“Why should we have to leave?” Logan asked. “We’re not—”
“Logan,” Brandon warned. His lips made a tight frown. He looked at the blond girl and said, “We’re going.”
Gently, he tugged Logan to the cash register. From the other aisle, the kids whispered and laughed. Humiliation crashed like a rockslide in Logan’s stomach. Even when she was defending him, Brandon wasn’t on her side.
He gave the gift shop cashier his card. “Sorry for the trouble.”
The cashier shook her head.
Wordlessly, Logan gathered her decorations and made her way out of the store. If it had been Alejo, he would have stood up to them. Or he would have been proud of her for saying something. But Brandon had done nothing. Logan couldn’t look at him.
She climbed into the car and buckled up, searching for the right words, but only came up with, “What was that?”
Brandon thrummed his fingers over the steering wheel without turning on the car. “It’s not worth arguing.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“It wouldn’t matter.” Brandon fixed his glasses. “Those kids … you saw the blond one? She’s a Barton. The Bartons own everything in this town. The lumberyard, the ranch, all the restaurants, all the parks. They’re in charge of the whole thing.”
“She doesn’t scare me,” Logan scoffed. “I can handle redneck Barbie.”
Brandon shook his head. “Not her. It’s her mom that’s the problem.”
“Whatever.”
“It’s best to just … do what they say.”
Logan rolled her eyes. “Even if what they say is wrong?”
“I get that it’s hard. But this is just temporary.” He fired up the Neon and crawled away from the curb, leaving Snakebite in a cloud of exhaust. After a moment of aching silence, he sighed. “We’ll finish the show, then the three of us can leave for good. It won’t be that much longer. Sound like a plan?”
Logan grimaced. She swallowed the argument brewing in her chest and nodded. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”
7
What’s Done In The Dark
“We had salmon and asparagus last week,” Tammy Barton said, neck strained so that she could see her weight-loss app over her reading glasses. “Low calorie, but no flavor. Let’s try the stir-fry this week. I can make a big batch of that. It’ll be good for lunches.”
“I hate stir-fry.” Ashley longingly eyed a packet of instant mashed potatoes. “I can make my own dinner.”
“When you buy groceries with your own money you can.”
Ashley groaned. It had only been a few days since her argument with Brandon Woodley and his daughter at the gift shop, but it still scratched at the back of her mind like a dog trying to come inside for dinner. Defusing the fight was the right thing to do, but the way the girl had looked at Ashley—angry and wounded—wouldn’t leave Ashley alone.
Her mother compared boxes of brown rice, silently weighing the pros and cons of long grain and short grain. She was on a health kick that meant only fresh veggies and seafood were suitable for dinner. Even before the diet, she had been a nightmare to shop with. Before Tristan’s disappearance, Ashley would’ve avoided it at all costs. But lately, she didn’t want to be alone. Things had felt different in Snakebite for months, even beyond Tristan’s disappearance. The sun felt different, relentless and hot as rage. Something boiled under the surface of their little town.
Snakebite Mercantile was mostly empty this early in the day. Carrie Underwood swirled from a single overhead speaker, echoing from the green-and-beige-checkered linoleum. Somewhere behind them, shopping cart wheels squealed. A man turned the corner into the dry foods aisle, shopping cart suspiciously loaded with nothing but microwave meals, Cheez Whiz, and a jar of pickles. When Tammy spotted him, she tensed, tossing the long-grain rice in her cart like she meant to make a quick getaway.
The fluorescents overhead flickered in anticipation. The air was stiff with the threat of battle. The strange man’s dark brow furrowed, jaw clenched, fingers gripped tight around the handle of his shopping cart. Tammy’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t back down. She pushed a blond curl behind her ear, donned a cutting smile, and simply said, “Alejo.”
The man, surprisingly, returned the smile, though his was easier. Unlike her mother, Ashley thought there was a part of him that meant the gesture. His black hair rested at his shoulders, half tied-up in a knot at the back of his head. It took Ashley a moment to recognize him as the man from Pioneer Cemetery on the day of Tristan’s vigil.
Ashley’s stomach sank. That made him the gift shop girl’s other father. Maybe he was here because he was angry. His expression was hard to read, but he was surprisingly intimidating for a man wearing a knit sweater that read WHO’S AFRAID OF THE DARK.
“Tammy,” Alejo said, “fancy meeting you here.”
Tammy cleared her throat. “What a coincidence. I feel like I see you everywhere.”
“I’m sure you love that.”
Barton women didn’t back down and they certainly didn’t lose. Tammy exhaled sharply. “How are you and your family settling in?” she asked. “I heard you’re staying at the Bates. Bit of a downgrade from a Hollywood mansion, but you’re used to living on my property, so I’m sure you’ve made yourself at home.”
“Mom,” Ashley breathed.
The man turned to Ashley and his expression warmed. “This must be your daughter? Ashley, right? It’s been a long time.”
Ashley blinked. She was sure she’d never met the man before, but something about his smile was familiar.
“Don’t talk to her,” Tammy said, stepping in front of Ashley.
Alejo rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I’m just trying to have a conversation. You’re the one turning this into a thing.”
“I’m not doing anything but getting my groceries.”
“Right,” Alejo said. He eyed Ashley again. “I heard you met my daughter the other day.”
Tammy scowled. “I said don’t talk to her. How would you like it if I went and talked to your daughter?”
Ashley looked back and forth between the two of them. Her mother was usually a master of mitigating situations like this. She was supposed to be the picture of poise and calmness. This untethered version of her was unsettling. Ashley held her breath. Guilt over the fight in the gift shop welled up in her like a balloon.
“You don’t have to,” Alejo said. “Your daughter and her friends already harassed her. It was apparently quite the Snakebite welcome.”
“Hmm.” Tammy briefly eyed Ashley like she meant to ask for clarification, but she steeled herself. “Maybe if she kept her head down, she wouldn’t—”
“Logan isn’t hurting anyone by shopping for candles, Tammy.”
Tammy paused for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Logan…?”
Alejo cleared his throat, but said nothing.
Tammy shook off whatever surprise the name had given her. She spun her cart around to leave. “We’ll just get our groceries later.”
“You don’t have to—” Alejo dragged his palm over his mouth. His lips pressed together in a thin, desperate line. “Can we talk?”
Tammy closed her eyes and exhaled, slow and measured. Without looking at Ashley, she smiled. “Can you go get some broccoli for the stir-fry? I’ll just be a second.”
Ashley nodded. She took the shopping cart and walked as briskly as she could to the next aisle. She had no intention of missing their conversation. She’d never seen her mother act so unnerved by anyone, let alone a lanky forty-something in a knit sweater. From between the candy bars and the soda, she could just make out her mother’s tense voice.
“Okay, five minutes.”
“Tammy…” There was a moment of silence as someone walked through the aisle. Once they were gone, Alejo continued, “You’re not happy we’re here—I get that.”
“Apparently you don’t. Otherwise you’d leave.” Ashley could hear her mother’s scowl from an aisle away. “What do y
ou want?”
“You know we haven’t had it easy here.”
“Yes, I know the loss was hard on you. And I’m sorry, really.” Tammy was quiet for a moment. “But I thought you two leaving was more of a permanent thing.”
“I did, too,” Alejo said, “but the three of us have just as much a right to be here as anyone else.”
“Hmm,” Tammy said. “Her name is in really poor taste, by the way.”
Alejo was quiet. His quiet was a wounded thing, tense and cold all at once. “You can say whatever you want to me and Brandon—I really don’t care—but Logan doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
“You know how Snakebite is. Why bring her?”
“Because we’re a family,” Alejo said, voice bordering on desperate. “What’re we supposed to do—leave her home?”
“Alejo,” Tammy said, softer than before. “I’m serious. What are you doing back here?”
“We’re location scouting. For the show.”
“You’re going to make a joke out of us.”
And then neither of them said anything. Ashley leaned further into the candy bars, listening for more. Her head swam trying to keep up. It occurred to her how strange she’d look to anyone browsing the aisle, but she didn’t care. This was about more than what John had said to Logan at the store. She’d never heard her mother talk like this. She’d never heard her sound so unsettled. This was the same Tammy Barton who chased fast food chains and superstores out of Snakebite without batting an eye, who commanded the entirety of Barton Ranch with ease. She was Snakebite’s sole protector. Nothing rattled her. But something about Alejo apparently crawled under her skin.
He cleared his throat.
“It’s not a joke. You don’t think things have been weird? You don’t think there’s something off?” Alejo asked. “After … there was a lot of stuff happening here when we left. Problems we never got to resolve.”
Tammy’s heel clicked on the tile. “I’m one of these problems?”
“Real problems,” Alejo clarified.
Her mother said something else, but it was drowned out by an elderly couple making their way down Ashley’s aisle. Ashley eyed them with a scowl, but the couple didn’t notice, fixated instead on store-brand seltzer. The overhead lights buzzed and the frozen aisle groaned and under it all, her mother’s voice continued, soft and low as a hum. Ashley closed her eyes but she couldn’t make out the words.
Finally, a bit of the conversation filtered through.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Alejo said, “but you knew it was right.”
“And now what? You want me to pretend?”
Alejo was quiet. “Logan doesn’t know anything about her. Brandon and I decided it was best. We wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” Alejo said, and he sounded like he meant it.
“And when you’re done, you’ll leave? For real this time.”
“Of course. As soon as we’ve figured it all out, you’ll never see us again.”
“Oh, thank god.” Her mother’s voice was a flood of relief. It was the usual Tammy Barton, sure and easy. “If it means you’ll leave, I’ll do whatever. I’ll even invite you back to Sunday brunches.”
Alejo laughed, more relieved than Ashley expected for someone who’d just been asked to self-exile. In an instant, the atmosphere changed from tense and miserable to amiable. Friendly, even.
“I do miss Sunday brunches.” The squeaky wheels on Alejo’s cart swiveled. “God, I hate this town.”
“You didn’t used to.”
Alejo was quiet. “No, I didn’t.”
The silence between them stretched so long, Ashley wondered if they’d quietly parted ways. She leaned into the aisle and closed her eyes. This wasn’t right—her mother shared everything with her, but she’d never heard of Alejo. She’d never heard of Brandon or their family or all this apparent history. Ashley hated secrets. They were needles pricking at her skin, small and sharp and constant, reminders that there were some truths she still didn’t deserve, no matter how hard she worked to live up to her name.
“Well, until you disappear again,” Tammy said, almost too quiet to hear.
Alejo’s wheels screeched. “Can’t wait.”
Ashley scrambled to the produce aisle and grabbed a bag of broccoli florets. Her mother rounded the corner with an odd, knowing smile. She took the broccoli and dropped it into the cart, but her eyes were fixed on Ashley’s face.
“How much did you hear?”
“All of it?” Ashley bit her lip. “I’m sorry about the whole fight with that girl. John just started going off at her, and I tried—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Tammy shook her head, but she wasn’t angry. She pushed a piece of Ashley’s hair behind her ear. “I would’ve done the same thing if I was you. I’ve known that family for a long time. Some people are just determined to be victims.”
“Who was that guy?” Ashley asked.
Tammy shrugged. “No one important.”
“Are you friends?”
Tammy turned the cart around. For a while, she wheeled in silence, chewing on an answer before spitting it out. “At one point, sure.”
Ashley nodded. Further down the aisle, Alejo pulled a bag of potato chips from a tall shelf. His expression was distant and glassy. Ashley couldn’t tell if it was anger or adrenaline that still wracked him, but whatever it was, Alejo’s hands shook when he moved. If Tammy noticed, she didn’t bat an eye.
“A Barton’s job is to make sure Snakebite stays safe,” Tammy said, navigating her way to the checkout.
Ashley wasn’t sure she understood. But she nodded and followed her mother without another word, secrets dogging her steps like shadows.
8
A Necessary Fire
It had taken Ashley until seventh grade to realize that it was called Snakebite for the shape of the lake. On a map, Lake Owyhee didn’t look like a lake at all. Instead, it looked like a wide-mouthed river that stretched deep into the dry and empty Owyhee wilderness. It twisted through the bald hills like an uncoiling serpent, forking at the north end into a snake’s mouth. And inside the mouth of the viper was Snakebite, laughably small and unnervingly alone.
The last time she’d waded into the lake at night, Tristan was with her.
Now, Ashley stood waist deep, staring at the point where the warm black water met the hills on the horizon. Away from the light of town, the night sky was a paint stroke of mauve clouds and speckled starlight. The water pulsed against her stomach, asking her to step just a little farther into the depths. She’d never liked swimming at night before, but there was something comforting about the dark now. It gently pulled her into the nothing.
“Ash.”
Ashley turned just in time for a thick wall of lake water to crash over her face. Bug stood knee deep only a few feet away wearing a mischievous smile. She stooped to splash again, but Ashley buckled her knees and ducked under the surface, turning the world to nothing more than the sound of churning waves.
When she came up, Bug was standing next to her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Ashley exhaled. She wrung out her ponytail. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t, but it wasn’t worth explaining anymore. The world since Tristan’s disappearance was like a fist pressed into wet clay. She felt the impression of him in her chest. Her new version of okay would just be this. It was a hard thing to swallow.
She hadn’t really wanted to come out tonight, but she’d spent weeks trying to get the search party to this side of the lake. A piece of her thought, once she got here, she would feel Tristan’s presence. She would know where to look. The answer would fall into her lap. But she’d been here for hours and she felt nothing.
On the lakeshore, John Paris hunched over a pile of juniper brambles. His bright red swim trunks glared in the cool dark, massive shoulders bobbing as he attempted to start a fire. They’d packed kindling and a
lighter in the back of the truck, but as usual, John was determined to do it like the movies. Just a stick and furious motion. Fran and Paul sat behind him on the picnic table only halfway paying attention.
“I thought we were supposed to be swimming,” Ashley said.
Bug shrugged. “Guess they changed their mind.”
“You can go hang out with them if you want.” Ashley popped her neck. “Maybe you and Paul can talk about his dad some more.”
“Oh my god, no thanks,” Bug said. “If he—”
Before she could finish, John’s fire roared to life. He sprung backward, tumbling to his back. Fran and Paul jumped up behind him with a cheer. Ashley and Bug made their way toward shore.
While the others settled, John sat on the log next to Ashley. For a moment, he stared into the dirt between his feet in silence. “How’re you holding up?”
Ashley blinked. “Oh. You know.”
“Yeah.” John wiped his nose. “I know.”
Ashley nodded. Compared to her friendships with Fran and Bug, she and John had only ever been as close as two people raised in the same pocket-sized town. But on nights like this, when Ashley looked into John Paris’s face, it was like he was the only one who got it. He was the only other person with a Tristan-shaped impression in his chest. The only one who looked out at the black horizon and wondered if Tristan was looking back. The emptiness was suffocating him. It was suffocating Ashley, too.
In a way, it was nice to know she wasn’t alone.
Usually, there were six of them. There was a gap in their circle, just between Ashley and John. She hadn’t expected the empty air to feel so cold.
Eventually, the night softened into a blurry semblance of the way things used to be. Fran playfully fed s’mores to John, wiping stringy bits of marshmallow on his swim trunks. Bug slipped on her favorite green hoodie and buried her fists in the front pouch. Paul grasped at the dark, trying to catch flecks of ash between his fingers. It was almost right.
The Dead and the Dark Page 5