Page 56 of Dead of Summer
The window to the room is beyond the walkway, the base of it sitting upon on a ledge that narrows aerodynamically toward the front of the ship. A dim light from a window shines out into the dark, and Faithsteps toward it. Inching out farther and farther until her fingertips grip at the smooth white wall of the boat. The boat sways and she looks down. A mistake. The waves have gotten rougher since she rowed out here. They pound against the hull, their crests glowing in the light from the yacht.
The vibrato of Geoffrey’s voice carries out into the night, sending her stomach into her throat. Faith turns her head and inches forward until she is just beside the window. From this angle she can see the edge of a plush white sofa and across the room a built-in bar. A man stands in front of it, dropping cubes of ice into a glass with a set of silver tongs. Faith recognizes the back of his boxy head. He turns and she sees the phone pressed up to his ear. He sits heavily on a leather banquette, tossing the phone onto the table in front of him.
Faith presses her face to the window looking for Gemma or the men. The boat begins to hum and sway as the motor starts up, and Faith realizes with a jolt of horror that she’s miscalculated. There is no missing girl here. There is no one else at all. Geoffrey Clarke is alone.
ORLA
Orla’s lungs burn as she follows the flash of David’s shoes, keeping her eyes trained on the white bob of his shirt as he tears up Harbor Street toward the Gallos’ house. The wind blows up off the water sending the seagrass slicing at her legs. Insects chirp from the sides of the road. A rhythmic pulsing. She hears them as a singular voice.You lie you lie you lie.
How David had pleaded with her.
“You can’t say anything about Dad,” David had instructed her, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Please. You can’t ever tell them.”
“What should I say then?” Her body was still buzzing from adrenaline, her head fuzzy from the gin.
“Tell them about Henry,” he’d replied. It was Orla’s flashlight that had discovered him out there in his little boat. His hair and eyes were wild as she caught him in the beam, a stricken look on his face. And there in the hull of the boat the bright sparkle of sequins. She saw them only for a moment, one that she questioned every single day after, but she had thought immediately that the fabric was too flat and empty to contain a body.
“I can’t lie,” she’d said to David before the official questioning, her legs pressing into the plastic chair in the community center. “I won’t.”
“But it’s not a lie, it’s what you saw,” David had said, kneeling in front of Orla, begging now. “She fell into the water. That’s all we know. You just don’t have to say the other part out loud.” The other part. She’d looked at him, trying to come to terms with what she’d seen out there. The flailing arms, the gasping face, the tangle of hair. The swirl of waves. All in dim flashes beneath the beam of her flashlight.
“She was so scared.” Orla’s eyes began to blur.
He’d leaned in and put his forehead to hers. How long she had craved this kind of closeness with him. His voice was filled with regret. “Orla, listen to me. Alice got herself into this.”
Just over his shoulder, Orla could see through the doorway to where Henry Wright blinked into the press conference cameras. His face looked pale and scared. A cornered creature.I came looking for the girl. I was only trying to help.
“Orla, please. I need you.” David had taken her hands, pressing them together between his like in prayer.
“They’re ready for you,” an officer had said, standing over Orla.
She felt David’s eyes on her as she’d stood up there in the bright lights, waiting to see what she’d do. She’d swallowed as she looked out at the townspeople. They already suspected Henry Wright, she didn’t need to convince them. She only needed to go along with the narrative.
“What were you doing out there?” Orla had blinked into the bright lights the newspeople had set up, looking for David.
“We went to the yacht to just, you know, hang out during the party.” She’d blushed when she said it, knowing how it sounded and feeling suddenly very stupid that her childish crush was being broadcast to the entire island.
“Were you the only ones on the yacht?” the interviewer asked.
Orla finally found David. She could see only the shape of him hanging back next to the doorframe, the broad shoulders and halo of his hair in silhouette.
“No.”
She saw Geoffrey Clarke just then, next to David, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“No, you weren’t the only people on the yacht?”
“No, I mean, it was the three of us. Me and David and Alice.”
She thought of the way Geoffrey had watched Alice drinking with those men. Was David right? Did Alice lead them on?
“When did you notice Alice was missing?”
“I fell asleep, I think we both did. We’d had a lot to drink,” she had explained, looking out at David’s unmoving form. “When we woke up, she was gone. And we started looking for her.”
“What did you see when you looked down into the water?” the newsperson asked gently.
Ed, the police chief, was on the other side of her suddenly. “You don’t have to answer. You can talk to a lawyer if you want,” he whispered. But it was too late. The story was already unspooling behind her, too late to change.
