Page 51 of Bad Summer People
“What happened? Who screamed?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I couldn’t see.”
Rachel thought back to the beginning of the summer, when she and Lauren had spotted Robert on the ferry, and later that night when they’d all had drinks. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Why did you go to Susan’s?” Rachel asked.
Robert didn’t answer. They were approaching her house. The lights were off. Robert managed to get her, hopping, inside onto her porch. She’d collapsed on her white couch, too tired to care that it was getting wet and muddy.
She was sitting on the same couch now. She’d scrubbed it with fabric cleaner, over and over, but there were still faint brown stains near where she’d slept that night. She’d woken up to see her bike back in its place on her entry walk as if nothing had happened. Her hangover, her ankle, and the bruise on her cheek the only reminders.
Rachel hadn’t known what to expect that next day, but she’d had a sinking feeling that the news would be bad. Had Jason or Sam hurt Lauren or Jen? Had someone been injured? At 8:00 a.m., she’d heard the emergency siren, a loud, unsettling sound that reverberated across town. It was Salcombe’s Bat-Signal, alerting firefighters and EMTs to hurry and ride down to the firehouse: a person needed saving. The siren went off when someone was hurt or having a heart attack, or a kid had fallen off his bike and broken his arm. It went on for a full minute, sending dread through townspeople’s stomachs, everyone hoping that it wasn’t their child, their husband or wife, their friend, who had to be taken off island to the nearest hospital in Long Island.
Rachel sat on her porch and watched as the ragtag volunteers rode by, avoiding the storm debris—leaves, small branches, a random shoe and sand toy that someone had left on their deck. Brian Metzner, Theo Burch, Jerry Braun, Seth Laurell, all heading toward the firehouse on Broadway, awaiting instructions. It didn’t instill confidence. She hadn’t known what to do with herself other than ice her ankle and wait. She’d scrolled anxiously on her phone, resisting texting anyone. She read an article about the freak storm that had hit last night—amicroburstit was called—that had brought whipping rain and winds up to fifty miles per hour. She knew she’d hear from someone soon; nothing in this town stayed a mystery for long. At 8:30, her phone buzzed. Lisa Metzner. Rachel, hand shaking, answered.
“Have you heard?”
“No, what happened?” Rachel tried to sound as normal as possible.
“Susan Steinhagen died.”
“Shedied? Oh my God. How?” Rachel nearly dropped the phone.
“She rode off the boardwalk last night and broke her neck. Brian’s there with the ambulance now. Danny Leavitt found her.”
“That’s awful. I can’t believe it! Poor Susan.”
“It’s truly bizarre. I mean, what the hell was she doing riding around in that storm? In that wind and rain? Had she lost her mind?”
“It’s very strange. I assume they’ll speak to people around town to see if anyone saw anything.” Rachel said it carefully.
“I don’t know,” Lisa said. “Right now, it’s just our guys there, but I’m sure Suffolk County police will arrive soon.”
A buzz of pain ran through Rachel’s ankle. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this, all bruised.
“It’s so sad,” Lisa continued. “I liked Susan, even though she could be tough. And to die on the night of the women’s doubles tournament! That was the highlight of her summer. Someone needs to tell Robert. Should I have Lauren do that? Ha.”
Rachel gamely chuckled along, but her mind was racing. Would the police come for her? Would she tell them about Robert if they did? Should she give Sam a heads-up?
But none of that had happened. She hung up with Lisa and had just… sat. For days. No one had come to speak with her, not police, not Robert or anyone else. Tonight had been the first time she’d ventured out. She’d thought it would be weirder if shedidn’tshow up at the Labor Day Extravaganza. She’d sat with Beth Ledbetter and Jeanette Oberman and had made polite conversation with them about their plans for the fall. Steve Pond’s memorial speech for Susan had been a gut punch. She felt queasy as he spoke about what a wonderful person she’d been.
“It’s such a shame,” Beth whispered in her ear during the S-A-L-C-O-M-B-E song. “I heard that after Garry died, she’d been despondent. I wonder if she went out in the stormhopingto fall.” Beth said it with evil glee.
Rachel took the bait. Anything to deflect blame and confuse the story. Now was her chance. “I haven’t told anyone this yet, but we’d been working together on the tournament draws, and she’d mentioned how depressed she’d been feeling lately. Like everything was hopeless”—Rachel leaned in closer for emphasis, lowering her voice—“like she wasn’t sure life was worth living. Riding off the boardwalk isn’t like hanging yourself, but maybe she was just being purposefully reckless.”
Beth received this info like a precious gift, slowly curling her lips into a smile.
“Oh, how interesting,” she said. The song was coming to its rowdy climax—“Leave old Salcombe with a cheer”—everyone around them erupted in whoops, but Beth and Rachel were still.
The song ended with a bang: “We’ll all be back next year!”
“Not Susan,” Beth said.
Rachel gave her a half smile.
Hours later, Rachel, lonely, curled up in her blanket, hoped her words were enough to end any suspicion for good. She wanted everything to return to normal. She didn’t care how Susan had died. What did it even matter? She didn’t care why Robert had been looking for her. He must have had his reasons. Susan was a snoop and a troublemaker; she’d probably been asking for it.
But Rachel feared it was too late to return to the old days. They’d all been irreparably changed. She wished her dad were alive. She needed a man on earth who loved her. She really should move to the West Coast. But what about Fire Island? Could she leave this place forever?
