Liddie knew she was in the wrong. Especially after what she’d talked to Sean about on the beach, but she persisted. Her anger felt righteous somehow. “It’s the way things are, right? Perfect Margaux never makes a mistake. Whether it’s in school or cleaning up after her brother’s attempted murder—”
“I didn’t clean up after anything.” But the color had drained from Margaux’s face.
Liddie grabbed the Parking sign. “What is it, Margaux? What did you do?”
“Nothing . . . I didn’t do anything.”
“You are so full of shit.”
“Let go.”
Liddie released it. “Fine. But if I find out that you’ve been keeping other things from me . . .”
“Are you threatening me?”
A car door slammed, startling both of them.
“Who’s that?” Margaux asked.
“Someone way too early. God, these fucking lifers.”
“We’d better go greet them.”
They walked up the road and turned in to the parking lot. Liddie had trouble understanding what she was seeing at first, like looking at one of those dot paintings where there’s supposed to be an image inside, but it takes you a moment to focus on it.
Because standing there in a group, looking only slightly less puzzled than Liddie and Margaux, were Owen, Mark, and Swift.
CHAPTER 39
I ACHE TO REMEMBER
Sean
Damn it, Sean thought as he smashed the paddle into the beach over and over. The sand flew, and still he swung. Swung for himself. Swung for his mother. How dare they? How dare they try to control his life like this, deciding what he could know and what he couldn’t? Like he wasn’t someone who was worthy of knowing the most basic details of his life.
He felt pure rage. Rage and shame, because here he was reacting the way everyone would expect him to react.
He stopped swinging. His arms ached. He threw the paddle to the ground and sat on the dry dock, which acted as a sort of platform on the beach. Usually, it was a nice place to sit. Shaded by an old conifer, you could see the whole bay. The clouds were low this morning, and the lake was rough. It was going to rain later; he could smell it in the wind.
He tried to calm himself, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He didn’t know where this rage had come from. It wasn’t something he usually felt. But when Liddie had shown up, Sean thought he was done for, found out. That wasn’t what he was worried about now. His secret was still intact. No one knew he’d been on the Island that night after dropping off the campers. No one knew what had happened between him and Amanda.
He closed his eyes and remembered. The taste of her. The feel of her skin. What it felt like to be inside her. He was ashamed that he’d slept with her. She was only seventeen and not the girl he was in love with. When he was kissing her, he knew she didn’t want him. He was a replacement, a distraction. He’d thought that was okay, because that’s what she was to him too.
That night, with his eyes closed, Amanda had become Margaux. Her lips, her slippery hair. It was exactly like he’d imagined. He knew it was wrong. He was so much older, and Margaux was like a sister to him. But the heart wants what it wants, Mrs. MacAllister had said to him once, and it was true.
He’d been watching Margaux. She was fifteen at the time, and even as he was looking at her, he was thinking it was wrong. He was trying to make himself turn away.
Then Mrs. MacAllister had spoken behind him. “The heart wants what it wants,” she said. He turned around. She had her camera around her neck, as she often did, and she snapped a picture of him.
“What does that mean?” he’d asked.
She’d stared at him for a moment and told him that it meant that we didn’t always choose who we love. But, she said, “You can choose what to do about it.”
He’d understood. He could look, but he couldn’t touch. And he hadn’t, not ever.
Until that night with Amanda.
She’d started it, if that was any excuse, though he knew it wasn’t. When it was over, and he could feel their mutual regret hanging over them, she’d sat up and dressed and said the words he knew she would.
“That was a mistake.”
And even though he’d agreed, he’d felt so, so angry.
CHAPTER 40
WE GATHER HERE TODAY
Margaux
Margaux spent the next hour placating Mark when all she wanted to do was throttle him. It had taken all she had not to break up with him right there in the parking lot. It was so typical of him, showing up when she’d expressly told him not to. Instead, she slapped a smile on her face and told him how happy she was to see him.
So he was happy. He followed her around as she checked in on the kitchen and the extra catering staff. Then they went to the Drama Tent, an open-air structure where they were going to hold the memorial. She filled him in on what he’d missed since the last update she’d given him Saturday morning—had it only been a day ago?—while they unloaded a hundred folding chairs from the storage locker and set them up in rows.
“This would be a nice place to get married,” Mark said when they were halfway done.
“What?”
“You must’ve had weddings here before?”
She was afraid to turn around. What if Mark was down on one knee? She breathed a sigh of relief when she found that all he was doing was looking pensive. He’d put on a jacket and tie for the occasion, his teacher clothes. Gray wool blazer, white shirt, conservative tie, and dark-wash jeans. She’d always liked him in this outfit. He was still as trim as when they’d met, his blue eyes peering out from under the lock of dark hair that wouldn’t stay put.
“Maybe? A long time ago though.”
“You’ve never thought about it?”
“I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of weddings.”
But that wasn’t true. She and Mary and the twins used to have mock weddings in the Drama Tent all the time when they were little, wearing toilet-paper veils and getting scolded by their mother for stealing all the candles. Sometimes they’d make Ryan participate, with Sean officiating. He’d say the vows in this silly deep voice, and the girls would fall to the ground laughing so hard their sides hurt.
“And what about now?”
Margaux knew this whole conversation was a land mine, and she treated it that way.
“I haven’t . . . Mark, my parents’ memorial service is in an hour.”
“Yeah, sorry, not the time.”
She felt a beat of tenderness for him. He was still the man she’d been with for the last five years. He hadn’t changed. She had. She didn’t know why.
“Not the time. Let’s finish setting up these chairs, okay?”
“Sure.”
They finished with the chairs, then went to the lodge to make sure everything was ready for the meal that would happen after. It would be a late lunch; they’d decided they weren’t serving two meals. At sunset, they’d all gather on the beach for a last lantern ceremony. The invitations they’d sent out had asked everyone to bring their own lanterns if they wanted to participate. Margaux could imagine them, all these somber adults who she’d known since she was a kid, driving to camp, their paper houses sitting on the back seat, telling their spouses and kids about their memories. That time on the lake, or that campfire, that skit night.
Margaux hadn’t followed instructions. She hadn’t taken the time before she came to Macaw to build a memorial for her parents, even if it was out of paper. Her parents deserved better.
“I’m going to get some supplies,” she said to Mark. “Wait here?”
“Will do.”
She went into the office and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for—tissue paper and glue. There were Popsicle sticks in the pantry. She glanced at her watch. Ten thirty. She had enough time.
She left the room. Mark was standing at the whiteboard.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“We were trying to figure out what happened to Amanda, but then Ryan had his almost heart attack. Why?”
Mark turned around. He looked at her as if she were a stranger. “It looks like you did it.”
“What?”
She pushed past him and looked over the board. It wasn’t as they’d left it the night before. Someone had filled in some of the empty time slots. Her eyes landed on Sean’s column. He’d been on the Island in the middle of the night. On Back Beach with Amanda. What? What?
“What is this?”
Mark’s finger was pointing at the 4:00 a.m. row. It was blank across the board, except that in her spot, someone had written in her name and circled it in red. Over and over until half of it was blotted out.
• • •
“Why would someone do that?” Mark asked again ten minutes later.
“I have no idea.”
But that was a lie. Margaux would recognize the handwriting on the whiteboard anywhere, as familiar as her own. She knew who’d pointed to her; she pushed away the why. There had to be an explanation. She’d figure it out when she had a moment to think.
They were upstairs in the lodge, hiding the whiteboard away before anyone else could see it. Already, Margaux could hear voices coming down the road. Laughter. Excitement. This might be a solemn occasion, but it was also a reunion.
“This is dangerous,” Mark said.
“What is?”
“This.” He waved at the board. “Figuring this out.”
“You’re the one who told me to do it.”
“I wasn’t thinking. Whoever did that to Amanda . . . they’re dangerous.”
“That’s what Ryan said.”
“He’s right.”
“Nothing’s going to happen . . . not with everyone here.”
“And what about after?”
“We’ll vote again.”
“But before the vote? You complete this, and then you know who did it?”
“That was the idea.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know, okay, Mark? I wasn’t planning on doing any of this. People are coming, and I have to go speak to them about my parents, and . . .”
She was in his arms. They felt good around her. Solid. She turned in to them, buried her face in the familiar smell of his chest. She wanted this weekend to be over. She couldn’t think straight here. She’d never been able to.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m scared.”
“Me too.”
She pulled away. “You thought I was guilty.”
“No.”
“Come on, not even for a minute?”
“No,” he said, but he hesitated. She was surprised but not upset. More like she didn’t know he had it in him to think that badly of her.
“Is my face a mess?”
“Wait, here.” He took a piece of cloth out of his pocket, one of those old-fashioned handkerchiefs. He tilted her face up and wiped away her tears. “That’s better.”
“Thanks.”
He folded it up and put it in his pocket. “I know, you know.”
“Know what?”
“That you’re unhappy. That you’re thinking of leaving me.”
She looked down at the floor. The boards were old and cracked, the spaces between them wide enough to lose things down. It was funny the things a person thought about when their life was coming apart. She was thinking about The Borrowers, those little creatures she’d read about when she was small, who lived in the hidden spaces in everyday life.
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because it’s true. Isn’t it?”
She looked up at him. She’d wanted to do this on her own terms, but he was forcing the issue, like he forced everything else. But maybe this was okay. He was allowed, after all, to be with someone who wanted to be with him. He deserved that.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
He sighed. “I wanted you to say I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said.”
She looked at the floor again. It was easier than looking at the tears in his eyes.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No, you can stay.”
“I meant . . . the apartment.”
“I’ll move out. I’ll stay with one of my sisters until I find a place.”
“Okay.”
Margaux heard a sound, a cough, and there was Sean coming out of his room. He’d been in there the whole time. He shrugged at her. What are you going to do?
“Hey, Mark,” he said, holding out his hand.
Mark batted it away. “She’s all yours, man.”
“Mark!”
“What?” he said, looking back at her over his shoulder as he walked down the hall. “You know it’s true.”
She didn’t know what to do. She knew she was supposed to be running after Mark, asking him to stay and work things out. Convincing him that she didn’t care about Sean that way—this at least was true. She’d never felt anything like that for him. Right now, with all that was happening, she felt even less.
“Are you all right?” Sean asked. He’d put on the suit he’d worn at the funeral. A dark blue, almost black, like a bruise.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“What did Mark mean?”
“Nothing, ignore him.”
“Hey, come on, talk to me.” He put his hand on her shoulder.
She ducked away. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”
She drew in a ragged breath. She’d never understood less about her life than at that very moment.
“What were you doing on the Island that night, Sean? Did you hurt Amanda?”
She looked him squarely in the eye. She expected him to deny it, like her brother had.
But he didn’t.
Amanda
July 23, 1998—3:00 a.m.
I never knew what shame was until that night. I’d been embarrassed. My parents told stories about me in diapers to their friends or asked me to perform some sketch I’d done when I was eight, years later. My grandmother wore a hearing aid that didn’t have the volume right so she yelled in public and everyone could hear her when she said that she “had to tinkle.”
Embarrassing, not shameful.
But what Sean and I did, using him like that to get over Ryan, him using me to get over—to get back at—Margaux, that was shameful. You could feel it around us from the moment it was done and he was resting above me. It made me feel sick and cold and like this was the last place I wanted to be on earth. This was what my first time was. This was what I was going to remember forever.
We lay there in silence for a while, then he rolled off me, and I got dressed with my back turned to him. My mother’s voice was in my head, all those lessons she’d given me about how I wanted my first time to mean something. I didn’t have to be in love, but I shouldn’t regret what happened. I already did. Added to it was the fact that I knew I’d have to keep this to myself. I couldn’t tell Margaux; I couldn’t tell anyone. What we’d done wasn’t illegal, but still. He was a member of the senior staff, much older. He could get fired, and I could get sent home, and we’d both become one of those stories everyone told when they were gossiping about camp.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Sean said. “Don’t worry.”
“I know.”
“And you won’t either, right? Not even Margaux?”
I slipped my sweater over my head and turned
around. “As if Margaux would care.”
I knew it was cruel as I said it, but I didn’t expect his reaction. I’d never seen rage flood through a person like that before, like a switch had been flicked. He was on fire, and I was certain I was going to get burned.
Amanda
Margaux
Ryan
Mary
Kate & Liddie
Sean
9:00 p.m.
Lantern ceremony
Lantern ceremony
Lantern ceremony
10:00 p.m.
On the Island
On the Island
On the Island
Crash boat
11:00 p.m.
Back Beach
Back Beach
Back Beach
On the Island
Midnight
Back Beach
Back Beach
1:00 a.m.
Back Beach
Camp
Back Beach
2:00 a.m.
Back Beach
Back Beach
3:00 a.m.
Back Beach
Back Beach
4:00 a.m.
Swimming
5:00 a.m.
On the Island
Cabin/Boat Beach
I'll Never Tell Page 24