But even with Elizabeth practically knocking on our front door, it’s the hurricane brewing inside Hart that really scares me.
He’s silent, and he barely touches his food. He just stares off toward the kitchen window, like he’s looking out into the bayou. But the window is all boarded up.
There’s nothing to see.
“Evie’s already dead,” he finally tells me. “Just like Elora. That’s what I’m thinkin’. He killed her, and then he got the hell outta here ahead of the storm.”
I push my sandwich away. I can’t eat it. The peanut butter sticks in my throat and keeps me from swallowing.
“Zale’s not afraid of the storm,” I remind him. “He wouldn’t run from a hurricane.”
“Then he killed her and he’s holed up somewhere. Hiding.”
“We don’t know that,” I tell him. “We don’t know anything.”
Hart shrugs and drains the last of his beer. “Knowing is seriously overrated.”
I barely recognize the guy sitting across from me. He’s skin and bones.
All hollowed out.
And sunken in.
It hurts me to look at him. But he’s not dead. Yet.
“I need you to come with me in the morning,” I say. “On the boat. If we find Evie.” I swallow hard. “Even if we don’t—”
Hart shakes his head. “We’ve been over that.”
“You have to get out of here, Hart. For good.”
“There isn’t any good in me,” he mutters.
“That’s not true. Just come with me,” I plead. “I’ll help you. We can—”
“Look,” he says, “I’m glad you stayed, Greycie.” Something catches in his throat, and he washes it down with a swig of beer. “I’m grateful to have you here. With me. Tonight.” He tightens up his jaw. Gives his head another shake. “But my mind’s made up.”
“Hart—”
“Drop it,” he snarls. There’s a warning in his voice. But I don’t listen. Not this time.
“All you have to do is get on the damn boat.”
He laughs that sad half laugh, and it makes my heart ache for the other version. That familiar throaty chuckle that crinkles his eyes up at the edges.
“I can’t do that. That’s why I’m in this mess to begin with. I don’t belong out there. With all those people.”
“What happened to you?” I ask him, and he stares at me. But I’ve finally reached my breaking point with him. “You think it’ll be hard living out there, so you’d rather die here? Is that it? Fuck all of us who love you.” I take a deep breath. Try to hold myself together. “All of us who need you.”
“You don’t get it,” he says.
“I do get it. Nobody else matters. You don’t care about anybody but yourself.” My voice is rising like floodwater. “You’re a coward, Hart. That’s all it is. Jesus! When did you get to be so pathetic?” I scramble to my feet, shaking with rage and grief. “You’re spineless! Elora would be so ashamed of you!”
Hart lunges in my direction, but I shrink back, out of the way. He grabs his beer bottle and throws it against the wall behind me. The shattering glass gets my full attention, and I freeze.
“You think I want it this way?” he roars. He’s boring holes through me with his eyes, and his breath comes in furious, ragged puffs. “You don’t know shit, Greycie!” He wipes his mouth and runs a hand through his hair. Then he drops his voice to a low growl. Clenches his fists at his sides. “You don’t know half of what I’ve seen. The things I’ve felt. Things that would rip your guts out and send you huntin’ a shotgun to put in your mouth. Things that live inside me every fucking minute of every miserable day.” His words are Category 5. I struggle to stay on my feet. “You don’t know me, Grey. You never have.” He shakes his head. “Nobody does.”
“I know that if you don’t get on that boat, Hart, I’m not going to, either.” My whole body is trembling. “And then we’ll both die here. And it’ll be your fault. You want that on you?”
He snarls and takes a step toward me. I scurry backward, but he keeps on coming. He backs me up clear across the room, until I’m pinned against the wall.
“You’re leaving in the mornin’, Greycie. I made a promise to Miss Roselyn. And I owe it to Elora. She wanted you safe. Out of here. Away from this place.” He leans down until we’re nose to nose. “And if I have to carry your ass onto that boat, kicking and screaming, and hand you over to the captain, I will. Hell, I’ll knock you unconscious if I have to. So don’t you fuckin’ test me.”
“Hart—” I can’t stand this. I reach out to lay a hand on his chest, but he pulls away and glares at me.
“I’m heading back out to look for Evie.” He practically spits the words at me. “You stay here. In case she comes back.” He grabs his rifle and a flashlight. “And keep the doors locked. Because your goddamn boyfriend is still out there somewhere.”
He jerks open the front door and slams it behind him. The whole house shakes with his anger.
And then I’m all alone.
My ears ring with deafening silence.
And then the clanking of wind chimes.
I let go of the boardwalk piling and throw myself headlong into the wind. It knocks me sideways.
I skitter and claw at the boards to keep from ending up in the water, but I manage to right myself
and keep plowing forward.
25
That flash of Elora hits me as soon as Hart is gone. I grit my teeth against the terror of that moment. My twin flame fighting the storm to stay on her feet.
I get up and lock the door, then I sit and stare at the empty room. The AC is still rattling in the window, but it feels like there’s no air left in the sealed-up house. From the kitchen, I hear the weather announcer giving the latest update.
Twenty-four hours till landfall.
Hurricane Elizabeth is still moving north, targeting the Louisiana coast. A weather buoy out in the gulf is already reporting fifty-foot waves.
Fear gnaws at me with sharp teeth.
What if the supply boat can’t make it in?
I tell myself it’s already safe in one of the lower river passes, anchored down and ready to head on up this way at first light.
But there’s no way to know that for sure.
I’m feeling myself spiraling and I don’t know what else to do, so I dig The Tempest out of my backpack and read until midnight. But when the final act ends with everyone safe and forgiven, I throw the book across the room and scream at the walls.
Because that feels like cheating.
And then there’s nothing to do but wait.
Pace the floor. Count the little faded apples on the kitchen wallpaper. And wonder. Drive myself wild with worry. Wait some more. Until I finally fall asleep on the cold linoleum.
It’s hours later when I wake up. 4:32 a.m.
I wonder if Hart has found Zale.
Out there.
In the wild dark of the bayou.
I think about Evie. How terrified she must be. If she’s anything at all anymore.
I stand up to stretch my aching back, and suddenly the radio turns to static. A low white-noise hum.
The overhead light flickers. Then dims. Then goes blazing bright. And dims again.
The hair on my arms stands straight up, and I hear my heart hammering in my ears.
I creep to the back door to crack it open and peer out into the night. But there are no ice-fire eyes burning in the shadows.
A gust of wind sweeps into the kitchen. It rips the knob from my hand and flings the door wide open.
Evie’s chimes whisper my name. They call me outside. Like an invitation.
So I step out onto boardwalk behind the house. Almost like I’m dreaming.
Hart would tell me not to. But Hart isn’t here.
There’s a forgotten hammer lying on the back step, from when we put the plywood over the windows, and I pick it up and wrap my fingers around the handle.
I pause to search the dark again for bright blue eye-shine. Like looking for a gator in a black pond. I tighten my grip on the hammer. But I still don’t see that icy glow staring back at me from the edges of the swamp. I know he’s close, though, so I tiptoe around the side of the house until I can peek around the corner and look toward the dock.
And there he is, blond hair blowing in the moonlight. Looking out at the water. Standing not five feet away from what’s left of his father.
I freeze, but it’s too late. Zale turns to look back, and I’m caught in his fire-and-ice gaze. He raises a hand to wave at me, and it’s like the movement wipes me clean. My fear slips away, and calm settles on me like a cool sheet in the summertime. It pulls me out of hiding, and I stand in the middle of the boardwalk staring at him, the hammer still dangling from my hand.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Grey.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
He smiles at me.
Those eyes.
“I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
But I’m not safe, am I? Not with him here.
Everything is so confusing.
I push back at the fog that’s blanketing my brain. I can’t let him work that magic on me.
Not tonight.
I wriggle out of that peaceful feeling like I’m shedding wet clothes.
“Where’s Evie?” I demand. “What did you do with her?”
Zale looks confused. “Evie?”
“You took her,” I say. “Like you took Elora.” The look on his face is proof that he didn’t see that coming. “Is she dead?” I push. “Did you kill her, too?” My stomach is all tied up in writhing knots. Like a nest of snakes. “The way you killed Elora?”
The sudden electricity in the air is enough to stand my hair on end. Across the river, lightning scatters sparks like the Fourth of July. Thunder rumbles, then cracks sharp.
“I never hurt Elora,” Zale protests, and I hear the hurt in his voice. “I wouldn’t—”
“That’s a lie.” Anger bubbles up inside me until it overflows so hot I’m afraid I’ll melt into the boardwalk. “You made her fall in love with you. Then you promised her you’d run away together. You told her to sneak away and meet you that night. On the dock.”
“Grey—”
“And then you killed her instead.”
“I didn’t.” His voice is low. Calm. But mine is rising fast.
“You were the last one to see her alive,” I accuse. “You told me that yourself!”
“I never hurt her,” he tells me. “Elora was my friend. Until I met you, she was my only friend.” He looks so genuinely lost. “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to trust anyone. But Elora proved me wrong. I loved her, Grey. Same as you did. Why would I kill her?”
Zale takes a step in my direction, and the light in his eyes dims when I move away from him.
“Grey? Why? Why would I kill Elora?” He takes another step toward me, offers me his hand. “Grey. Why?” I need him to stop talking. I need him not to come any closer. “We saved each other. I told you that.”
I take another step backward.
“Tell me,” he says. “Why would I do that?” He reaches for me again. “Why?” I can’t take this. He has to stop. “Why?”
That last word echoes off the river.
“Because we killed your father!”
Zale freezes as the wind moans around him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything. I wait for the flash of lightning. For the roll of thunder. But there’s nothing.
Just bewildered silence.
And sudden, terrible cold.
“What do you mean?” The question is so quiet. So deep. So utterly real. “Who killed my father?”
“Elora’s daddy.”
Zale staggers backward, like I shot him in the chest. The way Leo shot Dempsey Fontenot the night this all started.
“But really it was the whole town,” I say. “All of us.”
“Tell me what happened, Grey.” Zale sinks down to sit with his back against a wooden crate. But I can’t stop staring at the black barrels behind him. “Please,” he begs. And I hear a lifetime’s worth of unanswered questions underneath those words. “He was my father.”
Zale’s pain and confusion float between us like fog. They’re genuine.
Real.
I feel the truth of that every bit as clear as Hart would be able to, if he were here.
Zale doesn’t know about what happened on the boardwalk. On that dark summer evening. After my mother set fire to the cabin back at Keller’s Island. And if he doesn’t know what Leo did . . . then it’s not a motive for revenge.
For murder.
And if Zale didn’t kill Elora, he didn’t take Evie, either.
Hart was wrong.
He was wrong.
About all of it.
I think about the calm, peaceful feeling that Zale gives me. And I know it’s nice. It feels good. That fuzziness. But I realize it was never why I trusted him. Not really. Because that feeling never lasted long, and I could push it away if I tried.
I trusted him because he gave me so many reasons to. At first, because Elora had trusted him enough to share our special words with him. And because he cared enough to give me back Elora’s ring, when I didn’t even know he had it. But then, because of the way he treated me. His patience and his gentleness. The way he was honest with me, over and over, when he could have fed me easy lies.
I recognized the blazing sincerity in his gaze.
Felt the burn of truth in his touch.
Why did I ever doubt him? Why did I doubt myself?
I drop the hammer and move to kneel beside Zale as he reaches for my hand.
His fingers are like ice in mine. There’s no spark. No warm tingle. The flame has gone out inside him.
“Grey,” he whispers. “Please. I need to know.”
So I repeat the story Hart told me last night. I tell Zale how Dempsey Fontenot showed up on the boardwalk after the fire, cradling the body of his dead child. How he rained down fury on the crowd that gathered to gawk at him. Hailstones the size of grapefruits. And how Leo—Elora’s daddy—blew a hole in his chest.
How they hid the body.
Right here in the heart of La Cachette.
The hiding place.
And how they all kept the secret. Every single one of them.
All this time.
When I’m finished, it’s quiet for a long while. Zale drops his head to his hands and sits with the crushing weight of the truth on his shoulders.
“Where?” he finally asks me. “Where did they put him?”
I stand up and duck under the safety rope to pick my way through the stacks of crates and the rotting fishing nets. I work my way around the broken crab traps and the rusting anchor chains until I’m standing next to the middle barrel. I lay my hand on top, and Zale gets to his feet and makes his way through the scattered junk to stand across from me.
“Do you want to open it?” I ask, but I’m relieved when he shakes his head.
“You’re sure he’s really in there?” He raises his eyes to meet mine.
“Yeah,” I say. “I saw him myself.”
Zale takes his hands and lays them on top of the barrel alongside my own. I feel that faint tingle. Like the little mound of earth back at Keller’s Island.
The moment feels solemn. Almost like a eulogy.
“Did Elora know?” he asks me. “About what happened to my father?” I nod, and Zale looks hurt. I know he’s wondering why she kept it from him.
But I think about that little grave out at Keller’s Island, and I understand
why. Because even when the secrets we hide in our pockets aren’t our own, the weight of them can still be enough to drown us.
Zale is studying my face. “Thank you for this, Grey.”
“I didn’t know,” I tell him. “You have to believe me.”
“Of course I believe you,” he says, like there could never be any doubt. Like he trusts me completely.
And I feel like shit again for letting Hart convince me that Zale could be a murderer. Or that Case could, either, for that matter. I should have known better. I did know better, deep down. But my whole life, Elora has been my candle. And Hart has been my North Star. I’ve always depended on their light to guide me. It never occurred to me I had the power to push back my own darkness.
“What are you going to do now?” I ask.
“Go get my boat. Take him home,” Zale tells me. “Lay him to rest. Next to Aeron.”
“Let me help you,” I offer. “I have to leave in a couple hours, but—”
He shakes his head. “This is something I need to do alone.”
And I understand that.
Zale takes my hand and walks me back across the boardwalk to the Mystic Rose. With the people all gone, it’s hard to ignore the peeling paint and the sagging boards. The weeds and thorny vines pushing up through the holes and all the little broken places.
He stops at the front steps, but I lead him around the house. To the kitchen door in the back. I need to put some distance between our goodbye and the bones of his father.
“Be careful,” I tell him. “The storm—”
“I’ll be fine,” he reassures me. “And if you need me, I’ll be here.”
We lock eyes, and that feels like a promise
“My daddy wasn’t a monster,” he says. “He didn’t kill those little girls.”
“I believe you,” I tell him.
“And your mama wasn’t a monster, either. People do terrible things when they’re hurtin’.” He lays a hand on my cheek. “Doesn’t make ’em all bad.”
I nod, and something inside me loosens up.
Seems like, every time I’m with Zale, I come away just a little bit healed.
I let him wrap me in his arms and pull me against him.
Dark and Shallow Lies Page 25