Page 73 of The Narrow

Maeve couldn’t show me who was there the night she was pushed into the Narrow.

But I’m starting to get a pretty good idea.

—

“You’re sure about this?” I ask as we walk across campus. I have my hand tucked in my jacket pocket while Veronica hooks her arm through mine, keeping me close. She’s been like that all week. Anytime I’m not with Del, Veronica is either glued to my side or texting me to check that I’ve definitely, absolutely dried off completely, yes, between my toes, even.

The visit to Ms.Maynard was frustrating—for both of us, I’m sure. I made up simple answers about stress and homesicknessand an accidental fall, and she talked to me about self-care and the “resources available to me.” Unless those resources include a guide to séances, I don’t think they’ll do me much good.

At least it seems to have gotten Oster off my back for now. I still don’t trust him, but he hasn’t called me back into the office or pulled me out of Abigail House.

“It’ll work better with all of us—four is an important number,” Veronica says. “Four cardinal directions and all that. And we can’t do it at Abigail House—that’s putting Del in too much danger, like you pointed out—so we’re going to have to use Westmore, which means we can’t exactly hide it.”

“They’re going to think we’re crazy.”

“It’s not like that will come as a complete surprise to them,” she says sensibly.

Zoya and Ruth are alone in Westmore. Veronica managed to peel Remi away from her side by saying she needed to focus on her friends. Being sickeningly emotionally mature, he commended her for being a good friend and agreed to give her a bit more distance.

“Hey, klutz,” Ruth says when we come in from the hallway. “How’s the war wound?”

“Better,” I say. And it’s true. With a proper splint and not having people accidentally bump it five times a day, it’s healing a lot faster than the first couple times around. The doctor offered me a prescription for something a little stronger than Tylenol, but I turned it down. I don’t want to keep thinking of Dylan every time I take something for the pain.

“Ruth means to say, sorry we thought you were drunk whenyou were actually concussed,” Zoya says, slapping the back of Ruth’s head. Ruth ducks and rubs at the spot with exaggerated offense.

“You could have told us,” Ruth says.

“She did tell us she wasn’t drunk,” Zoya says. “Several times. And since she’s never gotten drunk or had more than a sip before, maybe we should have believed her.” She folds her arms. She’s wearing an open-knit shawl thing in deep emerald green that hangs off her in that slouchy, chic way of hers. “And your arm was already hurt. You poor thing.” She sounds genuinely sympathetic, but there’s a sharp barb of a question behind the words.

Veronica and I exchange a look. “I’m going to tell you everything,” I say. “But it’s going to take a while. We’d better sit down.”

Ruth and Zoya look at each other. Ruth takes a chair. Zoya folds herself onto the ground. Veronica sits with me and holds my hand as I speak. I start with the summer. Then I have to go earlier—to why I came to Atwood in the first place. All of Luke’s struggles. His rages. The things that were his fault and the things that weren’t. Because I need them to see him, actuallyseehim, not just the worst things he’s done. It’s more than I’ve told even Veronica, but she doesn’t interrupt. She holds my hand, and I hold hers, and she keeps me afloat.

“I’m sorry,” I say when I’m done. I feel wrung out, numb. “I lied to you. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me, so I lied this whole time.”

“Eden. Sweetie,” Zoya says softly.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Ruth says. Her voice is rough and angry, and I flinch, but then I realize she’s not angry atme. She’s angry for me. “I am going to pop these guys’ heads off their necks and play volleyball with them.”

“Seriously. Stop apologizing,” Veronica says, glaring at me. “I don’t care what you lied about. Bad shit happened to you, and you are not the one who should have to apologize for it. I officially forgive you, and if you tell me you’re sorry again, I’m going to be super annoyed because it means you don’t believe me.”

Veronica rakes back her hair and lets out a noise like this is the end of the conversation, and something inside me crumbles with relief. This is it. This is the big confession I was so afraid of. This is the pity I’ve been so dreading—Zoya looking like she wants to hug me, Ruth and Veronica exchanging a look that clearly meansWe’ll plot the murders later. I already have ideas for where to hide the bodies.

I’ve told myself all the reasons I have to keep the secret so many times. I convinced myself I would be the one to bear the consequences if the truth came out. Because that was how it was all my life. Things got worse with Luke, and I wasn’t allowed out of my room at night anymore. Our vacation got canceled, I couldn’t have friends over, I couldn’t live at home anymore.

I don’t want my parents giving up on Luke. But I wish, just once, I could be their priority.

“Okay,” Veronica is saying. “Now we have to tell you the rest.”

“There’s more? Please tell me Remi isn’t a serial killer or something,” Ruth says.

“Not that I know of,” Veronica quips. “This is actually a bit more out there. But you’re going to listen, okay? And not interrupt until we’re done. And we promise every part of this is true.We are not joking or pulling your leg. It’s deadly serious, and we need your help. Eden needs your help.”

“Okay,” Ruth says slowly. Zoya nods.

I shake myself. Take a deep breath. And tell them about the ghost.

—

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