by Tara Goedjen
Elle sighed and Mae’s jaw went tight. “Oh, I was cleaning up the foyer for the B and B, sir,” Elle said, glaring at Mae, “and one of your guns went off. That’s all.”
Mae said a silent prayer of thanks, but Sonny stepped forward. “That’s all?” He glanced back and forth between the two of them and slammed the door behind him. He paused, staring at something. Then he reached up and touched a drop of paint, smearing it across the wall.
“I don’t have time for this.” He turned, his brown eyes finding Mae. “And I don’t much care for liars.” His voice got harder when he said it, as if he somehow knew, and her heart went double time.
“It was an accident,” she said.
Sonny seemed like he wanted to yell, but he held it in, his chest swelling. “Don’t you ever,” he whispered to them, “touch my rifle again. Unless you need it.” He dropped the paper bag by the door and took off his cap, scratching at his head. “And there is no goddamn B and B,” he said to Elle, striding off toward the kitchen.
Elle crossed her arms and shot a withering look at Mae. “Great, now he’s angry. This is your fault.”
He was angry because of the gun going off, not because of Cage, but Mae didn’t argue with her. A moment later they heard Sonny’s boots treading the floorboards as he came back into the foyer, a twelve-pack in his hand. He grabbed the rifle, and Mae felt her insides knot up. Cage was still out there.
“Don’t you want to leave that here? It’s not deer season,” she said. “And it’s almost dark.”
He checked the safety and then opened the door. “There’s always a season, and we got lights.”
“Wait!” Elle called out, and Mae nudged her. If Elle told him about Cage, they’d hunt him down right now—he couldn’t have gone far, and Childers had dogs, horses too. Mae reached out for her again, but Elle stepped away. “Dad,” she said, louder now.
Sonny turned, his body framed in the doorway, filling it. He seemed distracted, like she’d pulled him from a thought.
“Did you find out anything at the wharf?” Elle asked, and Mae held in her breath.
His scowl came back. “Shaw’s uncle said the same thing he always does.”
“Which is?” Elle pressed.
“Nothing much. The uncle was doing him a favor by giving him work, trying to help him out. Says he hasn’t seen him.” Sonny sucked air through his teeth, shook his head.
“What’s in the bag?” Elle nodded at the paper sack he’d tossed to the floor, and Mae wished she’d stop talking so he’d leave.
“Cottonmouth,” Sonny said. “Damned near stepped on it. Childers didn’t want his dog eating it.” He kicked it toward her, and Elle crinkled her nose. “Throw it out, will you? I gotta go. The boys are waiting.”
The door slammed behind him, and they heard it lock from the other side. It was his way of reminding them that he was in charge, that he was keeping the house safe. Mae let out a sigh and then adjusted the picture frame to make sure the bullet hole was covered. “Just give me some time, okay?”
“If I ever see Cage Shaw again,” Elle said, “you won’t like it.” She shoved past her and went upstairs. “And take care of the snake!” she yelled.
Mae’s throat felt tight when she swallowed, but she knew why Elle was mad. Seeing Cage made it seem like everything with Ro was happening all over again. She stared after her sister, wanting to smooth things over, but she didn’t have much time.
She hurried to where she’d left her bag and picked it up, slinging it over her shoulder. The weight of the green book in the canvas rested against her hip, and the pocketknife her dad had given her for her birthday poked out from the top flap. Reading the book could wait, and so could apologizing to Elle. Her sister’s silence would only hold so long—in the meantime there was something she needed to do.
She opened the front door, surprised to see Childers’s shiny black truck still in the driveway, Sonny arranging the spotlights and the rest of the hunting gear in the flatbed. Her dad’s closest friend was behind the wheel, wearing camo instead of his usual cop uniform and letting his dog lick from his beer can. When he spotted her, he raised his drink in a greeting.
Then she saw Lance, for the first time in nearly a year, and her heart skidded in her chest. He was sitting next to his dad, leaning over in his seat, his baseball cap pulled low. Now that he was back, she’d have to figure out a way to get him alone, talk to him about Ro.
Mae waved toward the truck as she strode past, keeping her step quick over the wet gravel. She called out to Sonny that she was going for a walk and then picked up her pace. Even with the late summer days it’d be dark soon. If Cage was still at Blue Gate, she needed to find him before they did.
Just as she hit the woods, she glanced back. The black truck was driving off, going in the other direction, but in its side mirror she swore she saw Lance looking at her, his hat shading his face. She’d never been able to figure him out—he’d never let her get close enough—but Ro had always liked him. After a long moment, he lifted his hand in a wave.
THERE WAS BLOOD ON HIM, but it wasn’t his. He crouched down in the woods and held up his splattered shirt, took a hard look at it. If he went to check if anyone was hurt, Elle would shoot at him again. He’d gotten her wrong—she’d pulled the trigger after all. It could be she wanted to scare him, or maybe she was a shit shot, but whatever it was, he wouldn’t try her twice.
Cage glanced over at the back of the house, scanned the tall hedge. He kept expecting to hear sirens, see someone barreling out of the back gate, but he didn’t.
He stared down at the red spatter on his shirt and then reeled—they’d told him Ro was dead. There were spots in his vision, bright white spots like he might pass out. He forced himself to take deep breaths. He couldn’t lose it, not here. One, two, three.
He sank lower into the shadows, into the cover of wet undergrowth. His breath was going fast, and his throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. Her sisters had told him she was dead, but that couldn’t be right. His hands clenched, and he dug them into the ground, mud splaying through his fingers. A flash of memory and he saw his tire hitting the guardrail. His bike sliding into the kudzu, tangling in it. Blood running down his face and getting in his eyes, a sense of dread. And before that, they’d had a fight. She’d been shouting at him.
A bolt of pain flared and his skull felt like it might split open. They’d told him she was dead, that he’d done it. He needed to figure out what was going on. Get clear of Blue Gate, go to his uncle’s house in Gulf Shores, try calling her cell again.
His gaze fell to the red stains on his shirt. He wasn’t in pain, not from a bullet—the ache he had was in his head. The longer he stared at his shirt, the more he was sure it wasn’t what it looked like, it wasn’t blood. Maybe this thing with Ro wasn’t everything it seemed to be either. It was one of her games, and she was about to come out of the house in stitches because she’d got him good. It was only a prank. She’d pretended to have a seizure once in a hardware store, just to see what her dad would do, but this was worse, more calculating. And there’d been something off about Mae a minute ago—he could’ve sworn she was lying to him about Ro. Their family was different from most, and he’d never trusted her dad. If Sonny wanted him out of Ro’s life, then this would be the way to do it. Cage gritted his teeth and stared up at the house again. The sky was slowly darkening.
Think, Cage, think. He scanned the trees and did a double take. Someone was in the distance. Someone with blond hair standing in the woods, looking his way.
Ro?
Adrenaline surged through him and he got to his feet quick. It had to be her; of course it was. He found the strength in his legs again and was sprinting, weaving around the trees, sticking to higher ground. He wanted to yell out her name, but he couldn’t risk it.
When he got closer, he saw she was in a long white T-shirt, the kind she wore over her swimsuit. She turned and took off running too, deeper into the woods. It was getting darker now,
coming on night and hard to see. But she wanted him to follow her. She was leading him away from the house so they could talk.
He ran as fast as he could over rough ground, dodging holes and fallen logs, ducking under low branches. He went hard to keep pace with her, and even then she’d slip out of sight, only to reappear farther ahead, farther than he thought she’d be. He kept going, almost laughing with hysteria and relief. No one was following him, and Ro was just ahead. She was alive, and when she led him to a quiet spot she’d explain everything.
He passed a wide oak tree and saw the blur of her shirt in the gathering dark. They were coming up on the old cabins now. She shot past the clay foundations and crumbling walls, the old well. When the cabins were behind him, he came to a split in the trail.
He stood for a moment at this fork. The muddy track ahead was overgrown with brambles and saplings and barely visible. Shielding his eyes with his forearm, he barreled through the sharp tangle of branches and up a small hill.
Then, through a gap in the trees, it was before him: the barn’s roof, its unadorned walls. It was a massive storage shed, really, with a huge rolling door wide enough for the sailboat and trailer to fit through.
The side door was swinging shut—she’d gone inside. He rushed after her, the rusty knob loose in his hands as he turned it, barging in.
The dust hit him first. It made him cough—deep, hacking coughs that cut at his lungs. Then he straightened. He thought she’d be standing there with a big grin on her face. Instead there was just the shape of the boat, draped in a white cover like it’d been put to sleep.
“Ro?”
She didn’t answer. There weren’t any windows in the barn, but the skylight on the high ceiling leaked in the last of the light. He started to smile—she’d step out at any moment, and God he wanted to see her.
“Ro, come on.”
She liked to scare people, that was her thing. Leaping out of a dark room and making someone scream, and then laughing about it. He hated when she did that, though it was sort of cute.
“You make me run after you,” he said, “and now you’re hiding?”
He found a flashlight by the boat trailer and turned it on, dragged the beam over the barn walls. Ro’s pranks were her only downside. That and the book, but at least the jokes made him laugh sometimes. Like her game with the statue in the back garden. She’d go over to the one-eyed cherub and pull something from a silver box she’d buried underneath its feet. Oh, look! she’d say. Another present from the gift cherub. Hold out your hand. It was childish, but Ro was still charming in a way no one else could be. A piece of Chiclets gum, that was what he’d gotten first. The second time was a sand dollar for good luck. Then a fortune, already ripped from the cookie. A long-hidden opportunity lies ahead if you are not timid.
Thing was, he’d never been timid. “Ro!” he called into the barn. His voice echoed back at him, and he walked around the boat to see if she was on the other end, near the chairs and small fridge where she kept snacks and drinks. He and Ro were the only people who used the place, really. It was her hideaway, when she wasn’t on the water. Sonny sometimes took the boat out too, but he’d let Ro have the barn.
“Come on out,” Cage said, beginning to lose patience. “We need to talk.”
Piles of old furniture were against the far wall, covered with tarps, and a workbench was in the corner, a row of tools hanging above it. Half the barn had an exposed second floor, also used for storage, but he couldn’t see anyone up there. No ladder in sight either. Then a shadow moved beside the fridge and he turned. He pointed the flashlight, saw nothing but the wall.
“I crashed my motorcycle,” he said. “Head’s killing me. It’s been a shit day.”
She didn’t answer. Was she waiting for him to say he was sorry about the fight? He wanted to tell her in person, face to face.
When he walked closer to the kitchen area, he noticed that the fridge was coated in dust, the plug curled on the floor beside it. Pinned up over the bar were a few dusty pictures, some frames on the counter. Cage scanned them quickly, hoping she’d get bored and just come out. He saw a photo of Ro with her grandfather and Sonny, all holding up speckled trout, big ones with black dots across their fins. The next photo was Ro with her sisters, both twins looking away from the camera—Mae with a smudge of paint on her cheek, Elle with too much lipstick—while Ro grinned into the lens. He searched for the picture of the two of them at the dock, but it was gone.
The whole wall in front of him was dusty. It looked like a sandstorm had swept through the barn, but they’d only just been here the other day. Maybe the door had been left open.
“Ro?”
The silence was starting to get to him. Worry was in his stomach, coiling in his gut. She wasn’t answering him, and it wasn’t just the wall—everything in sight was covered in dust, like no one had been in the barn for a long time. It didn’t make sense, and Christ, his head ached. He found an old bottle of Sprite on the floor and drank it warm—it was flat, but he didn’t care. When he set the empty bottle down, he heard a clattering noise behind him.
He turned with the flashlight. A picture frame had fallen, toppled to its side on the plywood bar. He went over and picked it up, wiped away the dust with his thumb. It was a shot of her—her wide smile with that little gap between her front teeth. Her grin had gotten him the first time he saw her. She’d been playing a trick on that day too.
“Ro,” he said into the barn. “Please come out. Tell me what’s going on.”
She had to be here—he’d followed her in. When he looked at the streak his thumb had left on the glass, it hit him. He glanced down at his borrowed boots and lifted one. A half-moon scuff mark was in the dust covering the floor. He saw the trail of footsteps behind him—his own footsteps—and he tracked them, walking around the boat until it was at his back, the barn door ahead of him now.
When he raised the beam of the flashlight, his fist closed over the frame.
There was only one set of footprints on the dusty cement floor. Only one, and they were his. A searing ache tore through his head. Another bolt of pain and his knees hit concrete as the world went black.
—
The boat pitches and salt water sprays his arm. Cage opens his eyes to the bay, the sail full as the boat cuts through the water. The sun’s beating down on the deck and glinting off the metal fasteners, and he’s thirsty like he hasn’t had a sip of water for years.
There’s a can of Coke on the table, and he shakes the last of it into his mouth. Nothing but a few sweet drops. He pulls out a map from under a stained coffee mug. Something seems off, but he’s not sure what. The map ruffles in the wind and the can tips over and there’s a loud peal of laughter. “Cage!”
“Ro?” On the other end of the deck he finds her. She’s sitting on a cushion and smiling at him, her blond hair shining and the scent of coconut oil on her skin. Beside her are a couple of sandwiches on a plate with the crusts cut off the way he likes.
“What kept you so long?” she asks, taking a drag of her cigarette. It’s slender and smells of cloves. Funny thing is, she usually never smokes around him. She knows how he feels about it, but he’s not going to tell her what to do.
She pushes her sunglasses back like a tiara and he’s hit with the shocking green of her eyes. “You get distracted over there, sailor?”
“Ro,” he says, feeling strange for some reason. “Where…?”
She laughs again. “You and your maps. You ought to just go in my general direction and you’d do all right.”
“Maps,” he says. He feels off-balance, feverish. “Did I fall asleep?”
“Am I supposed to never take my eyes off you?” She smiles and rests her head back on the cushion, the locket at her throat flashing. “I’ll admit it’s tempting.” She exhales, and smoke curls into the sky and then disappears. He remembers having a terrible dream, can’t shake the bad feeling it left.
“You’re quiet,” Ro says.
His
fingers run along the warm curve of her shoulder. For the first time in his life he feels lucky—he’s felt this way ever since meeting her. Only one more year and then no more school. She might marry him if he gets up the courage to ask. They could wait till she finishes college, even. Her dad won’t like it, but if he works hard enough at the wharf, saves enough money, Sonny might warm to the idea. Cage will do whatever it takes.
Ro grabs his hand and trails her fingers over the scars on his knuckles. Then she pulls him down next to her and leans into him, all oil and legs and her red bikini top loose. He holds his breath as she unties her top, lets it fall.
Her eyes find his. “There’s something you need to know.” The smile leaves her face and he tries not to worry. Is this about Lance again?
“Tell me, then.” He wraps his hands around her waist, pulls her close. “I’m listening.” And he is—he’s taut just waiting for her to speak.
She moves her lips to his ear. “Cage,” she whispers. “Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…”
But then her voice trails off and the clouds whirl overhead and all of a sudden there’s nothing under his feet. He’s falling back, feels his skull smack against wood, and then he hits cold water, no time to breathe in. He sinks down, down, and blood is streaming, he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Air, he needs air.
He tries to swim upward, but his legs won’t obey and he can’t feel his arms. He’s desperate for air, but he can’t move, he can’t. He hears shouting from somewhere and panic surges in his chest, he needs to breathe, it hurts, he can’t move and he’s going to die, he knows it. His body spins toward the wavering sun above and a cloud passes overhead and the water darkens and Christ he wants air, his lungs are screaming, he needs to breathe, he needs air, and he opens his mouth and gulps down water in painful bursts.
THE COVERS WERE TANGLED AROUND Mae’s legs, and her T-shirt was damp with sweat. Her bedroom smelled foul, thick and clotting, and she sat up, coughing to get a breath, and then stumbled to the window and opened it. She leaned on the sill, trying to let in air, feeling disoriented and still half asleep. She’d read once that the body paralyzes itself while dreaming, and she felt that way now, she could barely move. There was something important she had to do, but her head was cloudy and she couldn’t focus.