Chapter 39
The following evening, Olivia sits curled in the corner armchair of my guest room, tracing the nails of one hand along the cream fabric, recording me on her phone with the other. So far, it’s shaping up to be the worst documentary in history.
The storm from last night has overstayed its welcome, and heavy clouds swallow what little daylight remains. Wind rattles the windowpane, and an unseasonably icy breeze seeps through the cracks.
I fold a shirt and place it in my bag. With each item inserted, perfectly stacked, I feel as though I’m reassembling my life into a tidy little package. I glimpse myself in the full-length mirror. The jagged crack has spread a third of the way down, slicing my reflection in two.
Olivia pauses her recording and rocks slightly. “Are you sure you want to leave?” She pouts her lips in exaggerated disappointment. “I was just getting used to having my bestie back.”
I half smile, but it barely lifts the corners of my mouth. “Yeah. I loved seeing you too, but with what happened to Vivek and Freida, I can’t stay here.”
“Who’s going to take care of the twins?”
“Please, you guys don’t need my help. The twins practically take care of themselves.”
“Aren’t you worried about what the police will think?”
“I’m sure they’ll find me if they need me. Besides, you guys should have family time without a fifth wheel.”
She stands and places a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not a fifth wheel. You’re part of the family.”
I wish that were true. My heart wants to believe it, but my head knows better. Thunder growls, as if to say, “Don’t even think about staying.”
I swallow hard. “Thanks for saying that, but it’s time.” A pause. “Besides, we’ll stay in touch. You can visit me in Chicago, or I can fly out to LA.”
We both know that won’t happen, but it’s a pleasant fiction.
She pulls me into a tight hug, squeezing until my ribs protest. “I’d really like that.”
I don’t trust myself to respond. Instead, I turn back to my packing, blinking back the tears as I zip up my bag.
A knock on the doorframe startles me. I twist around, and Eric stands there, leaning against the wood with a heavy smile. For a moment, my eyes flick between him and Olivia—my best friend and my…something.
“We should probably get going,” he says. His voice is steady, but there’s something tilted in his expression. His Patagonia jacket is zipped up against the cold, and his hands are shoved into his jeans pockets, but it’s his eyes that hold me. Like he wants to say more.
I hesitate.
“Lake’s getting real choppy,” he adds. “Another storm’s rolling in.”
I nod, gripping the strap of my bag like it might keep me together. “Give me a second. I’ll meet you at the dock.”
He gives me a sympathetic nod and exits.
Olivia bites her lip. “Well, I guess this is it. Sorry I can’t ride over to Wayzata with you, but my editor is on my ass to look at his changes.”
“No problem. Emma and Penelope will be plenty of company.”
We both laugh. Olivia and I hug one last time before I throw my bag over my shoulder and step out, wondering if this is the last time I’ll see her.
Outside, the wind rips across the water, sending black waves rolling in sharp, unpredictable patterns. Storm clouds march across the sky, casting everything in an unnatural darkness. Trees bow under the force of the wind, creaking like old bones.
In the distance, I see Wayzata, steady, like a beacon. I think of Carlos, and I wonder if he’s still thinking about me.
I pull out my phone and dial. He answers. Static fills the line.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say softly, hoping that’s enough.
“Hey Charl—” he says, his voice heavy.
“I wanted to let you know I’m heading back to Wayzata now. I’ve decided to leave Big Island and stay with my mom in town tonight. Then head back to Chicago in the morning.”
“Oh.” He pauses. Static. “Okay.”
I hesitate. “But I was wondering if you would have breakfast with me at Benny’s before I leave. We could start over?”
A long silence. I hear my heart beating.
“I’d like that.”
The signal sputters.
“Can you hear me?” I ask.
“Bar—ly.”
“I’ll see you at nine?”
“Okay. See y— th_n.” The call drops.
Still, I smile. Just the idea of sitting across from Carlos, sipping coffee without looking over my shoulder, steadies me. He’s a reminder that I used to have a life, a normal one. I could almost reach for it again.
But then I see Eric, and I’m flushed with what I’m leaving behind.
At the dock, he grips the console as the boat bucks against the black water. When I get closer, I hear him cursing under his breath.
“Everything okay? Should I get the girls and tell them we’re pushing off?”
“No,” he mutters. “Engine won’t start. Starter’s on the fritz again. I think it flooded during the storm.” He slams a palm against the console. “Damn it.”
The wind howls in my ears. Olivia was right. This island—something keeps you here. Holds you in place, like a spider’s web. Even Eric, and his golden retriever outlook, looks frayed at the edges.
“Can you fix it?” I ask.
He snorts. “I can press ‘start’ and push the throttle, but that’s about the extent of my boat knowledge.
” He yanks out his phone and dials. “Jimmy, hey, it’s Eric Parker.
What? Sorry, you’re cutting out. Boat won’t start.
” He nods as the person on the other end responds.
“How long?” A pause. His teeth clench. “Tomorrow? You’re sure?
Yeah, the storm. I get it. Okay. Thanks. ”
When he hangs up, he lets out a slow breath and clucks his tongue. “Mechanic’s backed up from the storm. He can’t get here until tomorrow.”
Of course, I think. I always liked Agatha Christie stories, but they’re not so fun when you’re inside one. I stiffen my upper lip. “No problem. It’s not your fault.”
He studies me for a second. Then his lips curl. “You know…Tony Mitchell might be able to fix this. His house is just around the bend. Hopefully, he hasn’t left for the season.”
I glance at the sky. “Are you seeing the same weather I am? And it’s going to be pitch-black soon.”
He laughs his melodic chuckle, puts his arm around me, and squeezes me tight. “Oh, stop it. Worst case, we get a little wet.”
“Or murdered in the woods.”
He grins. “C’mon. You think a psychopathic killer is waiting in a storm, hoping two people stroll by?”
“Probably not.”
“Exactly. So, what do you say?”
I relent. Because being near Eric makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t since I left.
There’s an effortlessness to him that reaches parts of me I’ve tried to bury.
Carlos is my life now. Eric is what I aspire for it to be.
I leave my bag on the porch. He grabs an umbrella, and we slip onto the path.
We wind along the shoreline, the storm-dark sky filtering eerie light through the trees.
Rain patters against the umbrella, and the wind moans off the lake.
I scan the woods for movement, but Eric was right.
Everybody, including the animals, has enough common sense to seek cover in this weather, except for us.
The cold is sharp, but we walk close enough that our shoulders brush.
He hesitates, like he wants to put an arm around me again.
But whatever happened the other night—whatever almost happened—holds him back.
As we near the old, rusted carousel, a metallic screech cuts through the wind like a bird of prey.
I think of the ghost of Big Island. Despite the twins’ prank, I still feel a presence here.
Like the girl who died all those years ago still hovers in the collective subconscious of everyone on this island, twisting their minds and behaviors.
It reminds me of an old movie my mom made me watch once where a group of wealthy guests attend a dinner party, but some unseen force keeps them from leaving the room afterward.
Over time, the guests unravel. Death, suicide, and chaos follow.
I wonder if that’s what is happening here.
I should be terrified. But walking beside Eric, our shoulders touching, I feel suspended in something ephemeral. Maybe this is what it’s like to exist between two lives: one with Carlos, rooted and possible, and one with Eric, beautiful and doomed.
“I’m sorry this trip has been such a disaster,” he says as we continue down the increasingly muddy shoreline.
“Don’t apologize. The house was wonderful. Your cooking was better. You were an amazing host.”
He flashes that boyish smile, and I wish I could bundle him up in my suitcase and take him with me.
“You mean except for the dead dog and murdered neighbors?”
I laugh. “Dark joke. Yeah, except for that.”
“What will you do when you get back to Chicago?”
I grab a multicolored leaf from the ground and twist it in my fingers. “I don’t know exactly. As awful as it sounds, now that Vivek is dead, I’m hoping I can return to work. I miss Kiara and Tia, my little sisters at Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I’ve sort of been adrift without them.”
I think of Tim Colby, of The Firm. How will they react? Will they take me back?
“How about you? How long do you think you’ll stay on the island?” I ask.
“I’d like to stay a few more weeks until the weather turns. Laelynn returns next week, and I’m looking forward to more family time. It’s so strange that she hasn’t call—”
A gust snaps the umbrella from his hands. It tumbles toward the lakeshore, flipping end over end. We sprint after it, dodging rain and debris. I get there first, lunging.
My foot slips.
I crash face-first into a puddle, mud splattering my arms, my chest, my face.
For a beat, silence. Then Eric snorts. He tries to hold it in, but when I start laughing, he doubles over, his bass chuckle ringing through the trees.
And just like that, we’re both standing in the rain, breathless and soaked, his hair dripping, my clothes ruined, laughing like children.
It’s as though all the pent-up fear, tension, and sadness burst out in a symphony of laughter.
He hoists me off the ground, tears running from his minty eyes. His sleeve brushes my cheek as he wipes away a smear of mud. We’re inches apart, and his eyes—God, his eyes—
Then his expression changes.
His smile drops, and at first I wonder if he’s worried I’m going to make another move on him. Don’t worry, Eric. I’ve learned my lesson.
But then I see his forehead bunch and his eyes squint as though he’s spotted something in the water. My smile fades as I watch his transformation.
The color drains from his face. His mouth falls open. His eyes widen in raw, silent horror.
“Eric?”
He doesn’t answer.
His gaze burrows into the water behind me.
I pivot—
And that’s when I see it.
A shape. An outline in the darkness.
Human.
A body, floating in the water just feet from the shore. Bobbing, lifeless, like forgotten refuse.
We both step forward as though propelled by an invisible force, in disbelief at what we’re seeing.
The body drifts toward us, and I freeze. My skin goes cold. A bitter taste spreads in my mouth.
The pink scrunchie.
Laelynn.
My stomach hollows. The ground lurches.
Her body, bloated and pale, tangled in the reeds on the lakeshore. The water laps at her arms, her yellowed fingers curled in a violent clench.
The carousel screams.