Simon looked like he’d been told that the sky was green and that rain actually shot up from the ground. I understood the feeling. Caleb was a notorious slacker; it was the main reason Mom didn’t think he was right for Justine. It was hard to imagine his not only caring that much about the town but also putting in such effort to preserve it.
“Did they have lunch?” I asked.
“They did. At Betty’s, at Caleb’s insistence. Which actually turned out to be a bad move—he’d wanted to give them an authentic taste of Winter Harbor so that they’d realize what was already there and leave it alone, but it only made them want in even more.”
I tried to picture Caleb and a couple of suits sitting at one of the tables at Betty’s. I wondered if Zara had served them, if her charming way with male customers had pushed the suits over the edge.
“Look at him go,” another surfer said, scrambling to his feet.
We faced the water just as Mark jumped to a low squat on the board. He tried to stand twice, but placed his hands back by his feet when the wave dropped and lifted, sending him off balance. He tried again, wobbling from side to side as his legs straightened. The wave grew taller, its crest reached forward. I glanced at Simon, who appeared to be mentally recording the wave’s height and odd behavior.
The guys erupted in cheers as Mark rode the wave for three seconds before diving into the water. I held my breath until his head broke the surface; when he beamed in our direction and punched the air with his fist, I finally exhaled.
“Thanks for the info, guys,” Simon said as Mark jogged toward us. “It was good to see you.”
“Take care, man,” Mark said, shaking Simon’s hand. “If we hear anything, we’ll definitely be in touch.”
“Thanks. And you might want to pack it in soon—by the looks of it, you’ve got about fifteen minutes before all this is underwater.”
They looked at their stuff scattered across the sand, clearly wondering, like me, how that was possible. The water’s edge was at least fifty feet away.
“Do you mind if I just grab a few measurements?” Simon asked after a silent walk to the car a few minutes later. “It won’t take long.”
“I don’t mind. Do you need help?” I watched him take a backpack and plastic box from the backseat.
He looked to the sky, then toward the water. He scanned the horizon before turning back and looking at my feet. “You are wearing sneakers.”
“Flame resistant,” I reminded him.
“Okay, then.” He gave me a small smile. “I could use the extra set of hands.”
It became clear almost immediately why my footwear was a concern—the water was rising as fast as Simon had predicted. I looked to the left as we veered right and saw Caleb’s friends gathering their boards and gear as the foamy runoff reached for their cars. Given the water’s movement, we had to move fast.
Reaching a tall line of boulders a quarter mile down the beach, Simon opened his backpack, handed me a measuring tape, and pulled out a stack of notebooks. He slid a notebook and three plastic vials in his jacket pocket.
He scaled the smallest boulder, dropped to his knees, and reached one hand toward me. He pulled me up easily, as if I were a pillow and not a 130-pound person.
“Hold one end of the measuring tape and keep an eye on the side of the rock,” he said. “If the water starts reaching farther back than where you’re standing, follow it. You should be even with the break the whole time. The measuring tape needs to be kept as level as possible. I’ll tug when I reach the end of the line, and then we’ll both reach over the side so I can get a more accurate measurement.”
“Got it.” I watched him go up and over the rocks like Spider-Man in a maroon fleece.
I dropped to my knees and crawled toward the boulder’s edge. Peering over, I saw a thin layer of foam dissolving across the sand. The water was breaking a few feet away, so I shuffled to the right until a wave struck directly below me. My head snapped back as the spray shot up, coating the rock and my face.
The water rose faster. Simon barely had time to lift up from the last boulder, make notes, and reach back down before I was moving with the water and scooting to the left. The waves were so big it was hard to gauge the break, but I judged the movement by where the spray felt most concentrated.
Ten minutes later, thin, salty streams flowed down my face and my wet hair stuck to my forehead. Simon tugged on the measuring tape one last time. He gave me a quick thumbs-up, and I released my end.
“Awesome,” he said, hopping down to my boulder. “I mean, crazy and weird and totally unnatural, but … awesome. The tide’s moving at about an inch a minute.” He unzipped his fleece and grabbed at his collar.
“That’s not normal?” I guessed, jumping up and helping him pull off the wet fleece when it stuck around his shoulders.
“Not even close.”
I looked away as he straightened his T-shirt. Stressful circumstances were clearly messing with my emotions. I’d seen Simon without his shirt on countless occasions, but now, just catching a glimpse of his bare abdomen had made my face flush.
“Tides move around ten feet every six hours—or about a foot every thirty minutes. Fast enough to notice after a while, but not fast enough to notice while it’s happening. At this rate, the tides are rising a foot every twelve minutes.”
“More than twice as fast,” I calculated quickly.
“Exactly.” He shook his head. “Crazy.”
“What’s also crazy is that you don’t seem to notice that you’re shaking and your lips are turning blue.” I retrieved his backpack and plastic box from where he’d thrown them. “We should get back to the car.”
“You’re right.” He cupped his hands and blew in them. “We still have a lot to do.”
He jumped to the sand, and I tossed him his stuff. He shoved the plastic box in the backpack, slid the backpack on his shoulders, and stood at the base of the boulder. “This is the easy part,” he said when I didn’t move right away. “Just pretend you’re climbing down a ladder.”
“Ladders don’t usually stand at ninety-degree angles,” I said, peering down at the ground.
He waited for me to look at him. When I did, his expression was serious. His concern for me had temporarily managed to replace his excitement for whatever amazing scientific discovery we’d just made. “Just go slow,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
He had me. I knew what he meant—that, like always, he wouldn’t let me fall—but I couldn’t help wondering if there was more to the statement.
The water splashed below and I shook my head to clear it. I turned around, knelt, and lowered one foot, then the other, over the edge. Keeping all of my upper-body weight over the top of the rock, I slid my toes down the side until they fit in small crevices in the granite. Once my feet were steady, I lifted my torso slightly from the top of the rock and shifted slowly backward.
Boo.
Justine’s blue eyes flashed before me. Her gray hands were on my waist, her bruised arms dragging me down, off the rock. Panicked, I let go of the top of the rock, and my feet slipped out from under me. I fell to the ground, my sneakers somehow hitting the wet sand first. I stumbled back before they could sink, before the water could reach me and wrap around my ankles.
“It’s okay.”
I looked behind Simon toward the ocean, past his arms that still reached for me, that were still ready to catch me if I needed them to.
“Vanessa,” he said gently, stepping toward me.
A wave hit. I held my breath as it retreated, half expecting Justine to rise up from the sand as it did.
But she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. The sand was empty except for clumps of seaweed and a broken crab shell.
My eyes moved to Simon’s hands—his tan, healthy, living hands—and I grabbed them with my own. They were cold and wet, but I could finally exhale when they began to feel warm against mine. As we stood there, I struggled to resist the sudden, overwhelming urge to
release his hands and throw my arms around him.
“It’s okay,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re okay.”
I really didn’t want to let go of his hands, but knew I had to, especially if we were going to make it to the car without swimming part of the way.
I let go reluctantly, careful not to look at Simon or behind him, toward the water. As we started back across the beach, I tried to ignore the siren moaning softly somewhere in the distance.
Twenty minutes later we were in the Subaru, driving toward Winter Harbor with the windows down and the heat on. I stared at the passing trees without seeing them, wondering what I was doing there, and why I’d dragged poor Simon into it.
Justine was gone. Done. Washed up like a fish. What difference did it make why, or how? Or what had really happened before then? The bottom line was that she wasn’t coming back. As hard as that was to accept, it was the only truth there was—and had to be easier to deal with than trying to dig up what she hadn’t wanted me to know. And once I accepted it, everything could go back to normal. Not to the way normal was before, but to the way it was going to be from now on.
“Simon,” I began with a sigh, prepared to apologize and tell him as much. I turned toward him, already sad in anticipating my solo drive back to Boston and the long summer days without him.
But he didn’t hear me. He stared straight ahead, eyes wide and mouth set in a thin line.
I followed his gaze as the car slowed and rolled to a stop.
The road was blocked off by three police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance. Flares circled them like sparklers, and flashing lights cast a strange red glow between the surrounding trees. A dozen emergency workers flew about—police officers talked into their radios, firefighters wielded axes in the woods, and EMTs prepped the ambulance.
Two more EMTs emerged from between the glowing trees, carrying a covered stretcher. They lifted the stretcher to load it into the ambulance, and a gray, heavy hand fell out from under the white sheet.
The purple and yellow marks were visible from twenty feet away.
Turning, I focused on the red lights illuminating the woods and the firefighters carrying axes. Before long, the emergency workers were gathered on the road, and I had a clear view through the trees.
“Simon,” I said quietly, all thoughts of leaving Winter Harbor and going back to Boston immediately forgotten. “They made a path to the beach.”
CHAPTER 8
“THE DRESS IS GORGEOUS, Vanessa. Gorgeous. And you will be gorgeous in it.”
“Thanks,” I said, watching the rain stream down the windshield and wishing I hadn’t answered the phone. “But I might have to be gorgeous in it sometime after this weekend.”
“Absolutely! You know I wouldn’t buy you some ridiculous one-time-only bridesmaid-type dress. You can definitely wear it past Labor Day. Maybe even all the way till Columbus Day, if the weather holds.”
If the weather holds.
“Sounds great, Mom. Is Dad there, by any chance?”
“Yes, but we still have much to discuss. Make sure you come back to me before hanging up.”
As she instructed Dad to give the phone right back, I leaned forward to look at the sky. Paige and I sat in the car in her driveway, waiting for a break in the rain before dashing to her house. But judging by the thick clouds, a break wasn’t coming anytime soon.
“Big Poppa,” I said, once Mom relinquished the receiver. “I need a favor.”
“Name it, it’s yours, kiddo.”
“I told Mom I’m not coming home this weekend, but she doesn’t seem to hear any voice but hers. And I really can’t come home.” I pictured the ambulance from yesterday, the stretcher, the disbelief on Simon’s face that had stayed there into the night, after we’d finally made it back to Winter Harbor. “Not yet, anyway. Can you please let her know in a way that only you can?”
“Don’t give it another thought,” he said. “I’ll work my Big Poppa magic.”
“Thank you. I have to go. Please tell her I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Parents!” Paige declared as I dropped the cell phone in the cup holder.
“More like parent. Dad’s a saint, but Mom’s a bit of a handful.”
“I hear you. Wait until you meet Raina—King Kong’s hands couldn’t contain that.” She leaned forward and wiped the steam clouding the inside of the windshield with her apron.
“Sorry.” I ducked my head to try to see under the fog, which reappeared the second Paige wiped it away. “She runs better than she looks. The defroster’s the only thing that doesn’t work. And the air-conditioning. Oh, and the gas cap sticks, and a back window doesn’t roll down.”
“Who needs the back window? And anyway—are you kidding? It was so nice of you to give me a ride.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“I just don’t know what Zara’s thinking. Look at it out there!” She shook her head. “They’re going to be lined up around the building in no time, and she just drops me off and leaves? My guess is we’ve got twenty minutes to find her, get her in the car, and drive back to town before the insanity starts.”
“Did she say she was going home?” I wasn’t about to admit it, since Paige was so determined to find her, but I hoped our search turned up empty. I knew Betty’s would suffer without Zara there to wait tables, but I was also wary of witnessing the sparks that were sure to fly between the two of them. Plus, if we didn’t find her right away, maybe we could look for her all day. That would definitely help keep me from thinking about Justine.
“She said she had some stuff to take care of, and she’d be back soon. Soon. And now it’s two hours later. Do you think two hours qualifies as ‘soon’?”
“No.”
“Me either.” She leaned forward and peered through the cloudy windshield. “It’s like a monsoon out there.”
I rolled down the driver’s-side window for a better look. After driving along miles of narrow, twisty roads, we’d finally reached a large clearing that started level with the tree baseline and rose to a rounded peak. In its center was a two-story turquoise house surrounded by rosebushes blooming thousands of blossoms in every color. There were so many flowers I could smell their sweet fragrance from where we sat.
“This is ridiculous. I’m making a run for it.” Paige yanked the hood of her jacket over her head, sending a light shower across the dashboard. She grabbed the door handle and looked at me. “Do you have any sisters?”
I opened my mouth to say yes … and then closed it. Because I wasn’t sure. Did I have any sisters? Or did I become an only child the second Justine hit the water at the base of Chione Cliffs?
Fortunately, there was a slight lull in the rain then, and Paige ran for the house. I rolled up the window, turned off the car, and ran after her, slowing only slightly when I reached the first clump of rosebushes. The flowers were dark purple, with yellow running around the petals’ edges. I glanced around as I continued up the hill toward the house, noticing that all of the roses were at least two colors, and sometimes three or four. I would’ve thought they were fake if my jeans hadn’t caught on a thorny stem right before the porch steps.
“Her bark is worse than her bite,” Paige said when I reached her. “Just hang back and you’ll be fine.”
Assuming she referred to Zara, I was tempted to hang all the way back in the car—but she was in the house before I could offer.
I followed her into the living room, which was done in shades of blue and cream. The couch and armchairs were covered in navy and aqua blue tapestry. Hanging over the fireplace, which was where our flat screen hung at home, was a wide mirror with an antique ivory frame. The room’s decorative touches were turquoise throw pillows, lacy lampshades perched above crystal stands, and an ivory shag rug that almost took up the entire room.
“It’s my grandmother’s stuff,” Paige said, noticing me look around. “This is her house. Zara, my mom, and I have all lived here forever. Three generations of Marchands all u
nder one roof, which, once you’ve met Raina, will be really hard to imagine.”
As we headed across the room, I watched the view through the tall windows lining the far wall. It didn’t change. The house sat so high up that, at least from the living room, the only thing you could see was sky.
“Vanessa,” Paige said dramatically, spinning toward me just before passing through a wide doorway, “meet Raina. Queen of the castle, and of my heart.”
I stopped just outside the kitchen. My head throbbed once, the pain so great I grabbed the doorway to keep from doubling over.
“Hello, Vanessa.”
I blinked. The pain was gone.
“I didn’t know we were having company today.”
I blinked again, thinking the fleeting attack had affected my vision. Most moms I met resembled my own, who had two looks: professional and preppy. When Mom wasn’t wearing black business suits, she was wearing khakis and button-down shirts. When her hair wasn’t in a tight bun, it was in a neat ponytail. She was always put together, polished. But standing next to Raina in her best suit and heels, she’d be something else.
Invisible. Which was exactly how I felt now.
“We wouldn’t have had company today if Z had shown up to work,” Paige said, standing across the counter from her mother. “Vanessa gave me a ride.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, trying to smile.
Raina held a wooden spoon above a pink plastic mixing bowl and stared at me, her silver-blue eyes flashing. As she sized me up, I tried to get a better look without being obvious. She had to be just under six feet tall, with dark, wavy hair that fell to her waist. She wore a soft, sleeveless white sundress, and a dozen silver bangle bracelets that clinked together as she resumed stirring. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t need to—her complexion was clear, her skin smooth. She was striking and looked more like Paige’s other older sister than her mother.
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