I'll Never Tell

by Catherine McKenzie

  “Only in the best way,” Kerry said.

  “Agreed.”

  “We’re doing this for them.”

  “We are.”

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  “There’s still no reception here.”

  “You can get texts at the house.”

  “How did you—”

  “I noticed the signal after the funeral. Your password’s weak.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Change it.”

  Kerry insisted that they go over the plan one last time before they hung up. As she talked, Ryan watched Margaux move around in the French Teacher’s Cabin. Turning on a light in the living room. Unpacking her things in one of the bedrooms. It was easier to watch her than to let himself be distracted by what lay past the cabin.

  The lake. And beyond that, the Island.

  Amanda

  July 22, 1998—10:00 p.m.

  The Island was a perfect circle of land in the middle of the lake. When you stood on Boat Beach, it seemed a stone’s throw away, but it took us half an hour to paddle there and begin setting up for the overnight. The campers, and Margaux’s sixteen-year-old sister, Mary, a counselor-in-training, were being ferried over four at a time by Sean, the head groundskeeper, in the crash boat.

  I felt both exhausted and wired. I loved overnights when I was a kid. We’d make a campfire and roast marshmallows and torture our counselors with threats to swim back to camp. Then, the summer Margaux and I were fourteen, one of the boys’ cabins raided us at three in the morning with plans to convince us to go skinny-dipping. A counselor caught us, tipped off by our loud whispering. The next morning, Mr. MacAllister threatened to call our parents and send us all home. Boys had attempted to gain access to one of his daughters in the middle of the night. This was not to be borne.

  That’s how he talked, half quoting stuff he’d memorized in college. He was supposed to be teaching Shakespeare, he often said, not running a children’s prison. But when his father had died, when Mr. MacAllister was twenty-eight, and he’d inherited the camp, he left all that behind. He’d wanted to sell, I’d heard, but the property was locked up in some kind of trust. So there he was, stuck, I guess.

  The overnights almost got canceled for good, but someone, Margaux’s mom probably, intervened. Nights under the stars as mealtimes for mosquitoes helped us build character. They were a tradition. Margaux’s mom was big on traditions. So the overnights continued, and the raids were planned more carefully.

  Overnights were different when you were a counselor though. Sleepless nights were fine when you were twelve, but not so fine when you had to give a sailing lesson the next day at nine a.m. to a bunch of ten-year-olds who wanted to turtle their boats. Most counselors dreaded them. But that overnight—my last, as it turned out—I was excited for, because: Ryan.

  We laid out the groundsheets, started a campfire, then helped the kids haul their bags up from the beach. The campers—ten- and eleven-year-old girls—were giddy and giggling, barely listening as Margaux traced the constellations. Once we’d waved goodbye to Sean, and they were all in place around a roaring fire, we served them hot chocolate, then made sticks for roasting marshmallows with our pocketknives. I circled with a can of bug spray, taking one girl at a time away from the fire to make sure every inch of exposed skin was doused with mosquito repellant.

  I did these things mechanically. All I was thinking of was Ryan, Ryan MacAllister, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. I felt so consumed by him I was sure I’d said his name out loud, calling one of the girls Ryan instead of Claude. But Claude was the kind of girl who’d shriek out at that kind of mistake, instead of simply rolling her eyes when I asked her if I’d missed a spot, so his name must’ve only been that loud in my head. I looked across the fire at Margaux, strumming her guitar, playing a popular French pop song, and told myself to pay more attention or I was going to get caught.

  She didn’t know my crush on Ryan had moved from a wish to a wish-that-might-be-fulfilled. I saw the looks she gave me whenever I brought him up. Fat chance, Amanda Bean. She didn’t have to say it for me to hear it. I thought it too. And until that summer, she was right. Ryan never paid attention to me. I was one of his sister’s annoying friends. But something had changed. He laughed at the things I said, even when they weren’t that funny. When he’d danced with me one Saturday night in the lodge, he’d put his hand on the small of my back and rubbed my skin through the fabric until I felt dizzy.

  And now, Ryan was coming to meet me.

  To do what, I wasn’t quite sure, but I knew I wanted it. I wanted it, whatever it was.

  Amanda

  Margaux

  Ryan

  Mary

  Sean

  9:00 p.m.

  Lantern ceremony

  Lantern ceremony

  Lantern ceremony

  10:00 p.m.

  On the Island

  On the Island

  On the island

  Crash boat

  CHAPTER 4

  THE ONE THEY ALWAYS FORGET

  Liddie

  Liddie MacAllister waited until Ryan had hung up the phone before putting her own receiver back in the cradle.

  She was in the basement of her parents’ house, lying in the bed her father had often slept in when he couldn’t be bothered to climb the stairs to her mother. She smiled to herself. She’d found some of his stash last night and smoked half a joint before falling asleep and had woken up this morning still rocking in its pleasant glow.

  No one knew where Liddie was right now. She liked that feeling, the freedom of it. When she was small, one of the youngest children in a boisterous family, she’d hated being invisible. But as she grew older and understood the power of it, she’d cultivated it. You heard all kinds of interesting things when you were invisible. Saw them too. People even told you the strangest things sometimes, certain you weren’t important enough to do anything about it.

  Once, for instance, at a bar, when she was wearing an old man’s suit she’d bought at a thrift shop, the man sitting next to her told her he was an assassin. He explained his methods, though he wouldn’t say the name of anyone he’d offed, “Just in case,” he kept saying, “just in case I’ve misjudged you.” She’d listened in fascination, certain he was bullshitting her, but she’d given him a fake name when he asked and waited a full hour after he left the bar before leaving herself. She made sure never to go back to that place, worried that when “Bob” woke up the next morning, he’d regret his confidence and come looking for her.

  That was the strangest night, but there had been others.

  She sat up. The room was dark. The ground-level windows were covered with blackout blinds. When her father wanted to hide, he wanted to be invisible even from the sun.

  Liddie thought about the conversation she’d just overheard. Ryan and Kerry were idiots, talking about their plans on an open line like that even after Kerry brought up the possibility that someone was listening. But that was Ryan. He always acted as if he were invincible, as if the usual vagaries of life couldn’t affect him. Even when things had gone badly, like when he lost most of his money to John Rylance, he acted like it was happening to someone else. He even spoke about it in the third person sometimes—“When Ryan was betrayed by John”—which was just weird.

  Everyone thought she was weird. With her boy haircut and her men’s clothes and the fact that she’d never introduced them to anyone she ever dated. Ever since that show Transparent had started airing, people assumed she was trans. Before, they thought she was a lesbian. She wasn’t either of those things, th
ough she’d experimented enough along the way. But no. Dressing this way was her shield. Besides, men’s clothes were way more comfortable than women’s clothes and had more pockets. Liddie was sure that if more people thought about the extra pockets, they’d be more open to her way of doing things.

  She got dressed and brushed her teeth in the basement bathroom, wondering all the while what Ryan thought he was going to achieve. Their parents hadn’t known that they’d die together when their train derailed, but their father had apparently planned their affairs to cover every possibility. The family lawyer, Kevin Swift, had informed them after the funeral that their father’s instructions were clear: Camp would continue as usual for the first summer after he died, and then, when the last bag had been packed and the final crying child recovered by their parents, they’d gather as a family to read the will and decide what to do with the place.

  Keep it or sell. That was the choice they were facing.

  Her father was often disconnected from reality, but thinking the five of them could come up with a common solution about a plot of land that was worth millions of dollars was shockingly naive, even for him. Ryan’s choice was obvious. Margaux’s and Mary’s too. Kate was harder to read, but she was probably on Ryan’s side, despite everything.

  And Liddie? Well, she was going to wait and see where the wind was blowing, and then she’d decide. Or maybe she’d be the spoiler in the deck just for fun.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  • • •

  “My God, Liddie. You scared the shit out of me.”

  Liddie cackled. Ryan had actually jumped a foot in the air when she sneaked up on him in the kitchen where he was making coffee and said a quiet, “Hi.”

  “You should relax. You’re always so tense.”

  Ryan pulled at the collar of his dress shirt. Had he worn a suit to camp? Was he trying to impress them, or was it simply a signal that he was viewing this as a business meeting?

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind, all right?”

  “Clearly.”

  “Wait . . . When did you get here?”

  “Last night.”

  “You slept here?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “It’s not what we discussed.”

  Liddie rested against the old Formica counter. The edges were cracked and dug into her back. “Give me a break. This is my house. I can come and go as I please.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No.”

  “If you say so. I know what you’re planning.”

  The color rose in his face. His shirt looked a bit tight on him around the neck, half a size too small. “How would you . . . You little creep. You were listening on the downstairs extension?”

  “No, loser. I just know you. You can’t wait to parcel this place up into a zillion condos now that we can sell the land.”

  “Do you know how much this place is worth?”

  “I’m not an idiot. Plus, you’ve only been talking about it for, like, ten years.”

  “You don’t want to sell?”

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “Liddie . . .”

  “What?”

  “We’ve all got to be on the same page here.”

  “We’ll see. We don’t actually know what’s in the will, do we?”

  He blinked quickly, a sure sign he was nervous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t be so sure that it’s all going to work out the way you think.”

  Liddie hadn’t seen the will either, but Ryan didn’t have to know that. It was fun watching him squirm.

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Usually.”

  He was next to her in two swift steps, holding her tightly by the arm. He smelled like day-old booze and sweat.

  “Ow! Let go.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  She knew she should be scared, but all she felt was annoyed. Ryan always underestimated her, and then got mad when he discovered his mistake, as if it were Liddie’s fault that he couldn’t figure her out by now.

  “Let go, Ryan, or you’ll regret it.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Now who’s making threats?”

  “I mean it. Let go of me or else.”

  “Else what?”

  He tightened his grip.

  “What the fuck, Ryan?”

  She lifted her knee swiftly into his groin with as much strength as she could. She was five feet two to his six feet, but she’d taken self-defense classes and had practiced this move over and over on a large man dressed like the Michelin Man. She just never thought she’d use it on her brother.

  He released her arm and fell moaning to the floor. He curled into a fetal position, his hands between his legs. He’d turned gray, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.

  Had she used too much force? No, forget that. She was going to have bruises on her arm where he grabbed her. He deserved what he got, the stupid idiot.

  “Can you talk?”

  “Ice,” he said through gritted teeth. “Get me some ice.”

  “Maybe you should feel what it’s like to be hurt for a bit.”

  “I am feeling what it’s like. Jesus.”

  She stood over him. He looked pitiful. She’d never used that move in real life before. “Is that why Kerry kicked you out? Because you were violent with her?”

  “I’ve never touched her. And she didn’t kick me out.”

  “Sure, right.”

  “Liddie, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I grabbed you like that. It was completely unacceptable, and I don’t know what came over me. Now, will you please get me some ice?”

  “Fine.”

  Liddie walked to the yellowing fridge. It was still covered with artifacts from their childhood. Silly things they’d made in Craft Shop. Staff photos. An old list for the grocery store—real vegetables! her father had written, whatever that meant. The one thing missing was a photo of the entire family. There must be one of those somewhere, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing one.

  She opened the freezer and removed a plastic tray. The ice was half-evaporated, but it would have to do. She emptied the contents onto a tea towel her mother made years ago, a rainbow pattern that always stood out in this drab kitchen. Wrapping the ice in it made her nostalgic. Not for her mother, exactly, but for the time when they were all children and the possibility of their being a happy family still existed.

  “Here,” she said, dropping the bundle of ice and towel in the general direction of Ryan’s groin. “Is that what you wanted?”

  CHAPTER 5

  SECOND TO LAST

  Margaux

  When Margaux walked into her parents’ kitchen, she found her brother lying on the ground with a wet tea towel clutched to his groin and Liddie standing over him, her hands on her hips as if she were waiting to scold him.

  “An hour in and we already have an injury,” she said. “Fantastic.”

  Liddie spun around. She was wearing a pair of boys’ jeans and a plaid shirt that was buttoned at her neck. She had a tattoo on the back of each hand, and her hair was cut in a short, floppy style like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Margaux never understood what dressing like that was about, but she supposed Liddie was probably looking at her own khaki pants and cashmere crewneck from L.L. Bean and thinking the same thing.

  “Hey, Margaux.”

  “Hey, yourself. See also: What the hell?”

  “I kneed him in the groin.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because he was being a jerk.”

  Margaux leaned down to Ryan. He was sweating profusely, and the smell of it was sharp, earthy, and unpleasant, like his room used to be when he was a teenager. “Man scent,” she called it then. Only M
ark never smelled like that. “You going to keep lying there?”

  “I might.”

  “Suit yourself, but I thought you wanted to talk before Swift got here.”

  He rolled onto his back. “Motherfucker.”

  “She got you good, huh?”

  “I may have overdone it,” Liddie said.

  Margaux stood up. “Looks like it.”

  “He’ll live.”

  “You gonna tell me what happened?”

  Liddie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. When did you get here?”

  “Last night.”

  “Does Sean know you’re here?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “He was already in bed when I arrived.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he always goes to bed at ten.”

  She leaned toward Liddie. She smelled like her father used to, a mix of coffee and marijuana. “Waking and baking these days?”

  “What?”

  “Forget it. You should’ve told Sean you were here.”

  Liddie barked a laugh. “Oh, this is rich. Do you hear that, Ryan? Suddenly Margaux cares what Sean thinks.”

  “Shut it.”

  “No, really. Please, let me hear more about what I should’ve done with regard to Sean.”

  Ryan sat up. “Enough already, you two.”

  Liddie looked back and forth between Ryan and Margaux. “Fine. Whatever. Take her side. What else is new?”

  She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  Margaux held out her hand to Ryan to help him up. He took it and hauled himself to his feet. The towel slipped. Half-melted ice scattered across the dirty linoleum floor.

  “So,” she said. “This is going well.”