The Edge of the Light

by Elizabeth George

  Jenn wasn’t quite sure how to put it. How do you tell someone who’s your BFF that you keep thinking about a girl, in a way you never thought you’d be thinking about a girl? She was drawn to Cynthia Richardson. She wanted to explore what this meant. But she was afraid of that exploration. So she also wanted to protect herself.

  Becca said slowly, “Hey, c’n I say something, Jenn?”

  “Sure.”

  “This might sound like la-la land, but Mrs. Kinsale’s always telling me that life is just life. People are who they are. No one’s s’posed to try to change anyone into being a way they aren’t, if you get what I mean.”

  Jenn nodded. She started at the only place she could think of to start. “I made the team,” she said. “The All Island team? I got picked second.”

  Becca dropped the earbud to her side in her haste to throw her arms around Jenn. “Awesome!” she cried. “I always knew you could do it!”

  “I wouldn’t have, though,” Jenn said. “Not without Cynthia and Lexie. They worked out with me and pushed me and Lexie . . . ? She even helped me get the job at G & G’s. And then when it came time for tryouts, Cynthia took me there and didn’t even try out herself.”

  “How come?”

  “She said she never meant to try out. She just wanted to help me because she thought I could make the team. She said she needs to stay in shape anyway ’cause of her scholarship to University of Virginia, so training me helped her to do that. But I’m not sure that was . . . well . . . all of it.”

  Becca blinked. For several seconds her eyes got all strange, like she’d stopped being able to see Jenn at all. But then she blinked another time and she was back to normal. She said, “I bet anything she did it for you.”

  “She thinks I’m good enough to get a scholarship if enough people see me on the All Island team, and—”

  “Sure, but it’s more than that. I bet she did it for you ’cause she’s into you.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah. You’re into her, too, huh?”

  Jenn touched her fingers to her lips. “I keep telling myself I don’t want to be. Only, yeah, I might be. I want to, you know, be with her sometimes and other times I’m . . . I guess I’m scared.”

  “But scared’s not bad, is it?” Becca pointed out. “I mean, scared’s just . . . scared, right?”

  “I get that. Only my mom’s so freaked just ’cause I’m working for Gertie and Giselle. She’s gonna think they turned me into a lesbian or something if she knows I’m into Cynthia. And then . . . ? She’ll never let me go back home. But I can’t stay with the Richardsons forever. So I don’t know where . . .” Once she’d said that, Jenn realized how it sounded: like a manipulation. She hastened to add, “I got to apologize to you, Becca. I totally get why I couldn’t stay with Mr. Darrow. I got it right when you said it, but I was too mad and I expected that if you were my friend—”

  “I am your friend.”

  “—that you’d say sure to anything I needed. But sometimes friends have to say no and I get that it doesn’t mean anything other than saying no.” Now for the difficult part, Jenn thought, because if there was another no involved, she didn’t know where else she would turn if she had to find a place to live permanently.

  Before she could ask, Becca said, “You know, that room at Mrs. Kinsale’s house is still open. All’s you have to do is say it’s okay for her to at least try to get you and your mom back together. And really, Jenn, d’you think that’s a bad thing?”

  “Nah. I can see it’s pretty smart to try. It might be totally hopeless but it’s not bad. I’m okay with it all. Mrs. Kinsale, my mom, whatever.”

  “She’ll prob’ly want you to help take care of her dogs, though.”

  “I c’n get behind dogs.”

  “There’re five of them. Well four, really, because Oscar hardly counts as a dog. You want me to ask her when you can move in?”

  “I’d like that.” And as Becca stood and Jenn stood as well, she said to her, “C’n I ask, Becca . . . ?”

  Becca turned. “What?”

  “C’n I get you to be my BFF again?”

  Becca laughed and gave her a lighthearted punch on the shoulder. “Duh. Like I ever stopped?”

  • • •

  THAT TOOK CARE of the first accomplishment that Jenn had promised herself she would make. The second came on the day that the Gay Straight Alliance met. Jenn understood that it was a huge and scary step for her, but she figured it was one she had to take. After she survived her conversation with Becca, Jenn was ready.

  At lunch, she took her brown bag to room 210. There, she slid to the back of the classroom and decided she would just lurk and listen. But it turned out that this was impossible. There were only twelve kids present that day, and their sponsor, Tatiana Primavera, had a counseling motto that seemed to be “Tell everyone your truth as soon as possible.” Thankfully, the first truth she required of Jenn was only her name, which she mumbled at Ms. Primavera’s beaming, “And who’s our visitor today?” Then the counselor repeated it for all to hear: “Jenn McDaniels. Welcome, Jenn.”

  Cynthia mouthed the word hello at Jenn and glanced at Lexie, who raised her eyebrows and gave Jenn a thumbs up. The rest of the kids didn’t seem to notice or even care. They were busy with committee reports on the subject of the Rainbow Prom. The head of ticket sales was saying something about the LGBATQ community on campus. She wanted to know whether enough outreach was being done to the Qs.

  Jenn frowned at all the letters. She got L and G: lesbian and gay, but the rest pretty much mystified her. So she merely took everything in and asked herself what she’d been asking herself every day for months. Where did she fit in?

  Then the chair of the advertising committee stood to give his report. She’d seen him before: a senior boy who’d started a website featuring bow ties that he designed and made. The South Whidbey Record had done a story on him when he’d outfitted the entire Seattle Men’s Chorus with bow ties for an upcoming concert. He was wearing one of his creations now: sort of a Tommy-Bahama-married-to-Jerry-Garcia. He blended this with a tight-fitting vest and white dress shirt. His jeans were black. His shoes were yellow PF Flyers. He looked, she decided, pretty amazing. His name was Jeff but he insisted on Rupert. “Fits me better than Jeff,” he said.

  Now he was announcing that they had to increase their publicity if they wanted to bring in kids from Coupeville, where ticket sales were lagging. A dozen more posters were needed within two days, and they had to be good. “Volunteers?” he asked. “You don’t have to draw the images, just do the lettering and the colors. Believe me, a kindergartner could manage this.”

  Jenn looked around. It came to her that there were all types of kids in the room. It also came to her that she couldn’t distinguish which of the alphabet soup of letters that designated sexuality applied to which kid. They were just part of South Whidbey High School. There was no big deal with who they were or what they were, unless someone—like her—made it one.

  She raised her hand. Rupert’s face lit up. “Have I managed to convince someone that lettering posters isn’t a death sentence?”

  “Think you have,” Jenn told him. “I’ll do it.”

  “Available today?”

  “Today and whenever,” Jenn replied.

  44

  After their last conversation, Becca fully intended to keep her promise to Dave Mathieson. But she wanted to find the best opportunity to do so. She told herself she wasn’t avoiding anything in not telling Derric immediately about Hannah Armstrong. There were, after all, many other things going on.

  First of all, there was getting Jenn settled at Diana Kinsale’s house. After that, there was helping Seth figure out what to do about Prynne. Beyond that problem, there was the practice she had to continue: blocking whispers, trying to interpret the visions, trying to integrate the whispers and the vision
s, trying to understand what truly constituted a quickening. These were pressing issues. These were serious issues. They needed her attention first and foremost.

  Only, she knew that all of this was just an enormous jumble of avoiding what she had to do. In the middle of this jumble was the ugliness of her continuing to lie to Derric. Not only to lie to him, at this point, but also to lie to herself about the relative importance of all these things she just had to see to before she could see to the boy she loved.

  She went over in her head the trail of discovery that Olivia Bolding had been forging. So far she’d been to the Cliff Motel. She’d been to see the sheriff and after that she’d showed up to question Ralph Darrow, who had sent her on a useless mission to Saratoga Woods. There was really only one more place for Olivia Bolding to go in her search for Hannah Armstrong: the high school.

  Here, Becca had been most careful. She’d skipped photo day at school both of the Septembers that she’d been there. She’d never joined a club that would put her picture in the yearbook. She’d been caught by a photojournalist last year when a fire broke out at the county fairgrounds, but she didn’t see any reason why Olivia Bolding would start looking through old issues of the South Whidbey Record on the chance that Hannah Armstrong had been photographed at some time without her knowledge. So since the journalist knew her age—sixteen years old—she would have to come to the high school next. Becca could only hope that whoever looked at the pictures she was showing would either not recognize Becca King in the updated pictures of Hannah Armstrong or they would keep their mouths shut. Olivia Bolding was, after all, a reporter. Becca King was, after all, a minor. That had to count for something.

  She was able to cling to this belief for three days. On day number four, her world came crashing down.

  She and Derric were walking to his car. He was explaining that the Vicklands and the Mathiesons had met and were planning a large double-family get-together at Deception Pass State Park. He was in the midst of telling her that he really wanted her to go as well, when a woman’s voice spoke behind them.

  “You must be Hannah Armstrong at last.”

  Derric and Becca swung around. The reporter stood there. She wore a long, crushed linen blouse and Capri-length leggings. Inside her sandals, her toenails were painted red with a flower design rendered on each of the big ones. She held an iPhone in one hand and a stack of photos in the other.

  Derric said, “What?”

  She said, “You’re Derric, aren’t you? Sheriff Mathieson’s son? I did think he wasn’t quite telling me everything.” She shoved the iPhone in her shoulder bag and she fingered through the pictures, selecting one and handing it to Derric. She said, “Not bad, is it? Teenage girls generally want to lose weight. That’s how I saw it, and it seems I was right.” She turned to Becca. “Ms. Ward gave you up,” she told her, naming the school’s registrar. “One look at the picture and she said, ‘I knew Debbie Grieder was lying that day,’ and she told me the name you were using was Becca King and if I wanted to find you, I just needed to look for the sheriff’s son. Ms. Ward said Debbie Grieder had Rebecca King’s transcripts and a copy of her birth certificate and the rest was supposed to come in the mail but it never did. What I can’t work out is what her part in this is. I mean Debbie Grieder’s part. She’s certainly not your mom in disguise. But is she nearby, Hannah? Is your mom here on the island? In Everett? In Bellingham? Maybe in Seattle?”

  Derric said to Becca, “What the hell is going on?”

  Becca had been using the AUD box, but she now removed the earbud because her entire life as she’d known it depended upon her ability to read every nuance of the next few minutes. If this wasn’t her personal quickening, she was going to have to make it her quickening.

  • • •

  LATER, BECCA WOULDN’T be able to recall the exact order in which things happened and in which things were said in those critical moments. Most of it was a blur. She knew she began with “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” which she said to Olivia Bolding. She knew that Olivia responded by saying to Derric, “Her real name is Hannah Armstrong. She hasn’t told you, has she? She hasn’t mentioned San Diego and what happened there: her stepfather Jeff Corrie. His partner Connor West. A whole pile of missing money.”

  Derric looked sick to his stomach. Becca said to him, “What she’s saying isn’t true. Derric—”

  Olivia cut in, saying, “Lies have a way of catching up with you,” which Becca knew was the absolute case, because Derric’s lies had caught up with him. Only, his lies had had a happy ending, whereas hers weren’t going anywhere close to that.

  Whispers were everywhere. They were coming too quickly for Becca to be able to process them and to attach them to the thinker: No way no way but always knew I could last night there was always a moment to get her away from here she knows the truth there’s a story how much I wanted we were always going to be this is it . . . In the past, there had been moments in which Becca could work with what was flooding her head, and when she couldn’t do that but instead needed to think clearly, she had the AUD box to help with that. But she couldn’t risk the AUD box now because she couldn’t risk losing the opportunity that might arise from within someone’s thoughts to lead her to the proper next move. She felt as if she’d lost every power she’d ever had to hear whispers in a way that would help her, to see visions, to recognize who was thinking what, and to determine if only vaguely what they intended to do.

  Derric said faintly, “Why?” and that was it. Before Becca could reply, he had simply walked away.

  • • •

  SHE FACED OLIVIA Bolding squarely. She knew that there was no way the reporter could actually prove anything. No one on the island aside from Diana Kinsale was aware that Becca King could hear whispers as well as see the memories of other people in the form of visions. So all she had to do was keep bluffing.

  She said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Timeline was the only whisper in response and then, “Your stepdad does, though.”

  “What stepdad?”

  Olivia smiled. “You must mean which one of the five you’ve had. I’ve done my homework, Hannah. That’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. Just like you’re good at what you do.”

  Becca said nothing. She also picked up nothing. She wondered if this meant that Olivia’s thoughts matched her words or if the reporter had worked out how to keep them from escaping as Diana had done.

  Olivia went on to say, “Your neighbor in San Diego didn’t know the exact date that you and your mom left, but Jeff Corrie did. Allowing for a meandering drive from there to here to confuse the trail, it sounded reasonable to me that it would take a couple of weeks for you and your mom to get here. It was only a matter of logic. And I’ve always been very logical.”

  Becca said nothing. She glanced in the direction Derric had taken. She was in time to see him drive off, practically spinning the wheels of the Forester in his haste to get away from her.

  She knew she’d dealt their relationship a death blow, and she figured he was going directly to his father in order to confirm what Olivia Bolding had said to him. She also knew that all she’d ever had to do was to tell Derric the truth about who she was. Not about the whispers and the visions, but at least about her name and about her flight from San Diego.

  Instead of seeing Olivia’s memories, Becca suddenly saw her own. Foremost among them was that first night on the ferry, coming over from the mainland to Whidbey Island. She’d turned from the view of the massive trees rising up into an evening sky, and she’d seen an unmistakably African boy in the passenger seat of a sheriff’s car. They’d locked eyes briefly, and her life had never been the same.

  Olivia’s words intruded into that memory. “What I’ve heard from Connor West is that you’ve got a very interesting talent. What I’ve heard from him is that you can read minds.” Can you read mine d
o you know what Connor West told me Hannah would you like to know.

  Becca blinked but otherwise kept her face impassive. If she showed no sign, Olivia knew nothing.

  Would you like to know I think you’d like to know he’s not your friend not like I can be if you let me.

  Becca remained firm. It was like being tempted by the devil.

  Olivia said, “What I know is that you read minds for his company for three years, going in and out of the conference room at your stepdad’s investment company, an innocent girl with an afterschool job and a summer job bringing coffee and tea and whatever to people of a certain age who wanted their money to go further in their retirement so they came to Corrie West Investments to see how this might be possible. I know your part was to listen carefully. Your part was to report what you picked up from their thoughts. Your stepdad and his partner would then design a package that quelled the old folks’ every unspoken fear about ending up in life without any money and living under a bridge.”

  Becca saw that in silence lay power. There was simply nothing Olivia Bolding could do as long as she kept her face a perfect blank.

  “It was a great idea. It might have gone on forever. But something happened to bring it all to an end. So you and your mom went one way, Connor West went another, and Jeff Corrie remained in San Diego, where he ended up holding the bag. Which he didn’t much like. Understandably. Who would?” Olivia paused. She glanced at her smart phone, as if expecting a message. Becca figured she was doing it for effect. She then went on. “What I haven’t been able to work out is why all of this happened. Not bilking money, of course. People are greedy. I get that. But I don’t get the running-off bit unless someone—like you—knew the whole scheme was about to collapse and unless someone—like your mom—knew how to put her hands on Jeff Corrie’s half of the money and run off with it.”

  “No way!” Becca cried. “We—” And then she stopped herself. She whirled around, set to run.