Cam wrung his hands together, let out a harsh groan that didn’t sound human, and lifted his eyes to mine. I flinched. Whenever he cried, I died a little. “Some kids found him. His mom called a little while ago.”
My brother and I never hugged, but suddenly, my arms were around him. He sobbed into my hair. The scene felt like déjà vu.
Cam was the one who broke the news to me about our mom. I was working the afternoon the cops found her, and when he showed up at Romano’s with red-rimmed eyes and disheveled hair, I knew she was gone. “They found Mom this morning, Char. The car . . . her car . . . off the shore.”
Mom was dead long before the waves pulled her car down from a handful of OxyContin and a bottle of 151-proof liquor. Dad and Cam claimed she drowned. Saying that made them feel like her death really was an accident instead of suicide.
My brother curled up in a ball on the couch and went to sleep early. I sat with him, staring blankly at reality show reruns, and waited for Dad. Brian was dead. He’d always annoyed me, but I loved him. And losing him was almost like losing Cam. “Brian’s gone.” My entire face was numb when I said the words. I wanted to wake up and discover that the last few days were nothing but a vicious nightmare. “Brian’s gone,” I repeated.
The rustling of grocery bags interrupted my trance. Dad rested his back to the doorway and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is shaping up to be another bad summer, kiddo,” he said. He stared down at Cam and bit into his lower lip. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s . . . he’ll be okay.” I got up and grabbed my glass of water from the coffee table. Dad stopped me from brushing past him.
“How are you, Char?” he asked. Dad’s voice was the best way to gauge his emotions. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was worried about my reaction to Brian’s death.
I didn’t know how I felt. When Mom died, I kept a straight face for Dad and Cam. I waited until they were asleep, and I was alone in my bedroom, to cry. It was hard because during the first moments following her death, all I wanted to do was sob and lock myself in my room. Tonight, I couldn’t conjure up a tear to save my life.
“I’ll be okay, too,” I said. I crept to my room and lay on my stomach. Cry, dammit, cry! Tears never came, and I wanted to know what the hell was the matter with me.
No normal person felt nothing after someone they’d known for seventeen years drowned. My sanity was becoming more questionable at each passing day. Had thinking about Mom made me heartless? This emptiness was new, something I never felt, even after her death. I splayed my fingers over my chest. Did I still have a heart?
I closed my eyes. Sleep always made everything better, and if I was lucky, I’d have eight hours without creepy dreams and even freakier wakeup calls. I rolled onto my stomach, buried my cheek into my pillow, and waited to knock out.
Something hit me then, but it definitely wasn’t sleep. I bumped my lamp and alarm clock off my desk when I jumped to my feet. Standing in front of my mirror, I pressed both hands to my chest.
And counted.
“I must be doing it wrong,” I hissed at my reflection. I fumbled through the items on my dresser. One of the buttons on my phone sailed across the room and landed by the vent when I began jamming the keys, but a broken Nokia was the last thing on my mind. I set the stopwatch and felt my heartbeat again.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven.
I counted over and over again, until I was numb. I crawled back into bed and hugged myself tight. “This is another dream,” I said. But I knew it wasn’t. I lay shivering in the dark, and my brain processed my discovery.
My heart beat seven times a minute.
CHAPTER SIX
Brian’s funeral was three days later, on Friday afternoon. His parents asked Cam to be a pallbearer. Dad even took time off from the hospital to attend the service.
And I didn’t go.
It was a low move on my part, but honestly, the chilly funeral home terrified me. Mahogany caskets encircled with bunches of flowers reminded me of Mom. Just thinking about funerals burned the sickening odor of snapdragons and roses into my nostrils. Cam was pissed at me. He ignored me at dinner on Thursday night and made a point to hog up the bathroom Friday morning. Dad told me that even though he couldn’t make me go, he was disappointed with my decision not to.
I also refused to sleep. Another early morning encounter with Wyatt sans pants was a major no-no, so I stayed awake, staring at my ceiling or trying to concentrate on the stack of summer reading material for AP English. Thankfully, I didn’t have to rely much on glowing plastic stars and F. Scott Fitzgerald—my unnatural heartbeat was enough to keep me up all night. I debated going to the hospital, but in the end, decided not to take the risk. Didn’t want to become some medical team’s dream experiment.
“You aren’t going to Brian Cushman’s funeral?”
The million dollar question. Call me naïve, but I didn’t expect to hear it from anyone other than my family. I picked at my holey jeans so I would not have to meet Matt’s expectant gaze. “I like to remember him like he was.” The way he looked in my kitchen the morning he and Cam picked up my Jeep. Not the boy from my nightmare.
“Me too.”
That’s right. He and Brian were friends. Somehow, I forgot that he used to party with Cam and Brian. He gave me a grim smile, then turned his attention to his cell phone. Everyone at Romano’s and even strangers at the grocery store asked how Cam was holding up. Matt didn’t, and I was glad. My brother had issues with death and his best friend died. Obviously, he was suffering.
“Almost a quarter after nine,” Matt said. My eyes darted to the circular clock at the front of the classroom. 9:13, and so far, no teacher and very few classmates. “We can miss up to two of these, Goose. Paintball?”
Skipping class was the reason I was in summer school in the first place, but his suggestion was too enticing to pass up. Maybe a little fun is what I need to take my mind off everything. Plus, paintball involved shooting stuff. What better way to deal with a screwed up heartbeat, a salt fetish, and guilt over not attending a friend’s funeral?
So, maybe paintball wasn’t enough release therapy, but at least it was a start.
We waited for Mr. Sidney for five more minutes then left for the paintball field in Rockport. I insisted on paying the $35 for his mask and marker. It was my gift to him for ruining his shoes two years ago. I told him that, as I slipped my mask over my head, and he laughed. “God, Goose, you look like Darth Vader.”
“Nerd,” I teased, taking a few steps back. I pulled the trigger on the marker and pretended to be shocked when red paint splattered on the front of his t-shirt. “Oops!” I didn’t have a chance to react before he fired at me. Twice. Royal blue paint stained each of my knees.
“You know, if Darth Vader was drenched in paint and singing a song of defeat.”
He was surprised at how good I was, but by the time we decided to call our game quits an hour and a half later, I looked like Smurfette and Lurch’s love child.
“I hit you at best”—I counted the red splotches on his clothes—“ten times.” Still, I laughed.
“Weak with the force young Goose is.”
Another Star Wars reference. Only Matt could make nerdy stuff seem semi-normal and hot. “Whatever, Robbins, see you at school. Ease off the peer pressure from now on, though. My dad’ll go ballistic if I flunk summer school.”
He gave me a cheesy thumbs up and started to leave. Hesitantly, he turned back to me. Serious expressions were never a good thing. I flinched and waited to hear what he had to say. “Your mom was my favorite teacher. It’s a shame abou—”
I shook my head so he would shut up. Sometimes, digesting words of kindness was more difficult than hearing accusations. “Thanks.”
“I don’t think she did what Kyle said. Never have.” He walked to his car, a beat up Camaro, and waved goodbye to me.
Whenever someone mentioned Kyle Sanford, my mood quickly
went to crap. Kyle lied about my mother, harassed me, but was still a victim. Pretty sad, if you ask me. On the drive to Gloucester I failed to shake off thoughts of drowned bodies, funeral homes, and Kyle.
***
The sun set well before I arrived home. I’d stopped by Mom’s grave and lost track of time. Someone had put a bouquet of white tulips on it recently, and I would be fibbing big time if I didn’t admit I was dying to know who. Dad always took her colorful daisies. Before someone started stealing them, I used to leave notes.
A yellow sports car sat beside Dad’s truck in our driveway. He and Cam raved about vehicles so much that I recognized the car as a Shelby Mustang. Expensive and fast as a rocket. Dad lounged on the couch in the garage, watching the news in the dark. One good thing came from my run-in with the cops at The Lighthouse: he worked less to keep an eye on me.
“How was school?” he asked as I hurried past the door.
“Good,” I yelled. “Got to put my books up, be back in a few.”
Noisy laughter came from the kitchen. I considered turning around because I was covered in paint and one of the voice’s belonged to Cam. Too bad I had to go through the kitchen to get to my bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room. My brother sat at the table with a blonde girl who looked as if she stepped out of a Mattel package. I poured myself a cup of water before I acknowledged them.
“Hi,” I said.
Cam flapped his hand at me then smoothed a short, brown cowlick. “Lorelei, this is my sister Charlotte.” She got up to shake my hand. Know those mega tall, willowy models on reality TV modeling shows? She looked like one. Lace-up sandals, strapless yellow dress, and aviator sunglasses completed her Barbie meets America’s Next Top Model look. In our kitchen, with its peeling linoleum and bucket of paint sitting in the corner from the cabinet project Dad never finished, Lorelei was out of place.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Charlotte,” she said in a soft, almost melodic voice.
“Um . . . thanks?” What normal person used the word ‘lovely’? Cam glared at me. “I mean, nice to meet you, Lorelei.”
She laughed—a light, tinkling noise that filled the room. It weirded me out when the girls Cam brought home giggled sporadically at nothing. Why was she here anyway? He never wanted anyone around while he moped. “So, did you know Brian?” I asked, leaning against the stove.
She shook her head. “No, but I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“We met fishing,” Cam said.
She smiled and nodded. I’d never seen teeth that were as white as hers. “This afternoon.”
Cam fished when he was depressed—it helped him clear his mind. “Good for the soul,” he always said. I was just surprised he met someone while he was out. Since he shared my curse of squinting when he lies, I knew there was more to their meeting.
“We’re going out for coffee. Want us to bring you something back?” he asked.
“I have plans.”
Dad poked his head in the kitchen. “You’re grounded, Charlotte.” Of course he’d mention my punishment in front of a stranger. Instead of scuttling away to soak up more CNN, he came in and grabbed a soda from the pantry. “And I see you don’t take it seriously. Rockport for paintball?”
“Class project,” I said. Please, please, please don‘t mention me skipping out on Brian‘s funeral.
“Look, Char, go out, but” —there’s always that evil “but”, isn’t there? — “you better be back by 11.”
I was certain that his change of heart about my punishment was due to Cam’s new . . . friend. The fact she was here was out of character for my brother, but I wasn’t going to complain. He wasn’t cloistered away in his room, grieving alone, and Dad was letting me off the hook for the night. I speed-walked toward the hallway before my dad could change his mind.
“And no Jeep,” he called after me.
Where did he expect me to go without a car? He cleared his throat, and I knew exactly why he was doing it. Clenching my fists, I turned to face our guest. “Great meeting you.”
“You too, Charlotte, and I hope we’ll speak again soon.” Creepy much? Her sing-song voice made me uneasy, and I rushed to my room.
I sent Sophie a text message asking if she wanted to go bowling. Five minutes later, she responded. She and Andy were at the movies. She promised to pick me up after it ended in two and a half hours. Know those nerd-magnet epic movies? Yep, Sophie’s into them (I swear she watches the Lord of the Rings trilogy once a week) and lucky for her, Andy was loyal enough to sit through three hours of goblin nooky and intergalactic warfare.
I couldn’t wait that long. Dad would hound me about watching the news with him until I left with someone. I sifted through the wad of tip money in my nightstand drawer and pulled out the balled up ten dollar bill. I was a sellout, but I figured Golden Boy couldn’t be all bad since I liked the band on his caller-tune.
“Hello?”
“It’s Charlotte.”
“Charrrr-liiiit,” he drawled. “You missed me, huh?”
My finger automatically hovered over the button to hang up on him. Go fug yourself, Wyatt. Gripping the phone tightly, I smiled so I could mask some of my sarcasm. “Want to do something tonight?”
“I thought we were taking it slow.” God, there was that suggestive tone again that made me squirm. “But, I guess since I’ve seen your smiley face panties . . . I’ll see you in 20 minutes.”
Like an idiot, I waited for him at the end of our drive, fidgeting with the bent flag on our mailbox. I should have fretted over my heartbeat. Or telling my doctor about my lack of appetite and new saltwater fetish. Instead, I was anxious about seeing Golden Boy.
He pulled by the curb and stepped out of his truck, smiling. His walk was far too confident. “You realize I have your number now, and it’s not the one you gave me before.”
I scratched my head and took a step back. “Yeah, changed numbers—”
“Your bullshit is cute,” he said. He opened the passenger door. I nodded my gratitude, slipping onto the leather seat. The interior lights gave me a decent look at him when he sat down. He wore a salmon-colored button up shirt—the kind Abercrombie and Fitch sells—and cargo shorts. Usually, I laughed at a Summer Boy in a pink shirt, but the look fit Wyatt.
“You look amazing.”
Amazing took on an entirely different meaning in Golden Boy’s language. The jeans and t-shirt I pulled from the dryer were average and wrinkled. I’d styled my hair in a messy knot on top of my head and blue paint chips were bound to be on random parts of my body.
It was already half past nine, so we went to his house to relax on the beach. “What made you call?” He fixed piercing eyes on me. I leaned back on my elbows and tilted my face up to his.
“Didn’t you ask me to? I mean, writing your number on my tip was just a little obvious and desperate, don’t you think?”
“Desperate or not, you still called.”
You are much too secure with your effect on me, Golden. “This isn’t a date,” I pointed out. He slid a fraction nearer to me and sucked in a breath of air. Was he sniffing me again? “And if it was, I’d be leaving now because that’s strange.”
“You smell like the ocean.”
A normal guy would tell a girl she smelled like Chanel perfume or even gummy bears. I whiffed my wrist but only caught the faint odor of strawberry soap. He grabbed my hand and stopped me from getting up. “Really, you do, and I‘m not saying that to hurt your feelings. You remind me of surfing.”
I crossed my legs, facing him. “You surf?”
“Mm hmm. If you count the summer I spent with my gran in California.” He entwined his fingers with mine. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”
I hoped that wherever we were going, he wasn’t planning to take advantage of me because I did not know how to respond to him. Besides, I didn’t want to have to take his ass down. He stopped at the gated entrance of The Lighthouse. I jabbed my finger at the PRIVATE PROPERTY sign attached to the wrought
iron. “This is trespassing.” Two police citations in less than 7 days would be my undoing.
He looked down, but I saw his cheeks move into a smile. “Whatever. You’re not afraid of a little trouble.” He gripped my hips and hoisted me over. We sat on the hill overlooking the waves and rocks. The moon’s dim glow cast a shimmering finish over the water, and shadows of waves danced across his face. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“So, Vegan Girl, what do you like to do? Aside from party and hang out in my backyard half-naked?”
Locking my fingers together, I stretched my arms above my head. “Read, work, school for now.” He reached out and pulled on my ponytail holder. My hair tumbled down my back and around my shoulders in a moist curtain.
He flashed me a lopsided grin. “I like you better like this.”
I’ll like you better if I punch you in the mouth.
We sat with a few inches between us, talking about his family. At seventeen, he was the youngest of three children—his twin sister was seven minutes older. He grew up at a Coast Guard base in Louisiana. After I commented on his drawl, he laughed. I frowned once he revealed they lived in Boston for the past three years. “Why would you want to be here instead?”
“Change of scenery for my folks, I guess.”
“Oh wow, 45 minutes? Some change,” I said.
“You hate it here, don’t you?”
It was time to go. Chewing my bottom lip, I stood up and toyed with my back pockets. He pushed himself to his feet and curled his fingers around my arms. I looked down at the ocean. I preferred its unpredictability to his. “I never said that.”
“But do you?”
I thought of Mom, everything that happened last year, and knew a major part of me truly despised Gloucester. My response was bitter and painful. “Why do you care?”
One of his hands cupped my chin. Our eyes touched—I didn’t like his all that much tonight. They were too nosy. He touched my temple with his other hand when I tried to tug away. “Please don’t.”
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