“So she’s back,” Kate said to Darcy. “Wonder how long it’s going to take for her to come visit me? Or maybe her boyfriend Finn won’t let her because we screwed up his plans to turn Ravenswood into a shrine to his beloved Cordelia.” She laughed as she cradled the cell phone against her diamond-studded ear. Word was quickly spreading to the girls about Maddie’s return.
Stretching her legs out on her chaise longue, Kate looked out at Hawthorne Harbor from the windows that wrapped around the house. She pulled her Burberry wrap closer around her willowy body and took a sip of her Baileys-spiked hot cocoa.
Darcy relayed the information about her run-in with Maddie at Hawthorne Academy. Kate wanted every detail—even down to what Maddie was wearing, how she looked, what she said—everything.
“I doubt it,” Darcy said. “She’s still pissed about what happened with Cordelia.”
“Please,” Kate said, deftly grabbing a cigarette and lighting it in one swift movement. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled as she spoke. “Like Maddie is so innocent. She was right there with us. If she’s going to blame anyone, she should blame herself for trying to force Cordelia onto us. She’s the one who should have known better. She knows who’s really responsible.”
Kate was infuriated. Girls were bullied all the time—and it never hurt anyone. At least not seriously or in any permanent manner. Her parents used to encourage her to withstand her older sister’s torments growing up. Kiki Endicott berated Kate for crying, telling her that she needed to grow a thicker skin and get tough. Her older sister, Carly, sneered at her little sister’s tearstained face.
“Suck it up, Katey-Cat,” Carly would shout at her younger sister. “Who’s ever gonna like a crybaby like you?” And then she would tug at her sister’s blond locks, or pull the head off a favorite doll. Kate even woke up one morning with a large wad of gum gobbed up in her long hair.
“It’s really Madeline’s fault, if you think about it,” she said in a hushed tone to Darcy. She didn’t want any of the cleaning women to overhear her conversation. She knew how fast gossip flew around Hawthorne. “I mean, it was her cousin that came into town and started all of this. So if Maddie has come back to point fingers, then I think it’s our responsibility to give it right back to her—give her what she deserves.”
As soon as Finn heard that Maddie was back in town, he went to see her. Unfortunately, no one came to the door at the old Victorian on Mariner’s Way when he rang the bell. He knew about Abigail and her battle with cancer and that she was probably right inside the house watching him, maybe even too weak to answer the door. He was going to leave a note, but then decided against it. He’d come back another time. Instead, he took a detour on his way home and visited a place that always brought him comfort and hope. He walked by the faces of the Pickering sisters that had been carved into the wall at Ravenswood and wondered how long this wall was going to last. If the Endicotts had their way, this wall would be demolished along with the rest of Ravenswood in order to build their luxury hotel. And then he would lose his last and final tie to Cordelia.
He had added Cordelia’s face to the wall that commemorated his ancestors, and continued the tradition started by his great-great-grandfathers. He brushed the ivy from the faces and some dirt from the crevices around the carvings. They almost resembled the old carvings of gargoyles he’d seen on old churches, but the faces were softer, more cherubic than menacing. He knew that people used to carve gargoyles onto buildings to keep away evil spirits—they were used for protection. But he knew that these women—the ones whose faces were on the wall—were the ones who really needed protection.
The Pickering sisters, his great-aunts, were hunted as witches during the Salem witch trials. And Cordelia was persecuted for being different—for being too beautiful, too wild, untamed. Finn chuckled. Cordelia was definitely a modern day version of a witch and what those girls did to her…He stopped because he couldn’t bring himself to think about that terrible night that he had witnessed out on Misery Island. It was a night that most strong and able-bodied men wouldn’t have been able to withstand, let alone a teenaged girl.
He wondered about her, as he always did. More times than he’d ever admit to anyone. Was she out there with his child? What did she use the money for? Was she pregnant, or was she just using that as an excuse to get out of Hawthorne? Had she ever really loved him, the way that he loved her? He hated pining for her, and was quite sure that if she had the same feelings for him, he would have heard from her by now. He knew it was time to move on, and in many ways he had. But now Maddie was back in town and all the old feelings inside him were starting to come back to life. The constant ache he felt whenever he looked out at Misery Island, or visited the beach where they first kissed, or caught a scent of lavender and jasmine that reminded him of Cordelia’s perfume.
He moved closer to the face of Cordelia that was carved into the stone and noticed something a little off. As he peered closer, he saw something crumpled up and shoved into the space that was her mouth.
It was a card or a note.
He gently pulled the note from the stone wall, taking care to make sure that no one was watching him. Did anyone know that he came here each night to take care of these carvings? The only person he’d ever told was Maddie.
The card was folded down to a quarter of its size. Once it was unfolded, Finn held it up to the streetlight to get a better look. It was a tarot card. He wondered if this was intended for him as some kind of a cruel joke, or if this was actually a message from Cordelia.
It was the Lovers card. And the name FINN was scratched hastily across the back in what looked frighteningly like blood.
Chapter 6
THE DEVIL
Addiction or obsession. Uncontrolled energy. A situation better avoided. A powerful man who is hard to resist. This card is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. Lack of control, excess, obsession, and raw ambition. It is a card that revels in extremity.
SIXTEEN MONTHS EARLIER
C ordelia boated out to Reed Campbell’s ship as she had done many times since they’d made a connection in class. He knew how hard it was for her to sit and think about her father—something that would anger Rebecca. Whenever she’d try to lose herself in a memory of her father, Simon LeClaire, Rebecca would come at her like a mind reader, as if she could actually look into Cordelia’s brain and see the memories gathering and swirling about, and reprimand her for living in the past.
“Every time you think of him, you are only tying him to this plane of existence,” Rebecca would scold. “He’s seeking eternal peace and you keep tugging him back with all of your memories. Let him rest in peace.”
Cordelia knew that her mother was trying to be helpful, trying to help her move past the death of her father, but there was something in the back of her mind, a nagging thought, that wondered if Rebecca was jealous of the bond that Cordelia had with her father. It was like an invisible cord that kept them tethered together in life—and now in death. When Cordelia crawled out onto the rooftop—sometimes even joined by Tess—and looked up at the stars and listened to the ocean, she felt closer to her father than ever. On the nights that Tess would join her she’d swear Cordelia to secrecy because they knew that Rebecca and Abigail would nail the windows shut to prevent them from sneaking out and having those peaceful moonlit moments together.
Tess said she’d been doing that for years, ever since her husband, Jack—Cordelia’s grandfather—was lost at sea.
“I’m never lonely,” Tess told her. “As long as I
am connected by the stars and the sea, Jack’s always with me. People say that the dead don’t live among us, but they do. You just have to call out to them. Let them know that you want to keep that connection with them into the next realm, and they’ll stay with you forever. Most people are just afraid to do it, and the ones you love—like my Jack and your father, Simon—don’t want to scare you off. But if you are open and willing, they’ll never leave your side. You just need these quiet moments to connect with them, and they’ll seek you out. Never forget that.”
Then Tess would joke about how when she passed over to the other side, she’d come and bug Maddie, Cordelia, Rebecca—even Abigail—whether they wanted her around or not.
But she knew that Abigail would never believe it. “I could stand behind her and slam doors, pots, and pans and she’d find some excuse—the wind or termites or the creaking of the old house. She’d never let herself open to the idea of an afterlife.”
Cordelia rarely got those moments of trying to connect with her father. When she got a dreamy, sad look on her face at the shop, Rebecca would hoist a broom or a dust rag in her hand, saying, “You can’t be sad if you’re keeping busy by cleaning, so get to it.”
She knew that it was her mother’s way of protecting Cordelia, but she didn’t need protecting. At least, she never thought she did.
Cordelia mentioned that to Reed one day after class. He offered his boat as an escape and said that if she ever needed to get away—even for a few hours—she could always go out onto his ship, lie out beneath the stars, read, write, have a glass of wine (“Don’t tell anyone, or I’d get in some deep shit,” he’d joke), and just escape for a little while.
Reed had found a place in her heart. He knew she had a little crush on him. But he’d never cross that line, he told her. “Sixteen could get me twenty,” he joked, even when she told him that she was a very mature sixteen-year-old.
Cordelia was lying on the stern of the boat watching the stars blink at her in the inky sky. The sky stretched out clear around her, stars like pinholes backlit in a black canvas. She had found a bottle of wine in the cabin and had helped herself to a few glasses of Merlot. The rocking of the boat, the gentle lapping of the waves, the warmth of the alcohol wrapped her in a gauzy haze. She felt that she could reach out and touch heaven and her father’s hand would reach right back and grasp her tightly. She could hear her father’s voice, gently warning her about staying out too much longer on the boat.
“I won’t fall in, Daddy,” Cordelia said, laughing. She could almost see his eyes within the patterns of the stars, looking down on her, concerned.
“Who’s your daddy?” a voice came from behind her.
She turned to see that it was Trevor—not Reed—who had joined her on the boat. Perhaps at that point she should have trusted her instincts and left, but she didn’t feel any fear. She figured that Reed would be along shortly and she’d only have to tolerate his annoying younger brother for a little while.
He grabbed the bottle of wine she’d been drinking, inspecting it and then taking a long slug. “You’ve got expensive taste. Does my brother know you’re raiding his liquor cabinet?”
She nodded.
“Then you must be something pretty special, because Reed Campbell doesn’t like to part with his liquor very easily. What makes you so special, Cordelia?”
It was said in a lighthearted tone, but Cordelia sensed that there was a bit of anger behind it.
She let the question remain unanswered, as if rhetorical, and said, “Reed lets me come out her to be alone with my thoughts sometimes. If you want me to leave, that’s no prob—”
He cut her off and said gently, “Hey, hey, no, that’s cool. I wouldn’t mind some company right about now, actually.” He seemed sad and looked like a little lost boy. A harmless boy. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside her. She pulled some of the blankets tightly around her and scooted over to make room.
They sat for a while just staring at the moonlit water and the night sky. She could hear kids laughing on the shore. A bonfire had been built on the beach. Every time the wind changed direction, she could hear the voices come to her, carried across the harbor with the wind. Sometimes it felt like they were talking and laughing right behind them on the boat. It was like sharing space with ghosts.
“Did you come from that party?” Cordelia finally asked.
“Ugh, yeah,” Trevor said, taking another long swig of wine. He looked at the label with a furrowed brow, as if close inspection of the wine would provide him with some answers. “I don’t know if I can handle that scene anymore. Too much drama.”
Cordelia laughed. “Well, this is a drama-free zone, so you’re welcome to stay.”
“Oh yeah? I’m welcome to stay on my own family’s boat? Well, thank you very much, Miss LeClaire.” He laughed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “I think I will stick around for a little while. At least until my brother comes and then I’ll leave you two to your ‘tutoring.’”
Cordelia sensed a simmering anger beneath Trevor’s cool demeanor, so she playfully shoved Trevor, shoulder to shoulder. “Come on, Trevor. You know it’s not like that. Your brother is a really great guy and he’s been so helpful to me over the past few months.” She watched as he nodded, inhaled, and then blew smoke rings into the sky.
“Yeah, he’s a cool guy. A great brother. Plus, he’s been giving me some good advice lately.” Trevor’s sharp sarcasm subsided for a moment.
“Really?” she asked earnestly. She was having a hard time picturing a bonding session between the brothers, especially since Trevor always seemed like he was above asking for anyone’s help. “On what?”
“Aw, I don’t know. Shit with Kate, I guess,” he said, staring intently at the glowing orange ember at the end of his cigarette. “It’s practically like an arranged marriage. Our families pretty much decided that we were going to end up together when we were in preschool.”
“Haven’t you ever dated anyone else?” Cordelia asked.
“Oh yeah, I mean, we both have. But, still,” he growled. “My parents are so gung-ho about us getting hitched, I’m pretty sure they already have the wedding invitations filled out—all we need to do is give them the date.”
“Wow,” Cordelia said, grabbing his cigarette and taking a long drag. “That’s messed up. It’s almost medieval.”
“Tell me about it,” he laughed, finally seeming to loosen up, either with the wine or the night or the sharing of secrets. He put his hand behind his head and lay back against the stern, inching a little closer to Cordelia. “They even want me to hyphenate my name. How gay is that? I’ll be Trevor Campbell-Endicott. They all say it’s so that when we have kids we’ll all have the same name.”
“But if Kate changed her last name to Campbell, you would all have the same last name anyway, right?”
He looked at her, disbelieving for a moment. “Wow, you really aren’t from around here. Giving up the Endicott name for Kate would be like giving up the name Rockefeller or Cabot. It’s old New England. It opens doors for you. You don’t just throw a name like that away.” His voice was laced with annoyance.
“Jeez, sorry. I didn’t know,” Cordelia giggled, trying to reclaim the easygoing rapport she’d developed with Trevor—noting how he continued to hover between anger and sadness. He was like a caged dog—his puppy dog eyes made her feel for him, but she sensed if she got too close he might bite. “I’m not aware of these puritanical issues that take place here in New England. My bad.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m sure there are a lot o
f things that you haven’t learned about this place. I’m surprised Maddie and my brother haven’t clued you in on them yet.”
“Well, I’m a learn-as-you-go kind of girl.” She took another sip of wine from the bottle. She wondered where Reed was. She was sort of hoping that this was going to be a night of bonding between them, and not with his little brother. “So, won’t you get in trouble with Kate if she knew you were out here with me?”
“Kate can kiss my ass,” he said angrily. “She’s a first-class bitch.”
“Whoa, don’t hold anything back, there, Trevor. Tell me how you really feel.”
“No, seriously,” he said, turning to her. “The way she’s been treating you. Shit, she doesn’t even know you and she hates you. I mean, it’s not like she hates you—”
Cordelia put her hand up and shook her head. “No need to backtrack. She hates me. She’s made that pretty clear. I just don’t know why. I mean, I haven’t done anything to make her hate me. I’ve barely even spoken to her. Maybe she’s pissed at all the time that I’ve been spending with Maddie or something.”
The Lost Sister Page 7