“Are you cold?” Dylan asked as I inadvertently shivered.
“No!” It came out louder than I had intended.
Avery touched my arm. I wanted to jump out of my skin. “How did they think to search for her out in the boat?”
Before I could reply, Dylan leaned forward, casually resting his hand on my knee. “I heard the police got a tip from an anonymous caller.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A sheen of sweat broke out across my forehead. The conversation felt like an out of body experience, every word producing a wave of guilt. For what I knew and what I didn’t. For what I shared and what I kept hidden under lock and key.
We finally arrived at the park. I gratefully tumbled out of the car, gulping in copious amounts of fresh air. The cold immediately sucked away the inflaming heat and left a layer of prickly chills.
We followed the familiar path through the woods, heading across the clearing opposite the lighthouse. As we crested the grounds, a large bonfire stood before us on the beach with about thirty kids huddled around.
“What’s going on?” I asked, confused, my body still reeling from the drive over.
“A birthday celebration of course!” Grace volleyed back over her shoulder as she danced down to the fire and yelled, “Let the festivities begin!”
The crowd responded with a tribal cheer that floated up into the air. I was certain the party was more for her than me.
“Happy Birthday, CeeCee!” Grace’s arms flew around me as I neared the roaring fire. Glowing faces watched me in anticipation, hopefully not waiting for a speech because I was currently at a loss.
“Do you like it, friend? Are you surprised?” she asked as someone handed me an orange concoction that smelled a bit like gasoline.
“Completely.” Cups were thrust into the air, arms wrapped around bodies, and everyone started singing Happy Birthday. I, at the moment, would have been happy for the ground to open up and suck me in.
With one last squeeze, Grace slipped over to Sean and scooted herself up under his arm. I took a sip from my cup, promptly fighting off a sputtering cough laced with fire. I had no idea what was in the cup, but it tasted horrible.
“Are you really surprised?” I turned to Avery’s raised eyebrows peering at me, her arm gesturing to the group gathered around the fire.
“By Grace? No.” I looked back at the fire, a new liquid warmth trickling down my arms. “The party? Yes.”
“Well, even if you weren’t, good job for not letting on because she’s been planning this for weeks,” Avery said with a knowing smile. We stepped over a piece of driftwood and sat. The heat of the flames painted our faces red. She leaned in and touched her shoulder to mine. “As she put it, she was, ‘determined to bust your funk.’”
“My funk has been officially busted.” I continued to sip the citrus, gasoline blend in my cup, the beverage pushing liquid heat down to my legs, softening the sharpness inside me. I contently watched the dancing flames. My eyes blurred them in and out of focus as they licked the night sky and disappeared in a veil of smoke, rendering the noise around us white.
“Is everything okay?” I could see Avery watching me out of the corner of my eye. “If you ever want to talk . . .”
I interrupted her. “Thanks for asking, but really, I’m fine.” I was too relaxed to risk a step back into reality. “Just tired.”
Dylan dropped down next to me, his side pressing up against mine. “What are you girls whispering about?”
“We’re not whispering,” Avery said with a funny little laugh. Simultaneously, Grace’s laughter floated over the fire, bursting into our conversation.
I tipped my head back and forth and caught glimpses of her dancing coils, the ends tipped in red.
“But if you were whispering . . .” His gasoline laced breath wrinkled my nose.
“If we were whispering,” I said, unable to stop staring at Grace’s afro springing up and down with every shift of her body, “it would mean it was not meant for your ears.”
He draped his arm over my shoulders and leaned in. His mouth pressed up against my ear. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”
I heard his words, but I couldn’t process them. I cocked my head and watched as the tiniest of sparks jumped from Grace’s red-tipped coils. They shot up and dove softly through the air before fizzling out. It was mesmerizing, my own private light show, increasing in numbers, beautifully filling the darkness around Grace and Sean.
The idyllic show flipped on a dime, sending a rush of painful tingles up the back of my neck and a hail of flames down on Grace and Sean.
“Grace!” I screamed, pushing on the sand, on Dylan, on Avery, on anything as I tried to get my feet underneath me. The drink had floated rubber into my legs, causing my efforts to be stalled as her shadow was consumed by the rain of fire coming down. “The fire — watch out! Get back!”
Everyone froze, their eyes searching, trying to figure out what the crisis was. My body felt heavy and uncoordinated.
Piercing the tense silence, Grace asked, “What are you smoking over there, girlfriend?”
Avery grabbed hold of me and helped me to my feet. I refocused my eyes and realized I’d imagined the whole thing. “Sorry, um, I thought . . .”
Sean burst out in uncontrollable laughter. “Vanderbie, you need to slow up on that drink of yours.” Everyone else joined in the laughter, my vision playing out like a bad joke. A bad nightmarish joke.
An exuberant shout came from the group. “Someone give the birthday girl a refill!”
Dylan wrapped his arm uncomfortably around my waist, genuine concern in his eyes.
They were the wrong eyes.
I pretended to join in the laughter, waiting until the focus was off me before slipping out of his grip and away to the bathroom.
My feet tripped along the dark path, the waves of laughter fading behind me. I crossed the clearing quickly and moved behind the lighthouse. My eyes were dilated wide, adjusting to the shadows, my body amped to hyper vigilance mode.
A branch cracked.
My head jerked.
I stiffly paused. Teetering. Straining to hear.
But nothing came. No one. Only the faint hints of the bonfire group wafting through the air. I powered my feet forward, chiding my mushy imagination. The only person of concern out tonight was the one locked inside of my own head.
As I emerged from behind the lighthouse, the Seattle-scape twinkled back at me, slowing my hurried progress. The contours of the city jetted brilliantly into the night sky, leaving the valleys simmering in murkiness. To the far north stood the Space Needle. Alone. Nothing but darkness billowed around its base.
Evelyn was over there somewhere. With Mr. Weston, whoever that was. And wherever they were, it felt far from where I stood. A different land, in a different time, that harbored figments of my memory while holding tight to the enigma that lived in a tiny white bungalow. I stepped closer to the dock, the thought of Quentin winging flutters against the insides of my body.
Had he known it was my birthday? I shook off the stupid notion. Of course he didn’t know. It was a sympathy gift, placed precisely so he wouldn’t have to see me — the crazy girl who sees her cousin adrift and random people being shot.
The breeze blew up off the water, giving my curiosity a nudge forward, the planks of the dock moaning under my weight. Was it still here? The boat. Waiting for its next passenger? Waiting for someone to boldly step in and cling to its tempting frame? Each step brought me nearer. The moaning louder. My heart danced faster with a new image. An image of me sitting quietly in Autumn’s stead.
I neared the end of the dock, the crest of the moon sharing just enough light to make out the weaving pattern of rope around the mooring cleat. I stepped up to the edge, planted my feet firmly as I peered over. It was there. Exactly the same. No hint of the joy ride it took the previous weekend.
I inched closer.
Leaned a bit more.
Bent further over
the edge.
A hand clasped hard around my bicep, causing a surprised scream to escape from my lips as I wavered on one foot, my balance upset, the water looking to be my new destination.
“Are you crazy?” the male voice hissed, yanking me to him. A shock of adrenaline shot through my system.
Confused and off balance, I spit out, “Let go of me!”
I ripped my arm out of the tight grip and righted myself. I was face to face with Quentin. Inches apart.
My mouth, full of cotton, was unable to form words. Where did he come from? How did he find me? Frustration frothed to the surface and I gave him a shove back. “You scared the crap out of me! You CAN’T sneak up on people!”
He grabbed my arm, no apology extended. “You need to come with me,” he said brusquely.
My eyes followed the lines of tendons rising off his neck to his beautiful face, deeply aware of the increased thumping in my chest. “Seriously, are you spying on me? What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to calm my voice.
“I don’t think now is a great time for questions. The cops have arrived.”
Over my shoulder, I saw flashlights scanning the clearing on the other side of the lighthouse. Back and forth the beams of light went toward the bonfire.
“Come on.” He tugged me away from the water and off the dock.
I tripped behind him, my legs forced to keep up. “I can’t bail on my friends.”
His halt was unanticipated. My forehead careened into his collarbone, shooting arrows of pain through my brow. Pushing on the pain with my fingertips, I looked up. Warmth from his breath bent gently around my face as his fingers gripped my shoulders. “You have two choices. Come with me or join your boyfriend and deal with your dad.”
Boyfriend? What the hell was he talking about? My defenses slithered up out of nowhere. “I have no idea what you’re implying with that snide tone.”
“I don’t imply. I ask. Are you seeing the guy who had his arm around you?” His unwavering eyes reached out and grabbed mine.
“Dylan? You think I’m with . . .” Laughter barreled out of me. “He’s drunk.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Not quite.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“That’s because there have been so many demands and questions in the span of two minutes.”
He inched closer, his intimidating features catching my smart tongue, rendering it useless. “Are you or aren’t you with him?”
“No,” I whispered. His scent swirled around me, tipping me sideways. “I’m not with anyone.”
He didn’t reply.
He looked beyond me and ran his hand through his hair. Finally, expelling a decided whoosh of breath, he grabbed my hand and maneuvered us into the woods. “Come with me.”
We walked deep into the trees before he stopped unexpectedly and yanked me down behind a large shrub. My foot caught on a root, causing my rubbery legs to give out. I knocked us both over into a position of awkwardness. I scrambled to sit up and move away, but he righted himself first and snaked his arm around my waist, pulling my back tight against his chest. My face burned at the close proximity as his breath caressed the back of my neck. Inner havoc had taken over my insides.
Calm. Calm. Calm. This was not a big deal. Normal conversation. Just have a normal conversation. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” Or not normal.
“Keeping you out of trouble.” His arm went tighter around my waist.
My eyes caught sight of more beams criss-crossing over the clearing. “I wasn’t in trouble until three minutes ago.”
“It was a foregone conclusion. Teens, bonfire, and alcohol. It always equals police.”
The havoc in my chest was slowly being pushed out by annoyance. “You say ‘teens’ like you’re so much older and wiser. Nineteen hardly qualifies you as the mature one. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” he said, ignoring my jab. “Have you had any more visions?”
Thrown off by the question, I paused for too long. The sight of the light show around Grace’s head replayed in my head. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I tried to wiggle out of his grip. “You don’t have to believe me. You don’t have to be here. I don’t need your help.”
“You’re right.”
I pushed on his arm, grunting with the effort. “You can go back to your cozy little house in Queen Anne.”
“You’re right.”
I could tell he exerted no effort what so ever to keep me in place, which fueled my steam even more. “You can continue your life just as it was before you met me.”
“You’re right.”
“Are you going to say anything else besides ‘you’re right’?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t listen. You’re too tight in the head to know when you need help.” I swore I heard amusement in his voice, but I couldn’t see his face.
“Tight in the head? What? What’s that supposed to mean?” I struggled to face him, to turn, but his grasp held my back flush to him. “You’re the one who always seems ready to bolt at any moment.”
Lightening his grip minutely, he said, “I’d hardly call this bolting.”
“Are you always this smug?”
“Only when others are too inane to ask for help.”
I was done. Fed up. Without thinking, I threw an elbow into his gut, using surprise in my favor. With the back of my arm, I pushed him to the ground and whipped around, straddling over his stomach. “Enough, Quentin Stone,” I snapped, pushing on his chest and waving my finger in his face. “I’m not a child. I don’t need my hand held. I don’t need a chaperone to keep me from scraping my knee or losing my mind. Which ever one comes first.”
His lips curled into a half smile. “Hit a nerve, did I?”
“You definitely did not hit a nerve. I’m just telling you how it . . .”
My unfinished sentence hung as my upper hand was flipped, making short work of my moment of dominance. He rolled over me, assumed the position I’d just been in, and pinned my arms to the ground. “Would it be so awful to accept the smallest amount of help, Cee?”
Something in his voice shifted.
The edge was gone, leaving soft, velvety under tones that washed warmly over my face.
Unable to form any words, my body went slack and I nodded my head no.
“How about, just for tonight, you come with me.” He paused and waited for my denial before adding, “And tomorrow? We’ll figure out tomorrow.”
The particles in the air had turned upside down. My breath was shallow as I stared deep into his eyes, unsure, not knowing if I could trust his words or his enchanting features that had softened with the offer. The offer of a tomorrow. I begged my tongue to say something. Anything. But the nearness of his lips made mine useless.
The distant voices began to grow, popping the bubble that had briefly consumed us. Quentin jumped to his feet, peered over the bush, and turned back to pull me up off the ground.
“We have to leave. Now.” He pointed to the hefty hillside behind us. “Can you make it up to the top?”
“That way? You want us to go that way?” I wanted to go back to our former position. To have another chance to answer his question.
“We don’t have much of a choice. The cops are coming down the path.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and taped the screen. A beam of light shot out the back, illuminating the ground around our feet.
“Any chance that phone is going to beam us up to the top?”
He gave me a courtesy smile and grabbed my hand.
We scrambled up the muddy slope, tripping on undergrowth and fallen logs. I was panting, hoping he wouldn’t hear as I pushed myself to keep pace with his long strides, needing to prove, that if he could do this, so could I. By the time we crested the ridge, I was certain the pain searing through my lungs would cause my heart to b
urst from my chest.
I dropped my hands to my knees and sucked down much needed air. But there was no stopping, no resting. We remained hidden in the trees as he pushed us on, circling wide around the parking lot. The lights of the parked police cruisers flashed streams of red and blue through the branches.
We came to the edge of the woods. Quentin peered out of the trees and scanned the street. Again, I bent over, my labored breathing coming in gasps.
“You okay?” he puffed, stepping back near me.
“Fine. Just. Dirty,” I huffed, brushing the dirt from my pants. “Why is it that I’m always in need of a shower whenever you’re around?”
A rare smile appeared on his face. “I’m parked over there.”
My eyes followed the path of his finger. I could barely make out his car camouflaged in the shadows against the forest backdrop. “Do you always park in dark corners rather than paved lots?”
“Come on.”
We hurried across the street and climbed in, quickly aiming for Point Robinson Road. As we drove past the park entrance, I swiveled in my seat, and caught sight of a group stepping out of the woods.
Riddled with guilt for having ditched Grace and Avery, I pulled out my phone and sent Grace a text.
R U OK?
Saw the cops. Cut out the
back way. Caught a ride home.
Call me.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket, stealing a glance at Quentin. He was a rock, as usual, silent and unmoving, mocking the flurry of questions zinging through me. I clasped my hands and stared straight ahead. I waited. Patiently. My mouth clamped closed.
My bid at silence made it as far as my driveway but not before the car stopped moving. “How did you know where I was tonight?”
“Is that the question you’ve been churning on since we left the park?”
Art is the Lie (A Vanderbie Novel) Page 13
