Page 12 of 28 Summers
Jake steps out of the bathroom. “Something wrong?”
Mallory shows him the note.
It’s not worth doing this to Krystel.
It’s not worth doing this toKrystel?They aren’t doinganythingto Krystel! They’re enjoying a weekend at the beach. Krystel threatened tocall off the weddingif Cooper didn’t go home? Krystel is holding Cooper at emotionalgunpoint?
“I don’t know Krystel,” Mallory says to Jake. “And now I don’t want to.”
“I’ve met her.” Jake sighs. “I don’t normally comment on other people’s relationships, but…”
“Say it.”
“It probably won’t last,” Jake says. “She’s very pretty—blond hair, dark eyes, amazing body…but that’s all there is. Once you get past the shiny wrapping paper and the fancy bow, the box is empty.”
“Ouch,” Mallory says. “Should I…what should I do?”
Jake sweeps Mallory’s hair out of her eyes. “Kiss me,” he says.
It’s rapture—Jake’s mouth, his lips, his tongue, his face, his arms. He falls back onto the sofa and pulls Mallory on top of him. She stretches out each kiss like it’s taffy. But there’s something else tugging at her. What is it?
“Wait,” Mallory says, surfacing. She blinks, looks around the room. “We have to check on Fray.”
On the beach, Mallory calls Frazier’s name and Jake jogs along the waterline. The waves slam the shore with uncharacteristic force, or maybe it just seems that way because it’s so late and so dark. There are some stars, but clouds cover the moon, and there are no other homes on this stretch of beach, no homes until Cisco, nearly a mile away. Mallory has never realized how isolated her cottage is.
Jake calls her; he’s picking something up. It’s Frazier’s clothes—jeans, the Nirvana shirt.
“Did he?” Mallory looks at the water. “Did he goin?”
Jake drops the clothes and strips down to his boxers.
“You’re not.”
He charges into the water.
Mallory starts to shiver. The night has suddenly turned sinister. She thinks back to the moment they were all sitting around the dining table toasting Cooper. Everyone was comfortable, safe, together.
But then Leland and Fray had crossed arms. Bad luck, if you believed her mother.
Mallory keeps Jake in sight, his dark head, the sleek curve of his back when he dives into an oncoming wave. She scans the water to the right and the left. She screams down the beach, “Fray! Fray!Fray!” Her voice sounds like something broken or ripped.“Frazier Dooley!”
Jake staggers onto the beach, out of breath. “Leave his clothes where we found them,” he says. “Go call 911.”
Mallory tells the dispatcher that she lives in the cottage on Miacomet Pond and she has lost a friend in the water. An eternity—four and a half minutes—passes before she hears sirens, and another minute passes before she sees lights. One ambulance pulls up; it’s followed by a truck towing a trailer with an ATV. Jake leads the rescue team—one uniformed officer and two divers in wetsuits—down to Frazier’s clothes. The team members have lights; they have boards and rings and buoys.
One officer stays at the house. He’s beefy, with reddish hair and freckles. He’s…familiar-looking?
“I’m JD,” he says. “You were my server last week at the Summer House.”
“I was?” Mallory says. She’s too panicked to go back and search her memory.
“How long ago did he leave?” JD asks. He has a clipboard. He’s the information man.
“I’m not sure,” Mallory says. How long were she and Jake kissing? “Half an hour?”
“Had he been drinking?”
“Yes,” Mallory says. “Beer and…Jim Beam.”
