Robbie, I said out loud. Pierce.
I remembered when Pierce gave Robbie the gun. I remembered that I lay back against Pierce, his lips against my neck. He said, “Chrissie Chrissie Chrissie,” and I stopped thinking about Robbie. I barely noticed what he was doing—aiming at gulls, aiming at rocks. And then he raised the gun to his temple.…
I’m sitting on the floor under the window. It has gotten darker. Have I missed the ferry? How long have I been here? I look at my watch. The ferry must have come and gone. I stand up, with effort. I’m stiff. Out the window, I see that the sun is a scarlet globe low over the town, and the sky is purple and rose. I stare into the sun, watching the golden path widen across the water. Soon the light will be gone, the stars will explode overhead.
Behind me, there’s a noise. I turn, and he’s there—just like that. How strange to see him here. He looks out of place in the doorway—and then I realize that I myself must look out of place here. The cabin is a work of nature, it’s not meant for us.
“Chrissie,” he says. “I came to get you. Come with me. Down to the rocks where we can talk.”
He turns and goes out the door, and I follow him, walking down the rocky slope to the sand, following his back to the beach. It doesn’t occur to me not to go. My bag bumps against my legs. He wears his denim shirt. We sit down on the warm sand, not touching; he smiles at me.
He says, “Why did you come up here all by yourself, Chrissie?”
“I can’t remember,” I tell him.
“It was a crazy thing to do.”
“Probably.”
“I’ve been missing you,” he says, and his smile deepens. I would know his smile anywhere, the ironic curl to it, and the raised eyebrow. His eyes are exactly the color of the sea. I pull my bag closer to me and open it. Inside I can feel the gun, cold in its plastic.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I say.
“It’s me, you know,” he says. He pays no attention to the gun. His eyes don’t even flicker toward it. “It really is me, Chrissie. I can prove it, there are lots of ways.”
“I don’t need you to prove it. I know who you are.”
“Ah,” he says. “Good.” He looks out to sea, away from the burning sun. Of course. His profile against the sky is exactly the same. I would know him anywhere. He turns back to me. “But you want to know more.”
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
“I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”
I think about that for a minute. I suppose it is. I don’t really want to know. What would I do with the details? I know enough, I know too much. I don’t want the burden of all this knowledge. Is this what I came to Plover Island for? If I did, it was a mistake. I think about James, Denis, the house, the cats, the long road I have to travel.
I unwrap the gun from the plastic. It’s exactly the same. Everything is the same.
“Why do you have the gun, Chrissie?”
We stare at each other. He knows why I have the gun, I don’t have to tell him. I look at him in the darkening light, and quickly, quickly, I point the gun and pull the trigger.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from “All I Have To Do Is Dream,” words and music by Boudleaux Bryant.
Copyright © by Boudleaux Bryant. House of Bryant Publications.
Copyright © 1995 by Kitty Burns Florey
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9339-5
Distributed by Open Road Distribution
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www.openroadmedia.com
Vigil for a Stranger Page 19
