“Should I get Dad?”
She peered across the yard toward the other side of the house. I followed her gaze. Through the glass kitchen walls, I could see him stirring something on the stove.
“I put him in charge of dessert,” she said. “He’ll join us when he’s done.”
Her voice was firm so I sat down and pulled the blankets across my lap. I was still warm from my swim but the air was cold. It was only a matter of time before the heat faded and my body temperature lowered.
Mom handed me a plate, took one for herself, and sat in the chair next to mine.
“I talked to Anne this afternoon,” she said.
I dropped my hamburger bun. Reached forward for a new one. “Oh?”
“She claimed the open house was a huge success.”
I looked at her. “Did someone make an offer?” If so, maybe my terrible behavior had been worth it.
“Not yet.” She bit into her burger, chewed. “But she said there was a decent crowd. Especially considering that tourism’s down and there are more sellers than buyers right now.”
“There was a guy.”
She tilted her head, raised her eyebrows
“I talked to him and his wife a while. They seemed really interested. I think his name was Brian?”
She nodded. “Corwin. Yes, Anne mentioned him. Apparently he was ready to pay the asking price in cash right then and there, but his wife refused. They even got into a heated argument about it and Anne had to ask them to discuss matters outside. They left from there.”
My heart sank. I took a water glass from the table. “That’s too bad.”
“They may come around. Not everyone makes this kind of decision as quickly as we did.”
“Not everyone has to.”
She stopped chewing. Started again. Swallowed. “Right.”
We ate quietly. Or, Mom ate. I drank. I’d been out of the water a matter of minutes and already my skin was tightening, my throat constricting.
“Was that where you were?” she asked a minute later.
The glass started to slip from my fingers. I squeezed it gently.
“When?”
“During the showing. Anne said you disappeared for a while. Were you busy talking up potential buyers? Showing them around?”
My fingertips, still gripping the glass, turned white. “Yes. This one family wanted to know exactly where our property started and ended. I spent a lot of time with them outside.”
“Did you get their names?”
“Their what?”
“If you spent a lot of time with them, introductions must’ve been made, yes?”
I tried to think of random names, but my head was spinning. “Vanessa.”
I looked down. Mom’s hand was on my knee.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“What? Why?”
She sat back with a sigh. “For asking you to be there. You love that house. Who could blame you for ducking out? What kind of mother am I to ask you to do something like that?”
I put down the glass. Faced her. “The kind who’d turn her whole life upside down—more than once—for her daughter.” I shook my head. “I do love the house and, yes, part of me will miss it. But that’s not why I ducked out.”
I hoped this would put her at ease, but her frown only deepened.
“Mom, really, I promise—”
“Simon.”
My back hit the chair.
“You were with him, weren’t you? Oh, sweetie. You know that’s not a good idea. To try to rekindle things when they’ll only have to end again in a few months? Long-distance never works, no matter how much you want it to, and—”
“I didn’t feel well.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
I chose my words carefully. “I didn’t want to worry you, so I wasn’t going to say anything … but I started to feel a little weird while I was there. So I hung out in the boathouse a while. And just rested.”
She nodded as she processed this. “Weird, how?”
“The usual ways. Tired. Thirsty. Weak.”
“Headache?”
My eyes met hers. “No. No headache.”
She looked down, pushed her food around her plate.
“Mom.” Now my hand was on her knee. “They’re gone. We don’t have to worry about them anymore.”
“That’s what you say but how do you know? How do you really know? Because you also said you thought they were gone once, and then they weren’t.” She trembled. “Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe we were better off at home. Or, I don’t know, moving to Canada. Or somewhere else far, far away.”
My ancestors were actually from Canada. I didn’t share this now, though. Unlike everything else I’d told Mom over the past several months, including the fact that I was stricken with blinding migraines anytime vengeful sirens were near, I didn’t think that was information she needed to have.
“I saw the bodies,” I reminded her softly. “I saw how fast they disintegrated in the lake. I had to for that very reason—to know there was no way they’d come back.”
She sniffed, brushed at her eyes. “You’ve been through so much, Vanessa. More than any sweet, young girl ever should. And I just want to do whatever I can to make you happy, to help you move forward.”
“Um, have you seen where we are?” I motioned to our surroundings when she looked up. “Coffee-table books could be written about this place. Entire travel magazines could be devoted to its architectural marvels and natural splendor.”
She smiled. “It’s not bad.”
“It’s amazing. And I’m the luckiest girl I know.”
She started to say something else just as my cell phone rang. I took it from the table.
“It’s Paige. I’ll call her back.”
“No, no. Take it.” Mom jumped up, patted down her windblown hair. “I’ll freshen up and check on your father. Say hello for us.”
She kissed the top of my head and hurried inside. I poured another glass of water and answered the phone.
“Aged grape.”
“Is this some sort of riddle?” I asked. “Because it’s been a long day and my brain’s not exactly firing on all cylinders.”
“It’s not a riddle,” Paige assured. “It’s the official new color of Betty’s Chowder House.”
“So you went with purple. Louis must be freaking out.”
“There’s been some pot banging and pan slamming, but no total meltdowns. Besides, aged grape is a solid compromise. It’s still in the blueberry pie family but more sophisticated than sweet. And it’s going to be just the face-lift we need to attract new customers.”
“It sounds great. I can’t wait to see it.”
“You and me both. Now, what’s wrong?”
I forced the water I’d just sipped down my throat. “What do you mean?”
“You said it’s been a long day. Why? Did something happen at the open house?” She gasped. “You saw him, didn’t you? You saw Simon.”
I poured another glass of water and drained it before answering. “Yes. Through a window about a hundred feet away.”
“You didn’t talk to him?”
“Not a word.”
This was followed by silence. I knew she was pouting on my behalf.
“But it’s okay,” I said. “At least I know he’s still around, right? He didn’t flee town the second Caleb told him I was here.”
“That’s the dullest silver lining I’ve ever heard.”
I couldn’t help but smile. But then I remembered her other question and the expression faded.
“Something did happen at the open house, though. Besides that, I mean.”
“Hang on. I’m going to the dining room for privacy.”
On the other end of the phone, doors slammed and voices grew louder, then softer. While Paige moved, I did, too. I went to the farthest corner of the patio and faced the house to keep an eye on Mom and Dad. He was feeding her something from a pot on the stove, so I guessed I stil
l had a few minutes before their return.
“We’re good,” Paige said. “Start talking.”
“Okay, so everything was fine for a while, but then—” I stopped myself. “Did you just say you went to the dining room for privacy?”
“Yes. It’s totally empty right now.”
“But it’s still dinnertime.”
“I guess people are eating at home tonight. Anyway, keep going. What happened?”
I took a deep breath and tried to ignore any reservation I had about sharing what I was about to. This was too big to keep to myself, and Paige was the only one I could tell. Plus, if it meant what I thought it did, she needed to hear it sooner rather than later.
“People know,” I said quietly.
There was another second of silence. “Know what? Which people?”
“At the lake house today, I went outside for some air and found a few people behind the boathouse.” Through the wall of windows, I watched Dad kiss Mom’s cheek. Mom put her arms around his neck. “They were talking. About the lake boiling.”
The silence that followed was long. Heavy.
“Paige?”
“I’m here.” When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “What do you mean, boiling?”
“Bubbling. Swirling. Like it sat over an enormous pit of fire.”
“But how did they—? How could they possibly—”
“Know about what happened last fall? When we were all so careful to make sure no one found out?”
“Yes. Charlotte sweet-talked the police who were there, right? So they wouldn’t say anything. Were the other houses on the lake not totally empty, the way we’d thought?” As if to convince herself, she added, “But that’s okay. If someone saw, they probably blamed it on more weird weather. And whoever was there today was just curious.”
I paused. “That’s not all they were talking about.”
She swallowed. “What else?”
I closed my eyes, remembered the hushed, excited voices. “Ladies of the sea,” I practically whispered. “Otherwise known—”
There was a loud bang on her end of the phone. She screamed. I jumped.
“Vanessa, I hate to ask, but can I call you back? Louis is granting us all the pleasure of another world-renowned temper tantrum.”
“Of course,” I said, slightly relieved. Just because we needed to talk about what I’d heard didn’t mean I wanted to. “Good luck. Call me when you can.”
We said good-bye and hung up. I looked across the yard and saw my parents still in the kitchen; I quickly dialed our new home phone number and watched Mom take the cordless from the wall. I assured her I was fine but just a little tired, and asked if we could postpone our family sit-down till later tonight. When she agreed, I hung up and went inside my bedroom.
My brand-new bedroom. With its new four-poster bed. Its new dresser and desk made out of newly reclaimed wood. Its new comforter, pillows, paint, and area rug. Its new stone-and-tile bathroom.
It was unlike any bedroom I’d ever called my own. It should be the perfect place to start over, move forward. The way Mom wanted me to. The way I wanted to.
The question was, would it be enough?
Trying to answer the question was exhausting. So, still wearing my damp swimsuit, I climbed into bed, pulled the blankets over my head, and slid both hands underneath the pillow.
Where I’d put the Bates sweatshirt and water bottle. They were the first things I’d seen when I woke up, alone, after passing out at the lake house that afternoon. They didn’t belong to me, but I’d taken them anyway.
Because they were Simon’s.
CHAPTER 5
“TABLE FOR TWO, PLEASE.”
“Betty!” I closed the Winter Harbor Herald and hurried out from behind the hostess stand. “Paige didn’t tell me you were coming by.”
“That’s because she didn’t know.” Paige’s grandmother opened her arms and gave me a squeeze. “But it was so nice out, I decided to come see these amazing renovations she’s been talking about.”
Our eyes met as we pulled apart. Hers were clear, bright—like a cloudless blue sky. They looked nothing like they had this time last summer, when Raina and Zara had locked Betty away and kept her severely dehydrated until her body weakened and her vision began to fail. They were also clearer than they’d been last fall, after she’d regained her strength but was still being manipulated by the resurrected sirens. Paige had said her vision was still compromised, but the sight made me so happy, I gave her another hug.
“Next time tell me the circus is in town, so I can bring peanuts,” Oliver, Betty’s boyfriend, joked as he scanned the paint cans and tarps spread throughout the lobby.
“It can’t be that bad,” Betty said.
“Compared to a tornado’s destruction? No. You’re right.”
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “It’s nice to see you, Oliver.”
His face softened. “Vanessa. Hello. Don’t mind me, I’m just—”
“Looking out for his family’s best interest.” Paige strode toward us through the dining room. “As always.”
“Can you blame me?” Oliver asked.
“Not even a little—and I can’t thank you enough.” Paige gave them quick hugs. “How about a tour? I’ll show you what we’ve been working on and fill you in on my other plans.”
Paige winked at me as she hooked one arm through Betty’s and led her into the dining room. Oliver followed close behind. As they rounded the corner, out of sight, I heard one last exchange.
“Paige, dear, it’s so quiet. Where is everyone? I thought we agreed to stay open during this process.”
“Grandma B … we are open.”
I checked my watch as I returned to my post behind the hostess stand. It was twelve fifteen on a Tuesday. The restaurant should be packed with locals, part-timers, and tourists. It should be filled with the sounds of dishes clanking, silverware scraping, and the kitchen door swishing open and closed as harried employees flew through. But save for us and the staff, it was empty. The only sounds came from hammers and saws.
Paige had said Betty’s Chowder House wasn’t the only local business suffering, and according to the newspaper, she was right.
AFTER SUMMER OF STORMS, WINTER HARBOR BRACES FOR DROUGHT
As July 4—and the official start of the season—approaches, Winter Harbor retailers and restaurants are pulling out all the stops. In addition to the usual Maine-related merchandise and the freshest lobster to be had anywhere on the East Coast, businesses are offering discounts, coupons, and other incentives to jump-start visitors’ vacations.
There’s just one problem. The visitors, it seems, have gone elsewhere.
“Last summer, lines twenty people deep started at noon and lasted till midnight,” said Eddie Abernathy, owner of Eddie’s Ice Cream. “Now I’m giving away free cones every hour just to get people in the door … but the door’s not opening.”
“It’s strange,” added Nina Poole, manager of Waterside Beachwear. “This time last year, the minute we displayed a swimsuit in the window, someone came in to buy it. Now we’re lucky if someone glances our way as she passes by.”
Local real estate has also taken a hit. Last year’s addition of the high-end Lighthouse Marina Resort and Spa prompted some out-of-towners to invest early in what seemed to be a burgeoning tourist boom. The resulting buzz led to a 100 percent increase over the previous year’s sales as well as a healthy jolt to the local economy. Business owners, simultaneously shell-shocked and giddy, scrambled to keep refrigerators and shelves stocked. For all intents and purposes, the summer was poised to be Winter Harbor’s most profitable yet.
And then the rains came.
“Who can blame them?” said Captain Monty, owner of the town’s namesake marina. “Between the insane storms and bodies washing ashore every other day, it’s amazing so many people lasted as long as they did. Heck, if this hadn’t been my home since the day my momma shot me out and wished me luck, I’d have
steered toward calmer waters, too.”
The economic downturn is unfortunate—especially since recorded rainfall has been consistently below average the past ten months, and the sun has shone every day since Memorial Day. It appears that those who were brave enough to weather the storms will likely be rewarded with ideal conditions this summer.
As for those who weren’t?
“It’s their loss,” said Paige Marchand, granddaughter of Bettina Marchand, who founded Betty’s Chowder House, a local institution, in 1965. “Even covered in a foot of water, Winter Harbor’s still the prettiest place on earth.”
“Where’s your sign?”
I looked up; the quick motion made my head pulsate slightly. I slid a menu over the newspaper as a young woman crossed the lobby.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“Your sign.” She held up a paper map, the kind with stick figures and cartoon drawings that the Chamber of Commerce hands out. “According to this, this is where Betty’s Chowder House should be. Not a construction site.”
“This is Betty’s,” I said, with a smile. “The sign’s down temporarily, for renovations. But we’re open for business as usual.”
“All the more reason to make sure people know where you are, right?”
My face warmed. “Of course.”
She held my gaze for a moment, then grinned. “So is the soup really as good as they say?”
“It’s better.” I took another menu from the rack on the wall and led her into the dining room.
“Is there a bar?”
I slowed and glanced over my shoulder. She looked about my age, maybe a year or two older. That would put her at twenty, tops.
“I hate eating at a regular table by myself,” she explained. “And where there’s a bar, there’s usually a TV, which is the closest thing to company I’m going to get.”
I could relate. I’d come to Betty’s alone last year to be among people without having to talk about myself—or what had just happened to Justine. I wondered if this girl was here for similar reasons, as I showed her to the bar and gave her the remote.
Dark Water: A Siren Novel Page 4
