CHAPTER 8
NESS WENT TO FLICK THE GENERATOR OFF TO CONSERVE GAS, THEN joined Hayes to look for signs of their wayward chaperone. Not because she specifically wanted to spend more time with Hayes, of course. Buddy systems were important in times of emergency. Everyone knew that.
They took the opportunity to scope out the freshwater tank at the rear of what could loosely be called a yard that sat below and to the side of the balcony, behind a screen of tall flowering shrubs. Said scoping involved walking around it in a big circle looking for holes or other damage that might have compromised the contents while the scrubby grass tickled the backs of their knees. Then Hayes scrabbled up the side like a chimpanzee and muscled the cap off. He took a moment, looking as though he was preparing for something, and peered inside. He sniffed cautiously.
“It smells okay!” he called down. “And I don’t see any dead bodies.”
Okay. “But do you see water?”
“Hard to say. It does look . . . moist.”
Ness chucked a small rock up to him and he dropped it into the hole, ear pressed against the opening.
“Yup, sounds wet.”
“Okay, so we’ve confirmed there’s liquid and probably no corpses.” Ness’s head tilted. “Why were we concerned about corpses again?”
“Didn’t you listen to that podcast about the girl in the hotel who disappeared and then they found her in the rooftop water tank?”
“Um, yeah, I did, actually.”
“Well, since we’re looking for a missing person it seemed worth checking. You never know.”
Ness’s face pinched at the thought.
Hayes slid down the side of the tank, landing easily on two feet, as opposed to the face-plant Ness would have expected of herself.
“It’s a bit alarming that you’re open to the idea of someone on this island stuffing a body into the water tank.”
He grimaced. “Too many true crime podcasts lately, I guess. I like to listen to them when I travel, which is . . . constantly. I know it’s not ideal to avoid my own trauma by listening to other people’s, but it’s also so interesting, you know?” He paused. “Also, wouldn’t it have sucked if Tyler was in there and we kept walking past and maybe even drinking the water?”
“Yes, obviously. But do you really think someone here is feeling murder-y? Because you suddenly seem awfully calm about all of this.” Ness looked around, peering into the surrounding trees.
“I mean, no?” He cleared his throat and tried again, with confidence this time, squaring his shoulders. “No, of course none of us are, uh, murder-y.” He ripped some leaves from a drooping branch and started shredding them, watching the pieces float to the ground. “And I’m not. Calm, I mean.”
“You’re hiding it pretty well.”
“You mean compared to this morning, when you were also the picture of tranquility?”
Ness pursed her lips, considering her words. “It did seem like, perhaps, we were having a bit of an anxiety spike.”
“The spike has receded to more of a constant, low-grade mound. I think my brain might be so overwhelmed by all the potential catastrophes that it’s given up thinking them through. For now, at least.”
From the balcony far above them, backlit by the sun, Daisy yelled something, waving her arms to get their attention.
“What?” Ness hollered, shielding her eyes with a hand.
Daisy repeated herself, but the breeze carried her words away. Ness put her arms out in the universal pose of “I have no idea,” which led Daisy to give her an aggressive double thumbs-up and beckon them back.
“I guess he’s surfaced? Should we go check in?” She started back toward the house. “We could start up the generator again for a minute. See what comes out of the taps.”
He slid his glasses off and wiped a hand over his face before nestling them back into position, trailing behind her. “You know,” he said conversationally, “the last time I went on a date, she asked me how much plastic surgery I’ve had and whether I thought my kids would have this nose or the original. I haven’t even had work done. It got broken on set a couple of years ago and I never got around to having it smoothed out again.” He tapped the appendage in question fondly. “Besides, I think it adds character. Like a scar. And it helps keep my glasses on.”
Ness’s mind tumbled over a messy hill of feelings. The idea of him on a date with anyone was . . . uncomfortable. She’d noticed his nose at the table read and, dammit, it did add character. Everything about how he’d changed over the years made him better. His body didn’t have the sheen of unblemished perfection it had in their twenties, but, if the fluttering in her nether regions was anything to go by, he’d only improved with age.
“It helps keep your glasses on? Are you seventy?” Ness climbed the steps to the front door and then veered off around the porch, heading for the back of the house and the path to the generator. The sun had finally peeked through the clouds and cast dappled green light onto them. Bugs buzzed and whirred in the undergrowth. The air was hot enough that even a small amount of exertion had her huffing and puffing as if she hadn’t spent the last six months devoting herself to cardio, Pilates, and the consumption of lean protein on a bed of wilted leafy greens.
She sucked in a deep breath, nearly inhaling a small winged insect in the process. “Well, my last date took me out for dinner, canceled my wine order because at my age I need to be careful with phosphates and their interactions with free radicals, then asked if I’d frozen any eggs while I was still highly fertile.”
“So . . . you’re not seeing anyone?” Hayes asked, sounding surprised. “I thought . . .” He trailed off.
Ness choked on the breath she was inhaling as her brain raced to catch up to this new line of conversation. She coughed, recovering some semblance of a cool facade. Laughing dryly as she ducked under a low branch, holding it aside so it wouldn’t hit Hayes in the face.
“The only people I see regularly are my tenants, my therapist, and the three friends who gather for our ultra-cool biweekly Catan night.” She knelt to unclasp the door to the generator. “My life is the epitome of low-key these days.Although, Catan can get pret-ty heated at times.”
“Huh.”
“You’re surprised? You try trading for bricks during an apocalyptic shortage.”
“No. That I can, maybe, understand. Not that I know what you’re talking about, but it sounds like a fascinating nerd subculture.”
“The fascinating-est, actually. You’d fit right in.”
“I’m awaiting my invitation to the next game night.”
Ness’s head swiveled, owl-like, to stare at him before she wrenched her eyes back to her task. It had been a throwaway comment, right? He didn’t actually want to hang out with her in a non-work, non-castaway situation.
“What I meant, though, is . . . well, it’s just . . .” Ness’s eyes nearly rolled back into her head waiting for him to spit it out. Then, in a rush, he said, “Someone sent me a picture of you with someone a couple months ago and I thought you were together.”
Ness had so many questions. Who sent the picture? Did her name come up in conversation on a regular basis with his friends? Who were his friends these days, anyway? Why would anyone even think he was interested in information about her dating life? Was she about to spontaneously combust? She wracked her brain trying to think of a photo of her with anyone noteworthy. She came up empty.
“Who was it?”
Hayes shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t remember,” he mumbled.
Ness rocked back on her heels and stared up at him from where she was crouched, her hand frozen just above the power switch. “You do so. Is it embarrassing? For me, I mean? Is it, like, someone’s creepy uncle? One of my tenants?” She grimaced at the thought. “I have one who smells like Axe body spray and Parmesan, but he also looks like he smells like Axe body spray and Parmesan. I really hope you didn’t think I’d found true love with him. I was probably there to rake his lawn or something.” She caught his alarmed look. “That’s not a euphemism, by the way. Now, are you going to tell me or do I have to keep guessing?”
He studied the rotting shingles on top of the generator hut.
“Drake.”
Ness nearly fell butt first into a prickly-looking bush. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I don’t know, okay? You looked . . . close.” He stared at something off in the distance, rubbing the back of his neck.
“In that we were beside each other?”
“In that you both looked comfortable and happy and . . . good. And there were rumors! Didn’t you see all the gossip online?”
She hadn’t, but she was extremely interested in the fact that he had.
“You know what, forget it. I don’t know why I even brought it up.”
Ness tried very, very hard to not read too much into his interest. Maybe he was a big Drake fan.
Hayes was looking so uncomfortable, a rosy blush spreading across his cheeks, that she took pity.
“One of those fascinating game nerds I mentioned? When she’s not crushing my attempts at game-world domination, she’s a makeup artist. She dragged me out to a party that just happened to be at Drake’s house—I use the term loosely, that place is an estate. But I digress. He’s a fan of Ocean Views and asked for a picture. We chatted about being TV kids for two minutes and then he was absorbed by a horde of models.”
It had been the most innocent interaction she could ever imagine having with one of the world’s biggest names in music. She’d walked away feeling like he’d been doing her a kindness, making the odd one out at a party of very cool people feel relevant, if only briefly.
Picturing herself as any more than that was laughable. In fact, she couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into uncontrollable giggles.
Hayes harrumphed and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not that funny.”
“It is. It is exceptionally funny.” She flicked the generator on, wincing a little as it roared to life. Still cackling, she wiped a tear from her eye. “Drake!” she said again, shaking her head.
She straightened and reached up to clap Hayes on the back.
“Man, I’ve missed you.”
* * *
They got back to the house to find Tyler lying on the squeaky red leather daybed, sipping a can of room-temperature diet Sprite.
“Glad to see you’re not dead,” Hayes said in a tone Ness couldn’t quite gauge. Tyler’s eyes widened behind the soda can.
“Same?” he said hesitantly, eyebrow cocked. He lifted a droopy magazine. “I don’t suppose one of you would read to me for a while? I can’t see a thing without my glasses.”
Hayes ignored him, sliding out onto the balcony, plopping himself cross-legged onto the leaf-strewn concrete in the shade. Ness watched him watching the birds passing overhead, wondering what was happening beneath that silver-streaked hair she couldn’t stop admiring. Then she remembered she had work to do. Important, not-making-eyes-at-Hayes work.
“I’ll read if you can find something other than Sports Illustrated, Playboy, or Maxim.”
Tyler pouted. “The articles are educational! I can’t even see the pictures!”
She was a hero, briefly, after running the taps and confirming they had a semi-reliable source of fresh water (though she’d argue the term “fresh” was a misnomer here). She filled three relatively clean jugs they’d found in the secondary kitchen.
It went downhill when she said they probably shouldn’t drink it unless absolutely necessary, and then not without boiling it. Things didn’t improve when she reminded everybody they had no idea how much water was actually in the tank, so they couldn’t run around taking baths willy-nilly. In fact, they should probably stick to sub-minute showers if they really, truly had to shower at all.
Ness hated that part. She’d have traded her tarnished soul for twenty minutes of steam and soap. Maybe with a cold beer at arm’s reach.
“And the generator situation is just as dicey,” she plowed on, as Tyler opened his mouth to contribute heaven knows what nugget of corporate wisdom or useless network guideline. She was determined to be the responsible one. “We have five jugs of gas. We’ll have to conserve. I think we should turn it on only at dark, and for a short time.”
The reception to this news was lukewarm at best. Actually, who was she kidding? Aside from murmured words of support from Daisy and Hayes it was a near mutiny.
Libby, who had been lounging theatrically on a mattress, a silk scarf dampened and laid across her eyes, snapped to attention. It gave Ness some small internal satisfaction to learn that even the most graceful of them couldn’t roll off a floor-level, saggy box of springs and maintain an aura of svelte athleticism.
“Who put you in charge?” she demanded, clutching the soggy silk in one hand. It dripped lazily onto the floor, making a tiny puddle in the dirt.
Ness’s heart jittered at the idea of yet another tiff. She wasn’t built for conflict.
“No one, Libby. I’m not declaring this the Isle of Ness, just making some suggestions about how we can go about surviving.”
“Sounded like orders to me.” Now on her feet, Libby assumed Power Pose Number Three—they’d documented them one night, tipsy on cosmos, and it had stuck with Ness ever since. Number Three was single hand on hip, said hip cocked sassily, head thrown back as if expecting the wind machine to kick in any second. It was a classic.
“My apologies. Heaven forbid someone try to apply some logic to the situation.”
“There’s logic and then there’s forcing yourself into the center of everything.”
Ness considered throwing Power Pose Number One, a.k.a. the Wonder Woman, but dismissed it, opting for retreat.
“Fine. Use the generator. Drink unboiled water. Live your best island life, Libs.”
She snagged a bottle of water and went out to turn the generator off, expecting to be locked out of the house when she got back, but no such luck.
* * *
In an attempt to find refuge, Ness offered to take first watch, a job she made up on the spot as an alluring alternative to moping around the periphery as the others shot dagger-y glares at her.
“We should have a lookout in case a helicopter or something comes by. Two-hour shifts? Great.” She nodded emphatically without waiting for anyone to voice an opinion. “I’ll go first.”
She tiptoed cautiously up the crumbling stairs to the top floor and through a room that looked like it had once been an office, out onto a small balcony she’d spotted from below. She hadn’t stopped to grab the squeezed-out and battered tube of SPF15 that Daisy had left on the kitchen counter, and she regretted that in short order. How much peeling skin could makeup disguise? Was there even any point in worrying about filming at this point? Would a partial protein bar, some water, and the teensy half bag of stale almonds she’d dug out from the bottom of her bag and consumed in guilt-ridden secrecy be enough to stave off delirium?
It was hard to remember a time when she wasn’t steeping like a worry-teabag in a mug of concern and simmering anxiety. There was always something she wasn’t getting done, or something she had done but really, 100 percent, should not have. And, she thought, reliving the day, someone she was disappointing. Or in this case, seven someones.
Sometimes it felt like she was walking around with every embarrassing moment, awkward interaction, and poor decision on her back, and it was slowly (sometimes not so slowly) driving her into the ground. She used to wonder if she’d be this way if she hadn’t spent so much time being judged. Her body. Her voice. The way she walked. How her nose crinkled when she laughed. At one point or another, it had all been declared wrong. She was always falling short. Wasn’t good enough. Easily replaced by any one of the hundreds of girls lined up behind her. Women who were probably keeping their lives together infinitely better than Ness had been able to.
She didn’t wonder anymore. She knew that those experiences, starting when she was twelve and feeling oh so grown up, had exacerbated a part of her that had always existed. Really, she thought everyone had this little monster lurking in their heads, but some people found a way to, if not banish it completely, at least coexist.
Ness had fed her gluttonous monster until, like a goldfish in a large pond, it had grown to fill every corner of her mind. It had taken years to whittle out a space for herself and feel comfortable in her own skin. A few days back in this world and she could feel the uneasy rustling of the monster waking up, hungry and smelling a feast of self-doubt and fear.
She groaned in frustration and scrubbed her face with her hands before grasping the rusty metal rail in front of her.
Her head dropped between her extended arms in submission. With so much to worry about, why not go with the flow? She could focus her energy on learning to fish or weaving a bedsheet from palm fronds and let someone else make the decisions.
The afternoon sun had carved a path through the blanket of clouds, casting glimmering rays of golden light that danced over the island’s greenery and sparkled on the surface of the shockingly blue water.
The haze had cleared out earlier, and if she squinted Ness could see the outline of another island in the distance. Much too far to swim to, but maybe they could make a raft . . . She imagined the eight of them paddling in the ocean, dropping (or, more likely, being shoved) into the water one by one until only the strongest made it to safety.
So far, no planes had buzzed overhead. No boats had passed within hailing distance.
She leaned on the cement railing, the breeze a whisper in her ear as she sweated through her once-heather-gray T-shirt. She was scared to inhale too deeply in case she smelled herself.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she tried to stop the hysterical laugh-turned-sob that threatened to burst out. Imagine, she thought. Imagine I worked up the courage to take this chance, to right some wrongs, to understand whether I made a mistake when I walked away, and instead I wound up shipwrecked with some of the most useless, aggravating people on earth, and this is how it all ends.
I could die here.
The last time Ness remembered feeling this lost was after her divorce, twelve years earlier.
With L.A. a dark cloud in her proverbial rearview mirror, she’d landed in Toronto with just enough cash to rent a mediocre apartment. Knowing she wanted a job behind the scenes, far, far away from the public eye, she’d gotten a gig in the back office of a real estate company. A referral from a friend of a friend with a soft spot for a down-on-her-luck barely-adult with no real life skills.
In an even bigger twist, three years later she’d gotten married. Colin Montgomery was an investment banker she’d met when he came into the office to pick up the keys to his new Thornhill home. Seventeen years her senior, he was gentle, caring, dependable . . . all things she’d never had. Her therapist still loved talking about how she’d dived into marriage as a safe haven, protection from everything she’d run away from. She’d slipped into a life completely different from anything she’d ever imagined and reveled in the comfort of being taken care of.
But shortly after her thirtieth birthday Colin had sat her down with a steaming cup of milky tea, sweetened to perfection, and asked her, kindly, with tears welling in his eyes, for a divorce.
He was in love with someone else, he explained, cradling her cold hands in both of his. He hadn’t been looking for it, he promised. But Abby, a lawyer he’d met at the optometrist’s office, fulfilled him in a way he hadn’t realized his relationship with Ness was lacking.
He said it gently, Ness remembered, with genuine regret, but the gist was that he was tired of parenting his wife. Ness needed to grow up, and the best way for her to do that was to go live her own life. He’d make sure she had enough capital to get started.
He left that day, taking a box of his favorite books and a small suitcase to Abby’s house to give Ness space to pack. She had been ready to cling to the bitterness, to bathe in it until she was fully saturated, but Colin had been right, as usual.
It hadn’t made it hurt any less. And now she was here, chasing down the past she’d been so desperate to escape.
Someone poked her, none too gently, in the ribs, bringing her back to the present.
“You look like I did after hooking up with Leo at that Vanity Fair party. Remember that?” Coco exhaled in a whoosh. “Those were the days.”
She gave the railing an experimental nudge before leaning on it, her elbow touching Ness’s.
“What’s happening out here? Are you flagging down a rescue or having a pity party?”
Ness sniffled. “Both. I’m great at multitasking. And there’s no one to flag, which might have triggered some minor amount of the self-pity.”
“And you’re stuck here with us.”
“There’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with.” Ness managed to get it out with a straight face. Coco hung her head down, chin to chest, as she guffawed.
“Have you played that game where you can pick three things to take to a desert island?” she asked, still laughing. “Let me tell you, a gaggle of self-absorbed actors lacking most useful life skills has never crossed my mind. Bottomless gin and tonics? Yes. A shelter furnished with a luxury mattress and down pillows? Of course. My dogs? No, they’d hate it.”
“You have dogs?” Ness couldn’t reconcile the Coco she’d known with someone who could be responsible enough to keep a hearty succulent alive, let alone dogs, plural.
“Mmhmm. Olive and Pickles. They’re Frugs—French bulldog pugs.” Her mouth quirked down for a second. “I miss those little idiots.” She swiped the back of her hand quickly across her eyes and blinked a few times.
“Being an adult is fucked up. I’m forty-four years old. Nearly half of a goddamn century. You’d think I’d have the ability to decline boarding an oceangoing vessel in the face of a storm.” Coco’s dark eyes locked on Ness’s. Her hair was gorgeously tousled by the wind and she looked like she was filming a perfume ad.
“I don’t want to be here, Ness. I have shit to do.”
“Ditto. On the not wanting to be here, I mean. I have shit to do as well, I guess, but none of it is particularly exciting or important.” She angled her neck to the side, trying to stretch away a growing tension headache. “I wanted to get back to acting, doing what I actually love. It seems so stupid now to have run away from it.”
Ness wondered what would happen to her properties, her tenants, her own hearty succulents if she never got back. It was easy to imagine a world where things just carried on, no one noticing she’d disappeared until a washing machine leaked or the snow removal company didn’t show up on time.
Well, that was depressing.
Coco sighed. “You know, some of us would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”
Ness laughed—a deep, true belly laugh.
“No, really. Okay, not all of us—Hayes would be an idiot to give up what he’s got going. But the idea of a stable income, a low-key, relatively anonymous life? It sounds kind of nice.”
Ness gripped the railing and shook her head, smiling ruefully. “Didn’t we get into this business because we wanted the fame?”
“Maybe once upon a time.” Coco sounded wistful. She gazed out over the island, eyes catching on a flock of birds taking off from the beach. Pushing back from the railing she grinned at Ness. “Nah, who am I kidding? Being famous is the fucking best. Now let’s find a drink.”
CNN
In the aftermath of Tropical Storm Georgette, the western edge of which grazed the Bahamas yesterday before dissipating overnight, eight people are reported missing. Seven actors and one crew member from Ocean Views: Turning Tides were aboard a boat headed for Eclipse Island. This vessel did not arrive at its destination and authorities have been, so far, unable to locate it.
Turning Tidesfollows the now mature cast of the early 2000s hit Ocean Views as they navigate midlife and the death of one of their own. While the identities of the missing individuals have not been confirmed, sources say Hayes Beaumont, star of the Stars Blazing action trilogy as well as last year’s runaway rom-com hit Gorgeous, is attached to this new series.
Search and rescue efforts are underway, but it seems the boat may have gone significantly off course at some point during its journey.
“I was against it from the start,” Captain Dirk Henderson said today from Great Exuma. It was Captain Henderson’s boat that carried the missing individuals. “I’m worried about those people, don’t get me wrong, but what about my boat?”
When asked why he wasn’t aboard the vessel at the time of the storm, Captain Henderson stated he was unable to proceed with the journey, but a Turning Tides staffer with proper training and experience had taken his place, after leaving a sizable deposit.