Thirty-Five Grace
As I walk closer to the beach, people step aside, their faces a mix of sadness, bewilderment, and unadulterated entertainment. The next thing I see is Geny’s SUV. My legs nearly give out on me. Why is her car here?
“Please, God, let her be okay,” I say as I stumble forward on shaky legs. Murphy is beside me in an instant, and his arm wraps around me, steadying me.
There’s caution tape stretched across the walkway leading to the beach and the water. People crowd around it, and I want to scream at them all to get out of the way.
“Grace,” someone says. I spin around to find the owner of the voice. An older woman I know but can’t place. “Oh, God. You were her friend,” she says.
Friend? I was whose friend? Surely not Geny. She wouldn’t have said that if it were something to do with Geny.
“What happened?” Murphy asks, and I’m so thankful because I can’t find my voice. Only my eyes work for me right now as they scan the growing crowd for my sister.
There’s a white sheet flapping in the wind by the police and bile bubbles in my stomach. A white sheet usually means a body.
“Oh, it’s awful,” says someone.
I don’t hear what she says next. I don’t need to. I don’t hear anything but roaring water. The same noise is burned into my memory from my own unforgettable night on this beach. The wind flips the sheet up and I see the awful thing. Though, I don’t quite understand what I’m looking at.
A head. That much I know. Long brown hair, soaked. Before I can make out a face, an officer wrangles the sheet back down.
“Fuck’s sake, Holt!” Frank Gibbs shouts at his deputy. “Weight it down with some rocks or something!”
A loud ringing in my ears replaces the sound of rushing water.
“Grace.”
My sister has dark hair. The same as mine.
“Grace.”
My sister’s car is here.
“Grace! Hey.”
Why would her car be here? Why would she be here?
“Gracie!”
I look up, being shaken by someone. Murphy.
“Look.” He points. “Geny is there. Right there.”
I follow his finger. His words don’t quite register. Geny is there. Where? Under the sheet? No. She’s standing. Alive. Fifty feet away from me.
I don’t think anything except Thank God as I fly through the crowd of people, ignoring the remarks and noises of annoyance when I shove through them.
Her eyes lock with mine just before I reach her, and I don’t care if she’s mad at me.
I don’t care what she said the other night.
I wrap my arms around her as soon as she’s in reach and I squeeze her.
I’m shaking and crying and holding my sister tight. “I thought it was you,” I sob. I thought it was my sister. My twin. My other half who I’ve spent half a lifetime missing and unable to talk to.
I never would have forgiven myself. If it were her, it would have meant it was my fault. She knows something too dangerous to know, and I would have gotten her killed.
But it’s not her. She’s okay and alive and in my arms. Breathing and okay.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m okay.”
“I love you,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything. I thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t lose me,” Geny says. She smooths my hair down my head. “I’m right here.”
I’m still shaking. I can’t seem to stop. The bitter-cold wind coming off the lake doesn’t help. I loosen my grip on Geny. When I see her face, her eyes are red. My brain is slowly starting to process again. I look around. People are crying, more upset than before.
“What happened?” I ask. “Why are you here?”
“Geny?” Frank shouts from the other side of the caution tape. Geny looks up. “We need you over here for a statement.”
“I’m coming,” she says.
I look at her confused.
“I found her,” Geny says. “It’s Brooke O’Neil.”