Kat flipped through the channels, looking for local Boston news, but it was all Law & Order reruns and infomercials at that hour. Martha’s Vineyard public access was showing the Coastal Erosion Committee meeting from last week. Al Sweeney was lecturing a group of people in a semicircle of folding chairs about ocean acidification, and Kat wondered if maybe Orla should start attending.
She stretched out on the couch and watched the meeting at low volume, which was a bit like watching footage of astronauts in space. They were just figures moving in slow motion, far away from her life. Al Sweeney made a labored point involving lots of hand gestures, then someone else cut in and a civilized argument ensued. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t hear them because the footage of Kyle’s plunge was playing on a loop behind her eyes. God, she was tired. Someone else took the floor at the committee meeting and read from a sheet of paper for a while. Kyle’s eyes were big and white. Al Sweeney had a few follow-up questions. A gentleman excused himself from the meeting and everyone nodded. And then Kyle fell into the water. And then Kyle fell into the water. And then Kyle fell into the water.
And then, finally, sleep. Somewhere between last week’s minutes and official adjournment, Kat’s body relented.
* * *
“Kat, wake up. Kat. Kat, wake up.”
She opened her eyes and squinted into the bright apartment. Sean’s face was over her. He was unhappy.
“What is it?”
“Why are you sleeping on the couch?”
“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. Is that what you woke me up to ask me?”
“No. Hunter just came by looking for you.”
Kat tried not to look alarmed as she sat up. “Really, what did he want?”
Sean walked around looking for something. “He didn’t say. Have you seen my wallet? He seemed surprised to see me here though, which I thought was weird. Jesus, it’s messy in here, Kat!”
“Hmm, I don’t know what he’d want.”
Sean found the wallet in a couch cushion and stuffed it into his back pocket. He looked directly at her. He was definitely pissed off. “So you don’t know why he was looking for you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Okay, well I’m gonna go to work and you should get in the shower because the shop opens in fifteen minutes. Aren’t you working today?”
“Yes...wait, no, I’m not.” Kat couldn’t remember what day it was. “Your mom is opening up. But I have some work to do in the studio. Jesus, I didn’t mean to sleep that long.”
“Yeah, alright, well...” Sean looked around like he was waiting to say something or hear something. “I’ll call you later.”
Kat waited two minutes on the couch after he left, just to be safe, and then jumped up and slid into her jeans. Sean was mad, but she couldn’t think about that right now. She needed to find Hunter.
* * *
Ten minutes later, she was back at the large red door of the Briggs family summer home. She only landed one knock before Hunter cracked the door and pulled her in.
“You should have called first,” Kat admonished.
Hunter didn’t respond. He walked her through the foyer and into the bright kitchen. A morning talk show flashed silently on a wall-mounted TV. They both took a seat at the table.
“Sorry, I just needed to talk,” he said.
“Did something happen?”
Hunter shrugged and ran a hand through his greasy blond hair, which stood wildly on end. “I don’t think so. But doesn’t that seem weird? That nothing has happened yet?”
Kat studied the worry lines on his forehead. She’d never noticed them before. “Yeah. It does. I’ve been watching the news obsessively.”
“Me too.” He looked exhausted, but there was a nervous energy coursing through him.
A large restaurant-grade espresso machine hissed on the granite countertop. Hunter loved kitchen gadgets. He spent most of his free time—and he had more of it than most—refining his cooking skills.
“Can you make me one of those?” Kat asked, nodding at the espresso machine.
Hunter jumped up, apparently relieved to have something to do with his hands. He opened cupboards and drawers until he found the right measuring tool. He knocked a coffee cup over with his elbow and barely noticed. There was a stack of pans in the sink. It looked like he’d been cooking all morning. Kat watched his back as he packed espresso grounds into the filter, more forcefully than necessary, it seemed. Dry stains flashed in the armpits of his shirt.
“Are you high?”
Hunter pressed a button and they waited for fifteen loud seconds as hot water pushed through fresh grounds.
“Don’t do that, Kat.” He put a small ceramic cup of inky liquid before her. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
“Yeah, we do.” She put her head in her hands.
“And no, I’m not high.”
Kat couldn’t muster the will to care either way. “Hunter, I thought you said this was going to go away. You were so fucking sure of it!”
He paced in front of the sink. “It might still go away.” Back and forth, back and forth.
“So what’s wrong with you, then?”
Hunter stopped. “It’s just booze and espresso. I swear. This is stress you’re looking at.”
Kat believed him. There was something about the unwashed mess of a person before her that seemed too vulnerable to lie.
“Do you want some?” he asked.
She nodded, and he put a half-full bottle of Patrón before her.
Kat poured two fingers into a nearby water glass and winced as it went down.
“I don’t think I can live like this, Hunter. My heart stops every time the phone rings. And Sean... God, I feel bad about Sean.”
“I know. Me too.”
“Have you talked to him?”
Hunter shook his head.
“I just... I can’t get it straight in my head,” she went on. “I’m so confused now about why we did what we did...and, like, what part of it was the real crime. I don’t think any of it was a crime, really. But when you add it all up...the accident, and then the fact that we didn’t go to the cops...it feels like a crime in sum, you know?”
Hunter poured tequila into a coffee mug and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Going to the cops benefits no one. It just fucks things up more.”
“It benefits Kyle’s family because they deserve the truth.”
He shook his head. “You’re not that naive, Kat. The truth isn’t a fixed thing. The truth will end up being whichever part of our story the cops decide to believe, or a prosecutor decides to prove. Right now, there are only two people with the power to define the truth—you and me. If we tell, the whole world gets to decide what’s true. And their truth won’t look a fucking thing like what we experienced that night on the boat.”
A hot, heady anger shot through Kat’s body and she stood up. “You think that, Hunter, because people like you are in control of the truth. You get in trouble and your dad’s staff make it go away. The truth is only flexible for people like you! I don’t have the same power.”
Hunter stared in confusion. “Yeah, exactly. So why would you go to the cops if you don’t have to? You’d be more fucked than me.”
“Because when we get caught for hiding all this, we’ll be in more trouble than if we just come forward now. It will be exponentially worse because of the cover-up. But you’ll still have that power—the money and connections and clout—and I won’t. Only one of us is taking a real risk here. And if you think I care enough about you to—”
“Wait!” Hunter walked to the wall-mounted TV behind her.
“No, you should hear this!”
“Kat, wait,” he yelled without looking away from the screen. Hunter was fumbling for the volume. “I think they found the body.”
She spun aro
und and they stared side by side at shifty local news footage.
The sound came up just as images of a white-capped shore changed to police cars. A body bag was being hoisted into the back of a police van. It was black, with a zipper that ran the full length of it.
Body Washes Up on Katama Bay Beach, the chyron said.
“Oh my God.”
“Nooo.”
A cheerful anchorwoman appeared before them. “The body of an unidentified man was found at a popular swimming hole in Katama Bay early this morning. According to police sources, a Martha’s Vineyard resident was fishing when his dog first spotted the body. Authorities have not yet identified the man, who had no wallet or personal belongings on him, and are looking for leads.”
A toll-free number appeared on the screen.
“Police are calling the cause of death drowning and have no reason to suspect foul play at this time. We’ll update you as the story develops.” The news reporter nodded in conclusion and a commercial for natural dog food replaced her.
Hunter turned the TV off and looked down at Kat. “Holy shit.”
“I know.” She felt like she was going to pass out again. “It won’t take long to figure out it was Kyle now.”
“Yeah, but do you know what else this means?”
She paused. “That they’re not looking for us.”
He nodded.
No reason to suspect foul play. That’s what the news reporter said. No reason to suspect foul play...for now, anyhow. If no one had a tip about seeing three people out in Hunter’s boat, or two hysterical people arguing on the street later that night, then they would surely have no reason to suspect foul play. It was possible now that no one knew anything. Not certain, but possible.
Hunter sat down.
Neither of them spoke for a full minute.
Kat looked into her glass. “Do you think he was dressed?”
“What?”
“When they found him. Do you think he still had those same clothes on? Or do they fall off eventually?”
“I assume they fall off.”
“Really?”
“How the fuck would I know? I’ve never been involved with something like this before.” Hunter’s forehead was shiny with sweat.
“I don’t know. I was just thinking how undignified it would be if they found him naked. It’s so sad.”
Hunter stared at her. She was making him nervous. “Pull it together, Kat. This can’t fall apart just because you feel sad. We don’t have the luxury of weakness.”
She’d never had that luxury, not even before all this. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about him. I’m allowed to think about him.”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
“Hunter, I’m fine. I promise.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “So we’re on the same page now? You understand why we don’t need to go to the cops?”
“What are you going to do, kill me if I disagree?”
“That’s not funny.”
And it wasn’t; she knew it. This was torturing Hunter too. In a way, she was grateful to him for keeping her from the police. They might be on the brink of getting away with it, so thank God she hadn’t upended their whole lives just because she wanted to unburden her soul. The logic repulsed her, but it was still true. “Yeah, I’m with you.”
“Then will you take the money?”
She shook her head. “No. And why do you want me to? I’m not going to tell anyone about this. You don’t have to pay me.”
“My father is adamant. It’s...insurance, so you can’t change your mind. He says we’re all more secure this way. Just take it, Kat. It could change your life. Buy a house. Buy a car, whatever. It will give my family some peace.”
“That’s messed up.”
“I know.”
Kat wouldn’t allow herself to consider the ways in which a million dollars could change her life. When she was a kid, she had to ration out the peanut butter jar to be sure she had enough to get through a month of packed lunches. She rationed tampons in high school. The sneakers on her feet at that moment were almost three years old. And now there was this money.
She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t take it and she couldn’t think about it because thinking about it might push her closer to taking it and that was not an option.
“No, I don’t want it. But thank you, I guess.”
“Think about it.”
“No.”
Hunter lifted the mug to his lips and finished his tequila. He didn’t want to fight.
“What do you think we’re supposed to do now?” she asked.
“We have to wait. Be normal and wait.”
Kat wished she hadn’t had the tequila so early in the day. She felt nauseous and hungry again.
Hunter watched her eyes scan the countertops. “Want me to make you an omelet?”
“Yes, would you?”
Hunter was a startlingly good cook, and he knew it. He’d had a few kitchen jobs during his time on the island, before he switched to landscaping, but always got himself fired for some dumb infraction. He liked to buy expensive culinary knives, which he kept obsessively sharp. The three of them—Kat, Hunter and Sean—had finished off countless late nights with his mushroom omelets. Those nights seemed very far away now.
Hunter adjusted the gas flames and dropped butter into the pan. “I don’t have anything left in my fridge, so it’s just eggs today.”
Chapter 5
Erika wiped the bar space around Hunter’s sweating sauvignon blanc. “Oysters are in. They’re small, but good this year. You want a dozen?”
It was the third day in a row that Hunter had been at The Lobster Claw getting slowly and genially drunk at her lonely bar. Bartending at The Lobster Claw was Erika’s winter gig. The pay wasn’t great, but she appreciated the slower pace after four busy months of high-end cooking. It was just her and Hunter on that day. He was grateful for her presence, which was both intimate and unquestioning. He could see why Kat called Erika her best friend.
Hunter looked through the windows behind the bar at the late October dusk. “Is it early for oysters?”
“Yeah, by a couple weeks. You want a dozen or half dozen?”
“Half, thanks.” Hunter wasn’t hungry, but sitting at the quiet off-season bar was becoming a formal occupation as he waited helplessly for news of their fate. He hadn’t been to work at the landscaping company since the day Kyle went overboard and no one even bothered to call and inquire about his whereabouts. That was the privilege and burden of being a Briggs: his father got him the job by calling in a favor, and no one dared reprimand him when he screwed it up. They were probably happy to have him gone. The job was a bad fit. At first he’d tried to make conversation with the young Brazilian and Eastern European guys when they gathered in the morning for their assignments, but they weren’t interested in talking with him, so he eventually stopped entirely. He just did his work and tried to stay out of everyone’s way. He’d actually liked that job, the freedom from supervision and ability to make his own hours. It was just him, alone outside, moving as fast or—more often—as slow as he wanted to. Despite his reputation, Hunter actually liked working and being useful. But after everything that had happened, he couldn’t stand to be alone with his thoughts, so he never went back again.
Erika frowned at her phone. “You seen Kat lately?”
“Hmm.” Hunter reached for his water glass. “Not in a few days, I guess. Why?”
“Something’s going on with her. She’s been hiding out all week. Said she was sick, but I don’t know. You think she’s mad at me for something?”
Hunter considered running with this idea but it seemed too mean. “I doubt it. She’s probably just wrapped up in some new project. You know, like she was with the mermaid.”
“The selkie, yeah. I still c
an’t believe those people paid fifteen thousand dollars for that creepy thing. Fucking rich people...no offense.”
“None taken. They’re the worst.”
Erika filled his empty glass with pale, cold wine. She smiled. “Probably not all of them.”
Hunter liked the expert motions of her skinny, inked arms. She looked older than her thirty-seven years, but she seemed like someone who’d be fun in bed. He’d never tried; it was too complicated, given her status as Kat’s best friend. Those situations were best avoided, in Hunter’s experience.
As he drained his glass, the door opened and three red-cheeked people burst in from the cold air. Two men and a young blonde woman convened loudly at the other end of the bar as they shed winter layers.
Erika placed a tray of oysters on ice before Hunter and headed to greet her new customers.
A Scotch for the old guy, a stout for the young guy and a local ale for the woman. Hunter strained to hear their conversation but got only bursts of laughter. He couldn’t size them up. They wore sporty outdoor clothes, but didn’t seem like winter recreationists or fishermen. None of their faces were familiar.
Erika laughed with the threesome. They asked her a few questions in hushed voices as Hunter looked on.
Erika nodded back. “Yeah, I knew him,” she said to the young woman. Erika was usually the loudest person in her bar. “But I didn’t know him well.”
The strangers asked a few more questions.
“It’s awful, I know,” Erika agreed.
Hunter held his breath as the woman said something else.
“No one knows,” Erika answered. “It’s so tragic. I heard that his parents could barely afford to have the body sent back down to Florida, not that the body looked any good by then.”
Hunter hadn’t heard that bit of gossip. He’d never discussed Kyle’s death with Erika; it simply hadn’t come up yet. But it probably would. News like that travels fast on the island. Hunter wondered how many people were talking about Kyle right now, in bars and coffee shops around the Vineyard. He could almost hear the low chatter of gossip and speculation if he listened hard enough.
Erika and the three drinkers shook their heads in what-a-shames and then moved on to something else.
Everything That Follows Page 7