Page 18 of Dead of Summer
“Don’t you tell me about the way things work.” Geoffrey’s voice is a warning rumble of thunder. “You owe me. I have always done only what’s best for you.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I appreciate all you’ve gone through to make thingsgood for me—” David’s voice is quieter now. Faith strains to listen. “You know this isn’t something Iwantto revisit.”
“Good. It’s over then. There is nothing else to discuss.”
Faith glances once again down the empty hallway. She should not be listening to this. But she doesn’t move.
“And what about the other thing?” David’s voice wavers so uncertainly Faith almost doesn’t recognize it.
“Whatabouther?” Geoffrey growls, dismissively.
“I wanted to know what you think. That’s why I brought her.”
Faith’s stomach drops. They are talking about her.
She hears Geoffrey grunt in response. “I said my piece already about that situation. It’s not right. Keep looking.”
Faith’s neck prickles as she waits for David’s reply. But no more is said. Finally, there is a wooden thump, the rattle of a drawer as it slams shut. The heavy scrape of a chair on the floor sends Faith jumping back and rushing up to their room.
Faith says nothing when David returns several minutes later. How could she when she isn’t supposed to know anything?
“How was the rest of your day? You said you went into town?” he asks. Is she imagining the flash of guilt on his face? “Sorry I didn’t text you right back. I was immersed in business chatter. So incredibly boring and tedious. I wish I could have been with you.”
“Didn’t do much, just walked around a little and came back,” she says, omitting her time at the Crab and the overheard conversation. Why tell David anything when he has secrets of his own? But he doesn’t seem to notice her withholding anything. He is distracted by something on his phone. The togetherness she has felt leading up to this trip has dissolved. Faith feels like she might start to cry.
She is waiting for him to say something else, but when she turns her head back toward him and opens her eyes she can see the glow of his phone like a halo over his head.
She closes her eyes and tries to picture Alice Gallo.
HENRY
The fog blows in suddenly, a woolen blindfold that turns the windows of the house a blank gray. Even the sound of the waves is muffled as Henry steps out onto the deck. It is times like this, when there is no one to see, nothing to make a record of, that Henry feels like he is living on the edge of the world.
He is finally giving in to Margie’s prodding. It’s a good time to go take care of things. The fog will give him enough cover if he moves quickly.
With a growing sense of dread, he picks up a bucket and descends the stairs to the dock. He tries to avoid the sag in the steps, stepping lightly on the edges. He mentally adds them to the list of things he’ll need to fix soon.
But he doesn’t want to face all that now. One thing at a time. When he reaches the bottom of the steps he turns away from the dock and doubles back, ducking underneath the stairs instead. He carefully steps off the wood and up onto the rock below the house. It is dark down here. The entire thing has been shifting. The stilts are weatherworn and covered in wet moss, the bright green of it garish in the opaque light. Henry will need to replace some of them soon, before the entire house topples into the sea. His feet scrape along the jagged face of the rock, sending small stones flying.
He takes the familiar path under the house, ducking through the pylons, his feet slipping into the crags until he reaches the far side of the island, the one facing away from Hadley. Here the rock cleaves apart, giving way to a shallow divot filled with small stones. He slides down the angular face of the shale until his feet hit the pebbles below. It’s lower here than anywhere else. Close to sea level. This is the only place on the Rock where the ground is soft enough to dig.
He looks for the marker, his heart thrumming as he scans the rocks, nervous at first that it has washed away. He finally finds it closer to shore than he remembers. It is simple, almost tragically so, a single heavy gray stone that stands out only because of its relative size and uniquely smooth surface streaked with a spiderweb of white lines.
Henry swallows. Margie was right, he’s put it off for too long. The area has been hit by a recent storm surge, which, combined with a full moon, brought the tide farther in than he’d ever seen it. The small stones around the marker have washed away, forming a deep divot on either side, exposing more than he’d expected. The dampness has made its way through his thin shirt. He shivers. Now he’ll have to make up for lost time.
Henry works diligently, moving back and forth to the water’s edge to collect bucketfuls of sand and rocks. His muscles strain with the effort, dumping them into the opening and smoothing them into the cracks, making sure nothing is exposed. He hears a motor through the fog. A set of waves comes in soon after, a wake from some nearby boat. It sends water up to his ankles. Breathing heavily, Henry watches, helpless as some of the new sand washes away. The house creaks above him. The island itself has been slowly deteriorating, the rock breaking and shifting, pieces of it sliding into the sea as though it is trying to give away his secrets.
A foghorn blares offshore. The sound startles Henry and he slips. His leg slides into a crack in the rock. His yelp of pain is absorbed by the clouds. The rock opening is new, a sharp cut where it was once smooth. His shoe is wedged inside the opening. There is a dribble of brightblood on his leg when he finally pulls it free. He looks down, watching with a sick feeling in his stomach as it trickles down the side of his shoe and onto the wet rocks.
The sky is already beginning to clear as Henry staggers back toward the dock. He feels the sun on his back as though it has caught him doing something untoward. He rushes toward the safety of the house and the comfort of his telescope. He tries not to linger on what he’s just done. But as he climbs the stairs up from the dock, he hears Margie’s voice in his head, anyway:We have no choice, Henry. It’s the only place that makes sense to bury someone.
Part TwoSIGNALS
FAITH
Let’s go to the beach,” Faith says, propping herself up on her hand and gazing over at David with the sultriest look she can muster. It’s been a week since her trip to the Salty Crab and she’s nearly forgotten about the dead girl. David has been himself this last week, only going off occasionally with his father. Otherwise, they’d been relaxed, if a bit shut in, spending time by the pool together, and in the evenings drinking wine on the dock, their feet dangling over the waves. Faith has become more comfortable thinking of herself as David’s fiancée. She smiles when she imagines her life of ease and leisure, free from worry. All she needs now is the ring on her finger.
“The beach?” he mumbles, looking into his phone. She gently lifts it from his hand. His eyes turn to her, questioning. She moves toward him on her hands and knees.
