“I was afraid you guys had missed the ferry,” T.J. said, slightly out of breath. He wore a beanie cap pulled down low over his ears, covering his closely shaved head, and a peacoat buttoned up to his chin.
“You knew we were coming?” Minnie threw her hands—shoes and all—around his neck and practically launched herself into his arms.
T.J. gave Minnie a combination brosive chest bump and back pound, then sidestepped her entirely and moved to Meg’s side. “Of course I knew you’d be here.”
Meg’s heart thumped so loudly she was convinced everyone within a two-mile radius could hear it. She dropped her eyes to the warped wooden dock to hide her confusion. “Yeah,” she said. “Um, you too.”
“Hi.” The other guy stood right behind them. “You must be Minnie.”
He was just as tall as T.J., but thin and lithe where T.J. was muscular and athletic. His vivid blue eyes sparkled as he grinned at Minnie, the ends just crinkling by his temples, which gave his face a puppyish expression. More striking, he had a shock of hair almost as white-blond as Minnie’s. Blonde and blonder.
Minnie cocked her head. “How did you know who I was?”
“I heard you’d be the pretty blonde one.” Blondie winked.
Meg desperately fought the urge to roll her eyes at the nacho-cheesiness of his line, but it was like crack for Minnie.
“Oh!” Minnie cooed. She glanced at T.J. “Did you tell him that?”
“Um …” T.J.’s eyes darted to the retreating ferry. “Is it just the two of you?” he said, changing the subject.
“Yep,” Meg said. “Were you expecting someone else?”
T.J. shook his head. “We got a call from Mr. Lawrence earlier saying Jessica was going to try to make the last ferry. Apparently she and a bunch of friends got stuck at some school thing today, so they’ll join us tomorrow.”
“Cheerleading,” Blondie piped in. “Last-minute practice.”
Now he had Minnie’s full attention. “You’re friends with Jessica?”
“Er,” he said, flashing a boyish smile. “Something like that.”
So Blondie was Jessica’s new boy toy? Interesting.
“Sorry,” T.J. said, slapping Blondie on the back. “I should have introduced you. This is Ben.”
“No worries, dude.” Ben’s blue eyes landed on Meg. There was something kind of easy and comfortable about him that she immediately liked. “You must be Meg?”
“Yep,” Meg said. She shifted her feet, suddenly conscious that a house full of strangers must have been discussing her if Ben knew who both she and Minnie were.
“M and M?” Ben laughed. “That’s adorable.”
Minnie grabbed Meg’s hand, her attention fixed on Ben. “Besties since we met in the seventh grade.”
Ben continued to smile at Minnie. “Can I carry your bags?” he asked.
“Ooh,” Minnie said, glancing at T.J. “A gentleman.”
T.J. ignored her, and while Ben shouldered Minnie’s bags, T.J. gently tugged on the sleeve of Meg’s coat. “This way.”
T.J. hurried down the dock, his long strides putting easy distance between them and Minnie and Ben. Meg scrambled to keep up with him. Part of her wanted to stay behind with Minnie, avoiding alone time with T.J. at all costs. But there was something else spurring her on. In that moment when she saw T.J. smile at her, Meg realized how much she’d missed him.
They walked in silence, though Meg’s mind raced. Should she say something? Bring up what happened on Homecoming night? Try to explain why she bailed on him and beg forgiveness? She wanted to, desperately. But instead she didn’t say a word. As usual.
She wished it was September and she was already at college in LA away from all this, from everyone who knew her. Somewhere she could start over and not feel like such an awkward spaz all the time.
T.J. trudged steadily in front of her. As they approached the tree line, she caught their familiar scent—all piney and Christmasy—over the briny sea air and the stench of rotten seaweed wafting up from the beach. Meg took a deep breath. Those two smells, Christmas and the salty sea, were what home smelled like.
The dock itself extended well onto the island and disappeared into the trees, but instead of following it, T.J. deftly leaped down to the beach. He turned to help her just as Meg jumped into the sand. Her momentum pushed her forward into T.J., who put his hands on her waist to brace her. They stood there in the wet sand for a moment; T.J.’s hands never left her waist. It felt so comfortable to be that close to him again, as if there had never been a rift between them. She’d missed him so much....
Minnie’s high-pitched giggle rang out as she and Ben approached the end of the dock. Meg shook herself, then broke free from T.J.’s embrace and hurried across the tightly packed sand. You have to get over him.
She paused halfway down the beach. Through the trees a house was visible. It seemed as if every light in the two-story vacation home was on, and Meg could hear laughter and music, which swelled and ebbed on the wind.
“They’ve been partying since the sun went down,” said T.J., at her shoulder.
“That’s not White Rock House?” Meg asked.
T.J. shook his head. “The Taylors live there. Lawrence Point is at the tip of the island.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been here a few times,” T.J. said with a shrug.
Oh. Duh, Meg. When he was dating Jessica’s best friend.
“It’s kind of nice,” T.J. barreled on. “To know there’s another party happening nearby. Don’t you think?”
“I guess.” Actually, it was nice. Somehow knowing that a house full of people was close by put some of her nervousness at ease.
“Come on.” T.J. nudged her and Meg followed him past the house. The trees thinned and a narrow strip of land lay ahead, illuminated by the soft orange glow of the Taylors’ interior lights. The isthmus protruded from the main island, maybe twenty feet wide and barely four feet above the waterline, with Lawrence Point looming in the distance. The blanched carcasses of dozens of stripped tree trunks littered the isthmus like a giant game of pick-up sticks.
A severed strip of land, besieged on all sides by a hostile sea. Meg felt as if she’d reached the end of the world.
A giant wave crashed onto the eastern shore, completely washing over the tiny land bridge. Meg’s eyes grew wide. “We have to cross that?”
“Yeah, there’s a path down the middle.” T.J. pointed into the semidarkness.
Meg didn’t see anything at first, until the receding waves exposed what looked like a rickety handrailing. “Is that a bridge?”
“Kinda,” T.J. said. “More like a raised platform, a footbridge to keep you above the water.”
Another wave washed over the isthmus, fiercer this time, and Meg and T.J. had to retreat several steps to keep from getting wet. The wave submerged the footbridge completely, leaving only a few inches of the handrail visible above the churning surf. The water retreated, gurgling playfully as it withdrew to either side of the isthmus, taunting them almost, to test their luck.
“There’s no other way to get to the house?”
“Nope,” T.J. said. “But it’s not too bad. We all made a break for it between waves.”
“Easy when you could actually see them.”
T.J. shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. His face was serious, the dancing smile and dimples gone. “Are you being hostile on purpose?”
“I …,” she faltered. “I didn’t realize …”
“Yes, you did. I know you, Meg Pritchard. You don’t say anything unless you mean it.”
Meg winced. That was true, the flip side being that she didn’t say half of what she wanted to.
“Look,” T.J. said in the face of Meg’s silence. “I just don’t want this weekend to be awkward for either of us. We used to be friends, remember? We used to have fun.”
There was that word again. Fun. Had she really lost that side of her? No, she was sure she could be tha
t girl again, the girl that laughed and joked with the one guy on the planet with whom she felt she could be completely herself.
“We are friends,” she said. “And we’ll have fun this weekend. I promise.” Even if I die trying.
T.J. arched his brow. “Yeah?”
Meg eyed the footbridge. The white foam of a retreating wave sparkled in the dim light. The timing was perfect.
A grin stole across her face. “Yeah. Starting now.” She spun on her heel and took off running across the isthmus.
FOUR
MEG’S BACKPACK THUMPED AGAINST HER HIP AS she ran. She didn’t even look at the ocean to see if a rogue wave might be gathering to wash her out to sea. She honestly didn’t care. She was so elated T.J. still wanted to be friends with her that death at the hands of a merciless current seemed a small price to pay.
He hadn’t spoken to her since Homecoming. The whole thing had been a perfect storm of not awesome. The image of Minnie’s face when she’d confronted Meg was imprinted on her brain. Eyes rimmed red from crying, mascara running in jagged black trails down her face, sunken cheeks, pinched jaw. You’re going to Homecoming with T.J.?
Minnie had flown into a crying rage. She grabbed Meg’s shoulders so fiercely she left five-pointed bruises on each side. You’re going to Homecoming with T.J.? She spat the words out, her fingernails digging through the thin cotton of Meg’s T-shirt and her eyes dashing back and forth across Meg’s face. This wasn’t her friend, this wasn’t the person she’d known for years. She’d been replaced by someone irrational and crazy. It was one of the scariest things Meg had ever seen.
She’d been determined to tell Minnie the truth but there, in the moment, confronted with Minnie’s pain, she just couldn’t do it. Their friendship was more important to her than a boy.
No. No, of course not. Why would he want to go with me?
Then she’d texted T.J. to say she couldn’t go. Not even a call. It was the coward’s way out, but she knew if she faced him in person, her resolve would crumble.
And that was that.
Meg forced the painful memory from her mind as she reached the far side of the isthmus, where the footbridge gave way to a sturdy outcropping of rock. The point rose before her, tall and massive, and slightly out of place. Stone steps led up from the beach. Hewn into to the stark granite of the island, each step was polished flat and smooth—probably more a result of the elements than of foot traffic, Meg guessed as she hurried up them—and cut a gray path up the side of the forested hill.
“Meg, slow down!” T.J. hustled up the steps behind her.
“What, can’t catch me, Mr. Football?” Meg said with a laugh. She was surprised how easy it was to slip back into flirt mode with T.J. Like she’d never left it. She bolted the last few steps and emerged in a clearing at the top of the hill, T.J. right on her heels.
“Damn, you’re fast,” he panted. “Didn’t think a writer would have that in her.”
“Har har,” Meg said, wrinkling her nose. She couldn’t keep from smiling, though.
“Hell of a climb.” T.J. pointed behind Meg. “But worth it, don’t you think?”
Meg turned and caught her breath.
White Rock House rose before them. A cross between a lighthouse and a Creole mansion, it stood like a shining white-washed beacon in the middle of nowhere. A covered patio with a wrought-iron balustrade stretched across the front entrance and disappeared around the eastern corner, and the peaked gables on both the second and third floors hunched forward over the windows, guarding them, perhaps, from the onslaught of Mother Nature. A huge four-story tower emerged from the middle of the house looking like it didn’t actually belong to the gabled façade at all.
Meg’s eye caught something glistening on the side of the house. She squinted and realized the entire ground floor was covered with an appliqué of shimmering white stones.
At least White Rock House lived up to its name.
Beyond the house, the graduated tree line fell off steeply in all directions. The house had been built like a medieval castle—in a strategic position to protect it from attacking Huns. It was definitely the most secluded, least accessible place she’d ever been. And despite the brilliant white rocks and a sparkling light blazing forth from every window, Meg couldn’t help but think the house looked lonely on that point, cut off from the rest of the world.
“Takes a certain kind of person to build that house way the hell out here, right?” T.J. said.
“You really have to stop verbalizing what’s in my head,” Meg said with a half smile. “It’s getting creepy.”
“Oh, yeah?” T.J. beamed, as if being told he was a potential creeper was the greatest compliment Meg could have paid him.
“It’s kind of cool, the communion with the elements,” Ben said. He deposited Minnie’s bags on the grass, then reached his hand back and helped Minnie up the last of the steps. “Don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Minnie said, making a concerted effort not to pant as she finished the climb. “Elements. Totally.” Her pale face was pink with the physical effort of climbing the stairs and she looked as if she might go into cardiac arrest at any moment.
T.J. nudged Meg in the ribs and she had to stare at the ground to keep from laughing.
A gust of wind ripped through the clearing and every tree on the island seemed to spring to life.
“We should get inside,” T.J. said. “Looks like it’s about to start raging again.”
T.J. led the way across the waterlogged front lawn to the wraparound patio. He marched up to the gleaming white door and threw it open. “We’re back!”
They stood in a foyer that extended from the main part of the house, almost as if it had been added as an afterthought. Before them, a hallway opened up to a massive staircase. The ceiling slanted upward to a point under one of the house’s many gables, and the walls were bare and white except for a row of coat pegs holding a couple of neon-yellow rain slickers on one wall, and a low entry table against the other.
“Dude!” another familiar voice called from the hallway, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. “Did Jessica and the girls get—”
Gunner Shields appeared in the doorway. He had one of Meg’s favorite Most Unfortunate Name Combinations of all time, and it made her giggle inside every time she thought of it.
Despite the fact that it was February in Seattle, Gunner sported a deep tan, and his sun-streaked locks flopped down over each ear. He wore his usual uniform: North Shore T-shirt, baggy jeans, flip-flops. For Gunner, every day was “surf’s up.”
Even under his faux tan, Meg noticed the color rise in his face when he saw Minnie. “Hey,” he mumbled.
Minnie leaned heavily on Ben’s arm and smiled. “Hello, Gun Show. I didn’t know you’d be here this weekend.”
Gunner looked furtively over his shoulder. “Yeah, um … well …,” he stammered.
“No Jessica,” T.J. piped in, saving his friend from embarrassment. “Guess we’ll have to wait ’til morning.”
“Dude,” Gunner said with a nod at Ben. “Sucks for you.”
Ben glanced at Minnie. “I’ll survive.”
Minnie giggled and tightened her grip on Ben’s arm. Oh boy. Going after the hostess’s boyfriend was probably not the best idea Minnie’d had that day.
“Babe.” A short Asian girl slipped up behind Gunner. She was a punkish pixie in a black T-shirt and striped arm warmers, with a fat streak of magenta hair sweeping over her eyes. “I need your help in the kitchen.”
Meg saw Minnie stiffen as Gunner and Magenta Hair disappeared around the corner. T.J. must have seen it too. “This way.” He started up the stairs. “Let me show you to your room and then you can meet everybody else.”
Meg was relieved as she followed T.J. up a narrow staircase. So Gunner had a new girlfriend. Good. She’d always liked his sort of good-natured doofiness. And he had worshipped Minnie, which always gave Meg a twinge of guilt since she knew her friend didn’t really care about him. Sh
e was glad he’d moved on.
Without thinking, her eyes drifted to T.J. Why couldn’t she move on too? That flirty closeness they’d experienced as they were climbing up to the house … it was the first moment of real happiness Meg had felt since the Homecoming disaster. But she had to get over him. Had to. He was a player—as Minnie brought up repeatedly—they were going to college a thousand miles apart, and her best friend was in love with him. Three strikes. She had to move on.
T.J. caught her staring at him and smiled. “I think you’ll like your room.”
How was she supposed to get over him when he kept smiling at her like that?
“You’re playing host now?” Minnie said. Meg thought she caught an edge to her voice.
“Nah,” Ben said. “When we got here, the front door was unlocked and there was a note on the table that said ‘Make yourselves at home.’ So we did.”
T.J. nodded. “There’s Wi-Fi and satellite, even an Xbox. Oh, and the fridge is fully stocked. Food, juice, beer.”
“There’s beer?” Minnie said.
Meg shook her head. Just what she needed. Drunk Minnie was a hot mess. She tended to a get a little … mean, and the booze inevitably lead to laughter, falling down, making out, screaming jags, fistfights, and tears, usually—but not always—in that order.
“Calm down, Frank-the-Tank,” Meg said. “Let’s at least put our stuff away before you start shot-gunning brewskis.”
Minnie ignored her. “Where are we going?”
“T.J. saved this room for you guys.” Ben pointed up the stairs to the top of the tower. “He thought you’d like it.”
Meg stole a glance at T.J. as they rounded the staircase. It was hard to tell with his dark skin, but was his face ever so slightly pink?
The staircase narrowed and hugged all four walls as it wound its way upward around the square tower. There were bare windows that let in enough light to illuminate the entire tower, including the stairs as they disappeared through the ceiling. Meg followed T.J. up and emerged into a garret. It was a small room, plainly furnished with two twin beds, an easy chair, a dresser, and a full-length mirror. But the real selling point for Meg was the enormous row of windows on each of its four walls. She could see the lights of Roche Harbor across the bay, dim and muted through the low fog, and through another window, the dancing glow of the Taylors’ house. Meg couldn’t wait until morning; the views would be stunning.
Ten Page 2