Page 23 of Dead of Summer
Well, well, if it isn’t Alice Gallo back from the dead,” Walter says from his stool when Faith walks into the Salty Crab.
“Yep,” Faith says, wondering if coming back here so soon was a bad idea. “It’s me. Couldn’t stay away.” The truth was she had no idea where to go.
“Not at the beach like the rest of ’em?” Walter asks, his eyes traveling around the near-empty bar.
“No, I’ve actually had enough beach time for a little while,” she says wryly, sliding onto a stool a few down from his.
The beach had been packed by the time she and David had left. Faith had closed her eyes and made a silent wish that they could have been included. Instead, they sat together tensely. Orla’s visit had upended things. David was distracted and snippy with her.
“I really wish you’d tell me what is going on,” she’d said gently after enough time had passed and the lack of conversation was beginning to feel like a punishment. But David had only retreated further from her.
“I’m going to jump in,” he’d said, not inviting her to join him. Faith had watched, her vision blurring behind her sunglasses as he walkedout into the water, not even pausing in the cold. He’d raised his arms above his head, the muscles in his back tensing as he dove under the waves.
The David she thought she knew had once again dropped away. Maybe they’d been together once, she’d thought, watching the bob of his head as he swam parallel to the shore. He’d seemed back to normal when he returned, giving her a smile as he dried off. He looked at his phone and his eyebrows furrowed.
“What?” she’d asked, still anxious.
“Just got a text from Dad. Looks like I have some meetings today after all,” David had said. She could detect some relief in his voice, as though Geoffrey had provided a convenient escape from her potential prying into his past. He had the look in his eyes again, the same one he’d had that first week they were here. There was no use trying to talk to him when he was like this. He would be impenetrable. When they got to the parking lot, she’d held back.
“You go on,” she’d said, “I’ll walk. I’d like to enjoy the beautiful day.” It had come out snottier than she’d meant, but Faith couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the house only to wait around all day. If David noticed, he didn’t show it. He tossed their beach gear into the back of the Porsche and got in alone, not looking back as he sped off toward the estate. She’d finally turned the other way, toward town where she knew the Crab would be waiting for her along with all the town gossip she’d need to find out who Orla was and whether she was a threat.
“You’re back,” Jean says flatly, coming around the bar. Faith can’t tell whether Jean thinks this is a good thing. These New Englanders are impossible to read.
“I am,” she says, wondering if the goodwill she’d felt at the end of her last visit was imagined.
“One of your tomato cocktails?”
“Just a Coke this time,” Faith says. “And some of those clam cakes, please.”
Walter leans back and takes a long drink of his beer, staring at her.There is something creepy about Walter, she thinks for the first time. When he smiles, it feels a bit too familiar. “Didn’t have a chance to ask you where you’re staying last time. You must be in a rental.”
“I’m here with my boyfriend,” she says quickly, happy in the moment that it is true. Faith catches herself before she says the wordfiancé. Too soon, she scolds herself.Don’t be getting ahead of yourself.
“Local boy?” Jean asks. Her hand is thickly bandaged, and she winces as she wipes down the bar.
“Not exactly. He comes every summer, though. David Clarke.”
Jean freezes behind the bar. Walter puts his glass down and refocuses his attention on her. “David Clarke? You’re serious?”
Faith nods. Of course, everyone would have heard of Hadley Island’s billionaire family. Jean’s eyes are wide and fearful.
“You’re staying up there on the hill in that big mansion of theirs, hoo boy.” Walter whistles under his breath.
“What do you mean? Have you been there?” Faith asks.
“Only to do some seafood deliveries for one of their parties, years ago now. But that place made me glad to not be rich.”
Faith wants to ask what he means. Jean has turned away but not before Faith can see the trouble on her face. She yanks glasses from the dishwasher, her eyebrows furrowed.
“That family never comes down from their castle, do they?” Walter asks.
“Oh, I’m sure they must come out to dinner here sometimes?” As she says it Faith realizes that it is probably not true.
Jean lets out a bitter laugh. “Maybe some of the other restaurants in town, but definitely never to the Crab if they do. This isn’t exactly the Clarkes’ thing.”
When Jean goes to the other side of the bar, Faith turns back to Walter, whose eyes are in fact starting to droop. She recognizes this stage of drunk well. He has two choices now, either go home and sleepit off or power through and keep tipping them back until he reaches a state of delirium. She suspects Walter is an expert in the latter. “Do people really not like the Clarkes?” Faith asks him.
“Well, let’s be honest. Geoffrey is an all-around prick. And that son of his, sorry, your boyfriend, well,” he lets out a dry chuckle. “He gets away with whatever he wants, don’t he.”
