Liddie had always been okay with that, despite all the pains she’d taken to look as different as possible from Kate and even to hide her feelings from her. But she’d never asked Kate if she was okay with that. She’d assumed that this was how things were going to be because, well, things were usually the way she wanted them to be if she wanted it enough. Sometimes she had to wait—like with Owen—but it was okay to wait when you knew it would come out right in the end.
But looking at Kate and Amy, the way their eyes locked on to one another’s, made her rethink things. There wasn’t any room for Liddie in that look. There wasn’t any room for anything but them.
She felt small. How selfish could one person be? How could she begrudge her sister what she had with Owen? She was as selfish as everyone had always said she was. It didn’t matter what other people thought in the end, but this, this space between Kate and her? That was everything. So when she went to the pantry to look for tea, she broke. And then Ryan was there to pick her up.
She made Kate her tea and brought it to her. She was relieved to see that Kate no longer looked like death. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and her teeth weren’t chattering.
“Drink this slowly, okay? I don’t want to burn your frozen self.”
“I won’t.”
Liddie hugged her, being careful not to slosh the tea all over the place. “You’re not allowed to die,” she whispered in her sister’s ear, “before me.”
“Thanks, Liddie.”
She pulled back. Kate was smiling at her. A weary, worn-out smile, but enough to know that there was still a place for her in her life, if she wanted it.
“You’re going to say, ‘don’t ever change,’ right?”
Kate shook her head. “You couldn’t if you wanted to.”
“That’s true,” Liddie said lightly, but it stung. Was she so rigid? And what if she was? Was her character so bad that it needed changing?
Liddie retreated. Sean was standing by the fire with Mary and Margaux. Ryan was by the door, looking like he didn’t know where he fit.
She walked up to him and asked him to follow her to the Craft Shop.
“Why?”
“Just come, okay? You’ll understand when I show you.”
They left the lodge. The clouds had increased, circling above. It was warmer out, but she was still chilled from the lake. She should change her clothes, but they were half-dry now, the quick wicking fabric living up to its name. They were made for camp and all its weather. She hadn’t checked the forecast in a couple of days. She hoped it wouldn’t be rainy tomorrow. Whatever she felt about her parents, a rainy memorial with a hundred people swarming around in the mud wasn’t her idea of a fitting send-off.
They crossed the field. The freshly mown grass perfumed the air. It would be a shame, she thought, to her surprise, for all this to be replaced by condos, parking lots, too many people. Paving paradise. Though that wasn’t what this place was, not by a long shot.
She opened the door to the Craft Shop and turned on the light.
“Shit, it’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“Dad’s Amanda file. We found it and brought it here and tacked it up on the wall, and now someone’s taken it.”
Liddie walked to the wall where the physical projection of her father’s labyrinthine mind had been a few hours before. The thumbtacks were still there, a few stray scraps of newsprint and paper stuck under them. But the timelines they’d discovered, the clues—if that’s what they were—had disappeared. What the hell?
“Dad had an Amanda file?” Ryan asked.
“He had a Ryan file too. One on each of us.”
“What was in them?”
“Photographs, newspaper stories, Twitter feeds . . . you name it; if it was publicly available and about us, Dad had it.”
Liddie stopped herself from saying some of the other things he had. Surveillance photographs. Reports that looked as if a detective had written them. Logs of where they’d been and when, and with whom. And the documents she’d thankfully hidden in her pocket, which were now hidden in her suitcase in the French Teacher’s Cabin.
“That’s weird.”
“I’ll say. Though it makes sense.”
“How so?”
“It’s how he came to that conclusion about you, I guess.”
Ryan turned toward her. “What kind of stuff did he have about me?”
“That old collection of bracelets you used to wear, tagged to each girl, for one.”
He sat on one of the small plastic chairs that were meant for someone half his size. “Ugh.”
“Lots of stuff on Stacey also.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little.”
“I know I haven’t always been the nicest to you, and yesterday . . . I feel bad about that. But do you think . . . I just don’t get why you think I did it.”
Was her whole family affected with the same malady? Did nothing stick in anyone’s brain?
“How can you say that? Do you know what that’s been like for Kate and me, having to keep that night to ourselves for all these years?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you said so at the time.”
“But I am. I am. And maybe I didn’t get it at first, but I’ve spent the last ten years trying to make up for that. To Kerry, to my family, and to you, if you’d let me, but you just push me away. You don’t return my calls, don’t tell me anything about yourself. You and Kate both, all of you.”
Liddie was stung. Did she deserve to be attacked like this? By Ryan of all people?
“We all live separate lives. It’s the way it is.”
“It doesn’t have to be. My girls ask about you all the time. Where’s Aunt Liddie? How come she doesn’t come around anymore?”
“They’re probably confusing me for Kate.”
“Not unless Kate suddenly has a body full of tattoos.”
This made Liddie smile. It was true; the last time she’d seen the girls, she’d taken them swimming at the local pool. They’d been fascinated by her web of tattoos and what each one meant. But there had also been the stares of the mothers and fathers. Somehow, the tattoo revolution hadn’t made it to Westmount. Liddie had covered herself up, both hating herself for doing it and Ryan for making it necessary. Neither was fair, but she couldn’t help how things were. She wasn’t responsible. She was a bystander.
“The girls are sweet.”
“You should see them more.”
“Okay, maybe I will. Only . . .”
Ryan’s face was grim. “Only, you think I hurt Amanda, so . . .”
“Ryan, come on. I know you hurt Amanda.”
“I didn’t, I swear to God.”
Liddie watched his expression. She wished she could tell when someone was lying. Then she could follow the expressions that were flitting across Ryan’s face, and know. But she couldn’t, and all she had in front of her was her brother telling her one thing and her memory telling her another.
“If you didn’t, then what were you doing on Secret Beach that morning?”
CHAPTER 28
SUPPLIES
Mary
Kate’s full color returned as the food truck pulled to a stop in front of the lodge, its loud gears grinding. Mary touched Amy’s shoulder to get her attention. She was still sitting at Kate’s feet.
“The food delivery’s here. Did you want me to take care of it?”
Amy looked up gratefully. “Could you? The list is in the kitchen.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll help you,” Margaux said. “I’ll go get the list; you go greet the guy.”
Jean-François, Mary wanted to say. But he goes by J-F. But what was the point? Her family had never taken the time to get to know the help around he
re, except for Sean. Though, come to think of it, maybe Kate was an exception to that. She certainly seemed to have gotten to know at least one of the help quite well.
Kate and Amy. When had that happened? There were many years when Kate was the only family member at camp besides her parents. Mary and the others came in and out, but Kate was the one running the place, despite what her parents liked to think. Was that when this—whatever it was—had taken hold? Or did it go further back? Was Amy a predator like you saw on TV, one of those teachers who slept with their students?
“Mary?”
“Yeah?”
“I thought you were going to go greet the food guy?”
“Oh, right, sorry. I spaced.”
Mary hurried outside. A large white delivery truck blocked the driveway. J-F was standing on the step runner, flipping through a manifest. The clack of the screen door got his attention. He gave her a wide smile.
“Hey, Mary. Long time.” His English was excellent, but there was a trace of French-Canadian in his accent and, sometimes, his word choices.
“Long time. I’ll open the shed for you.”
“Sounds good.”
She walked past him to the food shed, half-hidden by the trees. She had a key for it on her key ring, a holdover from all the years when she was in charge of receiving deliveries. That was how she’d met J-F. Kate had run camp, but Mary had still come in once a week to inventory the food deliveries and make sure her parents weren’t being shorted. But that had all stopped when Kate left and Sean took over running everything, though, again, her parents acted like they did it all themselves.
She wasn’t quite sure why she’d never returned the key, or any of the others, for that matter. Perhaps there was some security in knowing she still had access to all her old haunts, if she wanted to.
“You are receiving a lot of people tomorrow?” J-F said. “For the memorial?”
He was standing right behind her. It had been two years since she’d last seen him, but she still remembered—it was a cliché—like it was yesterday. But that’s how it felt. Sometimes she’d be doing something completely benign, and a flash of him would hit her. The way he looked at her. The way he loved her smell. How he inserted a finger into her in exactly the right way. How he sucked her nipples until she came.
“That’s right,” she said, shaking away the thoughts. “Will there be enough room in here?”
She didn’t turn around. Making eye contact with J-F was always dangerous. Instead she turned the lock and pushed open the door to the shed. It was full of long rows of shelves containing mainly canned goods. Vats of spaghetti sauce. Enough sliced potatoes to feed a hundred. Peaches in cans.
“I will make it fit,” he said.
That was the problem with J-F. Even the way he spoke was suggestive.
“Great. Margaux’s coming to check the order.” She blushed as she said the word coming. This was exactly why she’d cut off all contact. Ghosting him, she’d heard it was called. Turning herself into a ghost in his life.
“Got it.”
She felt him move away. It was nice in the shed, in the cool of the woods, without anything to fear behind her.
“I’ve got the list,” Margaux said. “Mary? Where are you?”
Mary sighed and went to join her at the truck. J-F had lowered the ramp and was starting to unload flats of bread and hamburger rolls. His arms were muscled, strong but not bulky.
“How many people are coming to this thing, anyway?” Margaux asked, handing her a piece of paper with the food order and a pen.
“Hundred, hundred and twenty.”
“The lifers?”
“Yep.”
“Funny, all these people who never wanted to let go of camp, and us all wanting to run away.”
“Except Kate,” Mary said.
“Except Kate.”
“Maybe we should sell it to them. They’re all rich, aren’t they?”
Mary ticked a few items off the list. A giant vat of mayonnaise. Equally obscene amounts of mustard and ketchup.
“Not all of them.”
“You know what I mean. I bet a bunch of them would be willing to get together and invest.”
“Invest or buy us out?”
Margaux seemed annoyed at her lack of precision, but it wasn’t something she’d spent much time thinking about. The lifers were a group of former campers who’d spent at least ten summers there. They ran banks and law firms and made films for a living and had a stupid club that she’d never been invited to, even though she’d spent longer at camp than any of them. They sent their kids to Macaw when they got old enough. They held on to their staff shirts as badges of honor. They loved it more than the MacAllisters. Mary was sure enough of them would love to take this place over if given the chance.
“They could buy shares or something,” Mary said. “So we could still have a majority ownership and get some money out.”
“Maybe.”
“You think I’m being stupid?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” J-F said, his tanned forearms flexing under the weight of the meat order. “You want this in the fridge?”
“Yes, thanks . . .”
“Jean-François,” Mary said.
“J-F,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
Margaux watched him walk the meat into the rear entrance of the lodge, where the large meat fridges were located. Mary knew what was coming, and she cursed herself. She should’ve let Margaux handle it. Nothing good ever came from raising your hand to volunteer.
“He’s cute,” Margaux said when he was out of earshot.
“Yep.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Ten years?”
“The world is full of surprises.”
“What’s that?”
“You and the grocery guy. Amy and Kate. All this time, I thought I knew everything about this family, and it turns out I know nothing.”
“Everything? Come on.”
“Right, okay, not everything. But . . . ah, hell, I don’t know what I’m saying.” Margaux sat down on the front porch step looking weary. This was what the lifers didn’t understand. For them, Macaw was a repository of fun memories. But for the MacAllisters . . . For them, it sometimes felt like a matter of life and death to be away from this place.
Mary sat next to Margaux. “I stopped seeing J-F a couple of years ago.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m trying to tell you what you wanted to know, and you’re making me feel weird.”
“I’m sorry. Tell me about him; I want to know.”
“I like long walks on the beach, pasta, and a good soccer game. Also, I’ve never been on a horse,” he said, coming out of the lodge’s main door behind them.
Mary’s stomach sank as Margaux threw her head back and laughed. Margaux stood and turned. “You’re funny. Cute and funny. Why’d you break up with my sister?”
“Oh no. That wasn’t me.”
And like always, things went from funny to awkward in an instant. Mary stared at the ground. She knew it was weird, her still sitting there, her back to the scene, but she couldn’t make herself face it. She didn’t know what the look on her face would give away. But she knew how she felt. Angry.
“I’m going to go,” Margaux said.
“You don’t have to,” J-F said. “I’m almost done.”
“No, I’ve stuck my foot in it. Why don’t you two talk? Or not.”
Margaux backed away, her hands raised to her shoulders, a forgive-me shrug. Mary recognized the move as Margaux passed her; it had accompanied many a wrong in childhood. Took your toy. Told on you to Mom and Dad. Oops. Sorry. What can you do?
J-F walked down the stairs behind her. Then he was in
front of her and she couldn’t hide anymore.
“You don’t have to stay,” Mary said, standing. She came up to his chin. “I know I kind of . . .”
“Disappeared?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s fine. We were not serious, I think. Because if we were, then that would make you not so nice a person, and I don’t want to think that about you.”
“You don’t?”
He took a step toward her. He always smelled the same—slightly refrigerated. It was a smell Mary liked because it meant coolness to her. Not in a fashion sense but in the temperature way. He was calm, steady. And yet he made her feel wild, like Cinnamon when she’d been startled by Buster. She wanted to raise her feet off the ground and paw at the danger.
“We always had a good time, did we not?”
“We did.”
“Seems to me, we could have a good time again.”
“There are people around.”
He smiled. “I didn’t mean right this minute.”
Mary stared back at her old friend the ground. She’d been kind of hoping that was what he meant. Not that they’d do it in the road, but there was always the shed.
And this was why she’d left him. Because he made her crazy. Crazy inside her head.
“You are adorable.” He ran his finger down her chin and neck to her collarbone. “Meet me later?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She said the first thing that came to mind. “The barn.”
CHAPTER 29
ORIGINS
Sean
When the crisis was past, and Kate and Amy were huddled together in the rocking chair that was built for one person, Sean slipped upstairs to his room. He could feel Margaux’s presence there, even though it had only been brief, long enough to retrieve the blankets from his bed. It was enough to make him uneasy. His personal space had been invaded. This tiny room, eight feet by eleven, was his, his. Sometimes it felt like the only thing in the world that was.
I'll Never Tell Page 17
