Page 50 of Dead of Summer
David Clarke stands next to him, clutching a champagne glass. His shoulders are slightly hunched, a grim smile frozen on his lips. Geoffrey begins to speak. Henry wishes he could hear what he is saying. Whatever it is, the crowd seems enthralled. They lower their drinks from their lips and lean forward, hanging on every word.
Henry pans right, and his telescope lands on a face buried in the crowd. He focuses in on it, taking in the shape of it, the dress, astonished. The glass falls from his hand and shatters, the dark red liquid spilling through the cracks in the deck and dripping into the rocks below.
ORLA
Now Orla is happy to see that David looks miserable up on the gazebo next to his father. She sips her drink, entertained as she watches him shuffle. She had debated all week about coming to the party at all, laying out the pros and cons. She’d planned to leave the island first thing. But this moment makes it worthwhile it for her, watching him being paraded onstage like Geoffrey’s little puppet.
A cold breeze ripples across the lawn, unsettling the air. Orla stands awkwardly at the edge of the party. At the bar she orders another gin and tonic. It’s her third and she is starting to feel the effects of them, making her limbs feel loose and heavy. Her mind feels clearer than it has all week. She’s been sick with anxiety, jumping in fear at every rabbit crossing the lawn, every gust of wind and shifting branch. She hasn’t been able to go back upstairs and look at the closet. She’d accomplished this by avoiding the upstairs altogether.
Orla looks behind her at the crowd of rapt faces. She recognizes more than a few of them from her childhood. A couple of them have made uneasy eye contact with her. Her outsider status is enough to keep them to themselves. Even if they hate the Clarkes, which she assumes most of them do, there is enough theater in this whole thing, enough wealth on display, to keep anyone from missing out on it.
The Fourth of July had arrived that summer despite her and Alice’s falling-out. Orla had ordered a new dress in shimmery green silk that caught the curves of her body under the right light. She’d hoped it would be intoxicating to David. He’d mentioned once that he liked her green shirt, and she’d read online somewhere that green is the color of commitment. She did her hair long and straight, working for hours taming it with a blow-dryer and round brush to make it smooth. Then she went downstairs to wait for David at the living room window. The house was quiet. Her parents were at dinner. She looked out at the road.
There was a flash of something silver on the street. Orla held her breath and looked out as Alice walked by, watching her through the slit of the curtain. She was wearing a dress covered in silver sequins. It was such a beautiful dress it made Orla instantly feel badly about herself. Alice had the kind of determined expression on her face reserved for when she was enacting a plan. Orla raised her hand to rap at the glass and stopped herself. If she was going to the Clarkes’ she’d end up having to invite Alice to come with her, and she couldn’t have that. She’d been waiting far too long for a moment alone with David. She watched Alice’s lithe body swish down Harbor Street instead.
It took another hour for Orla to finally hear a honk coming from the far side of the house. It was followed by the sound of a boat engine. Orla ran out to the back porch. David had arrived by water in a small skiff. He stood in the bow, bracing against the steering wheel as the boat idled, his fitted jacket catching in the wind.
“You coming?” he shouted over the waves. Orla smiled, letting all her worry about Alice disappear for the moment.
“Yes, be right there.” She rushed back inside to grab her clutch and ran out to the dock as he pulled the boat in, swirling up a froth around it. He cut the engine and reached his hand out to her, looking like some sort of absurd billionaire Disney prince.
Orla sat just behind him on a little bench while he steered the boat out into the deeper water.
“I was thinking of taking us somewhere else first,” he’d said mischievously, glancing down at her thigh, which looked tan in the fading light. An electric charge shot through her. This was the night.
“Where to?” She smiled back at him, trying to look confident, though the idea of being alone-alone with him filled her with nerves.
David steered them out into the open water, where the Clarkes’ giant yacht sat moored in the harbor.
“What do you think? Wanna check it out?” He nodded at the yacht.
“Won’t someone see us?” Orla asked.
“Nah. Everyone will be at the party,” David said.
“Sure,” she said, the rush of being alone with David coursing through her.
He cut the engine again and they glided silently through the black water to the back of the yacht.Opheliawas spelled in gold along the back. He took Orla’s hand and she stepped up onto the deck.
“This way,” David said, leading her up a set of stairs to the next level. She heard music now, muffled laughter.
“I thought you said no one was here.” Orla laughed nervously.
“There shouldn’t be. It is probably just some of the crew.” But he went quietly and they crept around the deck, silently taking the stairs up to the third floor.
“There’s a bar in here.” Orla followed David down a narrow walkway along the side of the yacht. He was about to open a door when a loud guffaw came from the other side of it. He turned to her and pressed a finger to his lips. He dropped to his knees below a window, pulling her down with him.
Together they slowly raised their eyes to the window. Orla gasped when she saw Alice in her sparkling gown surrounded by a group of older men. Alice narrowed her eyes at one of the men, crossing her bare legs. He moved to the bar and poured a drink. She watched him pick up a clear bottle and pour a lot of liquor into it. It all made Orla feel childish and inconsequential.
“What are they doing?” Orla hissed at David, but he was no longerstanding next to her. He was backing away, his face stricken. Orla turned back to the window as the man’s shadow fell over Alice. He handed her the drink and she reached for the glass with two hands, tilting it to her lips. As she slurped it down her eyes dulled almost instantly. Orla watched in fascination as her friend’s head lolled forward. Off to the side Geoffrey Clarke smoked a cigar, watching it all.
“Come on,” David whispered, his breath hot and insistent on Orla’s neck. He pulled at her arm.
“But why?” Orla had started to protest, frustration bubbling up inside her. “If Alice is here, why can’t we be too?” David’s hand clamped over her mouth, startling her. He pulled her down with him to just below the window. They were closer than they’d ever been. His arms out on either side of her pinning her to the deck.
“Orla. Now,” David hissed. His fingers found hers, interlacing, and she allowed herself to be pulled up away from the window. They ducked down and ran back across the deck. “This way.” She followed him in a low crouch to a set of stairs on the far side of the deck. Downstairs he took Orla into a long dining area with tables and wide benches. Out the wide glass window she watched the lights from the party. The yacht swayed silently under her. She longed to be back on the island suddenly, in the crowd with the music playing or maybe at home in her living room listening to the sounds of her father cooking. She wandered into the kitchen, where David was rummaging through cupboards looking for something.
“What’s going on with Alice?” she asked him.
