“You better be telling me the truth,” Cyrus says. He’s standing so close I taste the faint smell of the beer he had back at Sam’s. “Because I swear to God, Evvy, I will kill him if he ever lays a hand on you again.”
I can’t help it, but I feel a thrill of pleasure at his protection that rises above my confusion and hurt over whatever Ian has done. “He hasn’t. He wouldn’t,” I breathe. And then I lean in and kiss him, because even now I still miss him so much, and somehow knowing that Ian might have been cheating on me all this time gives me permission. Cyrus kisses me back, hard, before he pushes me away.
“What the hell, Evvy?” We’re standing on the sidewalk near the beach, the cold air tearing off the water, and though it’s dark, anyone could see.
“Sorry.” I look down and pretend to be remorseful, but I’m not. I’m only full of regret. If I could have a chance to do it all over and be a better wife, I would.
“Just don’t, okay?” He shakes his head in frustration and starts to walk. I follow him. “Where’s your car?”
“Further down.” I let him lead the way. The smell of the ocean is rich despite the cold, and the air is icier here. It must be freezing right beside the water. I look down at the beach where Layla Dresser died just a few nights earlier. Was murdered, I remind myself, because despite what Cyrus has told me, I still don’t believe Ian did it. No one saw Ian hit her, no one saw him follow her down to the beach and kill her. The only link between them is the phone records, which prove that Ian is just a weak man, like so many others.
“Right here.” I gesture to my car.
He stands beside me while I dig for my keys, and I slide into the driver’s seat.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
Cyrus just shakes his head and lets out a puff of white breath. “I’ll come check out Daisy’s car sometime soon.”
“I think she’ll need a new one. Maybe we can offer her a loan.”
He smiles, thinking of his girl. “She’s been working really hard. She deserves it.” He pushes my door closed and taps the roof of my car. “Drive safe.”
I back out slowly and my headlights illuminate the staircase leading down to the beach. Cyrus watches me drive off, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his coat.
12
Daisy
After the night in his bedroom, when I saw the evidence of what he’s doing written on his body, Connor doesn’t call or text, and for once neither do I. I know we’ll talk again soon. One of us will break in the next day, but I need to think before I see him again. The marks on his arms scared me. More than once I’ve seen him remove a tablet from a plastic baggie in his pocket. When I’d ask him what they were, he’d brush me off and tell me he had a headache. As if I couldn’t tell Tylenol from something else.
On Friday night I work an engagement party in Egret. The party is for Molly Rankin and Benny Slade, a couple who graduated a few years ahead of Connor and me. Benny is a well-known chef on the island, and it’s a big deal that Petunia’s got the event. The party is small, just twenty-five people, so it’s only me, my mother, and Paul Floyd working it—the winter skeleton crew at Petunia’s. It’s mostly an island crowd here tonight, and a handful of restaurant people. The whole locally grown thing is popular now, especially with this crowd, and I’m glad my mother spent the extra money on the local purple potatoes and squash we’re serving tonight.
Molly graduated from Great Rock High School, but she isn’t an island girl in the same way that I am. She moved here as a teenager and then returned after college. She teaches yoga classes at the place my mom goes, which is how Petunia’s got this job. Her brother, Bret, was a year ahead of me and Connor in school, and I know he and Connor still hang out, but I don’t see him here tonight. Her parents have rented the Egret Town Barn and filled the place with tons of space heaters. There are white tablecloths on the picnic tables and bottles of champagne in galvanized pails filled with ice. Tea candles in jam jars flicker everywhere, and instead of the traditional black-and-white catering outfit, I’m wearing jeans and a black button-down.
I circle the room with a tray, pausing to offer stuffed quahogs. Despite the casual atmosphere and coziness of the room, it’s one of those parties I hate to work. Most of the guests are just a few years older than me, and I’ve crossed paths with almost all of them in some way or another—through school or friends or summer jobs. But the people here are from yet another Great Rock. This is the trust fund crowd. These are the twenty-somethings who spent summers on Great Rock as children and then moved here after college to work part-time on a dairy farm or teach yoga or make jewelry. They’re the ones whose parents own property on the island, and they live here for half the year while spending the rest of the year in St. John’s or St. Thomas. On the surface they don’t look all that different from the rest of us. But if I look a little closer, I might notice that all their sweaters are cashmere, or that they own four pairs of three-hundred-dollar Frye boots. They drive Mini Coopers or old Saabs and live for free in the houses that their parents own.
With this crowd, I feel like the hired help more than anything. I’m pretty sure no one here spent years commuting off-island to community college. They all went to private colleges and graduated after four years without a single dollar in student loans. It’s a different life. We might share the same swath of land, but we live a million miles apart.
“Daisy, right? Can I grab one of those?” I look up to see a sandy-haired guy eyeing the tray I’m carrying. I lower the tray, and he takes a napkin and two clams. I peer closer at him, trying to figure out how he knows me. He puts a hand to his chest. “Todd Rankin. I catered for your mom a few summers ago.”
“Oh, sure.” I remember him now. I was still in high school the summer he worked at Petunia’s. He’d been in college—Dartmouth, I think. Not UMass Dartmouth. The real Dartmouth. We worked a few dinners together, but not many. “I didn’t realize you lived here.”
“I don’t. I’m just here for a few days. I’ll head back to Boston soon.”
I glance around the room. My mother hates it when I talk too long to guests without circulating. I gesture to the near empty tray. “I think I need to refresh these.”
“Come find me later. We’ll have a drink when you finish serving.” He has a nice smile, I notice. There’s something relaxed about his demeanor that makes me feel as if we know each other well already.
My mother also hates it when I hang out after events. Unprofessional, she says. And a liability, since I’m not twenty-one. I don’t say yes to Todd’s offer, but I don’t say no either, and I’m not sure why. This isn’t my crowd; these people alternately annoy me or make me nervous, with their money and pretend jobs. But I’m tired of the world I’m living in right now, with the slow-paced progress toward something better elsewhere. I’m tired of waiting for Connor and his haunted eyes and the secrets he’s started keeping from me. Maybe for tonight I can be someone else.
We finish serving by ten, and my mom heads out, leaving me and Paul to clean up. Usually my mother stays to do this with us, but she’s been even more on edge than usual the past few days, though she hasn’t said a thing about Ian getting brought into the police station. My feet and back hurt after hours carrying trays, but I don’t argue. My mother pays me well, and winter work isn’t easy to come by.
Paul is out on the floor refilling drinks, and I’m in the kitchen washing the last few dishes when Todd comes in carrying a bottle of champagne. “Ready for that drink?” he asks.
I roll my eyes, though I’m pleased he didn’t forget his offer. “I’m still working.”
He puts the bottle down on the counter and rolls up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt. “Right. So what do we need to do? Remind me how this goes.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, trying to gauge if he’s serious or kidding. I decide to take him at his word. “The dishes need to be dried. And then they can get packed in the carrier cases right here.” I point to the padded bags on the floor.
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br /> “Great.” He gets to work quickly, drying the plates. I finish washing and he helps me pack them neatly in the cases. The dishes are heavy and my back aches as I gently load each stack. “Anything else?” he asks, once they’ve all been washed and packed.
“Trash.” I look to the bag in the corner of the kitchen. “But you don’t need to do that.” My mother would freak out if she knew I let a guest take out the garbage. I pull the bag from the trashcan and have to tug to get it loose. It’s nearly overflowing, and the middle of the bag is stuck tight inside the metal bin. I pull, holding it in place with my feet and tugging the plastic handles at the same time. I give the bag a hard jerk and the contents scatter everywhere—clam shells, coffee grounds, hundreds of squashed-up dirty napkins—all over the kitchen floor that I just finished sweeping.
“Shit.” It’s close to eleven and I’m near tears. Forget the drink, I just want to go home. I put my hands up to my eyes, trying to keep from crying. I’m so tired of this. I’m too young to feel this old. It’s a Friday night, and I should be getting drunk at a college party with friends, not cleaning up trash from the floor of a barn kitchen.
“Hey, you okay?” Todd puts an arm around my shoulder, and when I lower my hands he’s watching me with concern.
“Yeah, I’m just tired. It’s been a long night.”
“Let’s get this cleaned up and then we can get you home. Here. Sit.” He pulls a chair out from the table and pushes me into it. He finds a new trash bag and the broom in the corner of the room and sweeps the mess into a big pile, which he proceeds to scoop with his hands into the open bag. I hope Molly or her mother don’t come in and see the scene, as they’re the ones employing Petunia’s, but I’m too tired to care. He fills the trash bag, brings it to the dumpster out back, and then comes back to sweep the floor again.
At last he gestures to the clean kitchen. “Are we good?”
His eyes are dark blue and a sprinkling of freckles dusts his nose. Definitely has that rich-kid look to him, with the designer jeans and expensive shoes, and the solid build of someone who’s played sports his whole life. There’s something healthy and bright about him, or maybe it’s just in contrast to seeing Connor the other night. Todd is like feeling sun after a long winter.
“Thank you.”
“So? What do you think?” He picks up the bottle of champagne. “We deserve a drink.”
I hesitate. “I need to drive home.” Egret is nearly a half-hour from Osprey.
“I can drop you.”
I shake my head. Once a cop’s kid, always a cop’s kid. Now more than ever, with an unsolved murder on the island, my father would be furious with me if I were to go home with a stranger. Todd’s cute and he seems nice, but I know better than to go home with him. Not tonight, at least.
“Just one tiny drink then?” He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, indicating the size of the tiny drink.
The clock on the wall says ten past eleven. Paul hasn’t come into the kitchen, which means that people are still drinking and hanging out. I’ll need to stay until the party’s over and we can collect all of the glasses anyway. “Okay. Just one.”
He flashes a smile at me and reaches for the champagne. He removes the cork slowly and it makes a deep thump in the bottle as the pressure is released. He pours us each a glass and then holds his up to mine.
“Cheers. To the end of a long night.”
I clink my glass against his and take a sip. The bubbles sting the back of my throat, but in a good way. “How long are you on the island?”
“I got here last weekend. I’ll stay for a few more days then I need to get back to work.”
“What do you do in Boston?”
“I work in a restaurant.” I expected him to have a job in an office somewhere, making a lot of money. My surprise must show on my face, because he lets out a laugh. “Is that so shocking?”
“No, it’s just… didn’t you go to Dartmouth?” It comes out more bluntly than I intended.
He laughs, unoffended. “I dropped out junior year.”
I look at him like he’s lost his mind. I don’t understand people like this.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I was a business major and I hated it. My dad was the one who wanted me to go there in the first place. It just wasn’t what I wanted.” He finishes the champagne and pours himself another glass. He refills my glass as well, and I don’t stop him. “I’ll finish the degree at some point. Just not now.”
“And your parents were paying for it?” He nods. “That was dumb.”
He lets out a short laugh, though his face has grown dark. “Trust me, nothing’s free, but my father would certainly agree with you. Sometimes I think about moving here though.”
“God, why?” I frown at him in disbelief.
He laughs, the anger clearing from his face. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?” he asks.
I shrug. “I just don’t see why anyone would want to move here. I mean, maybe when you’re ready to start a family or retire or something, but not now. I can’t wait to get out of here.”
“Molly likes it. She’s done pretty well here.”
“What about your brother? I didn’t see him here tonight. What’s Bret up to these days?” Bret was a year ahead of me and Connor.
His face closes again. “Nothing good.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. A moment later, Paul comes into the kitchen carrying a stack of glasses.
“Well, aren’t you comfy?” he says with a smirk. Paul is an island kid, a few years older than me, and he’s been with my mother since she started Petunia’s. He’s an easy guy to work with, quick to laugh or tell a joke, ready to cover a shift at a moment’s notice. I smile guiltily and put down my nearly empty glass. When I rise to help him with the glasses, I realize I’m slightly unsteady on my feet. I hardly had any dinner, just a few bites while I was in the kitchen, and the champagne combined with the late hour has hit me harder than I expected. I consider asking Paul to drive me home but am too embarrassed to ask in front of Todd.
Todd nods his head at Paul. “Hey, Paul, long time no see.”
“Hey, man, how’s it going?”
“Not bad. Just helping out a little.”
Paul nods and then turns to me. “There’s not much left to do. You can get out of here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He tilts his head toward Todd, whose back is to us. I go to gather my things. Todd finishes the last sip of champagne and drops the empty bottle in with the recyclables. “You going to give her a ride home?” Paul asks Todd.
Todd looks over at me. “Do you need one?”
I flush, embarrassed to have my drunkenness be so obvious to Paul. “No, I’m fine.”
“She needs one,” Paul says. He turns to me. “Don’t worry about Todd here. He’s a good guy. Used to drive me and Bret home shit-faced all the time.”
I find my coat hanging in the kitchen hall. “Thanks, Paul. Goodnight.” Todd follows me outside.
The night air is bracing. There’s nearly a full moon and the sky is lit in a blue-black glow. We cross the empty field of the barn toward the parking lot. My feet sink into the snow and as we walk, I consider my options. I could drive home and risk getting pulled over. I’m probably not even over the limit, except I’m underage, which would make the whole thing worse. Or I could get a ride with Todd. Never drink and drive. Never go home with a stranger. My father’s words echo in my ears, and I know the option he’d want me to choose is waiting for Paul to get off work or calling a friend to pick me up. But none of my friends live in Egret. I could call Ian and he’d pick me up. He’s offered plenty of times, and I’ve even taken him up on it occasionally. But I know it will get back to my mother that I was drinking at work, and I’ll never hear the end of it. A cab would be a fortune. And waiting for Paul would mean another hour. And technically, Todd isn’t a stranger. I’ve known him for years, though not well, and Paul obviously knows his family.
I think back to the woman who was murdered. Did Layla weigh her options and pick the wrong one? But there’s something about Todd that makes me trust him—the way he jumped in to help me with the cleanup, the ease with which he left the comfort of the party for the mess of the kitchen. I like talking with him, and I’m not ready to say goodnight.
Todd’s Audi is parked a few cars over from my own beat-up Chevy. He opens the passenger side door. “So. You coming?”
I hesitate. Back at the barn the party is slowly winding down. The glittering lights from the candles twinkle inside. Thin peals of laughter echo across the field. Todd’s holding the door open for me, an expectant look on his face. I step inside.
13
Caroline
When I get home from dinner with Evvy, I go straight up to Connor’s room. This time I don’t hesitate at the door, but go inside. I sit down on the rumpled bed and survey the room, wondering where to begin, terrified of what Connor’s got himself mixed up in.
I start with the drawers, pulling them out one at a time, letting my hand roam under the soft pile of tee shirts and worn jeans. I slide each drawer out and search, but the most incriminating thing I find is a roll of condoms. Though it’s not what I’m looking for, the condoms make me pause for a moment. Who is he having sex with? Daisy? Some other girl I’ve never met? Or are they just a precaution, the type of thing every young man keeps in his underwear drawer? I put them back where I found them and circle the room slowly.
I go to his nightstand next and drop to my knees beside it. Inside is an odd collection of junk—an old phone charger, a double A battery, a set of keys, pens, sticky coins, a dark blue bottle of cologne, though I can’t recall Connor ever wearing a scent stronger than deodorant. I close the drawer with a sigh and sit back down on the bed.
Everybody Lies Page 8
