotoneasalways,businesslikeandunreadable.SothatIwasconstantlytryingtopleasehim,toseemyworthreflectedinhisexpression.“Nottooearlyforacall,then?”
“No,notatall,”Isaid,myeyesfocusingonthenearestclock.There,overthekitchensink—frozenintimeatnoon.
“Tellmewhat’sbeenhappening.”
“Well,”Ibegan,“likemyemailsaid,there’vebeensomepettybreakins,notanythingmajor.AtelevisionthatneedstobereplacedatTrail’sEnd,andanewwindowatBlueRobin.ButtherewasagasleakatSunsetRetreat,andI’mworriedit’sallrelated.”
Hedidn’trespond,andIclearedmythroat,waiting.
“Haveyoucalledthepolice?”heasked.
“Well,Ihadto.Icalled911whenIsmelledthegas,andthefirecrewcamestraightup.”Apause.“Itwasn’tsafe.”
“Isee.Andwhatdidtheysay?”
“Alooseconnectionbehindtheoven.Weshouldreplacethat,obviously.”
“Obviously,”herepeated.
HewaitedtoseeifI’dsaymore,butIknewthiswasatactic—silenceandwaitingforsomeoneelsetofillit,torevealthethingsthey’dwantedtokeephidden.I’dlearnedalotfromGrantovertheyears,nearlyeverythingIknewaboutthebusinessandhowtoconductmyselfwithinitsboundaries—therulesbothspokenandunspoken.
HeoncetoldmeIhadsomethinghisownchildrenlacked.ThesecrettosuccessthateludedevenParker,hesaid,wasthatyouhadtotakegreatrisksforgreatrewards.Thattochangeyourlife,totrulychangeit,youhadtobewillingtolose.
Parkerwillbegoodatthejob,heexplained.He’llkeepthecompanystrong.He’sgoodatworkingwithwhatwehave.Heunderstandsthegame,theinsandoutsofitall.Butwhathegambles,hehasn’tbuiltonhisown.Yourriskmustcomeatsomecounterbalance.Neitherofmychildrenistrulywillingtotaketherisks.
Because,Ithoughtthen,theyalreadyhadeverything.
“Youmentionedthemainhouse,”hesaidnow.“Somethingabouttheelectricity?”
Andsuddenly,Iunderstoodwhathadmadehimcallmeback.Itwasn’ttheemailI’dsentorhisconcernabouttheproperties.Itwasthelightsgoingoffatnight;theflashlightI’dseenonthebluffs.Thefactthathealsosuspectedsomethingwashappeningupthere.
“Yes,”Isaid,“it’shappenedafewtimes.Thegridgoingout.I’vehadtoresetthefusebox.Youshouldprobablyhavethatlookedat.”
“Allright,well,thankyou.Isthereanythingelse?”
Whathaveyourisked,Avery?He’daskedmethat,too,whenhecalledmeintohisoffice.WhenhegavemeSadie’sjob.BecauseIknewheunderstood.Ihadriskedmyplaceintheirworld.IhadgambledmyfriendshipwithSadie.WhereIwasforwhereImightbe.
Therewerenogainswithoutsomegreatrisktoyourself.AndnowIwasdesperatetoholdontowhatIwaslosing.
“IwantedtoexplainaboutBianca.About—”
“That’sreallynotnecessary,Avery.”Hisvoiceremainedevenandcontrolled,andIfeltmypulseslowing,myfingersrelaxing.“Listen,”hecontinued,“weappreciateyourhelpthroughthisverydifficultyear.Thetruthis,Idon’tthinkwewould’vebeenabletokeepthingsgoingwithoutyou.Notlikeyou’vedoneforus.Butwe’llbemovingtheresponsibilitiestooneofthemanagementcompaniesforthenextseason.”
Iwaitedforabeat,two,seeingifhewouldcontinue,ifhiswordswereleadinganywhereelse—anewposition,anewopportunity.Butthesilencestretchedsolong,hehadtocallmynameagain,justtomakesureIwasstillthere.
“Isee,”Isaid.Iwasbeingfired.Aquickone-two.Myhomeandmyjob,bothgone.
Andthenhisvoicedidchange.Somethinglower,morepersonal,morepowerful.“Itookachanceonyou.Thoughtyouhadsomethingdifferent,worththetimeandenergy.ButitseemsIoverestimatedyou—myfault,really.Aweaknessofmyown,Isuppose.”
Thestingwassharpanddeep—IcouldimaginehimsayingthosesamewordstoSadieasshestoodontheothersideofhisdeskintheofficeupstairs,whenhetookherjobandgaveittome.Ididn’trespond,becausetherewasalinebetweendriveanddesperation,andherespectedonlytheformer.
ItwasallIcoulddotokeepmybreathsteady,bitemytongue—asIhadlearned.Andthenhewasback,even-tonedandprofessional,expectingmetokeepongoing.“I’vehadalookattheschedules,andthisisjustaboutthelastweekoftheseason,isn’tthatright?”
“Itis,”Isaid.NextweekwasLaborDayweekend,andthetownwouldclearoutsoonafter.
“Right.Let’sgoaheadandcloseouttheyear,then.Attheendoftheseason,we’llrepayyouforyourtime.”Andthenhehungup.Ilistenedtotheemptyair,eventhoughthecallhaddisconnected.
HowhadInotseenthiscoming?Threestepsago,whenParkerarrived.Two,whenBiancakickedmeout.One,theflashdrivefileonmycomputer.Sadie,tryingtoshowmesomething.Waitingformetonoticeher.Intheentrancetomyroom,inherbluedressandbrownsweater,andthosegoldstrappysandals,wornoutandleftbehind.
Ifeltsomethingsurginginmybones.ThesamethingI’dfeltwhenI’dpushedFaith,whenConnorhadfoundmewithsomeoneelse—somepreludetodestruction.I’dfeltitagainwhenGreghadcalledmeSadie’smonster.Butwasn’tI?Whocouldunderstand,betterthanme,thepushandpullthatguidedherlife?Thatsetthepathforherdeath?
Thelaptoplightturnedgreen,thescreenflickeringasitbootedbackup.Ishivered,heardtheechoofConnor’swarning,tellingmetostop.Becauseheunderstoodthedangerimmediately.AhiddenfileandSadiedead.Somethingpotentiallyworthkillingover.
ISATATTHEkitchentable,tryingtomakesenseofthings.
Itwaspossiblethiswasn’tevenaboutsomethinginLittleport.Firststep,Icouldfindoutiftheroutingnumberwasforoneofourlocalbanks.Evenifitwasn’t,thatdidn’tnecessarilymeananything—therewereplentyofnationalchainsandonlinebanks.Butitwasaplacetostart.Thereweretwolocalbanksintown,andIwasaclientatone.Ihadalreadycheckedlastnight—thenumberdidn’tmatchtheroutingnumberinmycheckbook.
Idrummedmyfingersonthesurface.ThoughtaboutcallingConnor,Hey,whichbankdoyouuse?Canyoutellmeyourroutingnumber?IwonderedifIcouldcallthebank,butitwasSunday,andtheywereclosed.
Ipushedbackfrommyseatatthekitchentable.Mygrandmotherhadusedtheotherbank.She’daddedmynamedirectlytoheraccountsothat,whenshedied,Ididn’thavetowaitforanywilltobesortedout—Ihaddirectaccesstothemoney,notthattherewasmuch.ButIknewIhadthisinformationsomewhere.Inthatbox,I’dkeptallthepaperworktransferringourassets.Everythingthathadbeenhers,andmyparents’before,becomingmine.
Thepaperworkstillexisted.IdugthroughthatboxuntilIfoundtheoldfile.
Inside,Ifoundacanceledcheck—theoneIusedtotransferthemoneyfrommygrandmother’saccounttomine.
Ibroughtthechecktothecomputer,readingthenumbersoff,double-checking.
Thepaperwasshakinginmyhand.Yes,yes,theymatched.Thiswasthebank.ALittleportbranch.
ButIcouldn’tstoplooking.Backandforth.Thescreen.Thecheckbook.Backtothescreen.
Ileanedcloser,holdingmybreath.Readingthemtwice.
Itwasn’tonlytheroutingnumberthatmatched.Itwastheaccount.Oneoftheaccountnumbers,oneoftherecipientsofthismoney—itwasmygrandmother’s.
Theroomspun.
“Wait.”Isaiditoutloud,thoughIdidn’tknowwhomIwastalkingto.Just.Wait
Everyfamilyhassecrets,Avery.Connorhadsaidthoseverywordslastnight,butIhadneverconsideredmyown.
Erica’swordsinmylivingroom—thatSadiehadrequestedmebyname.Ihadneverconsideredthatthiscouldbetrue.Neverstoppedtothinkwhatcould’vedrawnhertomeinthefirstplace.
Buthereitwas.
Ipushedbackfromthetable,reimaginingthescene.Thebathroom.Sadieturningaround,findingmethere.Theredcreepingupherneck.
Hadsheknown,allalong,Iwasinthere?
Theslipoftheblade.Thetoiletpaperpressedtotheblood.
Don’thurtyourself.Shehadsaidthatsoclearly,soearnestly,whenI’dstoodtooclosetotheedge.
Asif,allalong,shehadknown.
Shehadseenmeinthekitchenofherhouse.Followedme.KnownwhatIhaddone.
Later,she’dfoundthatjournal,andsheknewthehiddenthingsIdreamedandfeared.Keepingitallasecretforherself.
Whatdidshewantwithme?DidsheknowI’doncesneakedintoherhouse?ShimmiedinsidewithFaithandConnor?
OrthatIhadwatchedfromConnor’sboat,staringinthosebigportraitwindows—herlife,herbody,thatIwantedtoinhabit?
Shehadsoughtmeoutonthebeachafter,invitingmeback.Intoherhome,intoherlife.Welcomingme—
Or.Or.
Somethingthatbelongedtoher.Oh.Oh,no.No,Sadie.
Bringingmetodinner,watchingherparents’faces,thestiffexpressions.Herguilelesssmile.Doyouseemenow?
Asadstorytoshare:Lookwhathasbecomeofthisgirl.Nofamily,nowheretolive.Won’tyouhelp?Grant’svoice,whentheyofferedmetheguesthouse:It’stherightthingtodo
Theinkonmybody,sameashers,theshapeofanS—Ihavefoundyou,andyoubelong,here,withme.
Don’t,shesaidwhenherbrotherwalkedby.
ShebelievedIwasthesecret.And,likethelocalswouldgossip,sheplantedmerightoutintheopen.LookwhatIhavefound.LookwhatIhavedone.
ShebelievedIwasaLoman.
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2017ThePlus-OneParty
10:30p.m.
Thethreatofthepolicewasnowadistant,alcohol-infusedmemory.Asmuchanonconcernasthepoweroutage,orsteppingintothepool,oryoursecretsexposedforalltohearoveragameatthekitchenisland.Thesecondroundhadbegun.
IhadbeenwaitingtoseewhatParkerwoulddoafterthesceneupstairs—Lucespillingoutoftheroom,tingedwiththeremnantsofanger.Ofviolence.
Parkerneverplayedthegame,Irealized.Neverhadhissecretsexposedforalltohear.NotinalltheyearsI’dknownhim.Alwaystoobusyhoppingfrompersontoperson.
Ormaybetherestofuswerescaredofhim.Whathewoulddo.Therewereenoughrumorsabouthispast,hisrecklessteenageyears.Howhehadgottenintofights—that’swhatSadiesaid.Hehadthescar,andthegleaminhiseye,toprovethatheusedtohaveawildstreak.Which,unlikemine,onlyaddedtohisappealnowthatitwasgone.Buttherewasanunderstandingthatithadexisted,andthereforestillexisted,somewhereathiscore.
Parkerfinallyroundedthecornerfromthefrontfoyer,alone.Hesawmewatchingandpaused.Thenheredirectedhispath,comingtostandbesidemeattheentranceofthekitchen,hishandsrestlesswithoutadrinktohold.Hecrackedhisknucklesonebyone.Iimaginedthemintheshapeofafist.
“Whathappenedupthere?”Iasked,noddingtowardthefrontfoyer,wherethestaircasewastuckedjustoutofsight.
Hescannedtheroominstead,ignoringthequestion.“Whereisshe?”ThiswasnotthetypeofplacewhereyoucouldcallacaboranUberandgethome.Lucewasstuckhere.
Parkersteppedawayfromme,intothecrowd.
“Parker,”Isaid,loudenoughtogethisattention—onthecuspofmakingascene.“Whatthehellhappened?Iheardsomething.Iheardyouguys.”
Helookedatmecuriously,hiseyesshimmering,thescarthroughhiseyebrowreflectingthelightoverhead.“She’sdrunk.She’llcooloff.”
Liketherewasahot,simmeringrageinallofus.Ilaughed.“YouwantmetobelievethatLuce—Luce—istheonetoblame?”
Itriedtopictureit.Luce,inherheels,throwingsomethingagainstthewall.Orbarrelingintohim,knockinghimbackward.Luce,uncontained.
Heinhaledslowly.“Believewhatyouwant.Idon’tcare.”Likemythoughtswereinconsequential.Becausehiswasthestorythatwouldmatter,thatwouldcount.
Ispottedherthroughthepatiodoors,sittinginachairbesidethepool,theglowfromtheunderwaterlightsturningherskinasicklypale.Hershoeswerekickedoffandherlegstuckedupunderneathher.Parkerseemedtospotheratthesametime.Hestartedwalking,butIreachedforhiselbow.“Didshesee?”Iasked.Meaningus.Inthebathroom.
Parkerflinched.“Didsheseewhat?”heasked,likeIwasnotpermittedtomentionthingsthathadhappenedinthepast.Thatitwasuptohimtodecidewhethersomethingexistedornot;thatthenarrativeofhislifewasnoone’sbusinessbuthisown,andhecoulderaseitatwill.
“Nothing.”Becauseitwasnothing.WithLuceintown,withSadiehere,thatmomentwithParkercouldneverhappen.
Maybethatwasmymistake.MaybeallIneededtosaytoSadieaboutConnorwasDon’t.Butwhocouldsaythattoher?
TobeSadieLomanwastodoexactlywhatyouwanted.IfithadbeenSadiewhohadpushedFaith,watchedasshefelltotheground,herarmheldoutawkwardlytobreaktheimpact—allwouldbeforgiven.IfIhadbeentheonetostealmoneyfromtheLomancompany,Iwould’vebeenkickedoutoftheirworldimmediately.Butnother.Shewasjustgivenadifferentjob.Abetterone.Andwhathadhappenedtothemoney?Whoknew.She’dprobablyspentit.
Shetookwhatshewantedanddidwhatshewanted—theyalldid.Parker,Grant,Bianca,Sadie.LivingupattheBreakers,lookingoutovereverything.Decidingwhatwouldbetheirsforthetaking.
Thecrowdmovedonaroundme,abluroffaces,sweat,andheat,theprickleonthebackofmyneck—thisfeelingthatIhadtogetoutofhere.ButIhadnoideawheretogo.
HowlonghadIbeenstandingperfectlystill,watchingthelivesofothersplayoutaroundme?Leaningagainstawall,drinkingwhatwasleftoftheLomans’whiskey?
TheLomans’house,theLomans’rules,theLomans’world.
LikesittinginConnor’sboat,watchingfromtheoutsidein.NomatterhowcloseIgot,Iwasalwaystheonewatching.
TherewasParker,whisperingintoLuce’sear,crouchedbesideherwhileshesatinalowchairneartheedgeofthepool.Hergazefixedsomewhereinthedistance.
TherewereEllieArnoldandherfriends,sittingonthefloortogetherinthecorneroftheden,cross-legged,likeamemoryofatimelongpast—girlsatasleepover,therestoftheworldfallenaway,likeFaithandIusedtohave.
Ittookmeamomenttorealizeoneofthegirlsinthegroupwaspassedout,herheadtippedbackagainstthewall,andthatherfriendshadremainedwithher,here.Alargesaladbowlrestedbesideher,andIrealizeditwasincaseshevomited.Ellieplacedawetwashclothonthegirl’sforehead,andIlookedaway.
TherewasGregRandolph,sittingonthecouch,hisarmbehindagirlwhoappearedtobeonthecuspofeighteen,hergazeturneduptohis,likehewaseverythingworthknowing.
AndtherewasConnor,crossingtheroom,headingforthedoor,hisphoneoutinhishand.
“Connor,”Icalled,beforeIcouldthinkbetterofit.Whenheturned,IsawhimasSadiemight,withoutthelayersandyearsthathadcomebetweenus.IsawhimasagirllookingoutoverthebalconyofHarborClub,watchingamanstepoffhisboat,self-assuredandperfectlyhimself.Amanwhowouldactexactlythesamewhethersomeonewaswatchingornot.Therarestthing.
Hedidn’tcarewhoSadiewas,whoanyofthemwere.Hewassomeone,sheknew,whooncewasmine.Theonlythingleftherethatstillbelongedtome,andmealone.AndIknewshehadtohavehim.
Ipushedofffromthewall,methiminthefoyer.“Don’tgoyet,”Isaid.
Hisheadtippedtotheside,buthedidn’tsayno.Forallourhistory,Iknewhisweaknessaswellasheknewmine.Connorbelievedinalinearlife.He’dknownwhathewoulddofromthetimehewasakid:Hewouldfinishschool,hewouldworksummersforhisdadandforanyfishermanlookingforaseconddeckhand.Hewouldfallinlovewithagirlhe’dknownhisentirelife,andshewithhim,justashisparentshaddonebefore.
Hewasunpreparedwhenhislifeveeredofftrack.
IsmiledasIhadoncebefore,whenhetippedmebackwardatthebonfire,kissedmeinfrontofourfriends—hismouth,agrin.
Iknew,sameashedidthen:Thingslikethisrequiredaboldmove.Me,inacrowdofpeople—infrontofParkerLomanandeveryoneintheirworld—whisperinginhisear,askinghimtofollowmedownthehall.
Myhandtraileddownhisarmuntilmyfingerslinkedwithhis,andhedidnotresist.Iwalkedslowly,incaseanyonewantedtosee.IncaseGregRandolphwouldturnfromthecouch,raiseaneyebrow,say,That’stheguyIsawSadiewith.Butnoonedid,andIdidn’tevencare.Iwashighontheknowledgethathewantedmestill,evenafterallthistime.
Itwasdarkinthedownstairsbedroom,andIturnedthelock.Didn’tsayanything,forfearitmightbreakthetrance.
Ipulledhisfacedowntomine,butthefeelofhiskisswasstillasurprise.Icouldtastetheliquoronhim.FeeltheloosenessofhislimbsasIpushedhisshirtoverhishead.Themalleablequalityofhim,whereIcouldslidemyselfintohislife.ThepowerIheld—thatIcouldalterthecourseofeverythingtofollow.
Buthewastheonewhoguidedmetowardthebed.Whowhisperedinmyear—hi—likehe’dbeenwaitingallthistimejusttosayit.
Inthedark,Iwasn’tsurewhetherhewasimaginingmeorSadie,butitdidn’tmatter.Hisfingersjustbelowmyhips,brushingoveratattoohecouldn’tsee
Nothinglastsforever.Everythingistemporary.Youandmeandthis.
ConnorwasnolongertheConnorIknew—andneitherwasI.Sixyearshadpassed,andwehadbecomesomethingnew.Sixyearsofnewexperiences,lifelivedandlearned.Sixyearstosharpenintothepersonyouwouldbecome.ButtherewereshadowsofthepersonIknew:inthearmaroundmywaist,holdingmetohim.Andhisfingersfaintlydrummingagainstmyskinafter,beforehishandwentstill.
Neitherofusspokethen.Welaythere,sidemyside,untilanoisefromoutinthehalljarredusboth.Ahandatthelockeddoorknob.Iboltedupright.
“Avery—”hesaid,butIgotupfirst,scoopingupmyclothes,soIwouldn’thavetoheartheexcuse.Iwalkedstraightfortheattachedbathroom,soIwouldn’thavetoseetheregretonhisface.StoodinthebathroomthatwasstilldampfromwhenI’dcleanedthemessoftowelsandwaterearlierinthenightwithParker.
IwaiteduntilConnorhadenoughtimetogetchanged,toleave.Heknockedonceonthebathroomdoor,butIdidn’trespond.Iturnedontheshower,pretendingIhadn’theard.Keptstaringintothemirror,tryingtoseebeneaththefogtothepersonIhadbecome.
WhenIfinallysteppedoutside,hewasgone.Ididn’tknowwherehewentafterthat.Couldn’tfindhimintheseaoffacesallblurringtogetherinthelivingroom.
IimaginedhimdrivingbacktoseeSadie,tellingher.IimaginedherfindingoutwhatIhaddone.WhatIwouldsay:Younevertoldmeyouwerewithhim.Sorry,ashrug,didn’tknow.Or:Iwasdrunk—absolvingmyself.Hedidn’tcomplain—tohurther.Orthetruth:ConnorHarlowisnotforyou.WhatIshould’vesaidlongago:Don’t.
Don’tforgetthatIonceburnedmyownlifetothegroundpiecebypiece.Don’tthinkIwon’tdoitagain.
Everything’seasierthesecondtimearound.
Itwasthen,asIwasrunningthisconversationthroughmymind—allthethingsIwouldsaytoher,myresolvetightening,strengthening—thatParkercaughtmygazeoverthecrowd,tippinghisheadtowardthefrontdoor.Warningme.
Twomenintheopendoorway,hatsintheirhands.
Thepolicewerehereafterall.
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2018CHAPTER21
IpacedacircleinthelivingroomoftheSeaRose,phoneheldtomyear.Alltheinformationfightingforspace.Mygrandmother’saccount.ThewaySadieandIhadmet,even.Everythingwasshifting.
Connor’slinekeptringing,andIhungupjustasthecallwenttovoicemail.He’dbeworkingnow,eventhoughitwasSunday.Peopleneedtoeat.Whathe’dalwayssaywhenwewereyounger,whenIwasannoyedbyhishoursandhiscommitmenttothem.
Theoceanwasanaddictionforhim—ashudderrollingthroughhim,likethatfirstsipofalcoholcoursingthroughthebloodstream.
IlockedthefrontdoortotheSeaRosewhenIleft,butIbroughttheflashdrivewithme,scaredtohaveitoutofmypossession.ItwastheclosestI’dfelttoSadiesinceherdeath.Myfootstepstracingherpath,myhandswherehershadbeen.Mymindstrugglingtokeepup.
Allthesecretsshe’dneversharedwithme—butshehadbeenwrongaboutthisone.Ifshe’dasked,Iwould’vetoldher:IwasnotaLoman.
Iwould’veexplainedthatIlookedlikemymother,yes,withthedarkhairandtheoliveskin,butmyeyesweremyfather’s.Thatmymotherstoppedhereandputdownrootsnotforthatthingshewaschasing,assheclaimed,butbecauseshemetaguy,ateacher,andhewassoearnestinhisbeliefs,sosurethiswastheplacehebelongedandthathewasdoingthethinghewasmeanttobedoing.Andhisearnestnessmadeherdropherguard,seetheworldthroughhiseyes:thatnothingwouldhappenthathadn’tbeenplanned—andthensheendeduppregnantwithme.
Itwasnotaperfectmarriage,notaperfectlife.Itwasalwaysthere,intheunspokenplacesofeveryargument—thereasonshehadstayed.Thelifeshewaslivingandtheonesheseemedtobesearchingforstill.
Shehadgiventhelastfourteenyearsofherlifetomyfather,andLittleport,andme.Theydidnothavemoney,Iknew,becauseitwasintheirarguments,voicedaloud.Thelinebetweenartandcommerce.Thesidehustle.Mymomworkedinthegallerywhereherpaintingshung,mademorebehindthecashregisterthanbehindtheeasel.
IrememberedmydaddroppingmeoffonceatthegalleryinthesummerwhenIwasyoung,onhiswaytogotutor.Mymomstoodbehindthecounter,andsheseemedsurprisedtoseeusthere.Youweresupposedtobehomebynow,he’dsaid.Herfacewaspinched,confused.Wecouldusetheovertime,she’dsaidThen,lookingdownatme,herfaceslipping,Sorry,Iforgot.
Therewasnohushmoneycomingin.Therewasnostrainofamanintheshadows.
Therewasonlyme,runningfreeinthewoodsbehindourhome,learningtoswimagainstacoldcurrent,withthebuoyofsaltwater.SleddingheadfirstdownHarborDrivebeforetheplowscamethrough,believingthisworldwasmine,mine,mine.
Mywayofseeingtheworld,tomymother’sdisappointment,wasalwaysmorelikemyfather’s—pragmaticandunbending.ItwaswhyIwassosureshewould’velovedSadie.Herewassomeonewhocouldlookatmeandseesomethingelse,somethingnew.
OnlynowIunderstoodwhatSadiebelievedshewasseeingthatveryfirsttime.
Sixyears,shemust’vethoughtsheknewwhoIwas.Paradingmearoundherhouse,tauntingherparentswithit,claimingmeasherown.Adigathermother;apowermovewithherfather.Sixyears,andshe’dfinallydiscoveredthetruth.
Atthestartofherlastsummer,she’dboughttwoofthosecommercialDNAtestkitsthatreportyourgenealogywhilealsoscreeningforabunchofpreexistingdiseases.Justtobesure,she’dsaid.We’llfeelsomuchbetterafter.Whoknows,maybewehavesomelong-lostrelativesincommon.
Iwashesitant.AsmuchasIlikedtotrackthingsforwardandbackwardstepbystep,Ididn’tknowifIwantedtoseesomethinglikethatcoming.Somethinguntreatable,aninevitabilitythatIhadnopowertostop.ButhowdidonesaynotoSadie,sittingacrossfromyouonthebedofyourhousethatwasreallyherhouse,reallyherbed?Spittingintoatesttubeuntilmymouthwasdry,mythroatparched.Handingovertheverycoreofmybeing.
Ittookoveramonthtogettheresultsback,andbythenI’dalmostforgottenaboutit.Untilshebargedinandtoldmetocheckmyemail.Goodnews,I’mnotdying.Atleast,notofanyoftheseeighteenconditions,she’dsaid.Andsurprise,Iamvery,veryIrish.Incasemysunburnledyoutobelieveotherwise.
ShewatchedovermyshoulderasIchecked,thenshowedmehowsheenteredherinfointoagenealogydatabase.Maybewe’redistantcousins,shesaid.Waiting,holdingherbreath,whileIdidthesame.
Weweren’t.
Isawthereflectionofherfaceinthescreenofmylaptop,thebrowknittingtogether,thecornersofhermouthturningdown.ButIwastoopreoccupiedwiththefactthatmyfamilytreebranchedoutwardsuddenly.IwastheonlyoneleftoftherelativesIknew.MymotherhadcutoffcontactwithherfamilybeforeIwasborn,andtheyhadn’tevencometothefuneral.Buthere,Isawsomethingnewstretchedbeforeme—thetieofblood,connectingmetoaworldofpeopleouttherewhoI’dneverknownexisted.
Ididn’trealizethenthatSadiehadbeenexpectingsomethingdifferent.Thatshewantedmetoknowthetruth,andthiswasthewaytodoit.Therewouldbenoturningbackthen.Nomoresecrets.Everythingandeveryoneexposed.
Butshe’dbeenwrong.
Icouldn’treconcilethepaymenttomygrandmotherwithanythingthatmadesense.Andtherewasasecondpaymenttosomeoneelsewhousedthesamebank.
Thesummerafterherfirstyearofcollege,Sadiehadinternedforherfather—thatwaswhenImether.Shehadbeenworkinginhisoffice,inhisaccounts.Hadshestumbleduponthisandfoundmebecauseofit?
Whatdidsheunderstandwhensherealizedshewaswrongafterall?
HARBORDRIVEWASBUZZINGwithmidmorningactivity.ItwasthelastSundaybeforeLaborDayweekend—andbythetimeIfoundaplacetopark,Iprobablycould’vewalkedfromtheSeaRose.
Thoughthestreetswerecrowded,everythingfeltvaguelyunfamiliar.Aseaofeverchangingfaces,weekbyweek,somehowshiftingthebackdropwiththeirpresence.Iwovethroughthecrowdonthesidewalks,headedtowardthedocks,butsawafamiliarfigurestandingstillinthebustleofactivityacrosstheway.Darkpantsandabutton-down,sunglassespulledoverhiseyes,feetshoulderwidthapart,headmovingslowlybackandforth—DetectiveBenCollinswashere.
Isuckedinabreath,dippedintothefirststoreonmyright.Thebellchimedoverhead,andIfoundmyselfinthelong,snakinglineofHarborBean—thefavoritecoffeeshopoflocalsandvisitorsalike.Inthefall,thehourswouldshiftandthepriceswouldchange.Itwasmostlyaplaceforthevisitorsrightnow.Noneofuswantedtopaymorethansomethingwasworth.
Ipeeredovermyshoulderasthelineshiftedforward,butIhadlostsightofthedetectivethroughthefrontglasswindows.Thereweretoomanypeoplepassingbackandforth,toomanyvoices,toomuchcommotion.“Next?”
“Coffee,”Ianswered,andtheteenagerbehindthecounterraisedaneyebrow.Hetippedhisheadtothechalkboardmenubehindhim,butthescriptallblurredtogether.“Idon’tcare,”Isaid.“Justpicksomethingwithcaffeine.”
“Name?”heasked,penpoisedoveraStyrofoamcup.
“Avery.”
Hishandhoveredforasecondbeforeheresumedwriting,andIwonderedifhe’dheardsomething.Knewsomething.
“Well,heythere.”Awoman’svoicefromatableagainstthebrickwall.ItwasEllieArnold,smilinglikewewerefriends.ShewassittingacrossfromGregRandolph,whogrinnedlikehewasinonsomejoke.Therewasathirdmanhunchedoverthetablewithhisbacktome.
Theteenagerhandedmemycreditcard,andthethirdmanstoodasIapproached.AndthenIunderstood:ItwasParkerLoman,emptycupinhand.
“Avery,”hesaid,andthencontinuedpast.AsifIwereanoldplotpoint.AsifIwerejustsomeonecaughtlivingonhispropertywhenIshouldn’thavebeenthere;asifIweren’thissister’sbestfriend,hadn’tworkedwithhimforyears;asifhehadn’tkissedmetwonightsearlier.
Itwasaskilloftheentirefamily,creatingthestoryandowningit.Sadieherself,welcomingmetotheBreakers.AndnowParker,probablyspreadingthisnewstoryaboutme.Iwonderedifeveryoneatthetable,behindthecounter,outonthedocks,knewthatIhadjust,anhourago,beenfired.
Still,Ialmostfeltbadforhim,thinkingaboutwhathisownfathersaidofhim.Parkerhadbeenrobbedofthechancetowantsomethingbadly.
Ambitionwasn’tjustinthework.Ambition,Ibelieved,wastingedwithasortofdesperation,somethingclosertopanic.Likeadormantswitchdeepinsidethatcouldbeforcedonlybynecessity.Somethingtopushupagainstuntil,finally,youcaught.
“Here,haveaseat.”GregRandolphpushedParker’snowemptychairwithhisfoot,themetalscrapingagainstconcrete.Iperchedontheedge,waitingformyorder.“How’veyoubeen?”heasked,grinfirmlyinplace.“Imean,sinceFriday.”
Theteenagerbehindthecountercalledmyname,andIexcusedmyselfformydrink.Itwassomethingmixedwithcaramel,steaminghot,aspiceIcouldn’tplace.WhenIsatdownagain,Iignoredhislastquestion.
GreggesturedtowardEllie.“Wewerejusttalkingaboutthepartynextweek.WillyoubejoiningusatHawksRidge?”Hetippedhisheadtotheside,andItookasip.ThePlus-Onepartymustbeathisplacethisyear.HawksRidge.Agroupofexclusiveestatessetonariseoflandclosertothemountains,withadistantviewofthesea.
“Probablynot,”Isaid.
“Oh,comeon,”hesaid,fake-sighing.IknewwhyIwaswanted.Forthedrama,forthescene,sosomeonecouldsay:Look,AveryGreer,canyoubelievesheshowedherface?Sosomeonecouldcornermewithashotofliquorandsay:Iknowasecretaboutyou
“Itwon’tbethesame,”Gregwenton,stuffingthelastbiteofamessymuffinintohismouth.“FirstEllie,nowyou,”headded,evenashewaschewing.
“You’renotgoing?”IturnedtoEllie,surprised.
Sheshookherhead,lookingdownatthetable,thenpressedherpointerfingertoacrumbonthetable,droppingitontoherplate.“Notafterlastyear.”
Sadie,Ithought.Finally,someonewiththesensetoknowthiswasinbadtaste.Anotheryear,anotherparty,asifnothingatallhadchanged.
Nooneelseseemedtoknowthetruth:thatoneofthemhaddonesomethingtoSadie.
“Itwasanaccident,love,”GregsaidtoEllie,voicelow.“AndIhaveabackupgenerator.Thepower’snotgoingtogooutupthere.”
“Wait.Youdon’twanttogothisyearbecauseyoufellinthepool?”Iaskedher.
Shecuthereyestome,sharpandmean.“Ididn’tfall.Someonepushedme.”AngrythatitseemedIhadforgottenherclaim,andIhad.Lastyear,I’dthoughtshewasbeingoverdramatic,wantingattention,likeSadiehadwarned.Butnothingaboutthatnightwasasitseemed.
“Sorry,”Isaid.
ButevenGregRandolphwasn’thavingit.Hesmirkedasheraisedthecuptohislips.“Probablybumpedintoyouinthedark,byaccident.”Andthentome,inafakewhisper,“Shehadquiteabittodrink,Iseemtorecall.”
“Fuckyou,Greg,”shesaid.“Irememberjustfine.”
Everythingwasshifting,then.Mymemoryofthatnight:Thelightsgoingout,thepowergridtripped.Acommotion.Ascream.
Didsomeoneleaveinthechaos?Wassomeonecomingback?
Ipushedbackfromthetableabruptly.“Ihavetogo.”Ihadtotalktosomeoneelsewhohadbeenthere,whohadseeneverything.Connor,maybe.Excepthedidn’tunderstandalltheintricacies.TheinsandoutsoftheLomans’world.
Buttherewassomeoneelse.Someonewhowasthere.Whosaweverything.Whowasdangerous,Ithought,inthethingstheyhadnoticed.
Andwho,afterallofthat,didnotcomeback.
CHAPTER22
Sadieoncesaidsheneverknewwhomtotrust.Whethersomeonewantedtobeherfriendbecauseofwhatshestoodfor.Whethertheyweredrawntothegirlorthename.ThatlifeI’dwatchedfromoutsideLittleport.Thepromiseofsomething.
Shehadlovedaboyonce,atboardingschool.Shetoldmeabouthimthatfirstsummer,likeshewaswhisperingafairytale.Buthelivedoverseas,andaftergraduationtheyhadbrokenup;hedidnotcomebackforher.Iheardothernamesovertheyears,duringcollege.Butneverwiththatsameferventwhisper,thegleaminhereye,thebeliefthatshelovedandwasloved.
I’mluckyIfoundyou,she’dsaidattheendofthatfirstsummer.
IbelieveditwasIwhowastheluckyone.Acointossedintotheair,oneofhundreds,ofthousands,andIhadfallenclosesttotheirhome.Iwastheoneshehadpickedupwhensheneededone.
HowluckyIhadbeentofindthisgirlwholookedatmelikeIwassomeonedifferentthanI’dalwaysbeen.Whosentagiftonmybirthdayorjustbecause.WhocalledwhenIcouldhearotherpeopleintheroom,orlateatnight,whenIheardjustthesilenceandhervoice.Whoconfidedinmeandwhosoughtmyopinion—Whatdowethinkofthis?
Shehadbecomemyfamily.Areminder,always,thatIwasnolongeralone,andneitherwasshe.Iknewbetterthantotrustthatanythingsogoodcouldbepermanent,butwithher,ithadbeensoeasytoforget.
Everysummer,yearbyyear,Iwasallsheneeded.AndthenLucianaSuarezwasthere.
WHENIJOINEDTHEfamilyoutbackatthepoolthatfirstnightastheytoastedtosummer,everytimeIlookedacrosstheway,I’dfindLucewatchingmeback.
Shetoldmeshe’dknownSadieandParkerforyears,thattheirfamilieshadbeenfriendlysincetheywereteenagers,thoughnoneofthemhadgonetoschooltogether.AsiftoletmeknowthatherrelationshipwiththeLomanssupersededmyown,basedpurelyonthefactoroftime.
Lucehadjustfinisheduphermaster’sdegreewhenshearrivedwiththeLomansatthestartofthesummer.She’dputoffthestartingdateofhernewjobuntilmid-September.Shewasmovinganyway,she’dsaid.Outofgraduatehousing,closertothehospitalwhereshe’dbeworkingasanoccupationaltherapist.
She’dtoldmeeverythingIneedednow.IonlyhadtospendtenminuteslookingthroughthestaffdirectoriesofseverallocalhospitalsinConnecticutbeforeIlandedonhername—LucianaSuarez,officehoursMondaytoFriday,8:30to4:30
Imappedthehospital,foundanearbyhotel,bookedmyselfthecheapestroomIcouldgetinahotelchainIwasfamiliarwith—allfromthefrontseatofmycar,whichfeltaspermanentaplaceasany.
Ididn’tevenstopattheSeaRosebeforeheadingoutoftown.AllIhadwithmeweretheitemsinmypurse—thepaperwiththelistofnamesandaccountnumbers,andSadie’sflashdrive.Ileftbehindtheboxes,thebags,mylaptop,thekeys.Maybeleavingwasforthebest,anyway.
Icouldimaginesomeonefindingthoseitemsnextseason,ifIneverreturned.Wonderingwhathadhappenedtome.TherumorsaboutthatgirlwhowasobsessedwiththeLomans.Whomust’vehadsomethingtohide.
ThesamewaywehadcraftedastoryaboutSadie—apersonwhowantedtodie.
ItwasathoughtthathadmecallingConnoragain—justsosomeonewouldknow—buthisphonekeptringing.Idebatednotleavingamessage,knowinghowitwouldlook,buttherewasalreadyevidenceofthecalls.DetectiveCollinshadseenustogether.
Therewasnothingincriminatingabouttrackingdownthetruth.
“Hi.Didn’tseeyouonthedocksthismorningbutwantedtoletyouknowI’mheadingoutoftown.”Ididn’tknowhowmuchmoretosay—aboutthepaymentandthebankaccountsontheflashdriveinmypurse.Ididn’tknowwhethertotrustmyinstinctsorhim.ButConnorknewmygrandmother.Heknewmyfamily.Andhewasalways,alwaysbetteratthispart—atlookingagainandseeingsomethingnew.“Iwastryingtofindoutwhichbanktheaccountswerefrom.”Itookabreath.“Idiscoveredthatoneoftheaccounts,”Isaid,“belongedtomygrandmother.”
AndthenIdroveoutofLittleport—throughthecrowdedstreetsofthedowntown,risingupandawayfromtheharbor;windingthroughthemountainroads,thepavementcutlikeswitchbacksinsections;throughthegreeneryandthebarrenroadsides,nothingbuttrapshopsandicecreamshopsandgasstationswithasinglepump—untilthehighway.
Iheadedsouth,likeeveryoneelseleavingtown,satinthetrafficheadingbacktothecities,untilweconnectedwith95andtheroadsopenedupinPortland,highwayssplittingoffinvariousdirections,likeaspiderweb.
ItwasdinnertimewhenIpulledintothehotelparkinglotinatownthatlookedlikeeveryothertownI’dpassedthroughontheway.Connorhadleftmeavoicemail,whichIlistenedtowhilesittinginthecar,asifthereweresomeonewhomightbeeavesdropping.
“Justbackatthedocksandgotyourmessage.Callmewhenyougetthis.Nomatterwhattime.”
THEHOTELROOMWASstandard,simple,aboxroomlikeathousandotherboxroomsallacrossthecountry.IhadforgottenhoweverythingaboutLittleportcarriedareminderofwhereyouwere,eventhemotelsupanddownthecoast,withtheseashellsandthecandlevotivesfloatinginsand.Lobstertrapsrefurbishedtocreatebenchesandartwork.Netsandbuoysdecoratingthelobbiesofrestaurantsfartherinland,even.Here,therewasnothingbutivorywallsandagenericflowerpainting.
Maybethiswashowtodoit.Howtolivealifeofeven-temperedsafety.Wherenothingharmsyou,butnothingthrillsyou.Whereyouhaveriskednothing.
Ittookthis—steppingoutsideLittleportandlookingbackin—toseemyhomethroughtheeyesofastranger.Tofinallygetasenseofmymotherwhenshewasmyage.Notwhatmadeherstaybutwhatmadeherstopinthefirstplace.
InLittleport,wehadbecomeaddictedtotheextremes.Nomatterwhereyoufoundyourself,youadaptedtothehighsoryouadaptedtothelows.Everythingwastemporary,andsowasyourplacewithinit.Weunderstoodthat.Itwasalwaysthere,intheforceoftheseaandtheriseofthemountains.Inthecrowdedchaosofsummerandthebarrenlonelinessofwinter.Thesweetsearosesdying,thequickfootofsnowmelting.Everythingmarkedapassageoftimeandanotherchanceforyouwithinit.
IcalledConnorbackonceIwassettledinmyroom.Whenhepickedup,Iheardnoisesinthebackground,likehewasoutsomewhere.“Isthisabadtime?”
Thenoisesdriftedaway.“Justasec,”hesaid.Iheardthesoundofadoorsqueakingclosed.
“Areyouout?”Howcouldhedisregardeverythinghappeningforanightoutwithfriendsrightnow?He’dtoldmetostoplooking,andapparently,he’dgonerightonwithhislife.
“No,I’mnotout.Ijustgothome.Therewasapartyattheapartmentnextdoor.Peopleoutinthehall.”
“Oh.”Ididn’tevenknowwherehelivedanymore.
“God,listen.”Hisvoicedroppedlower.“ThatdetectivewasaroundthedockswhenIleft,andthenwhenIcameback.He’sbeenthereallday.AndheaskedifI’dseenyou.”
“Whatdidyousay?”
“Whatdoyouthink?Isaidno.Buthesawustogetheryesterdayandwantedtoknowwhatthatwasabout.Itoldhim,youknow,oldfriendscatchingup.Noneofhisbusiness.”
Ileanedbackagainsttheheadboard,bentmyknees,staringatmyreflectioninthemirroroverthedresseracrosstheway.“Hethinksit’ssomeoneattheparty,Connor.Thatit’soneofus.AndthenIfindmygrandmother’saccountlistedonthatflashdrive,andIdon’tknowwhattothink.”
“Whereareyou?”heasked.
“Connecticut.TalkingtosomeoneelsewhoknowstheLomans.”
“Youshould’vewaited.Iwould’vecome.”
“Connor,”Isaid,becausewehadtobehonestwitheachotherhere.Everythingwastemporary,andsowasthis.Anallianceofnecessity,becausewehadfoundourselvestiedtoeitherendofit.Butsomethingthatwoulddriftapartagainassoonaswewerefreeofit.“I’mheretotalktoLucianaSuarez.Betterifit’sjustme.Yousaidshesawwhathappenedthatnightattheparty,right?Withthewindow?”
Silence.Iheardthesoundofsomethingpopping,couldpicturehisjawshiftingbackandforth,andsuddenly,Iheldmybreath.WonderingwhetherIhadputmytrustinthewrongperson,ifmyinstinctswerewrong.“Letmeknowwhatshesays,”hefinallyanswered.Hisvoicelowandchilled.
“Ofcourse,”Isaid.ThoughifhecouldreadthetoneofmyvoiceaswellasIcouldreadhis,hewouldknowthatthiswasalie.
CHAPTER23
ThelasttimeI’dseenLucewasattheserviceinConnecticut.Whenshe’dbeenwatchingmeclosely.Iwasn’tsurewhensheandParkerhadbrokenup—orwhy.Therewasthefightattheparty,buttheyappearedtobebacktogetherbytheservice.Ididn’tknowwhetheritwastrulyabreak,asParkersaid,orifsomethingelsehadcausedthesplit.
Iwasupbyfive-thirty,withnothingbutmythoughtsforcompany.Insidemypursewasthatfolded-upsheetofpaperwiththedetailsoftheparty.
Me—6:40p.m.
Luce—8p.m.
Connor—8:10p.m.
Parker—8:30p.m.
Ikeptworkingthroughtheeventsofthatnight,tryingtoseesomethingnew.Wonderingwhethereachpersonwastrulyaccountedfortheentiretime.
Afterwehadallarrived,therewasthegamewithGregRandolph;Luceshowingmethebrokenwindow;thepoweroutageandEllieArnoldfalling—orpushed—intothepool;Parkerhelpingmecleanthebathroomafter;thenhisfightwithLuceupstairs;andConnor,headingfortheexit,untilIpulledhimback.
Andnow,atseven-thirtyinthemorning,Iwasalreadyatthesidedoortothehospitalmedicalcenter,waitingforthemtounlock.Thegentleautomatedclick,andIwasin.
Ifoundherofficedownthewhitemazeofhalls.Hername,onasignonthedoor,alongwiththreeothers.Thoughthehourswerepostedfromeight-thirtyon,Iknewshe’dhavetoshowupsoonerthanthat.
Isawtheshadowfirst—nofootsteps—roundingthecorner.Thenawoman:rubber-soledflatshoes,dressslacks,abluefittedblouse.Hairpulledbackandclippedlow,coffeeinonehand,phoneintheother.ItwasLuce.Shestoppedassoonasshecamearoundthecorner,stilllookingdownatherphone,asifshecouldsensesomethingoff.Somethingoutofplace.
Shelookedupandblinkedtwice,herfacegivingawaynothing.
“Hi,”Isaid.
Shekeptlooking,likeshewasn’tsurewhoIwas.
Andthensomethingseemedtoregister—puttingmeincontext,draggingoutthememory.“Avery?”shesaid.Shelookedoverhershoulder,asifIcould’vebeenwaitingforsomeoneelse.
“Iwashopingtofindyoubeforeofficehours.”Itappedthesignonherdoor,areminderthatIwasjustfollowingpublicinformation.“Iwashopingtotalktoyou.”
“Iseverythingokay?”Shesteppedcloser,andIwonderedifshewastalkingaboutParker.Whethertheywerestillcloseandnowshewasworriedaboutherboyfriend—thefactthattheywerejustonabreak,ormaybenotabreakatall.Maybeshehadjuststayedbehindforwork,andParkerhadlied.Itwouldn’tbethefirsttime.
“Yes.No,I’mnotsure.Sadie’sdedicationceremonyisthisweek,youknow?Parker’sthere.Andtheinvestigation,it’snotassimpleasitseemedafterall.”
Shetuckedherphoneintoherpurse,tookoutherkeys,openedthedoor.“Ididn’tthinkitwassimplefromthestart.”Sheheldthedooropenformewithherbackfoot,beckoningmeinsideassheflippedontheoverheadlightsanddroppedherbagbehindthefrontdesk.Itwasasmalloffice,ascatteringofchairsalongthewallacrossfromthereceptiondesk,andahallwaywithseveralopendoors,visiblefromwherewestood.
Shecheckedherwatch.“Weprobablyhavetenminutesbeforethesecretaryarrives.She’salwaysearly.”
Ikeptstaringather,whichmadeherfrown.Butitwasjustthesurpriseofher.SheappearedsodifferentthanthepersonI’dmettheprevioussummer,inwhitecaprisandgoldjewelryandperfecthaircurledbeneathhercollarbone.IfiguredImustseemdifferenttoheraswell,outsideLittleport.Thetownitselfmadepeoplesomethingmore.Thatwaswhythevisitorswentthere.Surroundedbythemountainsandtheocean,youbecamemorethanyouwereelsewhere.Someonewhocouldcutakayakthroughthebreakers;someonewho’dhikedtothetopofamountain,lookedoutovertheforestoftrees,straighttotheocean,believingyouearnedeveryaspectofit.Whocouldbehomeintimetodrinkchampagneoverlobsterthatevening.Someoneworthyofeverythingtheplacehadtooffer.
Luceglancedoncetowardthecloseddoor,clearingherthroat.Iwaslosinghernowthatshehadtimetothinkthingsthrough.TorealizeImust’vefoundhername,drivenhalfaday,justtobestandinghereinfrontofher.
“WhendidyoulastspeaktoParker?”Iasked.
Thatseemedtofocusherattention,becausehereyeswidenedslightly,herbreathingpickedup.Almostasifshewereafraid.“Wehaven’tspokenmuchsincewebrokeup.”
“Whenwasthat?”
Shetippedherhead.“LastSeptember.Well,technically,thatnight.Thenightoftheparty.”
“What?”Isawheragain,leavingtheupstairsbedroom.Thatwildlookinhereyes.Hadhedumpedherrightthen?Orhaditbeenher?
“Wegotinafightthatnight,butthatwasjustthelaststraw.Thethingthatmakesyousayit,youknow?”
I’dheardthemfromthebathroom.Thebangagainstthewall.Idroppedmyvoice.“Didhehurtyou?”
“Parker?No.Itwasnothinglikethat…Heopenedthedoortoleave,andIslammeditshut.”Sheshookherhead.“Ijustwantedthetruthforonce.Iwassosickofthelies.”
“ButIsawyou.Attheservice.”Standingbesidehim,watchingme.He’dleaneddowntowhisperinherear,andshe’dflinched,turningaway—
“Yeah,heaskedthat—Well,hesaiditwouldn’tlookgoodifwe’dbrokenupthesamenighthissisterdied.”Sherolledhereyes.“Canyoubelieveit?Eventhentheywerethinkingofhowthingswouldlook.Weagreedtokeepupappearancesuntilaftertheservice,aftereverythingwounddownandIstartedmyjob.”Shegesturedaroundtheroom.“Mostly,wejustsortof…driftedafter.Therewasnothinglefttosay.I’vegoneoutofmywaynottocrosspathswiththeLomanssince.Sofar,I’vesucceeded.”
“Ithoughtyou…Well,theyseemedtoreallylikeyou.Youseemedtolikethem.”
Shelaughedthen,unexpectedly.“Sure.Theyseemlikealotofthings.”Shechewedtheinsideofhercheek,consideringme.AnervoushabitI’dnevernoticedbefore.“Haveyoueverplayedchess?”
Myfatherhad,buthissethaddisappearedafterthatfirstmove,andIdidn’tknowhowtoplay,really.“Youthinkthey’replayingagame?”Iasked.
Sheranherhandbackoverherhair,downtheponytail.“Ithinktheyarethegame,Avery.Bishopsandknights.Kingsandqueens.Pawns.”
Ilostthethread,lostthemetaphor.“Youthinkyouwereapawn?”Ormaybeitwasmeshewastalkingabout.
Shepressedherlipstogether,notanswering.“Theywillsacrificeanythingfortheking.”
IrememberedwhatGranthadtaughtme—thatyouhadtobewillingtoriskinordertowin.Thatyouhadtobewillingtopartwithsomething.Youhadtobereadytolose.
“Thefamilyissoscrewedup,”shecontinued,hervoicebarelyaboveawhisper.“Theyhateeachother.”
“No…”Isaidunconvincingly.Thinking:Theycloseranks.Whenthingsgowrong,theycover.SettingParkeruptotakeoverthecompany.MovingSadie’scareer.Guidingtheirlives.ButI’dalsowitnessedtheanimositybetweenSadieandParker.TherewasnowayLucehadn’tnoticed.Ithoughtithadstemmedfromjealousy,fromtheexpectationsoftheirparents—atypicalsiblingrivalry—butmaybeIwaswrong
“It’sallfake,”shesaid.“Imaginethelengthstheymustgoto,allofthem,tomakeyoubelieve.Everything’sfake.Nothing’sreal.”
ButLucehadpointedthefingeratme.DetectiveCollinstoldmeso.
“YoutoldthepoliceIwasobsessedwithSadie.”
Shetookadeepbreath.“Thatdetective…hewaslookingforsomething.AndIdidn’twanthimtoseeitinme.HekeptaskingforeverymoveImade.WhereIwas,everysecond.It’ssohardtoremembereverymoment.Whatyoudid,whatyousaw…”Sheclosedhereyes,butIcouldseethemmovingunderneaththelids.“WhatwasIsupposedtothink,though?WhenIarrivedlastsummer,youwerereallynotpleasedtoseemethere.Itwasn’talie,whatItoldhim.”
“Ijustdidn’tknowyouwouldbethere,”Isaid.“Noonetoldme,either.”
Shetwistedthecoffeecupinherhands,tookalongsip,thendroppedtherestinthetrashcanbesidethedesk.“IthoughtyouwereafterParkeratfirst.ButthenIsaw—thewayyouandSadiewere.Idon’tknowwhathappenedbetweenthetwoofyouoverthesummer,butyes,Itoldthepolice.Itwasahumiliatingnightforme,andIwassickofreplayingit.AndthenSadie,God.Ijustwantedtogetoutofthere.”Ashudderrolledthroughherasshefinishedspeaking.
“Youmeantherewasareasontheymightfocusonyou?”
Hermouthwasathinline.“No,notme.”
Parker,then.ShemeantParker.Parker’sinvolvementwoulddragherdownintothemess.Thewayyoucouldpullsomeoneupintoadifferentworldbutalsopullsomeonedown.Itwasalessonwe’dbothlearnedfromtheLomans.
Luceshruggedonherwhitecoat.Clippedonanametag.Ithoughtaboutthewayswedressedtopresentourselves.Howweslippedintoanotherdisguise,anotherskin.Howweshiftedourappearanceinwaystosaysomethingtooneanother.Lucenow:Iamapersonwhowillhelpyou.Or:Ibelonghere.
Shelookedattheclockoncemore.“Isthiswhatyoucamefor?Isthatenough?”
“SomeonekilledSadie.Thatnotewasn’thers.”
Shestaredatmeforalongtime,herhandsfrozenonhernametag.Finally,shesmoothedherhandsdownthesideofherlabcoat.Loweredhervoice.“AreyouaskingifIthinkoneofthemcould’vedoneit?”
Wasn’tI?Wasn’tthatwhatIwasherefor?“Youknewbetterthanmehowtheywere.”Iclearedmythroat.“Yousawhowallofthemwere.”Iwastooclosetoseeclearly.And,asshe’dtoldmethedaywemet,she’dknownthemlonger.
“Idid.”
“IthinkSadiewantedtogetoutofthere.Ithinkshefoundsomethingoutaboutherfamily.”Iglancedtotheside,leavingmypartoutofit—thatwhatevershehadfoundwasn’ttiedonlytoherfamilybuttomine.Thetheft,thepayments—howitwasallconnected,andIwasapartofit.
“Idon’tknowthatshewantedtoleave,exactly,”Lucesaid.“Ithinkshejustwantedtobeseen,likeParkerwas.Heneedsit,youknow,fromeveryonearoundhim.TheidolizationofParkerLoman.”Sherolledhereyes.“ButSadiewasneverhavingit.”Alittlestarprotégé.Ajuniorasshole.“Herteasing,itgotunderhisskin.I’dneverseenParker’slookturnsodarkaswhenSadiepushedhim.Itwasalwayssomething.Shekeptteasinghimabouthisscar.Ididn’tthinkitwasthatbigadeal.Wewereallyoungonce.”Shetouchedhereyebrow,shrugged.“Butshewouldn’tletup.Said,Oh,tellLuceaboutyourwildyouth.Parkergetsawaywitheverything.Whatwasitagain,afightwithtwoguys?Afightoversomegirl?Hewouldstaysilent,butshe’dkeeppushing.Saysomethinglike,Parker,yournextlineis:“Youshouldseetheotherguy.”OrdoIhaveitwrong?Comeon,tellus.Or,Thesinsofhisyouth.Lockedawayforever.”
IcouldseeSadiedoingit,theexpressiononherface.Digginganddigginguntilsomethingsnapped.Parkercangetawaywithanything.Shehatedhim.Ofcourseshedid.Thelifeshecouldneverhave,evengrowingupinthesamehouse,withthesameparents,thesameopportunities.
“Whydidyoubreakup,then?Wereyouafraidofhim?”
“No,Iwasn’tafraid.Iwaspissed.”Shelookedtothesideandsniffed.“It’sembarrassing.Thatnight.Thewindow.Remember?”
Iheldmybreath.Heldperfectlystill.
“IwasinsidelookingforParker.ButIfinallysawhimthroughthewindow.Ismiled.Iremember,Ismiled.”Sheshookherheadtoherself.“UntilIsawthathishandswereout.Hewastalkingtoanothergirl,tryingtogethertocalmdown.Andthelookonherface…Iknowthatlook.Anger,yes,butalsoheartbreak.Andthenshepickeduponeofthosestandingpillarsaroundthepatioandswungitathishead.”Luceswungherarmsasifholdingabat—demonstratingorremembering.Mymouthdroppedopen.
Hermouthquirkedintoasmile.“Thatwasmylook,too.Heduckedoutoftheway,butithittheglass,and,well,yousaw.Shemeanttodoit.Shewasgoingtohurthim.Shewasso,soangry…Later,whenIconfrontedhim,heclaimeditwasoverlongago.Thatshecouldn’tletitgo.Butcomeon.”Sheflexedherfingers.“Iwantedthetruth.Nomorelies.Youdon’twaituntiltheverylastdayofsummerandattacksomeoneaboutsomethingthathappenedayearago.Shewassoangry,angryenoughtohurthimrightthen.”Herthroatmoved.“Thatwholeplace…it’slikeyouwalkintoit,andit’saworlduntoitself.Nothingelseexists.Timestops.Youthinkyoucandoanything…”Thensherefocusedonme.“Youdidn’tknow?Ireallythoughteveryonewasinonthejokebutme.”
“No,”Isaid.“Ididn’tknow.”IhadnoideawhatParkerdidwhenhewasoffalone.
“Parkerbeggedmetoleaveheroutofit.AndIonlydidbecauseIdidn’tbelievethenthathecould’vehurtSadie.Weweretogethermostofthenight,andthentherewasthatnote…Ididn’tbelievehe’dreallyhurther.ButIdon’tknowanymore.Themoretimethatpasses,lookingback?”Sheshookherhead.
ButIwasbarelylistening.Iwaspicturingthegirloutbackwithapillarheldlikeabat.RunningthroughalistoffacesI’dseenattheparty.RumorsI’dheardorimaginedaboutParker.“Theothergirl,didyouknowhername?”
“No.ButIknewwhoshewas.I’dseenherbefore.Curlyhair,sortofbrownishred.Workedatthatbed-and-breakfast,theonewewenttoforbrunchsometimes.”Shechokedonherownlaugh.“Hebroughtmerightthereduringthesummer,paradedmearound,thesickfuck.Ifigured,after,that’swhyhewantedtoparkthere.That’swhattookhimsolongtoshowupattheparty.Sohecouldseeherfirst.”
Isteppedbackjustasthedoorswungopen.Anolderwomaninafloraldressstoodthere,halfintheentrance,doorbalancedonherhip.Shelookedbetweenus.“Iseverythingokay?”Shemust’vesenseditintheair,thetension,thedangerofthismoment.Anametagwasclippedtothefrontofherdress.Thesecretary,then.
“Ihavetogo,”Isaid.
“Avery?”Luce’svoicefadedawayasthedoorswungshutbehindme.Imovedfast,practicallyrunningdownthehall.Ipushedthroughtheclosestexit,intothecrispmorningend-of-summerair,suckinginadeepbreath.
GoddamnConnor.Heknew.Thegirlhewasarguingwithintheshadows—theonewho’dswungapillaratParker.Isawthemthroughthecracksinthewindow,neartheedgeoftheyard—herfacejustoutofframe.Hesawithappen,andhelied.Choosinghisallegiance,thenandnow.
Icouldseeherperfectly,thatgirlintheshadows.Knuckleswhite.Ipicturedthelookinhereyesasshestumbledbackward.Couldseeitclearly,inawayInevercouldbefore.Fear,yes,butanger,too.
Faith.IthadbeenFaith.
CHAPTER24
Isatinthecaroutsidethehospital,myhandsshaking.Pullingoutthatsheetofpaperwithournames,unfoldingitagain.Addingonemorenametotheendofthelist:
Faith—9p.m.
She’dbeenthere.SometimeafterParkerhadarrivedbutbeforethewindowhadbeenbroken.
Icouldbarelyfocusonthedrivehome,feelingnothingbutawhite-hotragesurgingthroughmybones.
Ifthecasewasreopened,likeIbelieved,thepolicewerelookingatapersonwhohadbeenattheparty.Theywerelookingatthatlistofnamesagain.
Buttherewasonemorename.Anamethepolicedidn’tevenknowabout.Someonewhowasn’tevensupposedtobethere.
CONNORKEPTCALLINGWITHafrequencythatIfoundalarming.Ihadwatchedeachcallcomethrough,listenedtoeachringuntilitwenttovoicemail.Butthenitwouldstartupagainafewmomentslater,andIstartedtoworrythatsomethinghadhappened.Sadie’sdedicationwasthenextday.Iwonderediftheinvestigationhadchangedanything.Thenexttimethephonestartedup,Iansweredonspeaker.“Hello?”
“Whereareyou,”hesaidbywayofgreeting.
“Onmywayback.Iseverythingokay?”ThecoastalhighwaywasmuchemptierheadingnorthonaMonday,somuchdifferentthantheSundaycommuteoutoftown.
“Iwasworried.Yousaidyouwouldcall,andyoudidn’t.”
“Sorry.IstarteddrivingstraightaftertalkingtoLuce.”
Apause.“Whatdidshetellyou?Whatdidyoufindout?”
Nolongercuriositybutatest,andIcouldn’ttellwherehisallegianceremained.“Oh,I’msureyoualreadyknow.”
Astretchofsilence,everythingunravelingbetweenusinthegap.“No.”
“Youdidn’tknowFaithwasthegirlwhobrokethewindow?”Icameupfastonthecaraheadofme,veeredarounditwithoutpausing.Ihadtoslowdown,calmdown,butmyfingerstightenedonthewheel.“Youdidn’tknowshewasfightingwithParkerLomanandtookaswingathim?”
“No.No.Imean,Isawherthere.Iknewshewasupset.IknewshewastheretoconfrontParker,butItoldhertoleave.Isentherhome.Jesus,shewasfuriouswithme,probablystillis.Accusedmeofbeingatraitor.Shedidn’tknowwhyIwasthere.”
“Well,youmissedit.Thefight.Shewaspissedandtookastonepillartohishead.ShemissedParkerandhitthewindowinstead.”
“Listen,Faithwouldn’thurtsomeone…”
Hiswordstrailedoff,andinthegapofsilence,Ilaughed.“ButIwould,isn’tthatwhatyoumean?”
Hedidn’tanswer.
“Sheswungitathishead.”
“Thewindowwasn’tevenbroken,right?Sheprobablydidn’tswingitthathard.Maybeshejustwantedtoscarehim.Lethimknowshewasupset.”
“Givemeabreak,Connor.”AsifthatwerethenarrativehewantedtobelieveaboutbothFaithandhimself.Thathehadnotlatchedhimselfontotwogirlsfromhisyouth,eachofwhomhadthepowertoharm,torage.Becausewhatdiditmeanforhimthathesawsomethinginthebothofusthatheliked—thatheloved?
“Youdon’tknowheranymore,she’s…”
“She’swhat?”
“Smaller,somehow.Likeshesurrenderedandgaveup.”
“Thatdoesn’tsoundlikeFaith.”NotthegirlIusedtoknow,sneakinginhouseswithme,speakinghermind,fearingnothing—theperpetualbounceinherstep.ButIrememberedhowshelookedwhenIsawherattheB&Btheweekbefore,quietandreserved.Theclippedwords,thefakeamicability.
Butshecouldharm.Oh,shecouldharm.
Benduntilyoufindthatpoint.Whenyou’relowandsinkingfaster,andsoyoudosomething,anything,inadrasticmove,justtogetittostop.Thefuckyourisingtothesurface.ThescarfromParker’sfight.TheviolentshrugofConnor’sarm.MyhandsconnectingwithFaith’sshoulders.ThesurgeasIfeltourshiftinbalance—thefulcrumonwhichsomanyliveswerebalanced.
“Listen,I’moutmakingafewdeliveries,butletmetalktoherfirst.Let’sgettogether.Let’s—”
“No,Connor.No.”IwouldnotwaitforConnor.DetectiveCollinsclearlyhadthetwoofusinhiscrosshairs.Connorhadtoldmeasmuch—thatthedetectivewasaskingquestions,notonlyaboutConnorbutaboutme.AndI’djustdiscoveredthatConnor’sallegiancedidnotliewithme.IfIwantedthetruth,I’dhavetogettheremyself,beforeitwastoolate.“I’llknowthetruthwhenIaskher.I’llknow.”SameashowConnorandIcouldstillreadeachotherevenafteralltheseyears.Thethingswewantedtokeephiddenbutcouldn’t.Faithcouldn’tlietome.IfIaskedher,ifshe’dhurtSadie—I’dknow.
“Andthenwhat?”Connorasked.
Ididn’tknow.Couldn’tanswerhonestly.FaithorSadie.Mypastormypresent.“Promisemeyou’llletmetalktoherfirst.”
“We’retoooldforpromises,Avery.”Hehungup,andIpressedmyfootonthegas,pickingupspeedasIveeredoffthehighway.
IWASN’TPAYINGATTENTIONasIeasedmyfootoffthegas,coastingbackdownthemountainroadstowardthesea.Didn’tseetheapproachinghairpinturnandbrakedtoolate—themomentumswingingthebackofmycarofftheedgeofthepavement,theentirecarteeteringslightlyleft.Mystomachdropped,andIjerkeduptheemergencybrake.Myhandsshook,mypulseraced,andittookuntilthesurpriseofanothercar—ahonkasitswervedpast—beforeIcouldfocusagain.
Howeasythatwould’vebeen,Irealized.DeathneversomethingIhadtolookforbutsomethingthatsneakedupwhenIwasn’twatching.Howeasyitmust’vebeenformyfather,driftingasleeponthemountainroad,mymotherbesidehim,mygrandmotherintheback.Thedarkroad,thedarknight.Honestly,Iwassurpriseditdidn’thappenmoreoften.
Itwasamiracle,itseemed,thatsomanyofusmadeitthisfarandkeptgoing.
Itookafewdeepbreaths,thendrovebacktowardthedowntownofLittleport.Inthedistance,thesunhitthesurfaceofthewater,andmystomachdropped.IpassedtheturnforHawksRidgeonmyleft,withitsstonepillarsandirongates.Thenaroadtotheright—forkingofftowardtheplaceIgrewup,withtheone-levelhomesthatbackedtothewoods,andaviewofthemountains.Infrontofme,theroadslopedtowardtheseaandthecenterofdowntown.
Thestreetsweren’tascongestedastheywereontheweekend,andIcouldpickoutafewfamiliarfacesasIpassed.IknewDetectiveCollinswassomewhereouthere,lookingforme.Waitingforme.BecausehebelievedthatIhadwantedtobepartofSadieLoman’sworld,andthatwhenshewassettocastmeoutofit,Iwantedherdead.
TheyknewwhatIwascapableofwhenIwasangry.
Theseainthedistancelookedcalm.Isteeredthecarbackuptheincline,pastthepolicestationontopofthehill,towardthePointinthedistance,andthelighthouse.
Thelotwashalffull,andmywheelsslowedonthegraveldrive.AsIexitedthecar,Icouldhearthecrashofthewavesagainstthecliffsbeyondthewoodenfence.Theshockingpoweroftheocean.Areminderthatoneplacecouldbecomebothanightmareandadream.
Watchingafamilyemptytheirluggagefromthecarbesideme,Ialmostmissedit:awomanwalkingfrombehindtheB&Bintothewoods.DownthepathI’dracedtheyearbefore.
Itwasthespeedatwhichshemovedthatmademefollowher.Thathair,wildanduntamable,piledinaponytailhighonthetopofherhead.Thequickglanceoverhershoulder,likeshedidn’twanttobeseen.
Ikeptmydistance,followingthepath,butIcouldn’tkeepherinviewwithoutbeingnoticed.AndbythetimeIreachedthebackyardoftheBlueRobin—thehighrowofhedgessurroundingthepool,theflashofthebluesidingfromthehouse,peekingoutfromoverthetop—Ihadlosther.
Istoodstillandlistenedforsignsofher;foranything.
Aflutterinthetrees.Leavesblowingacrossthegroundinaquickgustofwind.Acrashofwavesinthedistance.
Andthen:thesoundofadooropening.
IsteppedaroundthecorneroftheBlueRobinjustintimetoseethedoorclosinginthehouseacrossthestreet.Istoodthere,staring.ShewasinsideSunsetRetreat.
Itwasn’tbecauseofabrokenwindow,amissinglatch.Thatwasn’thowshe’dbeengettinginside.
Shealreadyhadthekey.
CHAPTER25
Iwaitedacrossthestreet,pressedagainstthesideoftheBlueRobin,watching.Tryingtounderstand.Faithhadbeenatthepartylastyear,hadgottenintoafightwithParker.NowshewasinsideoneoftheLomanproperties.ItriedtomatchthisinformationtotheghostofthegirlIusedtoknow.
IrememberedConnorandFaithandmeinsidetheemptyLomanhousetogether.Thewayshe’dopenedallthecabinets,peeringinside—allofustakingstockofthelifethatwasn’tours.DetectiveCollinswasright—therewassomeonewhohadgrownobsessedovertheyears.Whohadwatchedandfoundacrack—awayintothatlife.Onlyitwasn’tme.
Ihadn’tsetfootinsideSunsetRetreatsinceI’ddiscoveredthegasleak.Thissoonafter,Iwasn’tsureifitwassafeyet.
Icreptacrossthestreet,keepingtothetreeswhenIcould,andstoodonmytoes,peeringinthefrontwindow.Behindthegauzycurtains,Faithwasrunningherhandsalongthesurfaces,openingthecabinets,justlikeshehadallthoseyearsago.Shewasbothdifferentandfamiliar.Smaller,yes,likeConnorhadsaid—quieterinheractions.AndyetstillthesameFaithwhowasboldenoughtosneakintoahousethatwasnothers,runwildthroughtown,likeshewaspartoftheproductofthisplace.Invisible,now,asweweretaughttobe.
Ikeptwatchingasshepulledsomethingdownfromacabinet.MyforeheadpressedtotheglassbeforeIcouldunderstandwhatshewasdoing—thematchbookinherhand.
No.No.Hernameonmylips,stuckinmythroat.Thepushandpull.Stayorrun.“Faith!”Icalled,myeyeswideandtearing,butshedidn’tlookup.
Ipoundedontheglassjustasshestruckthematch,butthesparkdidn’ttake.Shesawmethen,butherfacedidn’tchange.Shetookoutasecondmatch,andIhitthewindowagain.“Stop!Wait!”AllIcouldthinkofwasthesmellofgas.
Shelookedrightatmeasshestruckthematch,andIflinched.Theflamecaught,andshehelditbetweenherfingers,staringmyway.Iwasholdingmybreath,shouldersbraced.Butnothinghappenedasshebroughtthematchslowlydowntoacandle.
“Faith,”Icalledagain,butIknewIwasmuffledbehindtheglass,myexpressionsoftenedandobscured.Ipoundedontheglassagainwithbothhands.“Getout.”
Shedidn’tlisten,butshedidn’tstopmewhenIracedupthefrontporch,lettingmyselfinbehindher.Istoodinthedoorway,fistsclenched,leaningback—asiftheextradistancecouldprotectme.“Blowitout,”Isaid,butshejuststoodthere,watchingme.“There’sgas.Therewas.Agasleak—”
“Heardthatwasfixed,”shesaid,blowingoutthematch.Thecandleflickeredonthecounter.
Ilungedpasther,practicallyrunningacrosstheroom,andblewoutthecandlemyself.Myhandsweretrembling.“Therecould’vebeenanexplosion.Afire.Faith,youcould’ve…”Ishookmyhead,oncemorehearingSadie’svoice.TallyingallthewaysImightdie.
Faithblinkedslowly,takingmein.“Thegaswasturnedoff.It’sperfectlysafe.”
Andthenwewerestandingface-to-face,therisingsmokebetweenus.Herfacewasmoreangular—sharpnose,highcheekbones,achinthatnarrowedtoapoint.Theyearshadchiseledherout,turningherseriousanddetermined.
“Didyoucallthepolice?”sheaskedcalmly,evenly.Shedidn’ttrytorun.Nowthatshe’dbeencaught,shedidn’tevenmakeanyexcuses.Itwasasifshe’dbeenwaitingformetowalkinthefrontdoor.
ButIwasshaken,toomuchadrenalinecoursingthroughmyveinsandnowhereforittogo.“Jesus,Faith,whatareyoudoinginhere?”
Sheshrugged,thentookaslow,resignedbreath.“Idon’tknow.Iliketocomeheresometimes.It’speaceful.Aquietstreet.”
“Youhaveakey?”
Sherolledhereyes.“Youtellthevisitorstoleavethekeyinthemailbox.Nobodycomesforhours.Notthebestbusinesspractice,Avery.Canyoublameme?Iwouldn’tbesurprisediftherewereothers.Youknowhowpeoplegetinthewinter.”Shestareddirectlyintomyeyes,daringmetodenyit.RemindingmethatIoncewasoneofthem,andsheknewexactlywhatwe’ddonetogether.
Iwasthinkingabouttheotherproperties,thesignsofsomeoneelse.NotjustthegasleakherebuttheshatteredscreenofthetelevisionatTrail’sEnd;theevidenceofsomeoneinsidetheBlueRobin;thecandleslitallaroundtheSeaRose.Howmanymorewerethere?“Youmadeacopyofotherkeys,too,didn’tyou?”
Sheshruggedagain.“Sure,whynot?”
Ipushedopenthekitchenwindows,justincase.Tome,thisplacewouldalwaysbedangerous.“IsthisbecauseofParker?”Iasked.
Hereyesnarrowed,theskinpullingtightaroundtheedges.Herteethsnaggedatthecornerofherlip,butsheshookherhead.“Fuckhim.”
Stillangry,then.Andnowinthepositiontodosomethingaboutit.“Iknowyouweretherelastyear.Attheparty.Iknowyougotinafightwithhim.”Isteppedcloser,aroundthekitchenisland.“Iknowyoubrokethewindow.”
Faithtookastepback,herhandgoingtoherelbowoninstinct.Therewasascartherefromthesurgery.Istoppedmoving,andsheeyedmecarefully.
“Iwasangry,”shesaid,staringbackunflinching.Asifthatfeelingbondedustogether.Asifwewerethesame.“He’sanasshole,butyouprobablyalreadyknowthat.”Shelookedtotheside.“We’reallsupposedtoknowthat,right?We’resupposedtoknowbetter.”Thenshefixedhereyesonmine,andIunderstood.Howyoucouldgetpulledintotheorbitofoneworld,thinkingyouhadaplaceinit,evenifyouweren’tfullypartofit.
“Whathappenedbetweenthetwoofyou?”Iasked.
“ParkerLomanhappened.Youshouldknow,right?Waltzedintothebed-and-breakfastlikeheownedtheplace.Iknewwhohewas,hadseenhimeveryyear,butsuddenly,hesawme.”Shesmiledatthememory.“Thatfirstsummer,itwasfun,keepingthesecret.Butthenheshowedupwithherthenextyear.”
“Luce.”
Shewavedherhand,asifthenamewereinconsequential.Putahandonherhipandleanedintoit.“Hedidn’tstop,youknow.Kepttellingmeitwasamistake,bringinghertotown.Thathedidn’twantherthereanymorebutcouldn’tjustsendherhome…Hecametoseemeeventhen,thatnight.Droppedhissupposedgirlfriendatthepartyandcametoseeme.”
Icouldbelieveit.Thewayhe’dstoodovermeinthebathroomwithLucesomewhereoutside.Sadie’swords—thathecouldanddidgetawaywitheverything.Howheneededit,theidolizationofParkerLoman.
“Soyouweretiredofbeingasecret?”Iasked.
“Ithoughtitwouldbefuntoplaythesecretoutinpublic.Moreatstake,youknow?HegotsomadwhenIsaidI’dseehimatthepartylater.LikethereweresomerulesthatIdidn’tknowabout.Hethoughthewascallingalltheshots.Buthe’snot.It’snotjusthisdecision.Wearguedaboutitatmyplace,butthenhesaidhehadtogo.AnothercarpulledintothelotoftheB&B,anditspookedhim.Hesaidhedidn’twanttobeseen.”Sheshookherhead.“Seriously,eventhethoughtofbeingseenwithmewastoomuch…Well,itdidn’tseemsofunanymore.”
ParkerLoman,livingsomanylives.Hislies,thenandnow,soeffortless.Didheknow,allalong,ithadbeenher?Didhesuspectherofsneakingaround,causingdamagetotheproperties,andwaskeepingquiettosaveface?Sohewouldn’thavetoadmithehadbeenseeingalocalwhohadlosthermind?
“Butyoufollowedhim,”Isaid.“Totheparty.Lucesawyouthere,youknow.”
Shecrossedherarmsoverherchest.“Well.Ididn’tgooverrightaway.Spentsometimestewinginmyanger.Butthen,yes.Ifollowedhim.Iknewwherehewasgoing.Whereyouallwere.ThoughIdidn’texpectConnor.”Hereyeswidened.“Thistownconvincesyouallyou’rebetterthanyoureallyare.”
“Faith,”Isaid,andshejarredbacktoreality.“You’vebeendestroyinghispropertiestogetbackathim?”
“I’mnotthatpetty.Awomanscorned.Really,Avery?”Shestrodethroughthefoyer,threwopenthefrontdoor,andgestureddowntheemptyroad.Isteppedoutfront,lookingintothetrees,butIdidn’tseeanything.“Doyouknowwhat’shappeningherewhileyouactlikeGrantLoman’slittlepuppet?Doyouknowwhat’shappeningtotherestofusasyouwatchhimbuyupmoreandmoreandmore?”
Ishookmyhead,becauseIdidn’t.IknewGrant’saccountsdeeply.Knewhishopesandaspirationsforthisplaceandmyrolewithinit.IknewpeoplehadbeenpissedwhenI’dsoldmygrandmother’shousetohim,butIdidnotknowwhatFaithwastalkingabout.
“IfinishedmydegreethisMay,andIcomebackhometowork,andIdiscoveredtheB&Bistotallyinthered.Notjustalittle.Likeunsalvageable.Myparentstookoutasecondmortgagefortheexpansionacoupleyearsback,thinkingtheycouldrecoupitwiththenewunits.Butwecan’t.Notwithalltheotheroptionsoutthere.”Shelookedoutthewindow.“Weweresupposedtoexpandhere,didyouknow?Weputabidontheseproperties,weregoingtohavethisbeanannexofthemainbuilding.Butwedidn’tgetthem.Thepropertiesareallundercontract,someLLC.”Herupperlippulleduppastherteeth.
“I’mnotworkingforthemanymore.Believeme,I—”
“Andyou.”Shesteppedcloser,fixingherangeronme.Walkingdownthefrontporchstep,forcingmebackintheprocess.“You,thiscompletefuckup…”Shecringed,thenshookherheadtoherself.“I’msorry,butyouwere.Thiscompletenobody.Nowyou’rerunningtheshow?Whenpeoplelikeme,whodoeverythingright,getthedegree,servetheirtime—wecomebackheretonothing?Excusemefordoingsomethingaboutit.I’mjusttryingtoreclaimwhat’smine.”
“Bywhat?”AndthenIunderstood.Shewastryingtospookthevisitors.HittheLomans’bottomlinewhereithurt.Ourbottomline,asfarasshewasconcerned.Ididn’tknowwhomshewasangrierwith—themorme.Ormaybeeverythingwasalltieduptogether,feedingoffofoneanother.Me,thepersonwhohadhurtherphysically;Parker,theonewhohadbrokenherheart;theLomans,destroyingherfuture.Everythingbrokehere.
“Haveyoubeenupthere?AttheLomans’?”
Shethrewherhandsintheair,asifitwereallsoobvious.“I’mjusttryingtofindsomething.Anything.IjustwantsomethingIcanuse.Iwantthemoutofhere.”Shewastremblingthen.“Iwantedyououtofthere.Itisn’tfair.”Hervoicebrokeonthelastword.
ThenightswhentheelectricityhadgoneoutandI’dbelievedmyselfalone.Footstepsinthesand,thebackdoorleftopen,andthefeelofsomeoneinthehousewithme.Theflashlightonthebluffs.“Youcouldgotojail,”Iwhispered.“Theycouldruinyou.”Thetruth,then.Theycouldruinanyone.
Shesatdownonthefirststep,lookingdowntheundevelopedstreet,legsstretchedoutinfrontofherandcrossedattheankles.“Areyougoingtotellthepolice?”
IhadcomeheretoaskFaithaboutSadie,thinkingthatifIlookedherintheeye,I’dknow.Instead,shewasconfessingtosomethingelse.Somethingperhapsunconnected.Meanwhile,I’dgiventhepolicethephone,toldthemeverythingIknew,andallithaddonewasturntheirfocusonme.Ididn’tknowwhatelseIowedthem.Orher.
“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.That,atleast,wasthetruth.
“Whataboutthem,then?”sheasked.“AreyougoingtotelltheLomans?”
“I’mnotspeakingtothemrightnow.They’renotspeakingtome.Idon’tworkforthemanymore.Iwasfired.”Ididn’towetheLomansanything.MaybeIneverdid.
HereyetwitchedwithsomeemotionIcouldn’tunderstand.“Iwanthimtoknowitwasme,”shesaid.
Shehadnoidea,thedepthsofmyownanger.Ormaybeshedid.Shetippedherheadtotheside,watchingmeclosely.
“Noone’sstoppingyou,”Isaid.“Dowhatyouwant.ButtheLomans,theythinktheycontroleverything.People,properties,thisentiretown.Theythinkthey’veearnedthatright.Theythinktheydeservetoknoweverything.Maybetheydon’t.”
Ifitwereme,I’dletthemwonder.Letthemwakeuptofootstepsandnotbesure.Letthatfracturesplittheirnight,theirlives.
“Youneedtoleave,”Isaid.“Youneedtogetoutofhere.Please,juststop.Youalmost…Thisplace,itwasfullofgas.Someonecould’vegottenhurt.”
“No,noonewassupposedtogethurt.Just—noonewasevennoticing.Youdidn’t,even,untilthecandles.Noonewasdoinganything.”
Achillranthroughme.Alltheseinvisiblelives,hiddenjustoutofsight.Eventhatnightattheparty,whenshewasrightthere,sheremainedoutofframe,hiddenbehindshadowsandbrokenglass.
“Didyouseewhathappenedthatnight?”Iasked.
Shelookedatmeoutofthecornerofhereye.Thenpressedherlipstogether.Whatdidshethinkhadhappened?Didshe,likethepolice,believeIcould’vebeeninvolvedinSadie’sdeath?
“No.Connortoldmetoleave.Iwasn’tabouttohangaroundafterthat.”
HadthosebeenthefootstepsI’dheardthatnightinthewoods?WhenIcalledSadie’sname?Forgettinghowsomanyofuscouldmovelikeaghost,undetectedandinvisible—asweweretaughttodo.
Still,itwasherword.Herwordthatshe’dlefttheparty,gonebackhome.Istaredatherface,tryingtosee—
Thesoundofacarengineinthedistancepulledmyfocus.Ipeereddowntheroadbutcouldn’tseepastthetrees.
“Faith,let’sgoback.”Ipulledherbythesleeve,tryingtogethertostand,butshewasstaringatmyhand,clenchedinthefabricofhershirt.“Thepolicehavebeenkeepinganeyeonthehouseacrossthestreet.”InoddedtowardtheBlueRobin.Iwonderedifitwasthedetectiveevennow.Ifhewouldfindushereandknow.
Shestoodthen,hergazefollowingminedowntheroad.“Idon’tseeanyone,”shesaid.
“Still.Weneedtogoback.”
Wewalkedquietly,sidebyside,aroundthesideoftheBlueRobin,backthroughthepathoftrees,liketwofriends.Toanyoneelse,itprobablylookedlikeafriendlyhike.IwaiteduntilwewereoutofviewoftheBlueRobin,untilIwassurewewerealoneagain,toask.Ikeptmyvoicelow.“Noneofthis—thecandles,thedamage—it’snotaboutSadie?”
Shestoppedwalkingforasecond,beforecontinuing.“Sadie?No.No.YouthoughtIcouldhurther?”
Couldshe?Iclosedmyeyesandshookmyhead,butthatwasalie,andsheknewit.Anyonecoulddoit.Thatwasn’tthequestionhere.“IfIwasgoingtohurtsomeone,”shesaid,notbreakingstride,“shewouldbethelastLomanonmylist.”
IhadmissedFaith.Shewasfierceandhonest—howhadInotseenherthere,intheshadows?WhatwashappeningatthepropertiesthisyearhadallbeenaboutParkerandwhattheLomansstoodfor—notSadie.
Asweemergedintotheclearingoftheparkinglot,sheheadedtowardthebackofthehouse,overlookingthesea.
“Faith.Please.Hatethemalltheywant,buttheylosttheirdaughterlastyear.Isthatnotenough?”
Shelookedofftotheedgeofthecliffs,butIknewhowitcouldbe—howyoucouldbecomesolostinyourownangerandgriefandbitternessthatyoucanbarelyseeanythingelse.Whensheturnedback,hereyeswerewatering,butIdidn’tknowifthatwasfromthestingofthesaltwaterwind.“Iknowyouwereclosetoher,andI’msorry.I’msorryshe’sdead.”
Shewalkedbacktowardthehouse,andIheadedformycar,therestofthelotcurrentlyabandoned.ButallIcouldthinkwasthatParker’scarhadbeenparkedattheB&BthenightSadiedied.Hecould’veleft,sneakedbackhome,andreturned.
“Faith,”Icalledjustbeforeshedisappearedfromview.“Yousaidacarpulledintothelotthatnight,afterParkerwashere.Whowasit?”IwonderedifitwasConnorwhohadparkedthere.
Sheshookherhead.“Ididn’tgetagoodlook.Thereweretwopeople,walkingtotheparty.Ionlyknowthatoneofthemwasinablueskirt.Icouldseeitinthemoonlight.”
Faithcontinuedinside,thesoundofherfootstepsechoingonthewoodenstepsoutofview.
Itriedtothinkwhohadwornablueskirtthatnight.Mostpeoplewereinjeans,khakishorts,afewsundresseswithjacketsoverthetop.Itwasimpossibletorememberwhatclothingpeoplehadworn.Icouldbarelyremembermyown.TherewasonlyonepersonIknewbyheart.
IclosedmyeyesandsawSadiespinningintheentranceofmyroom.Whatdowethinkofthis?Herbluedress,shimmering.Youknowyou’llfreeze,right?Pullingonmybrownsweateroverthetop.
Goosebumpsroseinarush.
Frombehind,fromwhereFaithhadstood,itwould’velookedlikeSadiewaswearingaskirt.
Andsuddenly,IsawSadietakeoutherphone,seeingthemessageIsent:Whereareyou?Andthen:???
Isawherwiththeclarityofamemoryinsteadofmyimagination.Sawitwithafervorthatmadeitperfectlytrue.Frowningatherphone,sendingmethatmessage—thelastone,theoneIneverreceived.Thedotslightingupmyphone:
I’malreadyhere.
SUMMER
2017TheDayAfterthePlus-OneParty
Ididn’tsleep.AfterIreturnedtotheguesthouse,Isatbythewindow,numb,waitingforsomethingtomakesense.Buttheworldhadshifted,andnothingregistered.Timekeptjoltinginfragments.I’dseen,fromthewindow,GrantandBiancareturninthemiddleofthenight.Iwatchedvariouspolicecarscomeandgobeforedaybreak.Butmymindkeptcirclingback,picturingSadiestandinginmydoorway.Hearinghercallingmyname,anechoinmymemory.
Isawthetwomencomingbeforetheyknocked,sawthemquietlyspeakingtoeachotherastheyapproached.
Thepolice.Heretoquestionmeaboutthenightbefore.AboutSadie.
WESATATMYkitchentable,fourchairspulledaroundthecleanwhitesurface.ItookaseatacrossfromDetectiveBenCollinsandOfficerPaulChambers,astheyintroducedthemselves—thoughIheardthedetectivecalltheyoungermanPaulywhentheyweretakingouttheirnotepads.
“Avery,Iknowthismustfeelunnecessary,”DetectiveCollinssaid.“Cruel,even,giventhecircumstances.”Hisvoicedroppedlower,asifsomeoneelsemightbelistening.“Butithelpstogooverthingsrightaway,beforepeopleforget.Orbeforetheytalktoothersandthestoriesstarttomix.”Hewaitedformetorespond,andInodded.“Yesterday,whendidyoulastseeSadie?”heasked
Myeyesdriftedtothehallway,tomyopenbedroomdoor.Iknewtheanswer,butmythoughtslaggedbehind,asiftheyhadtotravelthroughsomeotherspacefirst.“Aroundnoon,maybe.ShecameoverwhenIwasstillworking.”
Henodded.“Didshetellyouanythingaboutherplansfortherestoftheday?”
Ipicturedherspinninginmydoorway.Grabbingmysweater.Herhandsfidgetingwiththeendsofherhair.“Shedidn’tsayanything,butshewassupposedtomeetusthere.Wegotothepartyeveryyear.”Whatelsecouldshebegettingreadyfor,ifnotthat?
“Sosheneversaidshe’dbeattheparty.”
Shehadn’t,butitwasjustassumed.Wouldn’tshehavetoldmeotherwise?“ShetoldParkernottowaitforher.”Myvoicesoundedraspy,eventome.“That’swhatParkersaid.”
“Andyou?Didshetellyounottowait,too?”
Ishookmyhead.“SheknewIwasgoingearly,toopenupthehouseandsetthingsup.ButshealwayscametothePlus-Oneparty.Itextedher.See?”Iheldoutmyphonesohecouldseethesentmessages—thelackofresponse.“Shewastextingmeback.Isawthedots.”OfficerChamberstookdownmynumber,madenoteofthetimeandcontentofmymessages.
“Howmanydrinkshadyouhadbythen?”DetectiveCollinsasked.
“Two,”Isaid.Three
Theysharedaquicklook.“Okay.Wehaven’tbeenabletolocateherphoneyet.Itappearsitwasonherwhenshe…”Here,hetrailedoff,butIleanedcloser,tryingtounderstand.Whenshefell?Jumped?Waspushed?
OfficerChambersjottedsomethingdown.Butthedetectivewastheonlyoneaskingquestions.“Howwassheacting,lastyousawher?”
Iclosedmyeyes,tryingtosee.Togivethemsomething,anything.AsifIcouldpullherbackherewithwordsalone.Thewayshe’dspunonherfeet.Rolledhereyes.Piecedthroughmycloset.Shruggedonmysweater,herenergyspillingover—“LikeSadie,”Isaid.Likeeverythingwasfine.LikeI’dseeheragainsoon.
Heleanedbackinmywoodenchair,anditcreaked.Itriedtoreadhisnotes,buttheyweretiltedoutofmyfieldofvision.Theonlysoundwasofourbreathing.
“You,Luciana,andParkereacharrivedatthepartyseparately,”hesaid.“Howdidthatgoagain?”Likehe’dalreadyheardthisfromsomeoneandIwasjustconfirmingthedetails.
“Iwastherefirst.Lucianaarrivednext.Parkerarrivedlast.”
Here,apause.“AndConnorHarlow?Weheardhewasattheparty.”
Thefeelofmyhandtrailingdownhisarm,leadinghimtothebedroom.
Anod.“Connorwasthere,too.”
DetectiveCollinstoreoffasheetofpaperinthesilence,jotteddownalistofnames,askedmetofillinthearrivaltimes:AveryGreer,LucianaSuarez,ParkerLoman,ConnorHarlow.
IestimatedaswellasIcould,thenpausedatthelastname.Ifrownedatthepage,myeyesunfocusedandburningwithfatigue.“ConnorwastherebeforeParker.I’mnotsurewhen,”Isaid.
DetectiveCollinstwistedthepaperbackhisway,eyesskimmingthelist.“That’sabiggapbetweenyouandthenextperson.”
“Yes,Iwassettingup.Thefirst-timers,theyalwayscomeearly.”TherewassomethinginhiseyesIcouldn’tread,alineI’djustdrawn—andwewereonoppositesides.Iclearedmythroat.“Ibroughtovertheliquor.Openedupthehouse.It’smyjob,overseeingtheLomans’properties.”
“Soyou’vesaid.Howdidyougettherelastnight?”heasked.
“Itookmycar,”Isaid.Thetrunkwasfulloftheboxofliquor,theleftoversfromthepantry.
“Andwhereisthatcarnow?”Hemadeashowoflookingaroundthehouse,asifitmightbehiddenawaysomewhere.
Iletoutashakybreath.“Whenthepoliceshowedupattheparty,IleftwithParker.Iwasn’tthinking.Ijustfollowedhimout.Mycarwasblockedinbythattimeanyway,atthehouseacrossthestreet.”Ilookedoutthefrontwindow,towardmyemptyspot.“Iguessit’sstillthere.”
Heputdownhispen,eyesfocusedintentlyonmine,asiftherewereaholeinmystoryandhewasabouttopryitopen.Butthenhecontinuedon.“AftertheofficersarrivedatthepartyandyoureturnedherewithParker…”Helookeddownathisnotes.“ParkerandLucianawentinsidethemainhouse.Andyou?”Hepeeredup,alreadyknowingtheanswer.Hewastheonewhofoundme,afterall.
“Iwentoutback.”
“Why?”
BecauseIwasdrawnthere.CouldsenseitbeforeIsawit.Herlifewasmylife.“ThepoliceatBreakerBeach,”Isaid.IlookedtoOfficerChambers,wonderingifhehadbeenoneofthepeopletherewavinguspast,buthekepthiseyesdown.“Therewasacopblockingusfromgettinganycloser.Butthere’sawaydownfromabove.Iwantedtosee.”
“Anddidyou?Didyousee?”
Ishookmyhead.“No.”
Heleanedcloser,droppedhisvoice,likethispartwasofftherecord,justbetweenus.“YoulookedpanickedwhenIsawyouthere.”
“Iwas.She’smybestfriend.Ididn’tbelieveit.But…”
“But?”
“Hershoes.Isawhershoes.AndthenIknew.”Myhandsstartedtrembling,andIsqueezedthemtight,totrytogetthemtostop.
Ashewasstaringatme,myeyesdriftedtothewindowstomyright.Throughthetreestotheviewoftheocean,theterrifyingvastnessofit.Theconvergingcurrentsandendlessdepth;thesecretsitheld.
“Okay,”hesaid,leaningback.“Let’sgothroughthenightagain.”Ashespoke,helookeddownatthelistI’dgivenhim.“ParkerandLucianaweretogethermostoftheparty.”Heraisedhiseyestometoconfirm.Therewasnopoint,then,inmentioningthefightupstairs.OrthetimeIwasalonewithParker.Theydroveovertogether.Theylefttogether.Theyweretogethermostofthenight
Inodded.“Areyoulookingattheparty?”Iasked.Ididn’tunderstandwhythedetailsmattered.Shehadn’tbeenthere.Thepartyhadbeenontheotherendoftown.
“No,we’relookinghere,”thedetectivesaid.OfficerChamberspeeredaroundmylivingroomasiftheremightbesomecluethathehadmissed.“Thehouse,tothecliffs,downtoBreakerBeach.That’sthescene.ThereasonI’maskingyouabouttheparty”—heleanedforward—“istofindoutwhetheranyonewasmissing.”Hepickeduphispen,raisedaneyebrow.“So.Cananyonevouchforyoutheentiretime,Avery?”
Ishookmyhead,confused,desperate.“Parker,Luce,therewasahousefulofpeople.Theysawme.Iwasthere.”
“Youcould’veleft.Theycan’taccountforeverysinglemoment.”
“ButIdidn’t.AndItoldyou,shewasmessagingme.Shewasfine.”
“WhataboutConnorHarlow?”
“Whatabouthim?”
“Wouldyouknowhisstateofmindlastnight?”
Hisshirtslidingoverhishead.Guidingmetothebed—
“Iwouldn’tknowanything.MeandConnordon’tspeakanymore.”
“Butyousawhimthere.”
Connor’sface,inchesfrommyown.Thefeelofhishandsonmyhips.
“Yes,”Isaid.“Isawhim.”
“Washetherethewholetime?”
Thepowerofthismoment,constrictingtheair.Noonecouldbesure,really,whowasthereandwhohadgone.Apartylikethat,youcouldonlysaythethingyouhopedotherswouldsayforyou.Adeep-buriedinstincttoprotectyourown.“Yes.Noneofusleft.”
LATERTHATMORNING,AFTERthepolicehadreturnedtothemainhouse,Isawafigurestandingattheedgeofthegarage,staringataphone.
Iopenedmydoor,calledhernameinavoicethatwasalmostawhisper.“Luce?”
Shestartled,thenturnedmyway,andIwalkedouttomeether.Upclose,hereyeswerebloodshot,herfacegauntandmakeup-free.
“Ihavetogetoutofhere,”shesaid,shakingherhead.Herhairwaspulledbacktight,severe.“Idon’tbelonghererightnow.I’mtryingto…”Shetappedatherphone,exasperated.“I’mtryingtofindawaytogettothebusstation.IfIcangettoBoston,Icanmakeithome.”
ItwasthenIsawthatshehadabaginherotherhand,hergriptightonthetanleatherhandles.HereyessearchedmineasifImighthavetheanswers.
“I’dtakeyoumyself,butIdon’thavemycar.It’sstillattheoverlook.”Iswallowed.“MaybeyoucantakeParker’scar.SinceGrantandBiancaareherenow.”
Hereyeswidened.“Iamnotaskinghimthatrightnow.”Shelookedoverhershoulderatthehouseandshuddered.“Idon’tbelongthere.It’snotmyplace.It’s—”
“Okay,comein.Luce,comeon.”Ahandatherelbowtogetherinside.Iledherthere,intothelivingroom.
Shesatonthecouch,herbackinchesoffthecushions,handsfoldedcarefullyoverherknees,luggageonthefloorinfrontofher.Igaveherthenumberofacarserviceshecouldtry;shewasclearlyrattled,unabletofocusenoughtofindthisinformationherself.
“Stayhere.I’mgoingformycar.Ifyou’restillherewhenI’mback,I’lldriveyoutothebusmyself.”
Shenodded,staringatnothing.
ItwasthelasttimeIsawher.
Istartedwalking.DownLandingLane,pastBreakerBeach,wheretherewerecopcarsblockingthelot,thewholearearopedoff.Ikeptwalkingintothetowncenter,whereasolemn,shell-shockedairhadsettledovereverything,likeathickfog.
Mythroattightened,andIbentoveronthesidewalk,handsonmyknees.
“Avery?”AmanturnedfromthebackofhisSUVatthecurb.Faith’sfather,securingacrateofcoffeeintothebackofhisvehicle,trunkopen.“Youokay,there?”
Istoodandwipedmyknucklesacrossmycheeks.“Ileftmycar,”Isaid,myvoicestuckagainstmywindpipe,likeIwaschoking.“Atthepartylastnight.”
Helookedoverhisshoulder,uptheroad,inthedirectionoftheparty.“Well,comeon,I’lltakeyouthere.”
Hiscarsmelledofcoffeegrindsandfreshlaundry,theworldcontinuingonwithorwithoutSadie.WedroveupHarborDrive,pastthepolicestationatthetopofthehill.“Terriblenews,abouttheLomangirl.Iheardyouwereclose.”
Icouldonlynod.Couldn’tthinkaboutSadieinherbluedress,standingattheedge.Barefoot,listeningtotheviolenceoftheseabelow.
HeturnedthecartowardthePoint,thenclearedhisthroat.“Doyouhaveaplacetostay?”
“Yes,”Isaid,notunderstandingthequestion.Beforerealizing,withoutSadie,theentirefoundationofmylifewasabouttoshift.
“Well,”hecontinued,“youletusknow.Endofseason,youknowwehavetheroom,shouldyouneedit.”
Iturnedtotakehimin—thedeeplinesofhisweatherwornface,thelonger,grayinghair,pushedbacklikehewasfacingthewind,andthesharpangleofhisnose,likeFaith’s.“Idon’tthinkFaithwouldlikethat,”Isaid.
“Well,”hesaid,turningpastthebed-and-breakfast,headingforthehomesupontheoverlook,“thatwasalongtimeago.”
“Itwasanaccident,”Isaid.
Hedidn’trespondatfirst.“Youscaredusall,then.Butyoucameouttheothersideokay,Avery.”HepulledontoOverlookDrive,wheretheBlueRobinwaslocated.
“Thisisgood,”Isaidasmylonecarcameintoview.Iwantedtobealone.NotthinktoohardaboutwhatIhaddoneandwhatIhadmeanttodo.WhatIwascapableofwhenthebondsthatheldmeincheckwerereleased.
“Yousure?”
“Yes.Thankyou.”
Hegestureddownthetree-linedroad,fromheretoSunsetRetreatandtheBlueRobin.“Theseallgonnaberentals,then?Everyoneofthem?They’regonnakeepbuilding?”
“Notrightaway.Butyes,that’stheplan.”Isteppedoutofthecar.“Thankyoufortheride.”Henoddedbutkepthisgazedownthelonglaneofunclearedlots.
Iwalkeddownthestreet,imaginingthestreamofpeopleheadingtowardthepartythenightbefore—andthenracingout,afterthepolicearrived.I’dmissedwhateverhappenedintheaftermath,butitwasobviousthatpeoplehadleftinarush.Thetiremarksintheplacewherethegrassmettheroad.Thetrashanddebrisleftbehindontheshoulder.Anemptybottle.Apairofbrokensunglasses.
MycarwasinthedrivewayofSunsetRetreat,facingout.Butitlookedlikesomeonehaddrivenacrosstheyard:tiretracksrevvedallthewaydowntothedirtbelow.Iimaginedabottleneckofvehiclesandsomeoneimpatient,drivingaroundeveryoneelse.
ThefrontdooroftheBlueRobinacrossthewaywasajar,adarknessbeckoning.
Isteppedacrossthethreshold,takingitallin.Theairpulsed,likethehousewasalive.
Therewerehalf-emptybottlesonthecounters,thetickingofafansettoohigh,thestenchofsweatandspilledliquor.Andthecandles,burneddowntothewick,waxpoolingatthebase.Mosthadextinguishedthemselves,buttherewasoneburningbythebackwindow,setjustbelowthewebofcracks.Iblewitout,watchingasthesmokedriftedupward,seeingthenightfragmentedthroughtheglass.
Upstairs,therewereseveraljacketsremainingonthebedinthefirstroom.Andashoe,ofallthings.
Myfingerstwitchedwithmisplacedenergy.Therewastoomuchoutofmycontrol.ToomuchIcouldneverchange.
Ipulledoutmyphoneandcalledthecleaningcompany.Toldthemtocomeassoonastheycouldandtosendmethebilldirectly;Ididn’twantthistogototheLomansrightnow.Ididn’twantthemseeingit,therecklessmessweweremakingastheirdaughterwasdying.
Downstairs,Ithrewthebathroomtowelsintothewasher,darkwithgrime.Butthatwasthebenefitofwhitetowels,whitesheets—theopen,airyfeelofaplace,thecleanliness.Itwasaneasyillusiontomaintainwithahalf-cupofbleach
Inthebedroom,thechestwithextrablanketswasopen,butnothingseemedmissingorused—justastackoffoldedquilts—soIeaseditshut.
Andthen,feelingmoremyselfthemoreItookcontrol,Ifoundthenumberforthewindowcompanyandleftamessage.Thatwewouldneedareplacementforadamagedwindowat3OverlookDrive,andtocallmewhentheyneededaccesstomeasure.
After,Ipulledthefrontdoorshutbutdidn’tlockit—Ididn’thavethekeys.I’dhavetocomebackandcheckuponthingsafterthecleaning.
Iwalkedacrossthestreettomycar,andmyeyesburned.EveryplaceIstepped,everythingIsaw,wasaplacethatSadiewouldneverbeandneversee.Evenmycarfeltvaguelyunfamiliartomenow.Thegranulesofsandbelowthedriver’sseat,whichhadbeenthereforwhoknewhowlong—butallIcouldseewasSadie,brushingoffherlegsafterabonfireatBreakerBeach.Thepapersstuffedintothedoorcompartment,andIpicturedherballingupareceipt,stuffingitoutofsight.Mysunglasseswedgedintothevisor,andIsawherloweringtheshadetocheckthemirror,saying,God,couldIbeanypaler?
Icouldn’tshakethescentofthehouseasIdrove.Theliquor,thesweat,somethingalmostanimalaboutit.SoIkeptthewindowsdown,letthefreshairofLittleportrollin.
Idroveintheoppositedirection,towardthewindingmountainroads,wherethesuncastapatternthroughthetreesasthewindblew,likeanincomingeclipse.
SUMMER
2018CHAPTER26
Iwasstandingoutsidethebed-and-breakfastafterFaithdisappearedinside.Iwasgluedtomyspot,tryingtoprocesswhatshe’djusttoldme.Anothercarhadturnedupthenightoftheparty—andSadiehadbeeninside.
Sadiehadbeenrighthereayearearlier,steppingoutofacarintheparkinglotoftheB&B,walkingthepathtotheparty.Ilookedintothetreesdownthepath,imaginingherghost.
IDROVEBACKTOWARDtheSeaRose,needingtobealone,tothink.EverythingI’dbelievedaboutthatnightwaswrong.CouldeverythingI’dthoughtaboutSadiebewrong,too?
Overtheyears,ourliveshadbecomesotangled,piecesofeachotherindecipherable.Thedetailsblurringandoverlapping.Myhomewasherhome,keysoneachother’srings,herthumbpressedtothefrontofmyphone,thesametattoos—orwasitabrand?
AndyethowhadImissedthatshewasthere.Shehadarrivedattheparty.Butsomehowshe’dendedupbackonthecliffsbehindherhouse,washinguponBreakerBeach.How?
Iedgedthecarawayfromdowntown,loopingaroundthebackroadstoavoidthetraffic,beforecuttingbacktowardthecoastandtheSeaRose.Allalong,thenightplayedoverinmymind.ThethingsIhadtoldthepoliceandthethingsIhadn’t.
FaithtakingaswingatParkeroutside,breakingthewindow.ConnorarguingwithFaithintheshadowsafter,bythetimeLucecametofindme.Thebedroomdoorhadbeenlocked.I’dwantedtofindthetapeinthebathroomtosecurethewindow,butsomeoneelsehadbeeninthere.I’dslammedmyhandonthebedroomdoor,butnoonehadanswered.
HadSadiebeeninthatroomwhenI’dpoundedonthedoor?I’dfoundherphoneinthehouse—inthatveryroom.Maybenoonehadmoveditthere.MaybeitwasSadieallalongwhohadlostit.Placedit.Hiddenit.
Butthatdidn’tmakesense.Howhadnooneseenherleaving?Noonehadseenheratall,notthattheyweresaying.Someonewould’venoticedher—howcouldyounot?GregRandolph,surely.Andwewould’veseenherifshe’dleftthroughthebackpatio,walkingdownthepath,headingtowardtheB&Bparkinglot.
But.Thelightshadgoneout,thecommotiononthepatio.EllieArnoldfalling—orpushed—intothepool.Sheinsistedshewaspushed.Shewasadamantaboutit,furiousthatwedidn’tbelieveher.
Wehadallmovedtothebackofthehousethen.Hadbeendrawntothescream,thechaos,likemothstoaflame.
HadSadiesneakedoutthefrontwhileweweredistracted?
Itriedtopictureit.Someoneneedingtogetheroutofthehouse.Lookingfranticallyforthebestoption.Thebackdoor,nolongerachoice.ThecarattheB&B,toofar.Whatwouldtheydo?Afacelessperson,lookingthroughthebathroomcabinets,thedresserdrawers—foranything.Lookingthroughherpurse,seeingthekeysthere.Findingmineinstead.
ThetiretracksinthegrassI’dseenthenextdaywhenFaith’sfatherdroppedmeoff—becausemycarhadbeenblockedin.
Isuckedinabreath.Shehadbeenthere.Whatifshe’dbeeninthisverycar.
Ipulledoverabruptly,atthecurveoftheroadheadingbackintotown,staringatthepassengerseat.Lookingforsignsofinjury.Iranmyhandsoverthebeigeupholstery—wornandweary.Ijerkeduptheemergencybrakeandlookedundertheseat.Therewasnothingbutdirt,sand,debris—ayearofmemories.
ButIrememberedthenextmorning,whenI’dreturnedforthecar.HowI’dsatintheseat,feelingavagueunfamiliaritytoit.I’dthought,atthetime,thatitwasmyentireworld,myperspectiveshiftingatthelossofSadie.Butnow
Myheadspun,andIturnedthecaroff.Iwalkedaroundback,handstrembling,andslippedthekeyintothetrunklock.Adimlightflickedon,andIpeeredintotheemptyspace.
Itsmelledfaintlyoffabric,ofgasoline,ofthesea.
MyhandsshookasIranmyfingersacrossthematerial.Thedarkfeltwasslightlymatted,coveredwithfragmentsoffibers.Ithadpulledawayfromtheedges,peelingatthecorners,frombothtimeanduse.
Itookadeepbreathtosteadymyself.Maybethiswasjustmyimaginationgoingthreestepstoofar—forwardandback.
Ipulleduptheflashlightofmyphoneandshoneitintothebackcornersofthetrunk—butitwascompletelyempty.Therewasadarkerspotinthecorner,closertothefront,ontheright.Justaslightdiscoloration—Iranmyfingersacrossitbutcouldn’tbesureofwhatitwas.Vodka,beer—half-emptybottlesthatcould’vespilledthenightoftheparty.Oraleakinggrocerybaginthemonthsthatfollowed.Thecarwasold.Itcould’vebeenanything.
IsetthephonedownsoIcouldgetacloserlook,andthelightshoneupatthesurface,catchingonagrooveontheundersideofthemetalroof.Attheoppositeend,ontheleft.Iduckedmyheadunderneath,ranmyfingersoverit.Adent,somescratches.Anotherdentbesideit.Myknucklefitinthegroove.Iranmyhandsagainstthecoolundersideofthetrunk.Awebofscratchesneartheseam
Itcouldbeanything.Itcouldbenothing.Mymind,likeSadie’s,picturingallthewaysdeathcouldbesoclose.Myfingerssmoothedbackthefeltpeelingawayfromthecorner,andaglintofmetalcaughtinthebeamoftheflashlightatthecorner.Ileanedcloser,bodyhalftiltingintothetrunkasIpickeditup.
Itwasasmallpieceofmetal.Probablylostfromabag.Gold,andspiraled,and—
Idroppedthemetal.Steppedback.Lookedagain.
Hergoldshoesthathadbeenintheboxofevidence—missingapieceofthebuckle.I’dthoughtbecausethey’dbeenworndown,theholesofthestrappulling,thestitchingshowing,thebottomsscuffed.Butthemissingpieceofherbuckle—here,inthetrunkofmycar.
Ilookedattheindentationsandscratchesagain.
Likeshe’dkickedhershoesagainsttheroofofthetrunk.Overandoveragain.
OhGod.OhGodohGod.Idroppedthelight,droppedmyhandstothebumpertosteadymyself.
Sadiehadbeeninthistrunk,alive.Sadiehadbeenhere,tryingtofight.Tryingtolive.
Islidtotheground.Thecoolpavementbeneathmyknees,myhandsbracedonthebumper,thebilerisinginmythroat.Theonlylightonthedarkroadwasfromthetrunk,asicklyyellow,andIcouldn’tgetafullbreath.Sadie.Sadiehadbeenthere.Inchesawayattheparty.Andshehadbeenhere.Inmycar,waitingformetofindher.Tosaveher.
Thescratchesonthetrunk—shehadwantedtolive.Allthoseyearscourtingdeath,jokingaboutit,andshehadfoughtit.Giveniteverythingshehad.Sadie,whoIoncebelievedcouldovercomeanything.
Icouldn’tbreathe.JustawheezeasIstruggledforair.
Theheadlightsfromanothercarshonedowntheroad,andIpulledmyselfuponthebumpertosteadymyself.Thewheelscametoastopbehindme,andthecardooropened,buttheenginecontinuedrunning,thelightsilluminatingtheemptyroad.
“Youokaythere?”Aman’svoice.
Iturnedtofacehim,butIhadtoraiseahandtoshieldmyfacefromtheblindinglight,andmyeyeswatered,picturingSadie.Sadiealiveandthendead.Somewherebetweenhereandthere.
Iblinkedtofocustheimagebeforeme,andthetearsescaped.
“Whoa,whoa.”Theshadowinfrontofthelightsgrewlarger.Broadshoulders,handsheldoutinfrontofhim.DetectiveBenCollinsstoodinfrontofme.Heplacedahandonmyelbow,anotheronmyshoulder,andguidedmeawayfromthecartothecurb.
Thetrunkgapedopeninfrontofme,andmystomachheavedagain,soIhadtorestmyheadonmyarms,foldedacrossmyknees.Hecroucheddownsohisgazewaslevelwithmine,andIshookmyhead,tryingtofocus.
“Haveyoubeendrinking?”heaskedgently.Closeenoughtosmellthemintonhisownbreath.
“What?No,no.”Itookadeepbreath,slowlyraisedmyhead.
Helookedbackatthecar,thenatme.IfinallyunderstoodhowSadiehadgottenfromthepartytothebluffsthatnight.Theabsolutehorrorofthething.
Finally,IhadapieceofevidencethatprovedwhatIhadbelieved,thateveryonewouldtakeseriously—aplacetopointtheinvestigation.Mycar,withthetrunkopen,whereSadiehadbeen—excepteverythingcircledbacktome.
Icouldn’tsayanythingwithoutimplicatingmyself.
Hecouldn’tsearchthatcarwithoutareason—unlesshethoughtIwasdrunkorhigh.Ihadtogetaholdofmyself.
“Carsick,”Isaid,handtomystomach.“And…”Iwavedmyhandarounduselessly,searching—
“Iknow,Iknow,”hesaid,pattingmyknee.“Thededicationtomorrow.Everythingcomingback.Iknowyoutwowereclose.”Heletmesitthereinsilence,lookingoverhisshoulder.“Didyouneedsomethingfromthetrunk?”Hegesturedtothecar,thesicklydimlight,beckoning.
“No.IthoughtIhadsomewater,somethingtodrink,inthere.Idon’t,though.”Ididn’twanthimtolook.Didn’twanthimtoseewhatIhadseen,discoverwhatIhadjustdiscovered.Isuckedinabreath,anditsoundedlikeasob.
“Sittight,”hesaid,andIwaspowerlesstostophim.Powerlesstopreventhimfromlookingifhewantedto.Thatpieceofmetal,stillinview—howobviouswoulditbe?
Butheheadedforhisowncar,parkedbehindmine.Itwasn’thispolicevehicle,Irealizednow,butasedan,blueorgray,hardtotellinthedark.Heturnedofftheengine,soitwasjustmeandhimandthecricketsandthenight.
Hecameoutwithawaterbottle,halfempty.“Sorry,thisisallIhave,but…”Hepouredtherestofthewaterontoahandtowel,thenplaceditonmyforehead.Thecrispnessofithelpedsettlemystomach,focusmythoughts.Hemovedittothebackofmyneck,andwhenIopenedmyeyes,hewassoclose.“Better?”heasked,thelinesaroundhiseyesdeepeninginconcern.
Inodded.“Yes.Thankyou.Better.”
Ipushedmyselftostanding,andhereachedahanddowntohelpme.“Allright,I’vegotyou.”Compassion,evenfromhim,inthismoment.“Listen,I’vebeenlookingforyou.Hopingtotalktoyou.CanIfollowyouback?Orswingbysometimelater?Therearesomethingsweneedtoclearupfirst,beforeSadie’sdedicationtomorrow.”
“Isit…”Istarted.Clearedmythroat,madesureIsoundedlucid,incontrol.“Isitabouttheinvestigation?Isitreopened?”
Hefrowned,butitwashardtoseehisfaceclearlyinthedark.“No,it’ssomethingwefoundonherphone.Justwonderingwhotooksomeofthepictures.WhetheritwasSadieoryou.”Hesmiledtightly.“Nothingmajor,butitwouldhelptoknow.”
Icouldn’ttell,then,whetherthiswasatrap.Whetherhewasluringmeinunderfalsepretenses,readytostrike.ButIneededtoholdhimoff.“Ican’ttonight,”Isaid.Notyet.Notrightnow,withthecar.NotuntilIhadadirectiontopointhiminstead.Hisfacehardened,andIsaid,“Tomorrowmorning?”
Henoddedslightly.“Allright.Whereareyoustaying?”AndIknew,rightthen,he’dheardwhathadhappenedwiththeLomans.ThatIwasn’tsupposedtobelivingthere.ThatIhadbeenkickedoutandabandoned.Everysinglethinghappeningrightnowwastellinghimtolookcloselyatme.
“Withafriend,”Isaid.
Hepulledbackslightly,liketherewassomeonecomingbetweenus.“Doesthisfriendhaveanaddress?”
“Canwemeetforcoffeeinthemorning?HarborBean?”
Hismouthwasastraightline,hisfaceunreadableinthenight.“Iwashopingforabitmoreprivacy.Youcancomebythestation,ifyou’dprefer…orIcanpickyouup,wecanchatonthewaytothededication.”
Inodded.“I’llsendyoutheaddresstonightwhenI’mback.”
“Great,”hesaid.“Yousureyou’reokaytodrive?”
“Yes,”Isaid,shuttingthetrunkasIspoke,swallowingdryair.
Hisheadlightsfollowedmeallthewayintodowntown,untilIcircledtheblockandhecontinuedon,uptowardthestation.IparkedoneblockupfromtheSeaRose,walkingback.Icouldn’tshakethisfeelingthatnothingwassafehere.NotSadieandnotme.Someonewatchinginthedark.Somethingwaitingformestill
Thattherewassomethingtoxicatthecorehere—adarkunderbellyhappeninginthegapbetweenusall,wherenooneelsewaslooking.
BACKINSIDETHESEARose,Itookthelistofarrivaltimesfrommypurse.Addedonefinalname:Sadie.
HadIbeentalkingwithLuceandParkerwhenshesneakedinside?Hadsheslippedthroughthefrontentrance,headingstraightdownthehallforthebedroom?
Itriedtofeelherthere,placeherinmymemory.FindthemomentwhenIcouldturnaroundandseeher,callhernameandintervene.Changethecourseofeverythingthatfollowed.
Someonehadbroughtherthere.Anyonecould’vehurther,butsomeoneelseknewshehadbeenthere,andhadkeptsilent.Ahousefulloffaces,bothstrangeandfamiliar.Lucehadsummeditupwhenshestumbledoutofthatroomupstairs:Ihaveneverseensomanyliarsinoneplace.
AYEARANDAhalfaftermygrandmotherdied,GrantLomanboughtherhouse,helpedwithmyfinances.HetookcontrolwhenIwasbarelykeepingafloat,andhemadesureIstayedupright.Butatsomepoint,Irememberedhowtoreadaledger,howtotrackmyfinances.
SoIknewthatbythetimemygrandmotherdied,anysupposedlargeregularpaymentshehadoncereceivednolongerexisted.Afterherdeath,Ihadtransferredthesmallamountleftinheraccounttomyown.Thatoldaccountnolongerexisted.TherewasnoeasywaytofindthedepositthatSadiehaddiscovered.
Butmaybeitexistedelsewhere,inanotherform—maybeevidenceofitlivedon.
EverythingIhadleftofmygrandmotherwasinthesingleboxthatI’dmovedwithmetotheLomans’guesthouse—withaslantedKforKeep,whichSadiehadlabeledherself,yearsago.NowIpulleditoutontothekitchencounter,emptyingthecontents:thephotoalbums,therecipebook,theboundletters,theclippedarticlesaboutmyparents’death,thepersonalfolderwithallthepaperworktransferringassets.
Icouldn’tfindanyreceipts,anythingextravagant.
Theonlylargeassetinherpossessionwasherhouse.
AfterIsoldthathouse,Ikeptallmyrealestatedetails,organizedeveryoneofthem—apapertrail,asGranthadtaughtme.
ItwasthefirstfileIhadcreated,dataI’dneverlookedattooclosely,becausewhywouldIneedto?ButIhadit,ourpaymenthistory,storedinmycomputerfiles.
Iscrolledthroughthemortgagehistorynowonmylaptopwithafresheye.Itseemedthatintheyearsbeforeherdeath,mygrandmotherhadpaidalowmonthlysumonautomaticwithdrawal.Butearlier,sheusedtopaymore.Therewasalineinthetiming,abeforeandafter,whenthemortgagepaymenthaddroppedsignificantly.
Whenshe’dpaiditdownwithonelargelumpsum.
Here.Hereitwas.Moneygoingout.Apieceofevidenceleftbehindafterall.
Itracedthedate,fingertothescreen.
Itwasthemonthaftermyparentshaddied.
Isatbackinthechair,theroomturningcoldandhollow.I’dthoughtwehadgottenalifeinsurancepayment—that’swhatGranthadmentionedwhenhehelpedmeorganizetherecords.Iwasingoodshapebecauseofthat.
ButIlookedagain.Anevenonehundredthousanddollars.ThesameamountthatSadiehaddiscovered,sentfromtheLomanstomygrandmother.Notalifeinsurancepolicyatall.Notaninheritance,either.Money,suddenly,wheretherehadbeennone.
Mystomachtwisted,piecesconnectinginmyhead.
IpulleduptheimagesfromSadie’sphone—thephotosshehadtaken.Thepictureofthewinding,tree-linedmountainroad.AndIfinallyunderstoodwhatSadiehaduncovered.ThethingtyingmetotheLomans.Thecashpaymentshehadfound.
Itwasapayoffformyparents’death.
CHAPTER27
Here’sanewgame:IfI’dknowntheLomanswereresponsibleformyparents’death,whatwouldIhavedone?
Allnight,Iplayedthisgame.Inthedarkofthehouse,withnothingbutshadowsandghostsforcompany.WhatIwouldsay,whatIwoulddo—howIwouldcornerthemintothetruth.No:WhatIwouldtakefromtheminstead.
IfeltitasIsatthere—notthecreepingvinesofgrief,pullingmedown.Butthatotherthing.Theburningwhite-hotrageofathingIcouldfeelinthemarrowofmybones.ThesurgegatheringasIsteppedforwardandpushed.
Iwantedtoscream.Wantedtoscreamthetruthtotheworldandwatchthemfallbecauseofit.Iwantedthemtopayforwhattheyhaddone.
Buttherewasaflipsidetothatknowledge.Becauseherewaswhatelsethatpaymentprovided:amotive.Mymotive.Alloftheevidencefellbackonme.ThephonethatIhadfound.Herbody,withsignsofastruggle,inmytrunk.Me,wanderingaroundthebackoftheLomans’housethatnight,lookingforanypieceofevidenceleftbehind.Andthenoteonthecounter.Itwasmyhandwriting.Myanger.Myrevenge.Itwasmine
THEREWASAKNOCKatthefrontdoor,andIpeeredoutthegapbetweenthefrontcurtains,expectingthatGrantorParkerhadsomehowfoundme.OrBianca,cometotellmetoleaveagain.ButitwasConnor.Isawhistruckatthecurb,soobviousonthehalf-emptystreet.“Avery?Youinthere?”hecalled.
Shit,shit.IunlockedthedoorandhestrodeinsideasifI’dinvitedhim.
“HowdidyouknowwhereIwas?”Iaskedashelookedaroundtheunfamiliarhouse.Hiseyesstoppedonthestacksoffamilyalbumsandlettersonthecounter.
Hepausedamoment,staringatthearticleontopofthepile,ablack-and-whitephotoofthewreckage—Littleportcouplekilledinsingle-carwreck
“Connor?”
“Shetoldmewhathappened,”hesaid,dragginghiseyesbacktome.“Faith.”Hewasbreathingheavy,woundtightwithadrenaline.
“HowdidyouknowIwashere?”Irepeated.IthoughtI’dbeensocareful,butherehewas,unannounced.Ididn’tlikethewayhisgazelingeredonmythings.Ididn’tlikethewayhewasstanding—onedge.
“What?”Heshookhishead,likehewastryingtocleartheconversation.“It’snothardtofindoutifyouknowwhatyou’relookingfor.”Itookastepback,andhefrowned,hiseyesnarrowing.“Youtoldmeyouweren’tlivingattheLomans’anymore.Butyou’renotatFaith’s,mostofthehotelsarestillfull…Plentyofpeoplementionedseeingyouaround.IcheckedacoupleoftherentalpropertiesuntilIsawyourcardowntown.Thiswastheclosestone.”Hestartedpacingtheroomagain,liketherewasnowhereelseforhisenergytogo.“Faithdidn’thurtSadie,Itoldyou.Youbelieveher,right?”
“Wait.”Myeyeswereclosed,myhandout.Icouldn’tfollowbothconversationsatonce.“Peopletoldyouthey’dseenmearound?”I’dnoticeditrecently,hadn’tI?Thewaypeoplelookedatme,thewaytheywatched.Howtheyseemedtorecognizesomethingaboutme.Ithoughtitwasbecauseoftheinvestigation,newrumorsthatmightbeswirling.Butmaybeithadalwaysbeenthere.AndliketheLomans,I’dbecomedesensitized,unawareofthegazes.“Right,”Isaid,handsgrippingthecounterinfrontofme,spanningthedistancebetweenmeandConnor.“ThegirlfuckingaroundwiththeLomansupthere.Isthatthetalk?”
Histhroatmovedasheswallowed,buthedidn’tdenyit.“Thegirldoingsomethingupthere.”
Ilookedtotheside,tothecoveredwindowsandthedarknightbeyond.Ididn’tunderstandwhyhewashere,whathewanted.HowmanypeopleknewIwashidingouthere?Hadn’tIlearnedbetterthantothinkIwasinvisiblebynow?
“Itwasn’tFaith,”herepeated.
“Yes,Iknowitwasn’tFaith.Iknowwhatthatmoneywasfornow.”Myhandstightenedintofists.Myentireadultlife,builtonalie.Onahorrificsecret.MoldedbypeopleIthoughthadgivenmeeverythingbutinsteadhadtakeneverything.
Connorstoppedmoving,watchingmecarefully.Maybethiswasmydownfall—alwaystootrustingintheend;choosingsomeoneelseoverthesolitude.Yetagainthinkingpeoplehadanythingbuttheirowninterestsatheart.Wewerealoneinthishouse,withnooneelsearound.Hehadkeptthingsfrommealready,andwebothknewit.ButConnorwashere.Andhe’dcomeformethatnight,ayearago,whenSadiehadtextedhimfrommyphone.Withhim,therewasalwaysapushandpull.Logicversusinstinct.Ididn’tknowwhichmotivehadbroughthimtomydoorinthemiddleofthenight,butI’dlearnedlongago,itcountedonlywhenyouknewsomeone’sflawsandchosethemanyway.
“TheLomans,theypaidoffmygrandmotheraftermyparentsdied.”
Heblinked,andIwatchedashisentiredemeanorshifted.“What?”
Isuckedinair,thoughtIwasgoingtocry.ThenIstoppedtryingtofightit,becausewhatwasthegoddamnpoint?“Theykilledmyparents.Theywereresponsiblesomehow.”
Connorlookedoverhisshoulderatthecloseddoor,andIwonderedifsomeonewaswalkingpast.“Who?How?”
Isawitthen,backtothestart,everymomentwiththem—untilitslipped,slowlyandhorribly,intofocus:
ThepictureofParkerinthelivingroom—hisfaceyouthfulandunmarked.ThewaySadiewasteasinghimaboutthescarlastsummer,notlettingitgo.Thedarklookhewouldgiveher,thatLucehadnoticed.Shakingandshakinguntilsomethingbrokefree.
ThedoubletakewhenParkersawmesittinginSadie’sroomthedaywemet—heknewwhoIwas.Ofcoursehedid.AveryGreer,survivor.
“Parker,”Isaidquietlyintothenight.“ItwasParker.”
Thescarthroughhiseyebrow,hisownreminder.Notafightbutanaccident—Sadiehadjustfigureditoutforherself.Anaccidentthathehadcaused.ButParkerLomanwasuntouchable.Somehowhehadgottenawaywithit.Onehundredthousanddollars—thepriceofmyparents’life.Givenforourcontinuedsilence.OneoftwopaymentsthatSadiehaduncovered.Iwasn’tsurewhethertheotherpaymentwasrelated—someoneelsewhoknewthetruth—orwhethertheLomanshadcoveredupmorethanonehorribleaction.
Parkercangetawaywithliterallyeverything.
Theywoulddoanythingtoprotecttheking.
Thatwaswhatwewereworthtothem.Twolives.Everythinglost.TheentirefutureofwhoIwassupposedtobe—justgone.
Iwaswrong.Thisplace,itwasn’tthethingtakingfromme.Itwasn’tthemountainroad,thelackofstreetlights,thebrutalextremes.Itwasthepeopleuponthebluffs,lookingoutovereverything.Coveringupfortheirown.Howoldmusthehavebeen—fourteen?Fifteen?Tooyoungtobedriving.Somethinghewouldn’tbeabletotalkhiswayoutof,nomatterwhattheexcuse.Somelawscouldnotbebentorskirted.
Hisquestionthatnight,ashestoodovermeatthepartyinthebathroom—didIthinkhewasagoodperson.Needingmetoabsolvehiminhisownmind.No.No,therewasnothinggoodabouthim.Nothingathiscorebutthebeliefthathewaswortheverylittlethinghehadbeengiven.
Insteadofthesimpletruth,theonlythingthatmattered:ParkerLomanhadkilledmyparents.
“I’msupposedtomeetupwithDetectiveCollinstomorrow,”Isaid.“IfItellhim,Ican’tcontrolwheretheinvestigationgoesfromthere.”Isaiditlikeawarning.IsaidittoseewhatConnorwoulddoorsay.Iwouldn’tbeabletostopthepolicefromlookingatConnororme.
Connorlookedatthefrontdooragain,andIstartedtowonderwhethertherewassomeoneelseherewithhim.OrmaybeIwasjustseeingthedangerinsideeveryone,suddenly—allthethingswewerecapableof.“ParkerhurtSadie?”heasked
“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.IthoughtbacktowhatLucehadsaidaboutthedarknessbetweenSadieandParker.SadiehadbelievedIwasasecret,andIwas.Thereasontheytookmein,thereasonitwastherightthingtodo—thereasonParkerdidthedoubletakethefirsttimehesawme.HeknewexactlywhoIwas.Andshefinallysawhimforthetruth.
Ididn’tknowwhohadhurtSadieorwhy.Onlythatshehaduncoveredthesecretattheheartofbothofourfamilies,andnowshewasdead.Takenfromthepartybacktoherhomeinmycar.
Allofusweretherethatnight.Itcould’vebeenanyone.
Suddenly,IneededConnortoleave.Ineededtosortoutmythoughts,toprotectmyself.Icrossedmyarms.
Heshiftedonhisfeet.“Areyougoingtothededicationtomorrow?”heasked.
“Yes.You?”
“Everyone’sgoing,”hesaid,holdingmygaze.
Ishookmyhead,lookedaway.“I’lltalktoyouthen.”Asetofheadlightscutthroughthefrontcurtainsbeforecontinuingon.“Youneedtogo,”Isaid.
“Youcancomewithme.It’saone-bedroomapartment,butIcansleeponthecouch—”
ButIknewexactlywhatIneededtodo.Icouldn’ttakedowntheLomansonwordsalone.Youcouldn’tfightthatsortofpowerwithnothingbutbelief.Youneededproof.
“I’llseeyoutomorrowatthededication,Connor,”Isaid,openingthefrontdoor.Holdingmybreath.WithConnor,Irealized,Iwasalwayswaitingtoseewhathewoulddo.
Heturnedattheentrance,tosaysomething.Thenthoughtbetterofit.Hepeereddownthedarkroad,eyesnarrowed.“You’renotsupposedtobehere,areyou.”
Ididn’tanswer,closingthedoorslowlyashebackedaway.Throughthegapinthecurtains,Iwatchedhimwalktohistruck,ashadowinthenight.AndthenIwatchedthebrakelightsfadingintothedistanceuntilIwassurehewasgone.
WITHMYNEWUNDERSTANDINGofmypast,Littleportinthedeadofnightbecamesomethingelse.Nolongerwerethesethewindingroadsofsingle-caraccidents,ofalackofstreetlights,ofdriftingofftheroadwhileyouslept.Butatownwheretheguiltyroamed,unapologetic.Itwasaplacethatmadekillersofmen.
Iwasonedge,continuallycheckingmyrearviewmirror,tryingtoremainunseenasIdrovebacktotheBlueRobin.
Here,Ibelieved,wasthesceneofthecrime.NottheLomans’house,orthebluffs,orthebeach,asthepolicehaddeclaredlastyear.Buthere,ontheothersideoftown.
AfterItoldthepolice,theywouldhavetosearchthisplace,ropeitoff,closeittocivilians.AndIneededprooftobackupthestoryIbelieved.
IusedthelightfrommyphonetoilluminatethepathinfrontofmeasIwalkedfromthedrivewaytothefrontdoor.Uphere,withalltheundevelopedland,everygustofwindturnedthreatening,andIkeptcastingthebeamoflightintothetrees,downtheemptyroad,untilIwassafelyaloneinsidethehouse.AndIdidn’tturnonthelights.Incasesomeonewaswatching.Icouldfeelthemeachinashadowofmymemory:Faith,thepolice,Parkerattheedgeofthegarage.Thereweresomanypeoplewhosawthings,whoknewthings.NowGrantandBiancawerehere,too,andIknew,justasLucedid—theywoulddoanythingtoprotecttheking.
Imovedbymemory,myhandtrailingthecouch,thechair,thekitchencounter,asIwalkedby.Thebeamkeptlowandawayfromthewindows.Mymother’spaintingonthewall,hervoiceinmyear:Lookagain.Tellmewhatyousee.
Thiswasthetrick,Iunderstood.Nottochangetheangleorthestory,ortotakeastepforwardorback—buttochangeyourself.Irememberedthatnight,standingbehindmymotherwhileshetookthepicturesontheHarlows’boatthatwouldultimatelyleadhertothis.Thepieceshetackledoverandover,liketherewassomethingshewaschasing.NowIsaweverythingoutofframe,everythingthatslippedthispaintingintocontext—theboatshewasstandingon,thefactthatConnorandIwereplayingagameofISpybehindher.Thestarkclarityofthatmoment,whiletheshadowsbeforeuskeptfading,disappearingintothenight.Asifthelifeshewaslivingandthelifeshewaschasingwereoneandthesameallthistime.
Ibackedawayfromitnow,headingtowardthecloseddoorattheendofthehall.LuceandIhadtriedthehandlethatnight,butithadbeenlocked.I’dslammedmyhandonthewoodthen—hopingithadmadewhomeverwasinsidejump.
Nowthedoorcreakedopen,shadowsoffurnitureloominginthedarkness.Withthecurtainspulledclosedhere,Ifinallyflippedthelightswitch,illuminatingthewhitebedspread,thedarkwoodenchest,blanketspiledbesideit.ThelidcreakedopenandIpeeredinside—thescentofpine,ofoldquiltsanddustyattics.
Thishadbeenopen,Iremembered,whenIcameoverthedayafterthepartytoclean.Hadherphonebeenhereeventhen?
Nextthebed,runningmyhandoverthesoftmaterial.Iwalkedthewoodfloors,thehardwoodpopping,pastthecloset,tothebathroom.
Therewasahighwindowoverthetoilettoletinlight,butitdidn’topen.Alongmirrortrimmedinwhite.Avanityraisedoffthetileonboxywoodenfeet.We’dcleanedthefloorofwater,ParkerandI,afterEllieArnoldcameinherewithherfriendstowarmup.Thewaterhadbeeneverywhere,grimytowelsleftbehindinthecorners.
Iranmyfingersacrossthegranitesurfaceofthevanitynow,theswirlingmarble,grayandwhite.Thehardcorners.Idroppedtomyknees,rememberinghowwetthefloorhadbeenthatnight—thetowelsheapedinthecornerthatI’dputinaplasticbag.
Thenextday,I’drunthemthroughthewashwithbleach,togetthemclean.
Ipeeredunderthevanityatthedarker,untouchedgrout—hardertocleanandsee.Istoodagain,leaningmyweightintothesideofthevanity,untilitscratchedagainstthetile,awayfromthewall.Ikeptpushing,inchbyinch,untilitwaswedgedagainsttheshower,mybreathcomingtoofast.Thespaceleftbehindwasfullyexposed,thedirtanddebris,andthedarkergrout,stainedfromwaterleftsitting.
Idroppedtomyknees,ranmyfingersoverthechalkyresidue.
Acornerstainedrustbrown.Aspotmissed.Irockedbackonmyheels,achillrising,andscrambledoutoftheroom,seeingeverythingclearlythistime.
Afightbehindalockeddoor;thephoneknockedfromherhand,thesurfacefracturing.Astruggletakingherfartherfromthedoor,fromtheexit.Apushinthebathroom.Falling,hittingherhead.Thebloodpooling.Someoneelsetryingtoclean,desperately.Takingthesparetowelsandwipingupthemess.Needingtomoveher.
Searchingthroughherpurse,findingthekeys.Peeringoutthewindowabovethetoilet,pressingthebuttonsonherkey—seeingmycarlightupacrosstheway.
Grabbingablanketfromthechesttocoverher.Losingherphoneintheprocess,inthechaos.Whereitfelltothebaseandremained—waitingtobefound.
Wrappingherup.God,shewassosmall.Peekingoutintothehallandflippingthepoweratthecircuitbreaker.Butwho?
Haditallbeentocauseasceneinthedark?AdistractionwhilesomeonehadcarriedadyingorunconsciousSadietothecar?
Ifso,Ihadcovereditup,allofit,whenI’dcomebackthenextday.Runningtheevidencethroughthewasherwithbleach,orderingawindowreplacement,closingthewoodenchest—andleavingherphoneinside.Ihaderasedher,piecebypiece,untilshebecameinvisible.AndIneededtopullherbackintofocus.
Myhandshaking,Iusedthecameraonmyphonetotakepicturesofeverything:thespotbehindthevanitywiththerust-coloredstainofblood,thechestofblankets,thehallwaycircuitbreaker,thedistancefromtheretothefrontdoor.GatheringproofofitallbeforeIwasbarredfromthisplace.ThestoryIcouldsee,thatonlyIborewitnessto—theghostofhermovinginthegapsbetweenmymemories.
Icouldseeitallplayingout.Threestepsback,threestepsforward.Agirlinblue,spinninginmyroom,toaflashofcolorinthesea,apalelegcaughtontherocks—hangingonuntilshewasfound.
ONTHEWAYBACK,Iveeredawayfromtheharbor—awayfromthecoast.Towardthemountainsinstead.FoundmyselfwindingdownasmallbackroadthatIhadn’ttraversedinyears.
Itwasalonghalf-pavedroad,forkingoffintopacked-dirtdrivewaysleadingtoolderhomes,surroundedbytrees.
IsloweduntilIwasinfrontofthelasthouseonthestreet:aranchhometuckedoutofsightfromtheroad,thegroundcoveredinpocketsofgrassanddirt.TheHarlowsstilllivednextdoor,anoutsidelightjustvisiblethroughthetrees.Iparkedmycaratthewidemouthofmyolddriveway,underthelowbranchesofaknottedtree.
Thedetailsweren’tvisibleinthedark,soIcouldonlyimaginethecoloredpotteryonthefrontporch,thehand-paintedWelcomesignthatoncehungfromthedoor.Thewoodenchairsthathadbeenbuiltbymymother,thedullgreenpaintchipping,andalowtablebetweenthem.
Icouldpicturemymomreadingonthefrontporch.Mydadwithadrinkandherfeetinhislap.Bothofthempeekingupeveryfewmomentstocheckonme.
Myownlifehadforkedinthedeadofnight,righthere.
Butthis—thiswasthelifethatshould’vebeenmine.Mydad,catchingmearoundthewaistasIraninside—You’reamess,he’dsay,laughing.Mymom,shrugging,Soletherbe
Memoriesandimagination.Allthatremainedofthelifethatwastakenfromme.
IMUST’VEDRIFTEDTOsleepinthecar—thebuzzofmyphonejarringmeawakeinapanic.
Itookamomenttoreorientmyself,curledonmysideinthedriver’sseat.Inthedaylight,thishomewasnolongermyhome.Windchimesinplaceofcoloredpottery,thehand-paintedWelcomesignreplacedwithawreathofwovenvines.Brightbluemetalchairsonthefrontporch,popsofcolorinthemountainlandscape.
Myphonebuzzedagain—twotextsfromBenCollins.
Pickyouupinahalfhour.
Stillneedyouraddress.
Amanexitedthefrontdoor,walkingdowntheporchsteps,headingforthecarparkedatthesideofthehouse—buthestoppedwhenhesawme.Changingdirections,headingthisway.
IrespondedtoDetectiveCollins:Sorry,somethingcameup.Meetyouattheceremony.
Themanwalkedslowlyupthedrive,andIloweredthewindow,athousandexcusesonmytongue.
“Wejustmovedin,”hesaidwithasmile.Hewasmaybetheageofmydadwhenhedied.Buthealwaysseemedyoungerinmymemory.“It’snotonthemarketanymore.”
Inodded.“IusedtoliveherewhenIwasakid.Sorry.Ijust…wantedtoseehowitlookednow.”
Helookedoverhisshoulder.“Beautiful,isn’tit?Lotofhistorytotheplace.”
“Yes.Sorrytobotheryou.Iwasjustinthearea…”
Thesuncaughtoffthewindchimesovertheirporch,andherockedbackonhisheels.Irolledupthewindow,startingthecar.
Parkerhadtakeneverythingfromme,andIstillcouldn’tproveitwashim.ButIknewtherewasonemoreplacetolook,andtherewouldbeonlyonelastchancetodoit.
Myheartpoundedagainstmyribs.Itwastimetogo.Sadie’sdedicationwouldbestartingsoon.
Everyonewouldbethere.
CHAPTER28
IwasfourblocksawayfromBreakerBeachandbarelyabletofindaspot.Everyonewashere,Iwasright.Thededicationwouldbestartingsoon.ItookthefirstspotIfound,thenstoppedinsidetheSeaRosetogathereverythingIhad—alltheevidencethathadledmetothispoint.KeepingeverythinginoneplacesoIcouldpresentitalltoDetectiveCollinsafterthededication.
Slingingmybagacrossmychest,Iheadedtowardtheceremony.
ISAWTHEMALL.PeoplespillingoutfromBreakerBeachintotheparkinglot,standingonrocksbehindthedunes.Carsdouble-parkedinthestreet,abottleneckofvehiclesandspectators.ItwasaTuesdaymorning,andpeoplehadgivenuptheirtime,theirwork,theirbusinessforthis.Itwasashowofsupportforagirllargerthanlife.Itwastheonlythinglefttogive.
Acrowdhadgatheredneartheentrancetothebeach,thebellatthecenter,wordshand-chiseledinbrass.
IsawBiancastandingbesideGrantonaraisedplatform,stoic,headdown.Grant’shandwasatthesmallofherback,andParkerstoodbehindthemboth,scanningthecrowd.
TheRandolphs,theArnolds,theywereallthere,nearthefront.Ikeptmovingthroughtheseaofpeopleblockingofftheroad.AsIpassed,IsawtheSylvas,theHarlows,familiesI’dknownforever,heretopaytribute—anotherpersonlosttoLittleport.Thecommitteestoodinarowbehindthemakeshiftpodium,EricabesideDetectiveBenCollins,hissunglassesoverhiseyes,bothsolemnandstill.
Thecommissionersteppedforward,andthemicrophonesenthervoicecrispandclear.“Thankyouforjoiningusthismorning,aswecelebratethelifeofSadieJanetteLoman,wholeftamarkonthistownandallwhoknewher.”
Peoplebowedtheirheads,thelowmurmurofvoicesfallingtosilence.
Forgiveme,Sadie.
Icontinuedon,pushingpasttheedgeofthecrowd—roundingthecurveandheadinguptheinclineofLandingLane.
Ipeeredovermyshoulderonce,butnoonewasinsight.NoonecouldseewhereIwasgoing.
GrantandBianca’scarwasgone—theymust’vedrivendowntoBreakerBeachtogether.Itwasaneasywalkexceptfortheslopeoftheroad,whichmadeitnearimpossibleindressshoes.
ThoughI’dseenthemalldownatthededicationceremony,Ipeeredinthefrontwindowsfirst,handscuppedaroundmyeyes.Thelightswereoff,andtherewasnomovementinside.Irangthebell,thencountedtotenbeforeusingthekeythey’dneverdemandedback.
Butthatturnedunnecessary—thedoorwasalreadyunlocked.ThebiggestlieofLittleport—asafeplace,nothingtofear.Asiftheyweresayingevennow:Nosecretshere
“Hello?”IcalledasIsteppedinside.Myvoicecarriedthroughthedownstairs
Thehousewasdeserted.Buttherewasevidenceoflife.Apairofshoesattheentrance,ajackettossedoverakitchenstool,chairsoff-centerinthediningroom.ThistimeIdidn’tbotherwiththedownstairs,knowingexactlywhatIwasafter.
Upstairs,Iignoredthecloseddoorofthemaster,thelightshiningintoSadie’suntouchedroom,headinginsteadforGrant’soffice.Thelockedcloset.Thefiles.
Thedesklookeddifferentthanlastweek—thesurfacecleared,everythingorganized.AsifGranthadtakenhisrightfulspot,relegatingParkerelsewhere.Iopenedthetopdeskdrawer,movingtheassortmentofflashdrivesaround—andpanicked.
Icouldn’tfindanykey.
Someonemust’veuseditrecentlyorhiddenit.Istaredouttheofficewindowandstartedtearingopenthedrawersonebyone.Empty,empty,empty.
Mypulseraced.Indesperation,Iranmyhandsagainsttheundersideofthedeskdrawers,searchingforanything.Myheartjumpedasmynailssnaggedonametalbracket,atinycompartment.IranmyfingersoverthesurfaceuntilIfeltthebutton,andasmalldrawerpoppedforward.
Igrippedthekeyfirmlyinmypalm.
LeaveittoGranttoputeverythingbackwhereitbelonged.Cleaningupthemessanddisorderofhisson.
NowIstoodinfrontofthatclosetwithpurpose.Pullingouttheboundfiles,stackingthemonGrant’sdesk.
Faithhadnevermadeitthisfar.She’dsneakedinside,justaswe’ddoneyearsearlier,butthistimewithapurpose.She’dtoldmeshewaslookingforsomething—anything.SomethingshecoulduseagainsttheLomans.Butshehadnotgottentothis.Thecharityfiles,theblueprints.Thepurchasedetailsoftherentalproperties.
InherewereonlythethingsconcerningLittleport.Iknewwhathadirkedme,hadmecomingbacktothisclosetoncemore:amedicalfile.Forthingsthatmust’vehappenedhere.
IflippedopentheboundfoldermarkedMedical.InsideweretherecordsfromprivatedoctorvisitscoordinatedbypeopleliketheLomans—homevisits,sotheywouldn’thavetowaitinthelobbyofurgentcare.Anything,foraprice.
ThefirstthingIsawwastherecordforSadie’sstreptesttwosummersago.Behindthat,anangryrashfromareactiontohernewsunscreen.ThenacoughthatlingeredinGrantuntilBiancamadethecallherself,surprisinghimwhenthedoctorshowedupmidworkday.Coursesoftreatment,ahistoryfortheirrecords.
Imovedbackintime,yearspassing,untilawordgrabbedmyattention—stitches.Itwasonlyonesheet,scarceondetails.
Parker’snameanddateofbirth.Adiagnosisoflaceration.Atreatmentsummary.Therewasanoteaboutsignstowatchoutfor,apossibleconcussion.Aprescriptionpainkiller.Areferraltoaplasticsurgeonshouldheneedone.Myhandsstartedshaking.
Andthere,atthebottom,besidethedoctor’ssignature—wasthedate.Twodaysaftermyparents’accident.AsiftheLomanshadtriedtokeepithidden,avoidsuspicion,beforetheyrealizedtheywouldhavetogettheirsonmedicalattention.
Iwonderedifthatwaswhyhehadthescar—iftheyhadwaitedtoolong,makingsuretheinvestigationwasdeemedasingle-caraccidentfirst.
MaybethesecondpaymentthatSadiehadcopiedontheflashdrivehadgonetohim,thisdoctorwhoknewthatParkerhadbeensignificantlyinjured,andwaspaid,inturn,forhissilence.Whowasrewardedfornotaskingtoomanyquestions.
Thiswasit.AscloseasIcouldgettotheproof.Ilookedoutthewindow,butthedrivewaywasempty.ItookapictureofthisdocumentwithParker’sinjury,includingthedateoftreatment,andIsentittoDetectiveBenCollins’snumber,withanote:IneedtotalktoyouaboutParkerLoman
ThenIsentConnoratext:Istheceremonystillgoingon?
Icheckedthewindowagain.Stillnocar.
Istartedstackingthefilesawayagain,thenstopped.Ididn’tcareiftheyknew.Grant’swordsinmyear,acruelwhisper—thathehadoverestimatedme.LikeFaith,Iwantedthemtoknow.Whoelsewouldknowbetterwheretolookthansomeonetheyhadtakenintotheirhome?
Mylifehaddivergedbecauseofthem.EverythingI’dlostbecauseofthem.
Myphonedingedwitharesponse.NotfromthedetectivebutfromConnor:It’salmostover.Whereareyou?
IwantedtoseeConnor,totellhim.HemayhavekeptFaith’ssecrets,buthe’dalsokeptmine.Andaftereverything,hedeservedtoknowthetruth.
ButIneededtofindDetectiveCollinsfirst,asktospeakatthepolicestation,presenteverythingI’dfound—calmly,clearly.Ididn’tknowforsurewho’dkilledSadie.Couldn’tproveyetthatitwasParker—butIhadhismotivenow.Themostimportantthingwasthattheybelieveme.
Ihadgatheredupmythings,readytogo,whenadoorclosedsomewhereinthehouse.
Ifroze,myhandshoveringoverthedesk.Ididn’tevenbreathe.Footstepsonthestairs,andIlookedfranticallyforsomewheretohide.Theonlyplacehiddenfromviewwasthecloset,andallofthepaperworkwasalreadyout.Ifthefootstepsveeredtheotherwaydownthehall,Icouldmakearunforit—
“Avery?”Thevoicewassoclose.Aman.NotParker.NotGrant.Therewasnopointinhiding.Whoeveritwas,hewasalreadylookingforme.
AndthenDetectiveBenCollinsstoodintheopenofficedoorway,hisforeheadknottedinconfusion.Hiseyesscannedthedesk,myhandshoveringoverthetop.Hetookastepintotheroom.“Whatareyoudoinginthishouse?”
Iswallowednothing,mythroatparched.“Didyougetmytext?”
“Yes,”hesaid,movingclosertothedesk.“AndIsawyouheadingthiswayearlier.Youdidn’tanswermyquestion.Whatareyoudoinginhere?”
Iwasbreakingandentering,andhe’dfoundme.HeknewwhatI’dbeenlookingthroughandwheretofindme.Corneredmeandcaughtmered-handed.
“Wait,”Ibegged,handsheldoutinfrontofme.“Justwait,please.”Ihadtoshowhimrightthen,beforehecouldchangehismind,bringmein,calltheLomans,andI’dneverstandachance.TheLomanscouldruinanyone.“Ihavetoshowyousomething.”Irifledthroughmybag,pulledouteverythingI’dbroughtwithme.Tryingtoclearsomespaceonthedesk.“Here’swhatIsentyou,”Isaid,holdingoutthemedicalformforParker.“See?”
Hisforeheadwasscrunchedinconcentrationashereadthedocument.“Idon’tknowwhatI’mlookingathere.”
“ThisisevidencethatParkerwashurtthesametimemyparentsdiedinacaraccident.”
Hestaredatme,greeneyescatchingthelightfromthewindow.Icouldn’treadhisexpression,whetherhebelievedme,whetherhewasputtingthingstogetherhimself.
“Sadie,”Isaid,handinghimtheflashdrive,mythroatscratchingonhername.“Shefoundevidencethatherfamilypaidoffmygrandmotheraftermyparents’death.Onehundredthousanddollars.It’shere.”
Hetookitfromme,frowning.Turningitoverinhishand.
“Ihavemore,”Isaid.Ihadeverything.Italliedtheevidence,pushedthefolderI’dbroughtacrossthedeskinhisdirection.Thematchingaccountnumberfrommygrandmother’scheckbook.Ithadtobeenough.“There’sproofthatmygrandmotherpaiddownhermortgagewiththismoneyrightaftertheirdeath.And,”Isaid,takingoutmyphone,myhandshaking,“proofthatSadiewashurtatthepartylastyear.Detective,shewasthere.”IpulledupthephotosI’djusttaken,handedhimmyphone,thewordstumblingouttoofast.Tryingtowalkhimthroughthecourseofevents—thebloodstainfromthebathroom,mybeliefthatsomeonehadtakenherfromthehouse,wrappedherinablanket,lostherphoneintheprocess.
“Theyusedmycar.Mytrunk,”Isaid,asobcaughtinmythroat.“Thecrimescenewasthere.Nothere.Shedidn’tjump.”
Thecornersofhismouthtippeddown,andheshookhishead.“Avery,youhavetoslowdown.”
Butthatwasn’tright.Ihadtospeedup.Sadiedidn’twantafuckingbell,asadquote.Shewantedthis.Tobeseen.Tobeavenged.Andhewasn’tpayingattention.WhatdidIneedtodotogethimtosee?
Hestaredatthephotosonmyphone,hishandfaintlyshakingaswell,likeI’dtransferredmyfearstraighttohim.Hiseyesdriftedtothewindowbehindme,andIknewwhathewasthinking—theLomanswouldbebacksoon.
Hehadtobelievemebeforetheyarrived.
“Therehavetobepeopleinthedepartmentwhoremembertheaccident,”Isaid.“Whoknowsomething.Itwasalongtimeago,butpeopleremember.”Itwashorrific,thatwaswhatthefirstofficeronthescenesaid.Ihadthearticlewithmeinthatfolderonthedesk.“Maybewecantalktothepersonwhowasfirston-scene.Maybethere’ssomeevidencethatdidn’tmakesense.”Anotherpieceofprooftolinkthecasestogether.
Iopenedthefolder,pulledoutthearticle—sohewouldremember.DetectiveCollinshadoncetoldmethatheknewwhoIwas,whatI’dbeenthrough—thatitwasashittyhandtodraw.Hewasolderthanme.Hemust’verememberedthis.
“CanI…”Heclearedhisthroat,holdingupmyphone.“CanIhangontothis?”
Inodded,andhetuckedmyphoneintohispocket,thenpulledoutapackofcigarettes,slidingoneout,alighterintheotherhand.“Badhabit,Iknow,”hesaid.Hishandshookasheflickedthelightertwicebeforeitcaught.Aslowexhaleofsmoke,eyesclosed.“Sometimesithelps,though.”
IimaginedthesmokesoakingintotheLomans’walls,theornatecarpetbeneathourfeet.Howthey’dhateit.Ialmostspoke,oninstinct,andthenstopped.Whocared?
Inthearticle,therewasablack-and-whitepictureoftheroad—howhadInotseenitbefore,thesameimageSadiehadtakenonherphone?Thearcoftrees,sodifferentinthedaylight—butitmatched.
Thearticlealsohadapictureofthewreckageleftbehind.Themetalheapofacar,crumpledagainstatree.Myheartsqueezed,andIhadtoclosemyeyes,evenafteralltheseyears.
Iskimmedoversentences,paragraphs,untilthepartIremembered—thathadbeensearedintomymindyearsearlier.
“Thefirstofficeronthescenegaveastatementtothereporter,”Isaid.ReadingthewordsthatI’dwantedtoforget,forsolong.“Hereitis.‘TherewasnothingIcoulddo.Itwasjustterrible.Horrific.Ithoughtwehadlostthemall,butwhentheEMTsarrived,theydiscoveredthewomaninthebackseatwasstillalive.Justunconscious.’Thelosswillbefeltbyeveryoneinthecommunity,includingtheyoungofficer—”
Istoppedreading,theroomhollowingout.Couldn’tfinish.Couldn’tsaythewords.Watched,instead,aseverythingshifted.
Heraisedhiseyebrows,flickedthelighteragain.HeldittothebaseofParker’smedicalpaper,lettingitcatchfireandfallintothestainless-steeltrashcan.
Istaredoncemoredownatthearticleinmyhand.Thetruth,alwaysinchesaway,justwaitingformetolookagain.
Theunfinishedsentence,ourpathscrossingoverandover,unseen,unknown.OfficerBenCollins.
CHAPTER29
Smokespilledfromthetopofthegarbagecan,theairdangerousandalive.“Youknew,”Isaid,steppingback.
DetectiveBenCollinsstoodbetweenmeandthedoorway,notmeetingmyeye.Systematicallydroppingpageafterpageintothetrash.EachpieceofevidenceI’dgivenhim,everypieceofproof.Oneafteranotherintotheburningtrash.Hehadmyphone.Myflashdrive.Theevidenceofthepayments—
Theotherpayment,theoneSadiehadfoundandcopied,storedontheflashdrivealongsidethepaymenttomygrandmother.Thathadgonetohim.“TheLomanspaidyouoff,too,”Isaid.
Finally,helookedatme.Amancutintoangles,intonegativespace.“Itwasanaccident.Ifithelps,hedidn’tmeantodoit.Somekidspeedingpastme,drivinglikeabatoutofhellinthemiddleofthenight.Ididn’tknowitwasParkerLomanwhenItookoffafterhim—hedidn’tseetheothercarcoming.Thelightsmust’veblindedthemtothecurve.Bothofthemendedupofftheroad,buttheothercar…”
“Theothercar—”Ichokedout.Myparents.Therewerepeopleinside.Peoplewhohadbeentakenfromme.
HowlonghadhewaitedtocalltheEMTsafterParkerLomansteppedfromthecar?HadParkeraskedhimtowaitwhilehepressedhishandtothecutonhisforehead,seeingwhathehaddone?OrhadGrantLomancalledin,explainedthings,convincedhimtolethissongo—thattherewasnothingtobedonenow,nouseruininganotherlifeintheprocess—apleabutalsoathreat?
Hadmyparentsbledoutwhilehewaited?Didtheyfightit,thedarkness,whileayoungBenCollinsweighedhisownlifeandchose?
Thegarbagecancrackled,aheatbetweenusaswestoodonoppositeendsofthedesk.
“Avery,listen,wewereallyoung.”
Iunderstoodthat,didn’tI?Theterriblechoiceswemadewithoutclarityofthought.Oninstinct,onemotion,orinadrasticmove,justtogetthingstostop.Tochange.
“Ithinkaboutitoften,”hesaid.“Ithinkwealldo.Andnowwe’redoingthebestwecan,allofus.Itwasterrible,buttheLomanshavesupportedthistownthroughthickandthin,givingbackwhenevertheycan.ImadeadecisionwhenIwastwenty-three,andI’vebeentryingtomakepeacewithiteversince.”Heheldonehandouttotheside.“I’vegiveneverythingtothisplace.”
Hiseyeswerewidenow,likehewasbeggingmetoseeit—thepersonreflectedinhiseyes.Thebetterpersonhehadbecome.Itwastrue,ifIgaveitanythought—hewasalwaysthepersoninvolved,whovolunteered.Whoorganizedtheparades,theevents.Thepersonpeopleaskedtojoincommittees.ButallIcouldseewasthelie.Ithadbeenbuiltintotheveryfabricofwhohewasnow.
“They’redead!”Iwasyellingthen.Finally,aplacetodirectmyanger.Insteadofsinkingfurtherintomyself.Insteadofsuccumbingtothespiralthatcaughtmeandrefusedtoletgo.
Heflinched.“Whatdoyouwant,Avery?”Matter-of-fact.Likeeverythinginlifewasanegotiation.
Ishookmyhead.Hewassocalm,andthecrackleoftheflameswaseatingawayattheair,destroyingeverythingagain.
Ineededtogetoutofthisroom,buthewasblockingtheway.
Hesteppedtotheside,andIinstinctivelymovedback,towardthewall.“We’lltalktoGrant,worksomethingout.Okay?”hesaid.
Buthehaditwrong.Ofcoursehecouldn’tdothat.
“Sadie,”Isaid,finallyunderstanding.Herflawwasmyown—she’dtrustedthewrongperson.Mylifewasherlife.Shemust’vetakenthissamepath,landedathisname—andbelievedhewouldtellherthetruth.“Youkilledher,”Iwhispered,handtomymouthatthetruth,atthehorror.
Hehadbeenthemanwhohadbroughthertotheparty.Themannoonehadseen.
Hiseyesdriftedshut,andhewinced.“No,”hesaid.Butitwasdesperate,aplea.
Icouldseeitplayingout,whatshewoulddo—threestepsback,findingBenCollinsinthearticle,justlikeIhaddone.Askinghimtopickherup,directinghimtotheparty.Sadie,empoweredbywhatshe’duncovered,believingshehadeveryonerightwhereshewantedthem—foronefinal,fatalstrike.She’dhiddenawaythemoneytrail;allsheneededwashim.Themoneyshehadstolenfromthecompany—forthis.Forhim.Neverseeingthedangerintheplaceswhereittrulyexisted.“Allshewantedfromyouwasthetruth,”Isaid.
Heblinkedtwice,facestoic,beforespeaking.“Whatgoodwouldthatdonow?I’dbeburyingallofus.Andforwhat?Wecan’tchangethepast.”
Forwhat?Howcouldheaskthat?Forjustice.Formyparents.Forme.
Tosaythetruth—thatParkerhadbeenresponsibleforthedeathofmyparents.Becauseinsidethatfamilywasaperpetualpowerstruggle,andSadiemust’vefinallyseenawaytobringdownherbrother.Acalculated,fatalmove.
Butsomethingelsehadhappenedbehindthatlockeddoorduringtheparty.Shehadmisjudgedhim.Hadshepledhercase,offeredthemoney,believinghewasonherside—beforehestruck?Orhadtheyargued,thedangerslowlyshiftingfromwordstoviolence,untilitwastoolate?
“Thebloodinthebathroom.Youhurther,”Isaidinawhisper.Notacarinadvertentlydrivinganotherofftheroad.Buthandsandfistsonfleshandbone.
“Sheslipped,”hesaid.“Itwasanaccident,”herepeated.“Ididn’tknowwhattodo,andIpanicked.Noneofitwouldbringherback.”
Buthiswordswereempty,hollowlies.Sadiewasbreathing.Hehadtohaveknownshewasbreathing.Otherwise,whybringhertothecliffs?Thewaterinherlungs,thefactthatitcouldlooklikeasuicide,theplacementofhershoes—thelaststepofhiscover-up.Hiscool,crispmind,planningtoendonelifeinordertosavewhatwasleftofhis
HadtheLomansturnedhimintoakilleryearsago?Makinghimcomplicit,shiftingthelineofhisownmorality,untilhecouldjustifyeventhis?
Heflippedtheflashdriveintohispalmagain,tuckeditinhispocket.“Shetoldmetherewassomeoneelsewhohadtheproof.Ialwaysthoughtitwasyou.”
Onlyithadn’tbeenme.ItwasConnor,thoughhedidn’tknowit.Thatmust’vebeenwhySadiehadwantedhimattheparty,hadbroughtthemboththere.Safetyinknowledge,innumbers.Inacrowd.
Therewasnothingleftonthedeskbutthearticleaboutmyparents’accident.LikehewaserasingalltracesofSadieoncemore.
“Shewasawake,”Isaid.“Shetriedtogetoutofthetrunk.Ihaveproof.”Somethinghecouldnotdestroyinthisroom.
Everythingchangedthen.Hisface,thesmoke,thecrackleofflames.
“Yourtrunk,”hesaid,monotone.“Thephoneyoufound,thepersonyouwerefightingwith,evidenceinyourtrunk.Thedaughterofthefamilywhojustfiredyou.Youdonotwanttodothis,trustme.”AsifIwereanothing.Powerless,thenandnow.Thepersonhewouldblame.Thepersonwhowouldpay.
NowIunderstoodwhyhekeptquestioningusabouttheparty.Lookingforwhomight’veseenhimorSadie.Whomight’veseenhimbringingherlimpbodyoutfront.Whocould’veseenhimthrowingherfromthebluffs,orreturningmycarafter,orwalkingbackforhisowninthelotoftheB&B.
AndthenIwasthere.Hesawmeonthecliffswhilehewas“finding”hershoes.Hisprintswouldbeonthem,ifhewastheonewhofoundthem.He’dsaidthesamethingaboutmewhenI’dbroughthimSadie’sphone.
Thatwaswhyhehadaskedme,overandover,aboutthatnight.Whyhe’dwatchedmesocloselyduringtheinterview,lookingforwhatIwashiding.HewasterrifiedthatIknewmorethanIwassaying.
Thelastpieceofthepuzzle.Theunspokenquestionhewasaskingthatnight:HadIseenhim?
“Justtellmewhatyouwant,”hesaid,reachingforthearticleonthedesk.
“Stop,”Isaid,andIgraspedforitmyself—suchastupidthingtoclingto.Icouldfindanotheroneinprintorinrecords.Butitwasthefactthatsomethingwasbeingtakenfrommeagain,withoutmypermission.
Ihadthepaperinmygrip,buthelungedinmydirection,grabbingmyarm.
Crystal-clear.
ThismanhadkilledSadieforknowingthetruth.Iwouldnotgetachancetoprovemyinnocence,topresentmysideofthecase.Hehadkilledtoprotecthimself—nothingmore.AndnowIwasthethreat.
Ijerkedback,hisfingersslippingaway,andracedaroundthedeskforthedoor.Helungedinmydirectionagain,knockingthegarbagecan,thepaperstumblingoutinatrailofembersandflame.Catchingontheornaterug.Hiseyeswidened.
Iran.StumblingoutoftheroomwithBenCollinsstepsbehindme.Hecalledmyname,andthesmellofsmokefollowed.He’dcatchmetooeasilyonthestairs—theopen,airyspiral.Idoveintothenearestroom,slammedthedoorbehindme.
Sadie’sroom.
Therewerenolocks.Andnowheretohide,everythingdesignedtoshowthecleanlinesoftheplace.Thebarewoodfloorunderthebed.Theopenspace.Noplaceforsecretshere.
Thefirealarmstartedblaring,aneven,high-pitchedcry.
Maybethefiredepartmentwouldcome.Butnotsoonenough.
Ipulledopenherglassbalconydoors,letthefabricbillowin.Itwastoofartojump.Theonlyroomyoucouldjumpfromsafelywasthemasterbedroom,withtheslopeofgrassbeneaththeirbalcony—whichConnor,Faith,andIhadclimbedthroughyearsago.
ItwasallIcoulddotoflattenmyselfagainstthewallbyherbedroomdoorbeforeitflewopenagain.BenCollinswalkedstraightfortheopendoorstothepatio,leaningover—peeringout.AndItookthatmomenttodartdownthehallintheotherdirection.
Hemust’veheardmysteps—everythingechoedhere—becausehecalledmynameagain,hisvoiceboomingoverthesoundofthefirealarm.
ButIwasattheotherendofthehall,smokespillingoutoftheofficebetweenus.
Slammingthedoortothemasterbedroom,Iracedforthebalcony.Onelegovertherailing,hangingfrommyfingertips,imaginingConnorbelow,myfeetonhisshoulders.Asix-footdrop.Icoulddoit.
IheardthedooropenasIletgo,theimpactfromthegroundjarringme.Istumbled,thenrightedmyselfandranforthecliffpath.Iwasalreadycallingforhelp,butmypleaswereswallowedupbythecrashofthewaves.
“Stop!”hecalled,tooclose—closeenoughtohearnotonlyhiswordsbuthisfootsteps.“Donotrunfromme!”
Witnesses.AllIcouldthinkwaswitnesses.Sadiehadbeenbehindalockeddoor,insidealockedtrunk.Noonehadbeentheretoseehergo.
Iwasnotacriminal,runningfromthecops.Iwasnotwhathisstorywouldmakeme.
Theoutlineofamanemergedneartheedgeofthecliffpath,andIalmostcollidedwithhimbeforehecameintofocus.Parker.“What’sgoing—”
Ireeledback,andDetectiveCollinsfroze,merestepsawayfromthebothofus.Thewatercrashedagainsttherocksbehindus.ThestepsdowntoBreakerBeachweresoclose,withinsight—
“Hekilledher!”Iyelled.Iwantedsomeoneelsetohear,someoneelsetoseeus.
“What?”Parkerwaslookingfromme,tothedetective,backtothehouse—wheretheblareofthefirealarmjustbarelyreachedus.
“Sheknowsaboutthecrash,”DetectiveCollinssaid,breathingheavily.Deflecting,refocusing.Ilookedbetweenthetwoofthem,wonderingifIhadonlydoubledthedanger.Whateachwoulddotokeephissecrets.Thedetective’shandswereonhishipsashestrainedtocatchhisbreath,hisarmspushinghiscoataside,revealingagun.
Parkerturnedtome,hisdarkeyessearching.“Anaccident,”hesaid,thewordsbarelyformed.Barelyfallingfromhislips.ThesamethingDetectiveCollinshadsaid,thatParker’sparentsmust’vesaid—thelinesParkerclungto.Still,Inoticed,thethinghedidn’tsay.Neitherhenorhissister,evercapableofanapology.
Parkerlookedatthedetective.“Youtoldher?”
“Sadieknew,”Isaidbeforehecouldanswer.Noonehadtoldme.Sadiehadledmethere.Mystepsinhersteps.Butnowitwasjustthethreeofushere,andtheviolentseabelow,alltheterriblesecretsitkept.“Shefoundoutthetruth,andhekilledher.”
Thedetectiveshookhishead,steppingcloser.“No,listen…”
Parkerblinkedasawavecrashedbelow.“Whatdidyousay,Avery?”
ButInevergotthechancetorespond.
Thedetectivemust’veseenitinParker’seyes,thesameasme.Thesuddenburstofrage,theangergathering,untilsomethingelsewassurgingthroughhisblood.DetectiveCollinsreachedforhisgunjustasParkerlunged.
Icouldn’tsaywhomovedfirst.Whichwastheactionandwhichthereaction.OnlythatParkerwasonhiminthemomenthisgunwasinhishand—buthenevergotagriponit,neverpointeditwhereveritwasintendedtogo.
Thesurgeinthemarrowofhisbones,thefulcrumonwhichhislifebalanced,ashepushedBenCollinsbackwardandthegunfellfromhisgrip,hittingtherock
Ashot,ricochetingup.Asoundthatsplitthesilence,thatgaveusallpause.Aflockofbirdsrisingatthesametimeasallourlivesshifted—thetippingpoint.IsawitfirstinthewideningofBenCollins’seyes.Thedesperatereachofhisemptyhandstowardme.Hisfeetstumblingonce,twice,asthemomentumcarriedhimbackward,intotheair.
Iwatched.Thecolorofhisshirt,disappearingovertheedge.Andthennothing,nothing,nothingmore.Justthesoundofthewatercollidingwiththerocksbelow.
AndthatwaswhenIheardthescream.
AndsawallthepeopleofLittleport,gatheredbelowonthebeach,turnourway,tobearwitness.
CHAPTER30
Inthedistance,abuoybelltolled.Ahawkcried,circlingabove.Thewatercrashedinasurgeagainsttherocks.Timekeptmoving.
“Itwasanaccident,”Parkersaid,slidingtothegroundasthepeoplecamerunning.
Alltheseaccidents.
Thefirstofficerarrivedonthebluffs,racingfromtheroad,callingforotherstogetback.
Therewereshoutsfrombelow,peoplewadingintothewaterfromthebeach.Butitwastoolate,andweallknewthat.
“Noonemove,”thepolicemansaidashetookinthescene.Irecognizedhimthen—OfficerPaulChambers,theothermanwhohadintervieweduslastyear.
OfficerChamberslookedatthehouseinthedistance,thesmokerising.ThenatParker,heavingontheground,holdinghisarm.
“HekilledSadie,”Parkersaid.“HewasgoingtohurtAvery.”Lookingatme,pleading.Anegotiation,eventhen.“Hehadagun.Ihadtodoit.Ihadtostophim.”
NeverhadIfeltsuchpower,inthemomentsheheldhisbreath,andeveryonewaswatching.Ididnotconfirm,Ididnotdeny.
IfeltParker’sgazeonthesideofmyface.Heardhisdesperatewhisper.Please.
“Nomoretalking,Parker.”ThatwasGrant,hisvoicecuttingthroughthespectators’inwarning.
TherewerefacesIknewinthecrowd.TheSylvas,theHarlows,theLomans—GrantwasonhisphoneasParkersatthere,holdinghisarm.Connorpushedhiswaytothefrontofthegroup,butanotherofficerhadarrived,keepingeveryoneback.Thereweresirens.Moreshoutsfrombelow.Adirectivetomovethecars,movethepeople—thatemergencyvehiclescouldnotgetthrough.Behindus,thesmokehadreachedtheopenbalconydoorsofthesecondfloor,billowingout.
TheLomanhousewasburning,someonewasdead,andwewerestillontheledge.
“Youkilledmyparents,”Isaid.Loudenoughthatotherscouldhear.NotonlyOfficerChambersbutthepeoplewhohadgathered,watching.Connor,Faith,GrantandBianca.
Parkerwinced,shakinghishead,thoughwebothknewthetruth.
“Iknowyoudid.AndSadieisdeadbecauseshefoundout,too.”AllthesepeopleI’dlostcouldbetracedbacktohim,andIwantedhimtopay.
Parkerkeptshakinghishead.Heremainedsilent,ashisfatherhadlikelyinstructed.Evenashewastoldtostand.Evenasthehandcuffsclinchedbehindhisback.Parker’seyesdriftedsidetosideashewasledthroughthecrowd,asifdesperateforsomeonetofixthis.
Hewentquietly,headlowered.Aman,justlikeanyother.
ATTHESTATION,Igavethemeverything.ButIhadlostsomuchtoboththefireandthesea.
Theevidencehadburned.Myphone.Theflashdrive.Itwasallgone.ButI’dcopiedthefileoftheflashdrivetomylaptop.AndI’dtransferredSadie’sphotosfromherphoneaswell.OfficerChamberslookedsurprisedatthementionofSadie’sphone—itseemedthatBenCollinshadkeptthisinformationtohimself,nevermentioningthediscoveryofthephonetoanyoneelse.
Ididn’tknowwhetheritwasenough,thethingswehadleft.
AFTER,ISTOODINthelobbyofthepolicestationwithnothing.Mycarandmylaptopwouldhavetostaywiththemasevidence.Iaskedthereceptionisttousethephone,butIcouldn’tthinkofasinglenumberbyheart.
“Avery.”IturnedatthesoundofConnor’svoice.Sawthetruckbehindhimthroughtheglasswindows,parkedhaphazardly,likehe’dbeenwaiting.
Ididn’taskwhereweweregoingasIbuckledmyselfin—didn’tknowwheretogorightthen.ButwhenConnorturneduptheoverlook,Iknew.
HeparkedinthegravellotoftheB&B,turnedofftheengine.Aboxofmythingswasalreadyonthefrontporch.Connorpushedhisdooropenbutpausedbeforesteppingout.
“Endoftheseason,there’salwaysroom.”
SUMMER
2019FirstDayofSummer
Throughtheopenwindows,Icouldhearthewavescrashingagainsttherocks.Thewindblowinginoffthecoast,theleavesrustlingoverhead.
Sunlightflickeredthroughtheopencurtainsasthebranchesswayedabove.
Itookdowntheglasses,pulledoutthebottlesandtheplatesoffoodfromthefridge.Shookoutthecushions,draggedafewextrachairsaroundback.Gettingeverythingready.
They’dbearrivingsoon,upthedriveofLandingLane.
THEHOUSECOULDNOTbesalvaged.Itshouldn’thavebeenbuiltinthefirstplace.Sadiehadhintedatthisyearsago:Itwasn’tsafe.Notsomethingthissize,thatstretchedbeyondtheeasements.They’dpaidaroundthepermitsthefirsttime.Itwouldnothappenagain.
There’sstillafootprint,ifyouknowwheretolook.Wherethegrassisafiner,palergreen.Aslightdipinthedirtwherethepoolusedtobe.
Butfromtheguesthouse,it’sjustaquirkofnature,aclearingoftreesbeforetherocks.Astunning,unobstructedviewthatgreetsmeeachmorning.
Areward,forarisk.
IHEARD,THROUGHOTHERSintown,thatParkerhadworkedoutadeal.Heardhewasconfinedtohousearrest.Heardheworeananklemonitor.Heardhewasremovedfromthecompany.
Mostofthesewereprobablyrumors.AllIcaredwasthathewasgone.Andthattheywouldnotbecomingback.
Inthewinter,afterIsoldtheplotsontheoverlook,Iofferedalowbutfairpriceforthisproperty.It’snotlikeanyonecouldrebuilduphere.Onlytheguesthousewassetbackpertheguidelines.ButthatwasallIneeded.
Itookthispropertyfortheviewitself,lookingoutoverallofLittleportandeverythingI’deverknown.
MyoneregretisIdidn’tgettoseeGrant’sfacewhenherealizedwhatIhaddone.
INTHEWINTEROFlastyear,I’dsoldeverythingIhadtotheSylvas.AstripofplotsupontheoverlookthatI’dbeenholdingontoformyself.AllhiddenunderthenameofanLLC.
I’dstartedinvestingyearsearlierwiththemoneyfromthesaleofmygrandmother’shouse.CashfromtheLomansthemselveswhentheyboughtmygrandmother’splace.Biancawastheonlyonewhoeveraskedwheremymoneyhadgone.Grant,itseemed,wasn’tpayingattention.
TherewasnothinginmycontractwiththeLomansthatpreventedmefromsettingoutonmyown.Makingmyowninvestments.SoItookthatfirstsumandinvesteditwithasmallgroupinaplotoflandafewtownsupthecoast.
We’dflippedit,eachtookourshareoftheproceeds,keptmoving.
Ihadaneyeforitandthegutstodoit.Andapparently,thosewerethetwomainingredientsofsuccess.Toriskeverythingforachance.
ItwasthestartofanewseasoninLittleport,andwewereheretodaytotoastthebeginningofsomething—ajointventurewithFaith,rentingouttheirnewproperties.
GregRandolphhadoncecalledmeSadie’smonster,buthewaswrong.IfIwereanyone’smonster,Isupposed,IwasGrant’s.
Takingeverythinghe’dtaughtme,investingthatinitialmoneywithnofallback.Riskingeverything,overandover,oninvestmentpropertiesintownsupanddownthecoast.Believingtherewassomethingthatwouldkeeppeoplecoming—thepoweroftheocean,thevastnessofit,thesecretsitpromised—andtheydid.
Itwasreckless,maybe,withnofallback,andnopromises.
ButLittleporthasalwaysbeenthetypeofplacethatfavorsthebold.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thankyoutoeveryonewhohelpedseethisprojectfromitsearliestideatothefinalbook:
Myagent,SarahDavies,forallofthewonderfulsupport,onthisandeverybook
Myeditors,KarynMarcusandMarysueRucci,forthesharpinsight,guidance,andencouragementateverystepalongtheway,fromfirstideatofinishedproduct.AndtotheentireteamatSimon&Schuster,includingRichardRhorer,JonathanKarp,ZackKnoll,AmandaLang,ElizabethBreeden,andMarieFlorio.I’msofortunatetogettoworkwithyouall!
Thankyoualsotomycritiquepartners,MeganShepherd,AshleyElston,andElleCosimano,forallofyourfeedbackandsupport.
Andlastly,asalways,tomyfamily.
ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
MeganMirandaistheauthorofthenationalbestsellerAlltheMissingGirlsandThePerfectStranger.ShegrewupinNewJersey,graduatedfromMIT,andlivesinNorthCarolinawithherhusbandandtwochildren.Follow@MeganLMirandaonTwitterandInstagram,or@AuthorMeganMirandaonFacebook.
www.meganmiranda.com
Simon&Schuster
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Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Anyreferencestohistoricalevents,realpeople,orrealplacesareusedfictitiously.Othernames,characters,places,andeventsareproductsoftheauthor’simagination,andanyresemblancetoactualeventsorplacesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
Copyright?2019byMeganMirandaAllrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbookorportionsthereofinanyformwhatsoever.ForinformationaddressSimon&SchusterSubsidiaryRightsDepartment,1230AvenueoftheAmericas,NewYork,NY10020
FirstSimon&SchusterhardcovereditionJune2019
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InteriordesignbyLewelinPolancoManufacturedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica10987654321
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataISBN978-1-5011-6537-5
ISBN978-1-5011-6539-9(ebook)
Contents
Cover
Dedication
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty
Summer2018
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,9:00p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,9:30p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,10p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,10:30p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Summer2017
TheDayAfterthePlus-OneParty
Summer2018
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Summer2019
FirstDayofSummer
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright
Guide
Startofcontent
TableofContents
Cover
Dedication
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty
Summer2018
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,9:00p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,9:30p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,10p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Summer2017
ThePlus-OneParty,10:30p.m.
Summer2018
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Summer2017
TheDayAfterthePlus-OneParty
Summer2018
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Summer2019
FirstDayofSummer
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright
Startofcontent
© Copyright Notice
The copyright of the article belongs to the author. Please do not reprint without permission.
THE END
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