She returned to Hunter at the center of the bar. Erika pointed to his empty glass. “I’m not refilling that until the sun is down. You’ll thank me for pacing you.”
Hunter ignored the comment and nodded toward the others. “What was that all about?”
“Oh, you know... Kyle Billings. It’s so tragic.”
“Yeah, it really is.” Hunter reached for his empty glass in vain. He wanted Erika to stop talking but she had more to say.
“To think that he was just out swimming on a cold October night... There’s no way he wasn’t on oxy. Or fentanyl. It could be fentanyl. It’s all over the island. I didn’t think he was the type, but you never know with that shit. He was definitely on something if he was out there in the water in the middle of the night in fucking October.”
Hunter tried to look disinterested. “Is that what they’re saying?”
“They’re just saying he drowned, but there’s always more to the story.”
Hunter agreed. A lot of people were dying that way on the island, he said. And yeah, it was so incredibly tragic, the way addiction could take a hold of someone that way. He knew firsthand.
Erika leaned in closer over the bar as Hunter talked. He never discussed his time in rehab—mainly because it was a cynical political ploy to smooth things over after his latest public embarrassment. And he was only there for alcohol, his second DUI in three years. Hunter didn’t know a thing about opioids. But his confessional tone was working to keep Erika distracted, so he kept going. It was a genius improvisation, really—except that it somehow made him feel even more deplorable than he had five minutes before. To think that Kyle’s story was now an overdose story...that his family might believe it...to perpetuate that rumor seemed particularly evil. But he kept going.
“What was rehab like?” Erika whispered.
Hunter looked past her to the view of the water through the window. “It was humiliating, being monitored and analyzed all day. Knowing you can’t leave. It was infantilizing.” That much was true. “But obviously, I’m one of the lucky ones. It ends badly for so many people.”
Erika put a hand on Hunter’s and gave a little squeeze.
He looked down at the spiderweb tattoo on her bony knuckles and thought to himself that no one deserved to die an undignified death more than he. Erika should poison his sauvignon blanc. She should push that little oyster fork into his aorta until he bleeds out at The Lobster Claw.
“I appreciate your support,” he said.
Erika smiled and walked down to the end of the bar to settle the strangers’ tab.
The old man and the young man had left, but the woman stayed with the last few sips of her beer. She watched the television screen mounted high on the bar while Hunter watched her.
She wasn’t dressed for a bar. She wore bulky winter boots and the bottom three inches of her pants were wet. Hunter liked the way her silky wisps of blond hair had pulled free from her ponytail.
“You want another?” Erika asked her.
She thought for a moment.
“Everyone will have another,” Hunter announced. “On me.”
The woman looked at him and smiled. “Okay, but only because I’m a poor student. I’m going home after that.”
“Fair enough. What are you a student of?” There were four empty bar stools between them and he had to speak loudly.
“Marine geology. I’m trying to finish my PhD. That was my mentor.” She nodded at the door where the men had left. “I was working down in Aquinnah, but now we’re going to start focusing on Addison.”
Erika put another full glass in front of them each and gave Hunter a “be careful” expression, which he pretended not to see. It was no mystery to anyone where Hunter would try to steer things from there, because his schedule in recent days had taken on a certain predictability in the preceding week and a half. He usually got politely drunk at The Lobster Claw; then exceedingly drunk at whatever establishment where most of the locals were drinking; and finally, he tried to take someone home. The last stage had only worked twice, but he considered that a respectable response rate. Not that this was a game to Hunter. He could pretend to himself that it was a game and play the role of bored island playboy, but it was all driven by a desperate desire to never be alone with his racing thoughts. It was sanity.
“And what’s your story?” the woman asked.
Erika walked away to greet some new arrivals.
“I’m between commitments at the time.”
The woman squinted at him. “That sounds leisurely. Do you live here?”
“I do, yeah. For now.” Hunter made the decision at that moment to pursue her. Smart and pretty was nice, but her outsider status was the biggest attraction. She didn’t know anything about Hunter, which was a fresh start, even if only for a few hours. “I’m staying at my family summer home. I would tell you more about it except that we don’t know each other’s names and it’s getting awkward.”
The woman smiled and revealed charmingly sharp incisors at either end of her wide grin. “I’m Ashley. You?”
“Hunter Briggs.” He didn’t intend to say his last name, but it was one of those names that was usually said in its entirety.
Ashley raised her eyebrows. “Like Senator Briggs?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Wow, that must be something. Political blood. Are you going to follow in the family footsteps and run for office one day? I think political dynasties are profoundly un-American, but I did vote for your father in the last midterm.”
Hunter drank and considered ways to reroute the conversation. He didn’t like talking about his dad. “We thank you for your support. And no, I didn’t get the politician gene. I think it skips a generation.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Ashley smiled into her beer and drank.
Hunter could usually tell if people were enamored by the low-grade celebrity status of his family. There were easy flags to spot, like immediate requests for pictures and premature flirtatiousness. Ashley didn’t seem particularly interested in his celebrity, which was a good thing. You can’t take star fuckers home.
“I think I need some food,” she said. “Would your oysters be offended if I ordered a plate of nachos?”
Hunter’s oysters sat untouched before him, which he felt a bit ungrateful for, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat them. He hadn’t eaten much that week. The oysters were beginning to dry and shrink up in their half shells. He wished for Erika to make them disappear, but she was darting around the room as it filled for dinner.
“Nachos sound better. Can we sit together at a proper table or do we have to keep yelling across the bar like this?”
Ashley thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“We’re just talking about nachos, a casual appetizer. Either one of us can bolt at any moment if it gets weird. I won’t be offended.”
“Fine,” Ashley said, sliding off her bar stool. “But we’re going dutch on the nachos.”
“I would insist on it.”
Hunter gathered his coat and hers and they retreated to a small table against the wall of windows where they finished their drinks and commented on the view. It was a nice night; one of those clear autumn dusks that reflect lights off the water from a quarter mile away.
“So what are you really doing here?” Ashley asked as their tower of gooey hot chips arrived. “Are you hiding from something?”
“More like they’re hiding me. I’ve been...immoderate in the past.”
Ashley frowned sarcastically. “How terrible for you, sequestered out here in an exclusive vacation spot. Tell me more.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. But that’s the answer to your question. I tend to fuck things up.” Just saying that aloud felt dangerously close to honesty or a confession of some sort. Hunter veered quickly from the topic. “Anyhow, the island doe
sn’t feel so glamorous in January.”
Ashley coaxed a cluster of cheesy chips from the side of the mountain. “That’s true. I love it here in the winter. I had this vision when I started my degree a thousand years ago that it would be all sunny, beachside research...but I quickly learned that it’s impossible to get anything done in season. Plus, I can’t afford it.”
“So what exactly are you studying?”
“Coastal erosion. I’ve been collecting incremental data for years and then, you know, that buckling happened.”
The cliffs in front of Island Glass, Orla’s business and Kat’s apartment. That’s what she was talking about. Hunter wanted to bring this connection up but he did not. He felt too buzzed to calculate the risks of mentioning an association with Kat. Probably there were none, but better to err on the side of caution. “So do you spend a lot of time on that beach?”
“I will once the authorities let us in. For now, me and a few others from my department are working farther south, looking for other points of weakness.”
Hunter exhaled and drank.
“Anyhow,” she went on, waving greasy fingers. “I’m probably going to be here for another two months or so. I’m supposed to defend my dissertation in January.”
“Good, then we’ll have time for a few more drinks.”
Ashley smiled a big green-light sort of smile and Hunter was relieved to know that he could probably put off the unpleasantness of being alone for another night.
They ordered a chocolate molten cake to share and drank more wine. Ashley talked about her younger siblings, her childhood home in New Hampshire and the slog of her PhD. Hunter watched her eat and tried hard to stay lost in her fast, emphatic conversational style. They were both quite drunk.
To his surprise, Hunter didn’t need to concoct a clever explanation for why they should have one more drink together at his house. She just followed along in step as he led them home.
It was cold out, almost freezing with the windchill, so they walked quickly and said little along the way. As they passed the glass shop, Hunter noticed that the upstairs lights were on, which meant that Kat was in her apartment. He didn’t turn his head toward it, though, for fear of being seen. He wanted to keep Kat out of all this.
Inside the house, they took off their coats and ascended the stairs. Hunter didn’t even bother with extra drinks because this drug of distraction was better than anything in a bottle. It didn’t always work that way—the first sip of a cold old-fashioned could outshine awkward sex if the Bourbon was good enough. But this woman, and their energy together, was all the drug he needed at that moment.
He pulled off her sweater and laughed to find a layer of thermal underwear beneath, the waffled kind he’d worn on ski trips as a kid. They were ripe with the smell of her earlier adventures. She was unapologetic about it all and he liked that. Hunter thought the local girls wore too much makeup, which was probably a snobbish holdover from his prep school days, but you can’t reprogram some things. Ashley reminded him of the girls he used to pursue, when he was younger and quick to fall in love.
Hunter kissed Ashley’s naked legs, knees and thighs, working his way up her body and through his A-game stuff. But she intercepted his advances with her own moves and eventually he was out of his head and totally in the act. They were both drunk, but it didn’t feel like drunk sex in the out-of-body way he usually settled for. She was energized and athletic, a real go-getter. It was almost comical. She insisted on reading the expiration date of the condom, which struck him as hilarious. Ashley was above him, and then below. It was exhausting, but also a relief to have someone really running the show. He was happy to follow.
Ten minutes later, the entire episode concluded in a conventional but thoroughly satisfying missionary position.
And it was exactly three seconds after ejaculation that Hunter remembered all the horrible things he’d been trying to forget. The investigation of Kyle’s death was still open. The boat was still banging against the dock posts. This little adventure had changed nothing. Hunter’s body was calm but his mind wasted no time getting back to its baseline of panic. He needed a drink. He needed Ashley to leave so he could pour himself something tall. He liked her and hoped for an encore one day, but wanted her to get the fuck out at that moment.
“That was fun. I suppose I should go,” she said, moving not a muscle in her body. She was splayed out under the down comforter with her eyes closed.
Hunter got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. “Yeah, it was fun. Can I call you again?”
If she answered, he didn’t hear her before the bathroom door closed. He peed and splashed water on his face. When he returned to the room, Ashley was halfway dressed, watching local news on a small TV that sat on a dresser.
“Why do they think he was swimming in Katama Bay?” she said, one sock in hand at the edge of the bed.
“What?”
“This guy who died—Kyle Billings. Why do they think he was swimming in Katama Bay?”
Hunter turned his back to her and rifled through drawers. What was going on? Why was she asking these questions?
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t been paying much attention. Do you want me to call you a car?”
“No, I’m fine to walk.” Ashley continued to watch from the edge of the bed. “I just know for a fact that a Katama Bay swimmer would have been carried farther south by the current, if that’s actually where he started from. It doesn’t make any sense.” She pulled her sweater over her head.
Hunter walked to the doorway. “I heard he was on oxy or something, so who knows.”
Ashley considered this information. “Still, the current...it wouldn’t matter. He had to have been farther north if it took two days for the body to wash ashore in that place. That’s what the coroner said, that it had been about two days.”
Hunter crossed his arms over his chest. “Kind of a morbid thing to be hung up on, don’t you think? You’re like some kind of citizen investigator. You sure you don’t want a car?”
“I guess it is. I don’t know. But it’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t figure it out.” Ashley shrugged. “Anyhow, thanks for tonight.”
“It was fun.”
Ashley stood on tiptoes and kissed Hunter on the lips. Then, mercifully, she saw herself out.
Hunter stood in the doorway of his bedroom in his underwear, waiting and thinking. He listened to her feet walk along the hallway, down the stairs and then out the front door. She was gone.
Hunter stayed completely still, trying to understand what had just happened. Either Ashley had observed a real crack in the local police assumptions about Kyle’s death; or worse, she knew something herself and was testing him. He tried to remember precisely how he’d responded to her questions, the body language he’d used. Those things would matter if she was testing him.
Hunter showered and dressed, giving Ashley plenty of time to get to wherever she was going on that night. He paced around the kitchen with a Bourbon in hand for five more minutes, just to be safe. But as he closed the front door behind him, Hunter couldn’t resist breaking into a sprint.
It took three minutes to get to Island Glass. Along the way, he passed a middle-aged couple and a man in a Bruins hat. All three acknowledged Hunter with a nod as he huffed past them in the dark cold. He noticed all of these things now—witnesses and their response to him. A second look from a stranger could send him into a paranoid tailspin for hours.
As Hunter knocked on the side entrance to Island Glass, it occurred to him that Sean could be up there. He had no plan for such a scenario. Why did he keep forgetting about Sean? He should have called first, but he hadn’t used his phone in days. I should use my phone, he thought then. Not using it would look suspicious. Hunter knocked again.
The door cracked open and Kat’s eyes peeked out.
“Yes?”
“Is Sean in there?”
“No. What do you need? It’s late.”
Hunter knew she wasn’t really mad at him so much as scared of their association, but her coldness still stung.
“I need to come in.”
Kat sighed and waved him in. They went up the back stairs and into her apartment. It was Hunter’s second time in Kat’s apartment and he was surprised to find it in such disarray.
“Okay, so what’s going on?” She went to the sink to fill a kettle with water.
“Were you sleeping? I’m sorry if I woke you up.” Hunter knew he hadn’t woken her. It was clear that Kat wasn’t sleeping much.
“You didn’t wake me up. So, what is it?”
“Well. I met this girl tonight—a woman, I mean.” Hunter didn’t want to tell any part of the story he was about to tell. Even the benign aspects embarrassed him slightly with Kat. He wasn’t sure why. “We were at The Lobster Claw, having wine and nachos... Oh, and by the way, Erika is worried about you.”
“Yeah, I miss her.” Kat sighed. “Is that what you came to tell me?”
“No. Right.” Hunter tried to collect his thoughts. “So anyhow, this woman seemed nice and interested...a real person of substance, you know?”
“So you slept with her.”
Was that jealousy Hunter detected? Not likely, but it was...something.
“I did, yeah. So anyhow, we were just talking afterward and the TV is on and there’s a thing about Kyle and then she just starts talking about how there’s no way he was swimming on the beach they think he was swimming on because of the currents or the tide or something. She said it’s not possible—she seemed really sure of it.”
Kat stared at Hunter as the kettle began to whistle behind her. “How would she know?”
“She’s a scientist. She knows about this stuff.”
The kettle screamed and Kat spun around to move it to a cool burner. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”
“I don’t really know,” Hunter started. “But it seems like she’s going to look into this. At the very least, she’s obviously comfortable talking to any willing stranger about it. What if she’s telling people this theory all over town?”
Everything That Follows Page 8