Or maybe she did. A second later, her smile froze, then faded.
But she no longer looked out at the crowd; she looked down at the stuffed animal. She turned it over, brought it closer. As it moved beneath the portable stage lights, something glinted around its neck. The flash was like the spark a match gives off when lit, only it shone silver instead of gold.
Raina.
As Paige dropped the stuffed animal and hurried offstage, I heard her voice … but her mouth didn’t move.
CHAPTER 19
“THANK GOODNESS.”
I stood in the kitchen doorway, car keys in hand. Mom flung herself toward me, one hand over her chest.
“It’s after midnight,” she added.
“I called three times,” I said, “to tell you I was going to be late, to tell you I was going to be even later, and to let you know when I was finally leaving the restaurant.”
She threw her arms around me and squeezed. “You’re a good daughter. But it’s been forty-five minutes since your last call.”
As I hugged Mom, I looked into the living room. Dad stood between the couch and coffee table, gripping a wineglass so tightly, I could see his knuckles turn white from the next room.
“Sorry.” I pulled away from Mom so she couldn’t hear my heart race inside my chest as I lied. “Paige’s car wouldn’t start so I gave her a ride home.”
Mom sighed. Dad nodded. I thought of the truth, which was that I’d been so paranoid each time a pair of headlights appeared behind me, I took eight different detours to throw off potential pursuers. I lost them all easily, which meant they probably weren’t following me in the first place, but the fifteen-minute drive from Betty’s still ended up taking three times as long.
“But I’m here.” I forced brightness into my voice. “And exhausted. I think I’ll take a quick swim and go to bed.”
I kissed Mom’s cheek and headed for Dad to do the same. When I reached him, he put one hand on my arm. The gesture was gentle yet firm at the same time.
“We’d like to talk with you for a moment,” he said.
“Can it wait until morning?” I asked, because he sounded serious and I didn’t know how much more drama I could take tonight. Plus, I’d told Simon I’d call him the second I got home, and just as my parents were worried, I knew he was, too.
“I’m afraid it can’t.” Dad motioned to the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. “Please. Sit.”
I glanced at Mom, who reached for her wineglass as she joined Dad on the couch.
“Are we celebrating something?” I asked, sinking into the chair. My parents enjoyed a glass of wine with dinner, but that meal had ended hours earlier. They usually switched to tea or decaf coffee later in the night.
“In a way,” Mom said.
“You don’t sound happy,” I said.
“We got an offer.” Dad put down his glass, leaned forward, and clasped his hands between his knees. “On the lake house.”
The mixed signals sent by their somber expressions and beverage choice now made sense. My heart lifted and sank at once.
“That’s good news, right?” I asked. “I mean, it’s sad, too, since it won’t be ours anymore … but at least it’s one less thing to worry about.”
“It is good news.” Mom rubbed Dad’s back. “And it means our business here is done.”
I was confused again. “What do you mean?”
“With the lake house sold, we don’t need to be here anymore.” Dad offered this like it was a real explanation.
“Here?” I asked. “As in this house? Or Winter Harbor?”
“Both,” Mom said.
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m not following. We just bought this place. Mom, you just finished decorating. If we were only hanging around until the lake house sold, why go through all that trouble?”
I was trying to stay calm, logical. It was that or get back in the Jeep, drive to Simon’s, and handcuff my wrist to his.
Instead of answering, Mom lifted the wine bottle on the coffee table. As she did, I noticed the newspaper that had been serving as a coaster. The headline screamed from the front page.
ERICA ANDERSON, 28, FOUND DEAD BY WH CINEMA. VISITORS AND RESIDENTS PANIC, POLICE SCRAMBLE FOR CLUES.
“You want to leave?” I asked. “Because of this?”
“Can you think of a better reason?” Dad asked quietly.
I could think of different reasons—like there being male victims instead of female—but not better.
“We wanted to wait a little while after the first girl was found,” Dad continued, his voice wavering, “but after this, we can’t wait anymore.”
“Vanessa.” Mom leaned toward me. “We thought all this was behind us.”
“But it’s not si—” I stopped myself. “It’s not like last summer.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mom said. “It shouldn’t be happening. And had there been the slightest indication it would be, we never would’ve come back.”
“We simply can’t put you in harm’s way,” Dad added.
“I’m not in harm’s way. I’m fine. I’m better than that—I’m great.” I reached for the lamp next to my chair, turned it on. “Look. Don’t I look great? Healthy?”
“You look wonderful,” Mom conceded, “but—”
“That’s because we’re here. It’s because I get to swim in the ocean and breathe salty air whenever I want. This is where I’m supposed to be, where I need to be. Going back to Boston would be more dangerous than staying.”
“We don’t have to go back to Boston.” Dad looked at Mom, who nodded. “We thought we could try California or Oregon, or maybe even Hawaii. We can still spend the rest of the summer by the ocean—just the Pacific instead of the Atlantic.”
My eyes welled. “But what about Paige?”
“She’s your best friend,” Mom said. “She’ll understand. She can even come with us if she wants.”
“She can’t leave the restaurant.” I took a deep breath, blinked back tears. “And what about Charlotte?”
“She didn’t plan to stay much longer anyway,” Dad said. “You know that.”
I looked down. Tears fell from my eyes and landed in my lap. I barely noticed.
“As for Simon,” Mom said softly, guessing—correctly—what I was really thinking and too afraid to say, “he’ll also understand.”
“Can he come with us, too?” I asked.
Mom hesitated. “I don’t know if that’d be such a good idea. And you two were going to have to say good-bye eventually. Maybe it’ll be easier this way.”
It wouldn’t be. Saying good-bye to Simon, even for a day, would never be anything but painful.
But I couldn’t explain this to my parents. Even if I found the words, I knew they wouldn’t understand. And though they’d feel sorry for me and bad about the situation, that wouldn’t be enough to convince them to stay.
There was only one thing that might work.
“Justine,” I whispered.
Dad sat back. Mom gasped lightly.
I pictured my sister, imagined her infectious grin and her blue eyes glittering in excitement. I could almost see her hiding in the next room, talking into a small microphone that fed to an invisible speaker in my ear. I’d feel guilty for what I was about to say if it wasn’t partially true—and if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Justine would’ve encouraged me every step of the way.
“I miss her,” I said.
Mom jumped up, hurried around the table, and perched on my armrest. “Of course you do. We all do.”
“And I guess that, I don’t know … being here makes me feel closer to her. Maybe because it was the last place we were together? It doesn’t make sense, but—”
“Yes, it does.” Mom put one arm around my shoulders, kissed the top of my head.
I took a deep breath. “That’s why it would be really hard to leave. I can’t imagine spending the summer somewhere I’ve never been with Justine, especially when
we’ve only ever spent summers here. It was one thing to move out of the lake house and into this one, but leaving Winter Harbor completely? That’d just feel … wrong, somehow.”
Mom pulled me close until my head rested against her chest. My eyes still watered so I couldn’t make out Dad’s expression as he and Mom shared a silent exchange, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was on the verge of tears, too.
A moment later, Mom sighed and said, “Well, we don’t have to start packing tonight. Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll talk more in the morning?”
I sniffed, nodded. She gave me one more hug then stood up and rejoined Dad on the couch. I dried my eyes with the sleeve of my denim jacket, said good night, and started across the room.
“Oh, and sweetie?” Mom called out, just as I entered the hallway.
I stopped. Turned.
“We’ll need you to quit your job at Betty’s.”
“But—”
“That one’s not up for discussion. We can’t have you driving around alone, at all hours of the night. Your father and I will cover your expenses.” She shifted in her seat and blew me a kiss over the top of the couch. “Good night!”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but then closed it. Compared to leaving town, this was a fair request. And I didn’t want to push my luck.
Back in my room, I grabbed two bottles of salt water from the fridge in the bathroom and drank as I called Simon. He answered halfway through the first ring.
“Do you want to go out tomorrow?” I asked, before he could ask where I’d been, if I was okay.
He paused. “Out?”
“On a hike or something? We could pack a picnic.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
I sat on my bed, shrugged off my jacket. “I’m taking the day off. Can you? From the marina?”
“Probably … I’d just need to clear it with Monty and Caleb in the morning.”
He sounded pleased but confused. I kept talking to help the former feeling override the latter.
“I know I saw you a few hours ago, but it still feels like too long. And all I want is to spend the day together. Don’t you think that’d be nice?”
“Considering that’s all I want every day, absolutely. I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. Despite the upsetting conversation that had just transpired in the living room, it made me smile, too.
We talked for a few minutes more. I told him about the evening at Betty’s, carefully editing out some of the more alarming moments, since those would be better discussed in person, and he told me about his dad’s birthday dinner.
“I wish you’d been there,” he said.
“Me, too.” I finished off one water bottle, opened the second. “Next year?”
“Definitely.”
We agreed to work out date details in the morning, said good night, and hung up.
The effects from my moment with Tim, the movie theater employee, certainly not helped by my stressful night, were fading. My body was fatigued and my skin dry enough that pale flakes dusted the waistband of my black skirt. Deciding a quick swim wasn’t a bad idea, I returned to the bathroom to get my swimsuit hanging from the hook on the door. Before changing, I went to the window to lower the shade—and noticed Charlotte’s bedroom light still on.
She was in bed, but I couldn’t tell if she was reading or sleeping. A book was open in her lap, but her head was resting on the pillow and turned to one side. I watched her a minute; when there was no movement besides her chest’s rising and falling, I took the shade cord in one hand and pulled.
I’m awake.
I froze. I didn’t breathe as I slowly raised the shade.
Charlotte was sitting up. Her eyes were open … and looking right at me.
Would you like to come visit?
Like Paige’s hadn’t earlier, Charlotte’s lips didn’t move.
I swallowed. Nodded.
She was still in bed when I reached her room. I stood in the doorway, uncertain whether to step inside. I hadn’t been in this guest room since she started staying there, and I couldn’t help feeling like I was trespassing—even though this was my family’s house.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi.” I didn’t move.
“Would you mind bringing me my sweater?” she asked, after a moment. “Please? It’s on the window seat.”
Now that it had a specific task, my body thawed. I entered the room, retrieved her sweater, and handed it to her. Up close, I saw that she wore only a cotton nightgown, and I looked away as she put on the sweater.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother … but would you mind? Do you think you could …?”
I turned back. Breathing quickly, Charlotte struggled to lift her back from the pillow. Her hands and arms shook as she tried to slide them through into the wool sleeves. Her face twisted, like the small effort caused great pain.
“It’s okay,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray my concern.
I went to the bed and held up the sweater. When she still had difficulty moving her quivering limbs, I pressed gently on one arm until she lowered it, and then I guided the sleeve to her shoulder. I offered her my hand and she took it with both of hers. She held on and pulled herself up just enough for me to drape the material behind her back with my other hand, and then she fell against the pillow with a whoosh and closed her eyes. I finished the job while she recovered, sliding the other sleeve up her right arm.
“Do you want me to close the window?” I asked.
“No, thank you. The cold air feels nice.”
I lowered myself to the edge of the window seat, waited. I looked around the room, at the new dresser, overstuffed chair, and ottoman. The beach-scene painting done by a local artist. The pale blue area rug. The white roses on the nightstand. It was the kind of guest room you’d see in a magazine, that most people would love to replicate in their own homes and most guests would never want to leave.
Except our guest, it seemed, had other plans.
“Your suitcase is out,” I said. It sat on the floor by the door. Her shoes and purse were next to it, her jacket lain across the top.
Charlotte’s eyes opened. Her head turned slowly toward the luggage. “So it is.”
“Why?”
She sighed—or tried to. The breath stuck in her chest, prompting a coughing fit that rattled the bedposts.
I jumped up, dashed into the bathroom, and brought back a glass of water. Mom hadn’t installed another mini refrigerator for Charlotte’s stay, but she had made sure a pitcher of fresh salt water was always available.
Charlotte reached for the glass. I faced her as I sat on the bed, pressed on her shoulder until she sat back, and brought the glass to her lips. She sipped in between coughs and I watched her mouth, cheeks, and forehead. They should’ve flushed and smoothed instantly … but they didn’t.
At least the fit abated—after a second glass of water. When it did, Charlotte rested her head against the pillow and tried to smile.
“Did you go swimming today?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“You should go again. Right now. I’ll help you down to the beach.”
“Thank you, Vanessa, but that’s not necessary. I’m just tired. You understand.”
I would understand if that were what was really wrong. But I didn’t believe that it was.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” Charlotte continued. “I’ve already stayed much longer than I’d planned, and I can’t delay my appointments anymore.”
“But you’re sick—or more tired than I’ve ever seen you. And it’s late. You can’t drive to Canada on so little sleep.”
She slid her hand from her chest to the blanket between us as if to reassure me. “I’ll be fine.” She inhaled, exhaled. The breaths were dry, scratchy. “I want—I need—to tell you a few things before I go.”
“They can wait,” I said automatically, wanting her to conserve he
r energy. “You already shared something that’s made a huge difference in my day-to-day life. Whatever else you want to tell me can wait until the next time I see you.”
“But as I explained—”
“You don’t know how long you’ll be gone. I remember. And I can wait.” She started to protest again so I added, “If I have any other questions in the meantime, I can always ask Betty.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed and for a second, I thought she was crying. But then they lifted again and her eyes were even clearer than they’d been before.
“You need to leave this world,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“When you listen. You need to tune out everything around you—conversations, passing cars, waves crashing—until your thoughts still and your mind clears. Until it’s just you totally alone, even in a room full of people. Complete focus is absolutely necessary.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
Still on the bed, her fingers stretched toward me. “You want to know how to hear others like us, don’t you? At will and not just when spoken to?”
I did want to know this—at some point, maybe in the very distant future. Now wasn’t the time.
Unfortunately, Charlotte continued before I figured out how to say this convincingly. As she spoke, I became too curious to try to stop her.
“You must listen for her voice, and to do that, you must know it in its natural form. You need to have heard it laughing, crying, screaming, or used in some other purely emotional way. You need to be able to hear that sound again, as clearly and exactly as if it were happening right then, right there in front of you.”
She paused to catch her breath. I tried to stand to get her another glass of water, but she slid her hand on top of mine, stopping me.
“And then you need to choose one note to focus on. Stretch it out, blow it up, let it fill your head until the pressure is almost too great to bear. The thoughts will follow.”
I studied her face as I listened. She didn’t appear to be weakening further, and she’d made it clear that she wanted to share this information now. So even though I was tempted to leave and let her rest … maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions first.
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