Chapter 12
Millie
“Holy moly, it’s packed,” Trevor whispers as we walk through the foyer of the Godwin home to sit shiva.
The space is filled with people standing shoulder to shoulder, speaking in hushed tones, their faces red, from the summer heat or their own grief, I’m not sure.
Trevor fiddles with the collar on his button-down, and I pull at the hem of my black skirt.
Usually, it’s my most comfortable piece of clothing, but today the fabric is scratchy against my thighs, and my whole body is on fire, itchy like it’s rebelling against this entire day.
It’s been four days since Billy died, and if this were a normal death, Billy’s funeral would have taken place as soon as possible, as per the Jewish tradition.
But because the police needed to do all of their forensic tests and analyses and whatever else happens in a murder investigation—honestly, thinking about all the details makes me want to vomit—there hasn’t been an official funeral.
Not yet. Instead, we’ve all gathered at the Godwin house for the first day of shiva.
By the look of it, everyone who lives on the island seems to have come to comfort the Godwins as well as eat the copious amounts of food spread out on every surface in the house.
I follow Trevor through the throngs of people until we get to the back patio. Everywhere I look, there are buffets—enormous tables full of sushi, a carving station where meat sits under a heat lamp, a make-your-own-pasta station—but the sight of everything turns my stomach.
“What do we do now?” I ask Trevor. Practically everyone we’ve ever known is here, and I can feel people staring, their eyes darting toward me as they whisper behind cupped hands.
I can only imagine what they’re saying. That’s the girl who found him.
Lucy’s sister. Debbie’s daughter. She should have saved him.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Act normal?” Then he shakes his head. “Dumb idea. What’s normal, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Everyone keeps staring at me.”
Trevor glances around the patio, then ducks his head toward me. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird that so many people are here when no one really liked Billy, anyway?”
“He’s dead, Trevor.”
His neck grows pink, and his jaw tightens a bit. “I know,” he says. “I’m just saying…he was a jerk. That’s all.”
Before I can respond, my parents appear, and Mom places her hand on my elbow. “Did you pay your respects yet?” she asks.
“We just got here, Mom.”
“Go on now,” Dad says, nudging me. “You can do it.”
Trevor whispers in my ear, “I’ll come, too. Get it over with.”
Mom pretends not to hear him as she guides us over to the Godwins, who are standing in the threshold of the French doors with somber faces.
Billy’s mother has a pretty blond bob and is wearing a lace black dress that covers her shoulders and flares at her hips.
She looks so put-together, except her chin wobbles and she sways from side to side as if she’s not quite rooted to the ground.
Beside her, Mr. Godwin shakes hands and has a determined look on his face, like he’s steeling for something.
“We are so, so sorry,” Mom says, leaning over to give Mrs. Godwin a kiss on her cheek. “You know how much we loved Billy.”
Trevor’s elbow digs into my ribs, but I barely notice the pressure because suddenly all I can think about is the fact that I held Billy’s lifeless body in my hands. That his parents are looking at me expectantly like I might say something to comfort them, like I might know something.
But all I can muster is “I’m so sorry.”
Disappointment flashes across Mrs. Godwin’s face, and I’m thankful that Dad sticks out his hand to Mr. Godwin. “Reid,” he says, as if by saying his name, he has just uttered an entire monologue. But then he bows his head and steps back. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Mom leans forward as if that weren’t weird. “You know we and the Silvers are here for you no matter what.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Godwin says, clasping my mother’s hands in hers. “We are so lucky to have friends like you.” She then turns her gaze to me. “We know you did all you could, Millie.”
“Thank you,” I say, though no response would have felt right, and a few moments later, Trevor and I are back by the buffets, my heart starting to return to a normal rate.
“That was awful,” I say. “I wish we could just get out of here.”
Trevor turns to me and wiggles his eyebrows. “Book Bonanza?”
My shoulders relax, and I place a hand over my heart, a lightness filling my chest. “You think we can get away?”
Trevor’s mouth splits into a smile, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He looks down and shields the screen from me while he checks his texts. “Let’s meet out front in fifteen? That’ll be enough time. We can bike over.”
“Perfect.”
Trevor slips through the crowd, heading toward the beach. When he hits the sand, I watch as he walks over to Erica, Lucy’s best friend. She’s standing by herself, looking out at the water, and when Trevor stops next to her, she turns to face him and nods in his direction.
I fold my arms over my stomach and realize I’m standing all alone while everyone else seems to be deep in conversation or concentrating on their food or offering the Godwins their condolences.
Without Trevor as my anchor, I’m unmoored, and I don’t dare look around for fear of making eye contact with someone who’s trying to sneak a peek at the girl who let Billy drown.
Even though I know it’s not my fault. Even though Mrs. Godwin just offered me absolution.
I know I couldn’t have helped him. I try to stay calm by breathing in and out, focusing on how nice the warmth of the sun feels on my cheeks.
But my try-to-Zen-out moment is interrupted by the crashing of metal pizza trays to my left, and I glance up to see Frankie leaning forward, helping a caterer pick up the mess. I push my way through the crowd toward her.
“Sorry!” Frankie says, grabbing a few of the trays. “I’m clumsy as hell these days.” She stretches out her arms and shakes her hands. “My mom says it’s because I’m so gangly that I don’t know what to do with my limbs.”
The caterer glares and gathers the rest of the trays. “Don’t worry about it.” But their tone suggests otherwise.
“Whoops,” Frankie mutters.
“You good?” I ask. Frankie smooths her black skirt down over her thighs and stands up straight. But as she does, she slips something behind her back.
“Totally fine,” she says. “Like I said, just making a mess wherever I go.”
“What are you holding?” I ask, motioning to her arm, just out of view.
“What are you talking about?”
“Why are you being so weird?”
Frankie pushes her hair back from her forehead. “Enough with the questions! I’m going to get a seltzer.”
“Whatever you’re doing, don’t let Mom see you!” I call, but Frankie’s already waving me off, heading inside the house. For the best. Whatever she’s up to, I’m not interested in getting involved.
My phone buzzes with a text from Trevor. I’ll be out front in five. I reply with a thumbs-up and make my way inside to use the bathroom before we go.
The crowd is still packed inside the house, and when I reach the powder room, I find a line snaking all the way around the hallway into the foyer.
“There’s an en suite off the maid’s room over on the far side of the house.” A waiter smiles at me, holding out a tray full of pigs in blankets. “That’s where we’re all going.” She winks at me and keeps moving through the crowd.
I follow her advice. There are fewer people on this side of the house, and I poke my head into an open doorway, which must be the maid’s room.
It’s sparsely decorated compared to the rest of the home, which is covered in wool wall coverings, modern art, and sleek light fixtures.
This room is plain, painted a pale baby blue, and has nothing on the walls.
No art, no photographs, not even a mirror.
I step inside and close the door behind me, already feeling calmer now that I’m away from everyone else, now that I can hear myself think, the thumping of my own heart, the reminder that I am here. I am still alive.
I head for the door on the opposite side of the room, which must be the bathroom, and press my hand to the doorknob, but as I start to turn it, I hear a noise from the other side.
“Hello?” I ask, leaning forward to press my ear on the door. “Is someone in there?”
No one answers, so I turn the knob and push the door open slowly, only to find Ethan sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up under his chin, rocking back and forth.
His cheeks are red and puffy, and his dark suit is crumpled, his tie hanging sloppily around his neck.
He looks up at me with a flash of recognition—relief—and I shut the door behind us.
“Ethan.” His name rushes from my lips.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it and drop down to the floor beside him.
“I had a panic attack,” he says, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I held it together for a while, but as soon as we got here, as soon as everyone kept coming up to me…talking to me…” He lets out a whoosh of air. “I’ve been in here for basically the whole time.”
I rest my hand on top of his and hold his fingers in mine, warmth spreading through me. “Do you want me to get Lucy?”
Ethan shakes his head. “No,” he says. “She’s…” But then he stops and looks up at me. “Can you stay with me for a while? Talk about literally anything besides Billy?”
A sharp pang stabs my stomach, like I’m being pierced all the way through.
“I need a distraction. Please.”
“Okay,” I say, tucking my feet under me so I can sit up on my shins. “Well…” I rack my brain for something—anything—to bring up. “Little Women is my favorite book,” I say.
Ethan nods, his hair flopping down over one eye. “I know that. We all know that.”
“They’re releasing a new edition this summer. Illustrated sprayed edges. A new foreword about Amy March and her surprising place in feminist history.”
“Okay,” Ethan says. His fingers flex, then span out on the tiled floor, starting to relax.
“The cover is printed right on the book, a beautiful embossed kind of thing. No jacket. It’s supposed to mimic the old editions.”
“Sounds nice,” Ethan says. He’s smiling now, the V between his eyebrows easing slightly.
Comforting him like this feels natural, and I wonder if it was fate that brought me to him here in the bathroom.
I could have waited in line for the powder room or wandered upstairs to find another restroom.
But I came here, to Ethan, and right now that feels important. I grip his hand tighter, emboldened.
“I keep meaning to preorder with Dre at the Bonanza. I love when they put out old books like this but make them new. It’s like seeing something you’ve seen your whole life but in a totally new light, you know?”
Ethan’s eyes are dark and focused as they flick up to mine. My mouth goes dry, even when I try to swallow.
“I know that feeling,” Ethan says.
“Yeah?” I ask, but as Ethan nods, the door pushes open, and he drops my hand, his head tilting up to the wall of light pouring in from the bedroom.
“There you are,” Lucy says, reaching in to pull Ethan to stand. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Mrs. Godwin wants to talk to you for a minute. Can you do that?”
Ethan stands slowly, resting his hands on the counter for support. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”
“Great,” Lucy says, leading him out.
As she pushes him ahead, she looks back at me over her shoulder, pressing one hand to her neck. Thank you. Then she disappears back into the party, leaving me alone in the bathroom, the tips of my fingers tingling with an exhilarating secret: Ethan Silver finally sees me.