I'll Never Tell

by Catherine McKenzie

  Is this heaven?

  I’ll never tell.

  Amanda

  Margaux

  Ryan

  Mary

  Kate & Liddie

  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

  11:00 p.m.

  Back Beach

  Back Beach

  Back Beach

  On the Island

  Midnight

  Back Beach

  Back Beach

  1:00 a.m.

  Back Beach

  Camp

  Back Beach

  5:00 a.m.

  On the Island

  On the Island

  6:00 a.m.

  Secret Beach

  Secret Beach

  Secret Beach

  SUNDAY

  CHAPTER 34

  OTHER VOICES, OTHER ROOMS

  Margaux

  “Come on, Margaux!”

  They were eight and running through the woods up to the playing field. Then they were ten, eleven, twelve. Amanda the fearless, running ahead of her, her chasing along. Even that last summer when they were seventeen. Margaux wasn’t going to go to camp; she was going to talk to her parents, convince them to let her get some other job, something that had nothing to do with her family. For the summer, at least, she wasn’t going to be a MacAllister anymore, only Margaux. Margaux MacAllister . . . She wasn’t sure who she wanted to be, but it wasn’t that. She’d pick some new last name—not that her last name was famous or anything, but so many kids had gone through Macaw that she was bound to run into one of them somewhere along the way. But that summer, if that happened, she was going to pull the twin trick, pretend she was someone else. “You must be talking about that other girl who looks like me . . . Did you want one scoop or two?”

  That was the plan.

  When she’d told Amanda about it, she’d looked so disappointed. “What am I going to do without you?” she’d asked. “What about our plans?”

  Margaux didn’t remember making any plans. She only remembered Amanda talking about being back in camp that summer and her nodding and not saying anything. And now, even as her hopes were being dashed, she knew that she’d follow along again. All Amanda would need to say was, “Come on, Margaux.”

  And she’d go.

  She did. Those first four weeks, she was thinking, This isn’t so bad. Amanda was right to push me to come back.

  And then Amanda was, for all intents and purposes, gone.

  • • •

  Margaux woke in that hour between night and light with a jolt. Where the hell was she and what had she done to her neck?

  Hospital. Hospital. She was in the hospital because: Ryan.

  She sat up, blinking against the light. She was sitting in a waiting room chair that was not meant for comfort. Earlier, after everyone had left and she’d insisted on staying, she’d drifted off to . . . it wasn’t quite sleep. The gloaming. That’s what she and Amanda used to call it. That minute before you fell asleep, like the minute before the sun disappears. Magic time, it always seemed like, before life rushed away.

  God, she felt maudlin. The crappy sleep and being in the hospital, this hospital, with the certain knowledge that Amanda was somewhere in the building. She’d been brought here twenty years ago after she was found, barely breathing but still alive. Margaux had arrived back at camp after a frantic row across the lake in time to see her loaded into the ambulance. A crew of counselors had helped the EMTs bring the stretcher through the woods from Secret Beach. One of the EMTs was straddling Amanda, pumping his arms up and down, keeping her heart going, while another held an oxygen mask in place.

  Even though the wake-up bell hadn’t been rung, camp was chaos. Kids were streaming out of the girls’ and boys’ sections, their eyes wide in fear. Most of the girls were crying. Margaux’s knees were trembling as she tried to reach Amanda, but someone held her back. Sean. He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face in his neck, so overcome she couldn’t speak. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that. She heard the doors to the ambulance shut and the vehicle drive away. Then there was another car, its doors slamming, and her mother was peeling her away from Sean asking, “What happened? What happened?”

  Later, at the hospital where they’d all gone to wait, Swift arrived. He’d huddled with her parents in the corner, and then he talked to Ryan. Amanda’s parents were there by then, and she didn’t give his presence much thought. It was only after, when the police began questioning everyone, that Margaux understood. Ryan was a suspect. Ryan, who wouldn’t look her in the eye.

  Now here she was, back in the hospital with Ryan again, and Amanda was still here. All these years, Amanda’s parents had chosen to leave her in this place. It was one of the things that made it so hard to come back to camp—knowing Amanda was in a hospital twenty minutes away. How could she be having fun, moving on, living when Amanda was in stasis? She couldn’t do it.

  Neither could Amanda’s parents, it seemed, because how else could they simply abandon her so far from their home? As if Amanda wasn’t something worth keeping close, now that she’d moved beyond their help.

  Maybe that wasn’t fair. It was an excellent facility, away from the hustle and bustle of Montreal, surrounded by massive trees and sweet-smelling grass in the summer. But it was also far enough to create the excuse not to be there every day, or even every month. That went for all of them, but Margaux made herself feel better by making it about Amanda’s parents. Their neglect made hers okay. They’d all moved on. Stopped going for regular visits, stopped checking in with one another on whether anything could be done. Amanda had faded, first from view and then even from her thoughts.

  That was screwed up, she knew. She should get up right now and find the right hallway to Amanda. She should stand in her room and listen to the hum of the machines, hold her frail hand. Amanda was her best friend. Her best friend who she’d never replaced because she wasn’t dead, she just wasn’t available.

  That was what she should do. But instead, she went to find Ryan.

  • • •

  Margaux stopped in the doorway to his room. He was lying on a bed that wasn’t quite big enough for him, surrounded by his family. Sasha and Maisy were in the bed with him. Kerry was sleeping in a chair they’d brought in for her with Claire tucked in next to her. They looked so perfect, despite the circumstances. Margaux’s heart hurt. Perhaps she did want these things, this life that she’d pushed away. Mark wasn’t so bad; maybe they could . . . Good lord. What was she thinking? If this was her biological clock waking up at last, she had a bone to pick with it. Her neck was stiff. She smelled funky. She wanted to go home.

  “Margaux?”

  Ryan was awake.

  “Hey, Ry.”

  “My heart hurts.”

  “Mine too.”

  He was whispering. She moved in closer. Maisy was snoring gently. Sasha’s back was curled against him, and Ma
rgaux couldn’t understand how she was even staying in the bed.

  “Some family reunion, huh?” Ryan said.

  “Right?”

  “We should talk about it.”

  “You want to talk?”

  “Right?” Ryan mimicked her. He patted the small piece of bed that was free.

  She approached and knelt down but didn’t sit. “Is this the time or the place?”

  “If not now, then when?”

  “Don’t say that. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Am I though?” He looked at the window. Margaux turned to see what he was looking at. All she could see was green and dappled sunlight.

  “It’s pretty here.”

  “It is.”

  “Do you think she likes it?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I think she does.”

  “Okay.”

  “I didn’t put her in here.”

  “You said.”

  “But I also didn’t tell you about being on Secret Beach.”

  “You did not.”

  Kerry coughed and turned over. Margaux watched her for a moment, how she curled herself around Claire. She wondered if Kerry was listening to their conversation, only feigning sleep. Why would she do that? She was probably as exhausted as they all were, even more so. Ryan was her husband, the father of her children. She had to hear that he might be dying and then drive in a car with their children without knowing whether he’d be there to greet her. She couldn’t image how awful that must’ve been. She wished she could be more sympathetic, but it eluded her. Why did she feel like this about Kerry? Why had she always? Jealousy? Anger on behalf of Amanda?

  “I didn’t hurt her on Secret Beach either,” Ryan said.

  “Then what were you doing there?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “How could I?”

  “I thought I was saving you.”

  She almost laughed. “What would you be saving me from?”

  “I thought . . . I thought you were the one who . . .”

  “I . . . What?”

  “Hush, you’ll wake the girls.”

  Margaux stood up. She felt dizzy. She picked up the visitor’s chair and put it down in the place where she’d been crouching. Ryan’s eyes were closed, as if the words he’d said had drained whatever energy was left in him.

  “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

  He opened his eyes. “No, let’s do this.”

  “I don’t understand. You never said anything before. Not even earlier, when I was basically accusing you of doing it.”

  “I . . . I’ve tried to forget. I didn’t want to believe that you had anything to do with it.”

  She felt sick to her stomach. “But why would you think I did in the first place?”

  Ryan’s hands were shaking against the thin covers. “Because who else could it be? I knew it wasn’t me, so who did that leave?”

  “But why would I do that to her?”

  “I thought you might . . . I thought you might have had a fight.”

  “About what?”

  “Me.”

  “My God, Ryan. You’re so full of yourself.”

  “I know, okay? I know. But back then . . . I told Amanda I couldn’t be with her because of you, and so I don’t know . . . I was out of my mind that night . . . and I thought, I thought that she was so mad at me that she’d taken it out on you, and . . .”

  “I picked up a paddle and clocked her on the head?”

  “Now that you say it out loud, it sounds crazy, but . . .”

  A loud buzzing filled her ears. She remembered the weight of that paddle, the way the water had colored red when she’d washed it off. How some of the blood had clung to her hands as she plunged them into the water, rubbing them like she had when she’d auditioned to play Lady Macbeth.

  “. . . Back then, it seemed like the only explanation.”

  “You’re going to need to give me more than this. Rewind, please.”

  “Where should I start?”

  “How about with how you knew where to find Amanda?”

  Maisy stirred. Ryan brushed the hair off her forehead and gazed down at her. “It’s true, you know.”

  “What’s true?”

  “You never know what love’s like until a piece of you is walking around inside another person.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  They stared at one another.

  “So,” Margaux prompted. “That night, after you left Amanda . . .”

  “I got back to camp around one, like I said. I talked with Ty for a bit and then I went to bed. I fell asleep for a few hours, but not real sleep, you know? I woke up around five. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I felt bad for what I’d done . . . walking away from her like that. So I got up and went down to the lake at about five thirty. I thought I’d go back to the Island and apologize before we had to see each other in the lodge, in front of everyone at breakfast, but when I got to Boat Beach, I saw . . . There was a canoe about halfway between shore and the Island, and I could see that someone was in it but not who. I ran up to the lodge to get the binoculars out of the office. When I got back to the lake I climbed the lifeguard tower so I could see who it was, and . . . it was her, just . . . floating near Secret Beach. Her arms, my God, her arms . . . I wasn’t thinking; I took off running through the woods, and when I got to Secret Beach, she was there in the canoe. She was so pale, and the blood had stopped flowing from the gash on her temple, and all I could think was that I’d read somewhere that when the blood stops, that means . . . Well, you know. I got it into my head that you must’ve been the one who did it, because, like I said, who else could it be—”

  “You thought that. All this time . . .”

  “Mostly, I tried not to think about it.”

  “Think about what, Daddy? Who’s Amanda?”

  CHAPTER 35

  HAY BALES

  Mary

  Coming back to Macaw in the dead of night from the hospital with the twins, Mary wondered why she’d gone in the first place. What was she hoping for? That she and Ryan and her sisters would have some big kumbaya moment and rectify a lifetime worth of injuries? That wasn’t likely. Movies thrived on the idea that a brush with death changed a person, but she was realistic. People didn’t change. They might become more of what they were before—better or worse—but the core remained the same. And even if there was a change, something on the surface, if it was brought about by something as selfish, as narcissistic as realizing you wouldn’t be around anymore, what good was that? It was still all about you.

  Where did Mary fit in this family? The twins had each other, and Ryan and Margaux had always had a connection. Where was she? Stuck in the middle.

  The radio was half static, and Margaux’s car had a slight musty smell to it. The back seat was filled with music folders and instrument cases. She’d pushed it all onto the middle seat, the seat in the family van she’d spent her childhood sitting on.

  Ironically, she’d always liked that song “Stuck in the Middle With You.” It was up-tempo, and it made her feel happy because it was a good thing to be stuck with the right person.

  Margaux had sung it that night on the Island, around the campfire. “For Mary,” she’d said, as she struck the first chord. She’d been feeling superfluous until that moment. She was only a counselor-in-training, and the kids didn’t listen to her. Why had she even come? But then Margaux had started singing, and Mary blended her voice to hers in a way that always made her feel part of a bigger whole, and the night was looking up. She hadn’t even minded when Amanda joined in, slightly off-key. She’d felt content, watching the fire. Happy.

  Happy. When was the last time she’d felt happy?


  They turned on to the camp road. There was no moon, and the trees loomed large.

  “Drop me off here,” she said to Liddie.

  “At the barn?”

  “I never fed Cinnamon. She’ll be starving.”

  Liddie stopped the car. Mary climbed out and didn’t look back. Her heart was racing, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Leftover adrenaline, probably.

  Buster was standing sentry in front of the door. Mary reached down and patted him on the head. She laughed at her fear the day before. You could really drive yourself nuts if you tried hard enough.

  She lifted the wooden bolt on the barn’s heavy side door and entered. She felt calmer. This was where she belonged. Surrounded by dried hay and animals that had no animosity in them. Mary walked down the long row of empty stalls. An old oil lamp hung from each beam, the backup system for power failures. Cinnamon was standing in her stall, her eyes half-dozy from sleep and lack of water. Her trough was empty, the hay net without its usual fill. Mary hummed to herself while she watered and fed Cinnamon, reassuring her that it was going to be all right. Cinnamon couldn’t talk, not in the way most people thought, but she moved her rump against Mary, a friendly gesture that made her feel less like the unnecessary member of her family.

  “There you are.”

  She dropped her grooming brush, her heart squeezing like Ryan’s must’ve yesterday. It’s J-F, she told herself, only J-F. Her hands started to sweat.

  “You frightened me,” she said, giving herself a minute before she faced him.

  “And you stood me up.”

  She turned around. He was wearing jeans and a white long-sleeve shirt. He looked like a cowboy. He even had a few blades of hay stuck in his hair. All that was missing were the boots and the hat.

  “Not on purpose.”

  “So you forgot about me?”

  Mary looked at the ground. This feeling again. Half panic, half want. She wished she had more control of herself around him.

  “My brother had a heart attack. Or something like that. I was at the hospital.”