“Here?”
“C’mon!” She grabbed my hand and led me back through the long corridor. There was barely enough room for us to pass other shoppers without seriously violating their personal space. But eventually that claustrophobic strip opened out into a courtyard that forked into two tucked-away boutiques. Pausing for only a split second, Sabine yanked me in the direction of the one on the left. Outside its open doorway was a headless mannequin wearing a hot pink 1960s shift dress. “Love!” Sabine said to it as she entered.
Inside, there were many more racks of clothing than I would have guessed could’ve fit in the small space. Sabine let go of me and walked the aisles holding her hands out on either side of her to sweep the clothes as she passed. I followed close behind, slowing down from time to time to admire the many flouncy tops and skirts and perfectly tailored designer jeans. She worked her way to the back of the store and then halted before a rack of strapless dresses in an array of colors and patterns.
“Yes,” she said to them. She whipped through the frocks, flicking at the hangers and pulling a few out. She handed three to me.
“Okay, thanks. Cute.”
She took an armful herself and pointed to the far wall. “And we need those.” She drifted, as though being pulled by an unknown force, to the shoe section and planted herself before a display of cowboy boots. “Here.” She handed me a pair of buttery beige ones, then grabbed a black pair for herself. All of this was accomplished with absolutely no eye contact. I had to admit I was impressed with her focus. If I could zero in like that more often, I could probably conquer just about anything.
We retreated into adjacent fitting rooms and only then did I get to inspect what Sabine had selected for me: three strapless dresses, all hitting at the thigh, with a sort of cinched-in bustier- corset effect. There was a black dress, a blue one patterned with those paisleys you usually find on bandanas, and a red gingham that made me want to go on a picnic. “I want to see those!” Sabine’s voice ordered through our shared wall, followed by a knock, like some sort of secret code.
“We’ll see,” I said, not masking my uncertainty.
“Yes, we will see!” she called back.
I took a deep breath. Strapless was never my favorite; I had learned to accept that scar of three slashes above my heart—as well as all the rest of my scars—but I still didn’t especially like to draw attention to them. But what did it matter? I wouldn’t actually be buying anything, I was just along for the ride. I tried on the black dress first. Even though the material seemed to be cotton—no sequins, shine, or bells and whistles—it just didn’t look right. I looked like I was trying to be someone else. I shimmied out of it. The red felt too girly and delicate for me, so, with low expectations, I went for the blue. A knock shook the door this time.
“Let’s see it, c’mon!” Sabine beckoned. I could see her boots under the door.
I pulled the dress on fast and slipped on the beige boots. Then gave myself a quick glance in the mirror: not the worst outfit, though I couldn’t imagine an occasion when I would actually wear it. I opened the door. Sabine had her back to me, sizing herself up in the three-way mirror, twisting and turning to look at herself from every direction. Her hair was swung over one shoulder, those scars on her back, like mine, peeking out above the top of the dress.
“You look amazing,” I said. Sabine wore the black one I had so quickly and surely rejected. But she looked completely comfortable in it. It hugged her like it had been painted on.
“You think? I’m still not sure.”
“I don’t know how much better that thing is supposed to look. I mean, it’s kind of perfect.”
She turned around to face me. “You’re, like, the best shopping partner,” she said, with true appreciation.
“Thanks.”
“And I’m sorry, excuse me, but I think this is screaming for you to buy it,” she ordered, pointing at me in the blue dress. “Do you love it?”
“I guess it’s all okay.”
“Okay? You’re getting it. And you’re getting this one, too.” She tugged at the dress she had on.
“Well—”
“But do you really think this looks good on me?” She cut me off.
“Yeah, it—”
“Because I have a confession,” she said, her eyes dancing. She stepped closer to me as though about to let me in on something big. “I have a date. Tonight!”
I felt a smile break out, encompassing my whole face. “Wow! Details please!” My voice could not have sounded more genuinely excited. As long as this date wasn’t with Lance, we were about to begin a lovely new chapter in our friendship.
“With Wylie!”
“Wylie?” She had to have seen my complete shock.
“You know, the hot guy from the other night? The hurricanes?”
“Right, of course, the hurricanes. Hurricane Wylie.”
“Hurricane Wylie! Love that! That’s what I’m going to call him.”
I wrestled with whether to say something, defeating the impulse only to have it rise back up again. If she had set her sights away from Lance, I hated the idea of discouraging her, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I had about this guy. “He seems, I don’t know, like he runs with a . . . fast crowd maybe.” It sounded like a word Joan would use, but what I really wanted to say, something along the lines of “potentially devilish,” just seemed too absurd and unfounded even to my ears. “And isn’t he kind of . . . older, and . . .”
If I was supposed to be dissuading Sabine, I was going about it the wrong way. She just nodded, confirming it all, and grinning so widely I could tell she was proud of reeling this one in. “Totally, totally my type,” she gushed.
“Oh, yeah, of course.” I would obviously need to try a different approach. “But, you know, he may be just too”—I racked my brain and came up short—“fun.”
She laughed. “‘Too fun.’ Listen to you! Haven, you’re hilarious.” I pretended that that had been my intention. “Lance must love that about you. Guys love a sense of humor. Or at least some guys, from what I hear.” This wasn’t really sounding like a compliment, so I just ignored it. “We’re probably different that way, you and me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“For instance, I like hurricanes. Like you said, Wylie is a hurricane—I’m totally, totally into him and, like, powerless against that force. But I would bet that you and Lance”—I found it noteworthy that she was acknowledging that there was a me and Lance—“you probably prefer more of a slow-and-steady, wait-and-let-things-develop kind of guy. I don’t know what that would be called . . .” She fixed her eyes upward, as though the answer were there in the ceiling.
“So Lance is like, maybe, a tropical depression? I think that’s what they call things that may turn into hurricanes, meteorologically speaking.”
“Wow, okay, yeah. Lance is a tropical depression,” she said. She studied me, head cocked to one side. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“Who, me? No. What?” It must have been an involuntary sign of relief that she saw creeping into my expression.
“You think I’m being mean or something.”
“No way. C’mon, let’s try on some more clothes. So tell me more about hurricanes.”
“I’m just having some fun. I mean, we’re seventeen. I think you need to have a little more fun, Haven.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“We’ve got enough to be serious about.” It was the first time Sabine had really alluded to our shared status since that weekend at the swamp. I wanted to pounce on it but here in the middle of this store didn’t seem the right time. And in a flash I lost my chance, anyway. “It’s decided then. Let’s get these and get outta here,” she said. “I have an idea.”
15. Get Off My Back
This is where we should be working,” Sabine said, gazing into the window. Behind the glass, men in matching hats and T-shirts tossed dough into a deep fryer, where it sizzled, then drenched each crispy piece in mou
nds of powdered sugar.
“No, this would be much too dangerous,” I countered, equally mesmerized. “This is too much of a good thing.”
“Is there really such a thing as too much of a good thing, though?”
“I think, in some cases, yes. And in matters of beignets, I think, definitely yes.”
“Well, I need some right now. That’s all there is to it.” Sabine marched over to the cashier to place her order, her giant shopping bag swishing against her thighs.
“You convinced me,” I said, joining her, my own shopping bag dangling from my arm.
She had been similarly persuasive at the store, somehow managing to coax me into buying not only the blue dress but the black one that matched hers, and the cowboy boots, too. “Don’t you see how the beige is exactly your skin tone? Your legs look like stilts in those. Or taffy! Long, tan strips of taffy! They’re endless,” she had cooed at me. A bit of hyperbole, but it had worked. Sabine bought the black boots and three dresses: in black, fire-engine red, and a sparkly halter-top. New outfits, boots, beignets—this was turning into an unusually indulgent day for me. I felt an uptick in my mood, some of Sabine’s high-spiritedness rubbing off on me perhaps.
We grabbed our paper bags full of beignets in heaps of sugar and our matching iced cafés au lait, then found a path stretching out along the riverfront. The bright sky was just beginning to dim, the sun still glowing red in the distance. Sailboats coasted slowly in the water as a steamboat chugged in the background.
We walked quietly for several minutes, sipping our drinks, until Sabine led us to a bench looking out onto the water. Once we settled in, setting down our goods, she opened up one of the bags and held it out to me. I pulled out a still-warm beignet, a soft spray of sugar floating over me in the breeze and sticking to my skin. She grabbed one for herself and curled her legs up underneath her.
“These are kind of amazing,” she said finally.
“I know, good call.” I decided to give it another try. “So, Wylie. It’s just you two tonight? What are you up to?”
“I don’t know. He’s planning it. But I think it’ll be pretty fabulous,” she said between bites.
“I’m sure. You’ll have to tell me everything,” I said in my gushiest voice.
“Of course! But don’t wait up!” She smiled and laughed.
“Got it.” I nodded knowingly. But an alarm sounded in my mind. I had to push. “So you’re kind of, like, in with that group now?”
“I wouldn’t say in in,” she clarified. “But I’m working on it.”
“What’s the deal with Clio, anyway?”
“She’s cool. We were in the same circle all night, but I really only had a short conversation with her. I know her name and I know where she shops and that’s about it.” She licked the sugar from her fingers and went on. “She was pretty busy being hit on every five seconds.”
“Tough life, right?” I popped the last of the beignet in my mouth. Sabine was already peeking in the bag for her next victim. She grabbed one and shook the bag at me. I hesitated for a beat then plunged my hand in.
“Anyway, they’re all really fun. Emma and I were totally surprised that they let us hang with them.”
“So what was up with Emma?”
“Emma, omigod, and Jimmy, check this out.” She shifted to face me now. “So they’ve been together a year or something crazy and apparently they got here a few days early, and had this, like, coupley time.” She rolled her eyes. “But then he just told her out of the blue, this week, he totally fell for someone else and I guess he’s been staying at this random girl’s place.”
“How does that even happen?”
Sabine shrugged. “I’ll tell you when I find out,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.
I thought of that first morning when Jimmy came back to the house so early, and we found that body discarded in front of our place. “She has no idea who it is or anything?”
“Nope. He just told her yesterday and then disappeared again. It’s pretty crazy. So obviously, Emma needed a night out. But you have to hang out with us!”
“Thanks, I’d love to,” I said. Much as I didn’t like the idea, I knew I needed to get closer to Clio’s group, to see what I could find out. A cool breeze blew, dusk setting in. We would need to head back soon. “So, what was it like in Boston?” I sipped my coffee then lowered my volume so there was no mistaking what I was getting at. “I mean, in terms of leading you here and all?”
She shifted, turning back to the waterfront, squinting into the distance as she took a long drink of coffee. Finally, in a rigid voice: “I don’t really feel like talking about it.”
“I understand. That’s usually how I am. But it’s just so amazing to suddenly find someone, a whole group, going through the same thing. The three of us thought we were the only ones.”
Pausing for a moment, she sighed, softening the slightest bit. “I guess we did too,” she offered with a glance out of the corner of her eye. The we wasn’t lost on me.
I realized I was going to have to give a little something to get something in return. “We were living at that hotel and we were with these people who were really glamorous and promising us this certain kind of life, these dreams, thinking they would hook us.” She looked at me, expressionless, but I could tell she was taking it in. “And you know, they had their ways of trying to control us, with the poisons and things, which it sounds like you had to deal with too.” She nodded. After a few seconds of silence, I went on. “Luckily Lance and I caught on to that soon enough to work around it. But Dante was really in the thick of it, so it was tougher for him.” I tried to be as vague as possible, still unsure whether I really wanted to share this all with her. But part of me felt that I needed to, for both of our sakes. “He had an incredibly close call.”
“We had more than a close call,” Sabine said finally.
I didn’t say a word, leaving plenty of space for her to fill. She took her time and at last: “We started working on the docks—it was on one of these tourist cruises that would go back and forth to Cape Cod. I grew up doing all sorts of sailing, boating, yachting with my family, so it was perfect. There were events on the boat sometimes. It made a few stops. There was food and entertainment. We mostly stayed on the boat, or sometimes on the Cape or in Provincetown or Newport.”
“It must’ve been fun, at least in the beginning, before you realized—”
“Yeah, they were going after the souls of everyone who came onboard. They made them all sorts of promises. Us too. First they poisoned us all, hoping it would be enough for us to just agree to anything, but instead we got so sick. We thought we were going to die—and we probably should have, but, you know, we’re not like other people . . .” She trailed off for a moment. “Then we slowly started getting better. And when we did, the one in charge told us each that our dreams would come true and we could be really powerful too, for just a small price.”
“How did you find out what you were?”
“He said that’s why they wanted us, more than any of the other people whose souls they were taking. He made us seem so important. We didn’t believe him at first, but then there was some stuff that happened.” She folded her arms across her chest, as though protecting herself from the memories she had unleashed.
“Like what?”
“There was this one girl who warned us. She told us why we all had these scars. She was one of them but had started to snap out of it. She told us to stay strong and resist them. The day after she warned us, she disappeared. Some of her things washed up on the shore but they never found her.” Sabine spoke slowly, as if in a trance, staring out at the river. “They had given us these contracts to sign but we ripped them up and left them in our rooms and ran away one night. Just jumped off the boat and swam away. I’ve never been the best swimmer, but for some reason I swam for miles and miles in the dark and was okay. I was really proud of that. I felt kind of invincible, you know? But he didn’t make it. I don’t eve
n know when or how they got him, just that at some point I stopped hearing his kicking in the water. He was gone.”
Much as I wanted to slow her down, to ask about this him, I let her keep going.
“So I went home. I didn’t know what I would say, but it turned out I didn’t need to come up with a story. The next day, by the time I got back, news had broken of a ship sinking. It was them.” Sabine shivered. I wondered what it must feel like for her to look out onto a nautical scene like this after enduring what she had. Now I understood what had happened on the swamp boat—why she had shut down like that.
“So that was it then?” I asked finally. “They were just gone?”
“That was it.” She paused, then looked at me. “Mind if we head back now?” she asked with pleading eyes. The riverfront walkway had cleared out and the sky was a dark iridescent blue heading into night. “And maybe talk about something else? Just for a little while?”
“I’m worried about you tonight,” I blurted out. “I’m worried about this guy, and I had something like this hap—”
She put up her hand. “Please,” she barked, making me jump. Then, more controlled, but just as firm: “Later, okay?”
“Of course,” I said quietly, respectfully. She had turned off. I’d have to try again.
We gathered our things and silently walked the path back to the comfortable familiarity of the busy streets.
We were halfway home before either of us said another word. But finally Sabine slowed her pace and then stopped walking altogether. I did too.
“Hav?” She glanced at me, then down at her fingers fidgeting with the handle of her shopping bag, like she was embarrassed.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. I just get funny thinking about all that stuff, you know?”
“Sure, I mean, it’s intense. I get it, trust me.” I looked her right in the eye for a second, but she quickly looked away.
Infatuate Page 15
