Chapter 9
Lucy
A heel juts into my stomach, hard and swift from my left, and I wake with a start, popping up in bed. But when I sit up, my foot extends, colliding with a meaty thigh on my right, and the person that thigh belongs to grunts.
“Shh,” the body on the other side says, and I rub my eyes, realizing I’m smushed between Frankie and Millie, who seem to be taking up most of my mattress, leaving only a sliver of space in the middle for me.
“What are you guys doing here?” I climb over Millie, and when I get out, she and Frankie fill the extra space easily, spreading out under my quilt.
“It’s too freaky to be alone,” Frankie says, mumbling into the pillow.
Millie nods her agreement, her face hidden beneath the sheets.
My stomach drops, and I remember what happened yesterday.
Billy, dead in the water. The crowd on the beach.
The tears in Millie’s eyes. The fear on Frankie’s face.
The terror shuddering through Ethan, the way he shivered when we got to the police station, how my dad took him home, kept him in his study for hours, so late that I didn’t see him before I fell asleep in a fit.
It’s enough to remind me that everything on Pelican Island has changed in an instant.
Nothing will ever be the same as it was.
I squeeze my eyes shut and see Billy as I knew him, smiling and laughing, crossing his eyes, chugging a beer, throwing Ethan in a headlock, kissing Erica, his fingers pressed against her neck.
I never liked him, not even when he was at his best. But the loss of him is staggering, so swift, so complete, it nearly takes my breath away.
Even if he wasn’t perfect, even if he wasn’t nice or kind, he should still be alive.
He should still have the chance to change.
All I want to do is slip back under the covers and shut my eyes, wish to rewind twenty-four hours before any of this happened.
But I look at my two sisters, still and intertwined, and I know I have to set the example. Move forward. Be strong. Show them how to be after witnessing something like that.
“You guys rest up, okay?” I dip down and drum my fingers on Millie’s shoulder before I reach for my phone.
I expect to see a text from Ethan. But there’s no word from him, not even good night, which he usually sends every evening.
Nor a good-morning message, which always comes in before I wake up.
I call him, but it goes right to voicemail, so I send him a text: lmk when you’re up. Worried about you.
I splash some water on my face and brush my teeth, then hear the sound of the coffee grinder in the kitchen, and soon the smell of a fresh pot lures me downstairs. Dad is already standing at the kitchen counter, dressed in his tennis clothes, his brows narrowed as he stares at the percolator.
“Hey,” I say.
“Oh, hi, hun-bun.” Dad moves toward me and plants a kiss on my forehead, but he’s still tense, his shoulders up around his ears and his voice strained. “You’re up early for a Sunday.”
I shrug and slide onto a seat at the counter. “Not a normal Sunday.”
“No,” he says. “No, it’s not.” The coffee machine beeps, and Dad pulls down two mugs and retrieves the milk from the fridge.
“Thanks,” I say as he slides mine over. When it reaches me, liquid sloshes over the side, scalding my fingers, and I yank them away, shaking them in the air to cool.
“Ah, sorry, Luce.” Dad reaches for a rag and dabs at my hand. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say, though my skin burns. “It wasn’t even that hot.”
“Run it under cold water,” he says, and I follow his lead, let him get the tap just right. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “Preoccupied. As are you, I’m sure.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. Dad’s focused on my hand even though my skin has returned to its regular shade. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he says. “But you know the rule.”
“You might not always answer.”
“Perks of being a lawyer.” One corner of his mouth twitches.
“What did you talk about with Ethan last night?” I ask. “He never responded to me, and I’m getting nervous.”
Dad shuts off the water and positions himself on the stool at the island. “Luce,” he says like I’m a child. “I can’t tell you that.”
“So, he’s a client now?”
“He is,” Dad says. “There’s a confidentiality agreement.”
Nerves flutter in my stomach, but I push them away. As soon as I talk to Ethan, he’ll tell me what’s going on. He’s never kept anything from me, and now’s not the time to start.
“But I wanted to talk to you about something,” Dad says. He presses his lips together then lets out a big exhale. “You haven’t told Ethan about Penn yet.”
My head snaps up. “That’s what you want to talk about right now?”
He pauses, thinking through his words. “Ethan’s going to be going through a lot over the next few weeks, and I want you to be mindful of how you speak to him, okay? I also want to make sure you’ve thought this through.”
“Thought what through?”
“That Penn really is the perfect place for you.” Dad raises his hands like he’s trying to preemptively calm me down, which is annoying because his instincts are right.
My heart rate picks up, and I’m crafting my retort in my mind.
Yes, obviously. I’ve done the research and—“Your mother and I had such formative experiences at Cornell. Gil and Paula, too. I was so looking forward to you going, for us having something else we can share.” His phone buzzes, and he grabs it, covering the screen.
“I’ve got to take this. I’m sorry I upset you, Luce. ”
Dad takes his coffee and slips into his study, closing the door behind him.
I clench my hands into fists, notice the tension in my shoulders, the square set of my jaw.
Dad’s not-so-subtle attempt at pressuring me has only made me surer that I need to go to Penn and carve my own path.
I look down at my phone to see a text from Erica.
Can you come to Dylan’s? He’s having people over soon so no one has to be alone. Little vigil-type thing. I need you there.
I respond right away. Of course.
I’m freaking out, she texts.
Do you want me to pick you up? I ask.
No. I’m going to ride my bike. Just meet me there.
In the bathroom, I run through my everyday makeup routine, the familiar steps comforting as I swipe blush on my cheeks, mascara on my lashes.
I’ve long known that feeling put-together is the first step toward being put-together, and today is no exception.
I purse my lips and smooth out my hair, watching my waves bounce into place. Whatever today brings, I will be ready.
Pretty soon I’m at the Silvers’ back door, knocking on the glass, trying to get Paula’s attention while she flips French toast in the kitchen.
As soon as she sees me, her mouth puckers, and she rushes over to slide open the door.
“Lucy,” she says, running a hand over her hair. “How’re you doing, sweetie?”
“Holding up,” I say, and Paula clutches her spatula to her chest. “Is Ethan ready? Everyone is gathering at Dylan’s, and I thought we’d go together.” Best not to let her know I haven’t heard from him yet.
Paula’s eyes flit to the staircase leading upstairs and then back to me. “He’s still sleeping. I think we should let him rest.”
“Of course,” I say, lingering.
“I’ll have him call you. Breakfast before you go?” she asks, waving her spatula in the air, but I shake my head and get back on my bike.
As I turn onto Pelican Island Road, it’s impossible to shake the strange feeling churning in my stomach.
There’s something off about Ethan’s behavior.
How he went to the party without telling me, knew Olivia was in town and didn’t warn me, and also failed to text me after he left the police station.
I’ve never known him to lie to me or to withhold information, and it seems like this weekend, he’s done both.
Obviously, there are reasonable explanations for all of these things, but I wish I could get him alone so I could hear them and stop worrying.
Because what I’m really worried about is this: What if he’s acting weird because he knows I’m lying?
I blow a puff of air out of my mouth. That’s not possible. Erica wouldn’t have told him and neither would my parents.
Ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.
I have to focus on the road and get to Dylan’s. That’s all.
—
Today is another perfect day on Pelican Island with a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze. Sweatshirt-and-shorts weather, toes-in-the-sand weather. But not even the high sun or the smell of sea salt can make us forget that Billy’s dead.
Dylan and his mom moved into one of the old Colonials, all red brick and stately, after his father passed away, and it’s one of my favorites on the island.
From the front, it’s an old East Coast manse, but as soon as you follow the pebblestone walkway, you’re greeted with an unobstructed view of the beach, the deck lined with reedy seagrass.
On Dylan’s patio, my classmates are huddled around a barely lit firepit, speaking closely, passing around tissues. Someone set out a paper sack of bagels on the stone wall, and a few flies circle untouched tubs of cream cheese.
“There you are.” Erica rushes toward me. Deep circles have formed under her eyes since I saw her yesterday, and her cheeks are swollen.
“Oh, Erica.”
“I can’t believe it…” She shakes her head, then looks up at me, gripping my arms. But before she can say anything else, the sound of clattering metal rings in the air, and I spin around to see Justin Vreeland with his hands up, his eyes wide.
Dylan lunges toward him, his index finger pointed at his chest. “You shouldn’t be here,” Dylan says, spit flying from his mouth.
“What are you—” Justin starts to say, but Dylan shakes his head.
“No one wants you here. Get out.” Dylan moves forward until Justin backs up, nearly tripping over the raised patio stairs.
Justin’s brows narrow, and he throws up a middle finger before turning around and running back to the street. Everyone else starts murmuring to one another, wrapping their arms around one another, and I grip Erica’s elbow.
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
Erica shakes her head. “He and Billy got into a fight on Friday. Like, blood-and-guts fight. I wouldn’t be surprised if they brought him in for questioning.”
“Questioning?” A tingling sensation spreads from the top of my head.
“You don’t know?” Erica says. “They’re saying it was murder.”