I'll Never Tell

by Catherine McKenzie

  She laughed. She’d done it!

  “Mary, come on, get down from there.”

  “No!”

  “You can’t stay up there forever. You’re going to have to come down eventually. Or . . .”

  “Or what, Margaux?”

  The thunder crashed again, so close it was deafening. She heard a large crack.

  “I think it hit the tree outside,” Margaux yelled up.

  Mary ran to the other side of the hayloft. There was a window that looked out at the paddocks. The large maple that had stood there for a hundred years was split down the middle, its insides smoking. One side had taken out one of the fences. The other had flattened a hayrack.

  Good thing about the rain, Mary thought, or the barn could’ve caught on fire.

  “Mary? Where did you go?”

  She came back to where she could see Margaux, who was standing below, looking up at her.

  “Here I am.”

  “Are you going to come down?”

  “For what? So you can call the police and I can be hauled away to jail for the rest of my life? That doesn’t sound very appealing.”

  “But you’d let Sean go in your place? I thought you loved him.”

  Mary hugged herself. Sean, Sean. She did love Sean. She always had. But it had started so many years ago, only the echo remained. The scar.

  “You’d choose him over me?” Mary asked.

  “I’m not choosing anyone. You chose. When you hit Amanda. When you lied about it all these years.”

  Mary felt the rightness of those words. Margaux always did know how to hit the nail on the head. She’d chosen. To get up when she was sure Margaux was asleep. To go looking for Amanda, because Liddie didn’t have to be the only sneak in the family. She’d always hated Amanda. Before Amanda, Mary had been Margaux’s best friend. Then Amanda had waltzed in her first summer at camp and stolen Margaux away. Mary didn’t make friends easily. She’d been so alone. But now Amanda was running around at night, probably meeting up with someone. If they got caught—if Mary caught them—Amanda might have to go home. Then things could go back to the way they were. Margaux and Mary. Sisters. Irish twins.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d taken the paddle with her. She’d seen it lying against a rock and picked it up. And then, when she’d gotten to Back Beach, Sean was there and . . . Mary shuddered. She didn’t like to think about that part. She didn’t think she’d meant to do that to Amanda. Nothing so permanent, anyway. Not a forever kind of hurt.

  “Mary?”

  “I chose,” Mary said, looking down at Margaux. “It was my fault.”

  “Maybe Swift can work his magic and . . .”

  But even Margaux didn’t believe that. Mary could see what would happen if she came down to the ground. The tight cuffs that would chafe her wrists. The small interrogation room with the bad coffee and the stern faces. She’d crack quickly—what resistance did she have to professionals? Sean would come forward, and the timeline would make it all clear. Her or Margaux. But she was the one who’d written on the whiteboard; they’d be able to prove that. She’d chosen that too.

  The rain stopped as suddenly as it began. She could smell the charring wood in the air. She thought of the lanterns that had probably been wiped out by the rain, her wish—his name, Sean—and the lighter that was still in her pocket. If she could do it, if she could be brave for a minute, she could choose a different path.

  “Margaux,” she said into the silence.

  “What?”

  “Take Cinnamon out of the barn, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Margaux got ahead of her again. “Oh no. No, Mary, don’t.”

  “Please, Margaux.”

  Margaux was crying, and so was Mary. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do this, but it was the only way.

  “Tell them what I did, okay? Tell them I’m sorry.”

  “No, Mary, please. Don’t.”

  Margaux made for the ladder that lay against the wall.

  “Stop!”

  Mary pulled the lighter out of her pocket and spun the wheel with her thumb. A flame appeared. “You don’t want to be here for this. Get Cinnamon. Get her out of here.”

  “Please, Mary. Please.”

  Margaux was so stubborn. She was going to have to give her an inducement. She picked up a piece of hay. She held the lighter to it. “Get out of here, Margaux.”

  “No, Mary. No! I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you.”

  Was that true? Mary doubted it, as much as Margaux might believe it in this instant. So be it. Now Margaux was choosing.

  “Please save Cinnamon, Margaux. She’s innocent.”

  “Mary!”

  But Mary wasn’t listening to Margaux anymore. She worked her thumb on the lighter again. The hay caught instantly, singeing her fingers. She dropped it into the larger pile at her feet. There was a second where Mary could have stamped it out, taken off her wet sweater and smothered it. But she didn’t do that. Instead, she counted like she was counting thunder.

  One and two and . . . three.

  Amanda

  July 23, 1998—4:00 a.m.

  I was glad to see the back of Sean. He’d been mean on the way out, maybe I had too. But he’d gone when I finally asked him to. Now I was alone, sitting on the same rock I’d sat on before, watching him paddle away, trying to work up the courage to go back to the kids and Margaux. How was I going to tell her about everything that had happened that night? I couldn’t even process it myself. Sean’s boat stopped moving. Maybe he was as stuck out there in the water as I was. It was late, so late. The kids would be up in a few hours and I was exhausted. I closed my eyes, maybe I fell asleep for a minute, and then:

  “You had to take it all, didn’t you?”

  I started, my heart jumping as I leapt to my feet and turned around. Mary was standing there, a large flashlight in one hand, a canoe paddle in the other.

  “Mary. What are you doing here?”

  “I saw you.”

  I felt sick. “You . . .”

  “I saw you with him. You’re disgusting. It was disgusting.”

  I stood up. I felt wobbly from the alcohol and the lack of sleep. Unfocused. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Neither should you.”

  “You’re right. It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Like an accident.”

  Mary was speaking in a flat monotone that was freaking me out. “Not an accident, a mistake.”

  “A mistake,” she repeated.

  “Yes, Mary. Will you keep it to yourself?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I’m asking you to. I thought we were friends.”

  “Friends. Ha!”

  She took a step toward me. I felt a shiver of fear. “I don’t know what I ever did to you.”

  “You don’t? Why am I not surprised?”

  Mary stepped closer.

  “What are you doing? Why are you holding that paddle?”

  “For protection,” Mary said, and then she swung.

  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

  Cabin

  Back Beach

  2:00 a.m.

  Back Beach

  Back Beach

  3:00 a.m.

  Back Beach

  Back Beach

  4:00 a.m.

  Back Beach

  Back Beach

  Swimming

  Back Beach/Rows Amanda

  5:00 a.m.

  In boat

  On the Island

  Cabin/Boat Beach

  On the Island

  Camp

  Rows Amanda

  6:00 a.m.

  Secret Beach

  Secret Beach

  Secret Beach

  Margaux

  One Year Later

  Margaux saved Cinnamon. She couldn’t reach Mary, though she tried. The flames were too quick. She’d singed her hair and burned her hand in the process, but she’d made it to Cinnamon’s stall and dragged her out, terrified. She stood with her on the other side of the road, waiting for the distant wail of the fire trucks that got there too late.

  Ryan had smelled the smoke and organized as many people as he could into a makeshift fire brigade. But a couple of garden hoses and the tins of water from outside each cabin were powerless against a raft of hay for kindling and an old wooden structure.

  It was ruled an accident. Margaux didn’t say anything different. Mary had gone up to the barn to make sure her horse was okay when the thunder started. Margaux was there to close her car window that she’d left open and gotten to the barn right as the fire took hold. Mary had been trying to light something, that much was clear. Maybe the power had gone out, and she was trying to light one of the oil lamps that hung on the wall.

  That was the public story, but Margaux had told the family everything after she’d gone to Magog to retrieve Sean. They’d agreed to keep it all in the family and had decided that Mary’s piece of the property would go to Sean. Swift had arranged everything. And now, it was a year later, another Labor Day weekend, another memorial. There’d been a barn raising earlier in the summer. Camp was well insured. And thanks to its incorporation and the sale of 49 percent of the shares to the lifers, it was well funded. There hadn’t been much time for changes this summer, but plans were in the works. The original charm would be maintained, but the tennis court would be resurfaced and doubled in size. Some new cabins would be built and the lodge expanded. Fifty more kids each session would make the place nicely profitable.

  They’d voted unanimously to put Kate in charge. Margaux had stayed in the French Teacher’s Cabin for the summer, and Ryan and Kerry’s older girls had spent their first summer at Macaw, much to the frustration of their youngest sister. Liddie and Owen had come to visit when Owen’s touring schedule permitted. They’d even had a special bonfire, Owen and Margaux playing all the old favorites on their guitars, their voices blending nicely.

  Margaux had given her notice at school after a year of avoiding Mark in the break room. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do next. She thought about helping Kate run camp for a while. Or maybe she’d concentrate on her music, dust off some of the dreams she’d shelved. If Owen could make it, why not her? She’d spent a lot of time sifting through her mother’s trove of photographs. She’d framed some of her favorites and put them up in the lodge. She’d put another set together for a show at a local gallery.

  She’d visited Amanda almost daily, asking for forgiveness and understanding of all the ways her family had failed her. They’d all been responsible for the state she was in, in their own way, even though it was Mary who’d struck the blow. There wasn’t any way to make it up to her, but still Margaux came, she spoke, she tried.

  A few weeks before the twenty-first anniversary of that night, Amanda had started to fade. The doctors couldn’t explain it—why now all of a sudden, when she’d stayed the same for so long? It happened, sometimes, that way. The machines no longer became enough. Margaux was there with Amanda’s parents when she’d stopped breathing altogether. They’d decided before not to try to reverse course. Amanda was long gone, and now she could finally rest. Margaux sat in the room with her long after they’d turned off the machines, counting memories, wishing she could hear that singular laugh one last time as she said, “Come on, Margaux.”

  But life didn’t work like that.

  “You ready, Margaux?” Liddie asked her Sunday evening. They were all standing on the dock. Kate and Amy were holding hands. Ryan and Kerry had their arms around their girls. A small flotilla of lanterns stood at their feet. They’d timed it so they’d light them as the sun was about to set.

  Margaux held her own lantern, the words she’d written on it her final promise to her sister. That she’d keep what really happened to herself—they all would—so she could be remembered fondly and well.

  Three simple words. Her family’s motto.

  I’ll never tell.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It’s easy to forget, sometimes, when you’re caught up in the writing of a book, how lucky you are to be able to do this again and again. Thankfully, that’s what acknowledgments are for!

  To my husband, David—for putting up with twelve-plus (writing) years of me tapping away while we watch TV together. And a bunch of other things I won’t write down here. Thank you.

  To my early readers, Kristina Riggle, Carolyn Ring, and Heather Webb—your insights and critiques were invaluable.

  To my editors, Laurie Grassi and Jodi Warshaw—your enthusiasm for this book has been amazing, and it is so much better because of your edits. I am lucky to work with both of you.

  To the publishing teams at Lake Union and Simon & Schuster Canada—thank you for creating beautiful books for me, for spreading the word far and wide, and for championing me and my work. A special shout-out to my Canadian publicist, Lauren Morocco, for knocking it out of the park with the publicity for The Good Liar, and the sales and marketing team for helping make that book an instant Globe and Mail bestseller. And to Kathleen Carter for being with me through three books now.

  To my agent, Abby Koons, and the whole team at Park Literary Media—thank you for going to bat for me.

  To my writer friends and family—the Fiction Writers’ Co-op, the Lake Union Authors, Therese Walsh, and Shawn Klomparens. What would I do if I didn’t have you to complain to and celebrate with?

  To my friends, especially Tasha, Candice, Sara, Christie, Tanya, Lindsay, Stephanie and Janet—you guys are always there for me when I need you. If I don’t say it enough: thank you.

  To my readers—thank you for your reviews and notes and messages. Knowing you like my stories is what keeps me going.

  And finally, a special thank-you to my old summer family at Camp Wilvaken. While the location of this book will be familiar to those who have spent time at that wonderful camp, please rest assured that the events of this book are entirely fiction, with the
exception of the fact that no one ever got any sleep on an overnight on the Island.

  • • •

  Written principally in Jackson Hole, Wyoming; Montreal, Canada; Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  1.The MacAllister children gather at Camp Macaw to hear the reading of their father’s will. Unbeknownst to them, their father harbored a deep suspicion that Ryan was responsible for Amanda’s injuries and wasn’t sure if he should inherit the camp or not. What is your opinion of Pete MacAllister’s actions? Was it cowardly of him not to address his suspicions with Ryan himself? Do you think he was afraid of something?

  2.Pete MacAllister didn’t acknowledge that Sean was his son. Do you think he didn’t know for certain that Sean was his? Why do you think he kept Sean a secret? Do you think Pete’s wife, Ingrid, knew about Sean?

  3.Ryan isn’t presented as a very likable character at first—he’s rough with his sister, motivated by money, and seems to have a dubious past. How did you feel about Ryan? Did your opinion of him change by the end? Why or why not?

  4.Margaux seems to be the most “well adjusted” of the five MacAllister children. Would you agree with that assessment? Do you think she feels guilty about what happened to Amanda? If so, how might that have affected her and the relationships she has with her family and others?

  5.Mary seems to relate better to horses than people. Do you think she actually understands that what she did was wrong? Would she really have stayed quiet about it and let Ryan (or Sean) take the blame?

  6.Kate has hidden her homosexuality from most of her family for years, while Liddie dresses in a manner that leads everyone to believe that she is transgender. Why are the twins not open about their real identities with their family members?

  7.Sean has been holding on to his Camp Macaw life more than any of the MacAllister children. What is it about the camp that has such a hold over him? Will that change for him now that he knows he’s a MacAllister and that Margaux is his half sister?