Page 33 of The Narrow

“There are very few variables in my life. I like to know I have them under control. This works out for everyone.” Her expression is blank, and there’s something heartbreaking about that. Is this all she can hope for?

I know in this moment that if I agree to her deal, I will never have anything more. Only threats and secrets and a contract between us—not a friendship. Not trust.

I can’t stand the thought. So much is uncertain, but I know I want to be something more to Delphine—and if I’m going to be, I need to do something now to change things.

“You could just ask,” I say softly. I find myself taking a half step forward. There is not much space between us already in the tiny bathroom. She draws in a small startled breath.

“And you’d agree?” she asks. She is trying to sound strong, uncaring, but her voice quavers.

“I would. You keep my secrets and I keep yours,” I say. “You don’t need to threaten me.”

She looks at me with a perfectly still face, unsmiling mouth, wide eyes. She looks like a painting. Or perhaps she is more like a sketch I am making, roughing it in and then adding the details one by one as I start to understand her. The delicate arch of her brows, the sharp point of her chin. Those eyes so large in her face that a careless gaze would think them childlike, but they hold a weariness and a wariness beyond her years.

I’ve spent six years wondering about Delphine Fournier, the impossibility of her, and now I am inches from her, and she still feels unreal. As if I could reach out and touch her and she would disappear like a reflection on the surface of the water.

I promised not to lie to her. I didn’t promise to tell her anything. Yet what I know is like pressure building under my skin.

She deserves to know, doesn’t she? And if I keep it from her, I can tell myself that I’m not lying to her all I want—it won’t be true.

“I’ll keep your secrets,” I say again. “I always have.” Because itisher secret, not mine.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, head tilted curiously.

She needs to know. I need to know.

“I think I know why you’re sick,” I say. I hesitate.

She waits, eyes fixed on me, brow slightly furrowed.

“The night you first came to Atwood, Veronica and I went down to the Narrow. We jumped it. We didn’t realize that you’d followed us. You tried to jump, too. But you fell in.”

“That’s impossible. No one survives the Narrow,” Delphine says, confusion deepening.

“I know. You went under. We thought you were dead. But when we got back to get help, you were standing in the hall. You were soaked to the bone, but you were fine,” I say, dragging each word out in a dull, steady rhythm.

“That’s when all of this started,” she says, still staring at me, but now her eyes are wide.

“You don’t believe me,” I say. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No,” she says, and meets my eyes at last. “I don’t think you’re crazy. And you’re not lying. Which leaves only the possibility that you’re telling the truth.”

“That’s not all,” I whisper.

“Tell me,” she says.

And so I do.

13

I TELL HERabout the footprints. The water pooling in the hall. The ghost. I tell her about Aubrey’s diary and the water stains around the bed and the few undamaged words that remained.The Drowning Girl. Don’t let it in. Grace.

“Grace,” Delphine says, her body giving a jolt.

“Does that mean something to you?” I ask.

She frowns. “I feel like it should. Who is she?”

“I’m not even sure it’s a name,” I say. I pause. “Mr.Campos said there was a girl who went missing in the eighties. She might have drowned in the Narrow.”

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