“That’s some tank.”
I spun around. A young guy in jeans and a Langden Farm fleece came toward me with a shovel.
“Sorry?” I said.
He nodded to the empty water bottle I held. “You downed that whole thing without coming up for air once. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.” I tried to smile as I walked backward. “Guess I was thirstier than I realized.”
“Are you lost? Can I help you with something?”
He was quickening his pace. I did the same—and stumbled back when my heel hit rock. I cried out when two hands grabbed my arms from behind and pulled me firmly to my feet.
“She’s good,” Simon said. “We’re good.”
I struggled to breathe normally. The guy stopped walking, his shovel slightly raised. A second later, he lowered the tool and began to retreat.
“No worries, man. I was just doing my job.”
We didn’t move until he disappeared around the back of the barn.
“Maybe we should leave,” Simon said.
I shoved the empty bottles in my purse and turned toward him. “No way. I’m fine—and I really do want to go riding.”
“That guy could’ve—”
“That guy was harmless. He wouldn’t have tried anything and even if he had, I could’ve handled him.”
I was less certain of this than I sounded, but Simon seemed somewhat reassured. He didn’t protest when I squeezed his hand and said, “Come on. Let’s go saddle up our unicorn or Pegasus or whichever mythical creature they call a horse around here.”
As it turned out, our transportation around the outskirts of Maine’s one hundred magical acres really were ordinary horses. Mine was a deep brown mare with a slight limp and a white diamond running down her snout. Simon’s was an older, gray stallion. Our trainer was a married, grandfatherly gentleman, who gave us a few pointers for stopping, starting, and steering, and demonstrated how to climb into the saddle.
I went first, stepping my left foot in the stirrup and gripping the reins to pull myself up. I was about to swing my right leg over when Simon gently took my hips in both hands. He tried to give me a boost, but his unexpected touch made me lose my breath—and my balance. I threw my other arm across the saddle, and used all my upper-body strength to pull the rest of me into position.
“Piece of cake.” I smiled and brushed the hair out of my eyes.
Simon patted my horse, as if asking her to be gentle with me, then went to his. It took him a few tries to get in the saddle, but it was hard to tell if that was because the horse was skittish … or because Simon was.
Once we were both steady on our steeds, we walked them up and down the driveway. The trainer, apparently satisfied with our newfound skills, permitted us in the main meadow and instructed us to stay within the fenced perimeter and keep the farmhouse in sight. We did as we were told … until I spotted a trail entrance in the far corner of the lawn.
“Where do you think it goes?” I whispered, like someone might be listening. “Cinderella’s castle? A mad tea party? Oz?”
“All of the above?” Simon guessed.
Seeing only the roof of the farmhouse, I turned my horse around and guided her back up the small hill. The home’s second story had just come into view when I tugged on the reins. The horse stopped.
“Something wrong?”
I turned back. Simon’s eyebrows were lowered, his hands tight on the reins. I smiled to reassure him, then gave the sides of my horse a quick dig with my heels. She started with a jolt toward the trail.
“Vanessa, where are you …? Jack said to …”
I held my breath as we passed him and entered the trail. Initially, I couldn’t hear anything but my horse’s hooves clomping against the packed dirt, but soon, a second, faster set sounded behind us.
I exhaled and gave the mare another gentle jab. She sped up, trotting between lush green hills that seemed to stretch on for miles. At first I bounced awkwardly—and painfully—in the saddle, but with some experimentation, I soon figured out how to lift and move to the horse’s rhythm. My heart raced as I listened for more hooves, maybe even a car, coming up behind us, surrounding us, ordering us to hand over our steeds and leave the premises, but none did.
Ten minutes later, the trail entered a dense patch of trees. I pulled lightly on the reins, listened for Simon’s suggestion to turn back, head out. But like a disapproving Langden Farm staff member, it didn’t come. So we continued on.
It didn’t take long to learn how the hundred acres earned their magical status. The path narrowed as trees grew wider, taller. Thin rays of sunlight filtered through shifting branches, making the air glow and ground glitter. Flowers in shades of purple, red, and yellow flourished beneath the protective canopy. Butterflies flitted between petals. Birds called out, their songs soft, sweet. As we meandered, it felt like we were enveloped by this place rather than simply cutting through it.
Simon and I were quiet the entire time. When we came to an old, covered bridge, neither of us asked the other if we’d like to stop for a while. We just did, sliding off our horses, looping their reins around a tree trunk, and heading for the red wooden structure. We walked silently to the middle of the bridge, then leaned against one low wall. As we watched the stream flicker ten feet below, I was aware of only two things: the natural beauty all around us … and Simon’s arm brushing against mine.
Sometime later, he spoke.
“When’d you get so brave?”
My eyes raised from the water, locked on a tall, distant evergreen.
“You never would’ve done that before.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful.
“Done what?”
“Defied authority. Broken rules. I know Jack wasn’t exactly intimidating, but still. He told us where to stay … and yet here we are, a world away. The old Vanessa would’ve been too scared—not necessarily of getting in trouble, but of disappointing an adult—to come this far.”
The old Vanessa. Did that mean my attempts to convince him I was someone else, someone new and improved, were working?
As if to answer my question, Simon continued.
“There have been other things, too. Like the way you shrugged off that guy behind the barn. And the way you insisted on driving home alone the other night—”
“Which you didn’t allow,” I reminded him. “You followed me all the way to my driveway.”
“I know, and I would again. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t convincing. Before, you might not have come out and asked me to make sure you got home okay, but you wouldn’t have protested when I offered.”
I didn’t say anything. He was right.
“Even this,” he said, his voice softer. “You inviting me to hang out, especially when things between us are so … undefined. It’s new. Different.”
“The old Vanessa would’ve waited for you to come to her.”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Would you have?”
He laughed once, lightly. “See? That, too. You never would’ve asked that question.”
This was followed by a long pause as I waited for his answer.
“Um …” He stood straighter, rested his hands on the top of the wall. “Would I have come to you? As something other than a friend?”
His elbow bumped mine. My breath caught.
“I don’t think I would’ve had a choice.”
At which point the old—as in, week-ago—Vanessa would’ve immediately talked herself out of doing what the new Vanessa did next.
She kissed him. I kissed him. Without turning and waiting for him to turn to me, or stepping closer and hoping he did the same. I put one hand on his arm, pulled him just enough that I could fit in the small space between him and the bridge wall, reached up … and kissed him.
Maybe this was what Charlotte had meant on the beach when we talked. My body was acting on its own when my head would normally slow it down. Was this my power at work?
Either way, if I’d known what would
follow this single act, I would’ve done it much sooner. Because everything, all of the hesitancy, questions, and reservations, disappeared. Nervousness was replaced with excitement, shyness with boldness. Our kisses, especially the first ones shared after not seeing one another for a few days, had always started softly. Delicately. Tenderly. Now we skipped ahead, our mouths moving and lips parting the way they had only in the midst of our most heated make-out sessions. His hands were firm as they moved down my back and took my hips. I pressed the length of my body against his like I knew, without a hint of doubt, that’s what he wanted, that he wouldn’t pull away.
And the surprising thing was I did.
He leaned forward, pushing me against the bridge. I released his sweater just long enough to put both hands on the wall and lift myself up. My legs squeezed his waist, his hands gripped my thighs. His mouth moved down my neck, across the bare skin above my tank top. I wound my fingers through his hair, bringing his face even closer. He slid one hand across my waist and up my back, took the collar of my jacket and tugged until the denim slid down my arm. As his lips brushed my shoulder, his fingers traveled back up my arm, pulled the thin tank-top strap aside. His other hand inched up my right thigh, under the cuff of my shorts. I tightened my legs around him and kissed wherever I could reach—his neck, his jaw, the soft space beneath his ear.
I’m okay, I thought, preparing to answer the question I knew was coming. I’m amazing, actually. This … you … it’s exactly what I want. It’s all that I want.
Only, the question, the one Simon always asked, no matter how many times we were together, never came.
Either I was even more convincing than I realized, or someone else had become braver, too.
“You two aware your rides left without you?”
Simon leapt back. I covered my mouth, as if to erase evidence of what we’d just been doing, and then hopped down from the wall.
Jack sat on a tall horse at the end of the bridge. He nodded up the trail, where our horses were strolling back the way we came.
“Might want to catch up,” he said. “We got half a dozen employees looking for you, and a couple of empty horses won’t do much to ease their worries.”
With that, he turned and galloped away—but not without giving us a quick wink first.
The air was still for a second, and then Simon and I cracked up. The release felt so good, so energizing, I didn’t even worry about what kind of trouble we’d likely get into when we returned to the farm.
“Come here,” Simon said when we calmed down. He held out one hand, which I took, and pulled me into a loose hug. “Vanessa …”
When he didn’t say anything else, I nodded against his chest. “I know. Me, too.”
He kissed the top of my head, the tip of my nose, my lips. Softly. Delicately. Tenderly.
And then we retrieved our horses and headed for the farm, where we didn’t get into trouble—or a warm invitation to return.
We took our time returning to Winter Harbor. We drove around a while, grabbed some lunch, wandered through a few antique shops, and stopped for a leisurely dinner. We kept the conversation light and never referred to last summer, fall, or even week. For my part, those topics barely crossed my mind.
I didn’t think either of us wanted the day to end, but we agreed not worrying our parents was essential if we were going to have another like it. So when the sun started to set, we headed east.
The fact that Simon wanted to spend more time together was so reassuring that when he offered to drive back, I gave him the keys. It had been twelve hours since my swim, and though I’d continued to sneak sips of salt water, my energy was steadily waning. Plus, it had been such a full day, I thought my fatigue could be easily attributed to everything we’d done.
I must’ve dozed off at some point, because in one instant, I was watching the sky turn purple over a field of flowers, and in the next, I was wide awake, staring at flashing red lights.
“What is it?” I asked, sitting up straight. “Where are we?”
“It looks like an accident.” Simon’s voice was tense. He inched the Jeep forward in the slow-moving line of traffic. “And we just crossed the Winter Harbor border.”
Accidents happened all the time. I knew they happened all the time, to ordinary people for ordinary reasons. Which was why I managed to stay calm as we passed two police cars and an ambulance, and neared the circle of EMTs administering CPR.
But then one of the EMTs moved. The plastic mask came off the girl’s mouth and her head dropped to one side.
And Carla’s lifeless eyes met mine.
CHAPTER 14
BREAKING NEWS: WINTER HARBOR HIGH TRACK STAR DEAD AT 18
Little more than a year after Justine Sands, the first victim of last summer’s string of fatalities, was found at the base of Chione Cliffs, the body of Carla Marciano, a recent Winter Harbor High graduate and 400-meter record holder for the school’s track team, was discovered at the intersection of Maple Lane and Washington Avenue.
Investigations are underway and police are actively seeking witnesses. If you or someone you know has any information about the events leading up to Miss Marciano’s death, please call the WHPD at 207-555-3900.
Story developing, check back for updates.
“That made it to the Herald Web site in less than twelve hours,” Paige said, scrolling to the top of the page. “First-time visitors would never guess that until last summer, the only thing on this page was a cartoon crab telling you to pick up the paper in town.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s all you have to say?”
She closed her laptop and sat back. “Of course not. It’s awful. Tragic. And it totally freaks me out. But if I talk about how much it freaks me out, that’ll just make me freak out even more. And it’s too early in the summer to completely lose it.”
I glanced around to make sure we were still alone on the employee break deck. “But you knew her. Did she ever, I don’t know, say anything to suggest—”
“That she was being chased by evil sirens? No. And she only worked here a few days and spent half the time frantically running around and the other half crying. The most I learned was that she has an expensive addiction to Kleenex.” Paige looked down at her lap, then toward the harbor. “She had an expensive addiction to Kleenex.”
I followed her gaze. The water was calm, flat. The cloudless sky was a brilliant blue. Like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, the weather in Winter Harbor was perfect. This should be reassuring, since last summer’s victims, Justine included, had always been found after severe thunderstorms … but it also made the situation even more puzzling.
“What about you?” Paige turned back. “I mean, it’s bad enough that you actually saw her lying there, in the middle of the road, but then to read that online … with your sister’s name …” She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and leaned toward me. “Are you okay? Do you want to take the day off? Spend some time with your parents?”
“Thank you, but, no. I’m fine. I feel a little guilty, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“Guilty? What for?”
“For the very first thought that ran through my head when I got a good look at the victim last night.”
Paige put one hand over mine on the table.
“It’s a terrible, tragic thing no matter what, just like you said, and—”
“It’s okay, Vanessa.”
“I was relieved it was a girl.” The words flew from my mouth. “It’s awful, I know, but—”
“It’s not awful. It’s understandable. I’d think the exact same thing.”
I sighed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, although I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear.” She paused. “But you know other people will probably make similar connections. That piece on the Herald Web site is just the beginning. The bigger news channels might not pick it up right away, but at least around here, people will be talking, comp
aring …”
“Like, Carla to Justine? Since she was the first victim and only girl?”
Paige’s face scrunched in apology.
“I know. But there are some major differences, the biggest of which being that Carla wasn’t found near water. Also, there’s a sharp turn by that intersection, so it’s very possible it was only a terrible hit-and-run. And because despite what I thought last night, you and I know that there’s no chance anything like last summer can happen again.” I shrugged. “So let them talk.”
She squeezed my hand. “Fearless. Just like handsome, perceptive Mr. Science Guy said.”
I drained my iced coffee, like it would stop the heat from spreading across my face. “Speaking of, I should probably get downstairs. He texted this morning to say he and Caleb were coming for breakfast today in addition to lunch. And don’t worry—they’ll pay for this meal. I’m sure he wanted to see for himself that I made it here in one piece.”
“Please. If Simon wants filet mignon instead of bacon on his egg sandwich, he can have it—and free of charge. Anyone who makes my Vanessa as happy as he makes you is entitled to whatever he wants.” A smile played on her lips as she stood up and gathered her laptop and folders. “And Caleb’s okay. By association, of course.”
“Of course.”
Her smile grew. I was about to ask if I’d missed something when her smile disappeared and she looked at me, instantly serious.
“I’m sorry, by the way. For the other night at Murph’s. I never apologized and I really wanted you to know how bad I felt afterward. I don’t know what got into me … I guess it was just too much, you know? Seeing all those pictures and thinking about all that stuff again?”
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