We Fell Apart: A We Were Liars Novel(26)

“That must have been nice for you.”

“What? No. We were worried.” He pulls the sleeves of his sweater back down to his wrists and folds his arms like he’s cold. “The guys are searching for you.”

“Oh.” I’m embarrassed. “I went to wash off my scrapes.”

“We had bottled water,” Tatum reminds me. “From the mini fridge. You could have used that.”

“Well. Salt water is better for wounds.”

“Can I see? Your hands.”

He comes over and takes my fingertips in his, flipping my hands so he can see my palms. His touch is gentle. “Those are deep scrapes,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.”

He says nothing but pulls his cabled sweater over his head and hands it to me. The muscles of his forearms flex under his freckled skin as he holds the sweater out. “Take it,” he says when I hesitate.

The T-shirt he’s wearing is tissue-thin from years of wear. It reads La Biennale di Venezia 2008 and has a splotch of blue paint on the shoulder. “Is that my dad’s old shirt?” I ask.

He looks down at his chest. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t imagine he was a guy who took home souvenirs.”

“He has a ton of clothes because he gets paint on them.” Tatum shrugs. “Let’s go down to the boat.”

I hate being in this weakened position, walking wounded. I hate that my face is puffy from tears. Tatum’s probably gloating about how my first night at Hidden Beach was nicely miserable without him really having to do anything. Now he’ll just need a few more rotten things to happen and I’ll run away. He’ll be rid of me and have his boys’ club to himself.

I even hate that he’s giving me his sweater, because it makes me feel small when I’d rather be a warrior. But I’m cold and exhausted, so I put it on. It smells of tangerine sunblock and laundry soap. It’s warm from the heat of his tall, irritating body and his bad personality.

I follow him to the dock.





Part Five


    Fairy Tale





25


I come downstairs the next morning a little after noon, wearing the UC Irvine sweatshirt Saar bought me and a pair of shorts. Groggy.

June is alone in the living room, ironing under the gentle spin of the massive mobile. She has piled indigo clothes and linens in an enormous heap on the couch. Folded garments sit on the coffee table. “In high school I worked at the Gap,” she says. “They taught me how to fold.”

“Do you need help?”

“That’s all right. You’re a guest here.”

“Is there coffee?”

“No.” June smiles. “Kingsley and I stay away from stimulants because they deregulate the nervous system. Caffeine, nicotine, preservatives, nasal decongestants.”

“You have a lot of rules.”

“What do you mean?”

“No electronics. No stimulants.”

“They’re not rules,” says June. “They’re suggestions. The idea is to encourage social responsibility but not dictate it. I don’t want anyone to feel obligated. People should be in touch with their own systems, their own needs.”

I am not sure I see the difference between rules and suggestions.

“I know Tatum gets his iced coffees in town,” June goes on. “The boys love their potato chips and their store-bought coleslaw. I’m not judging that, or forbidding it. We just all feel better, and we’re at our most creative, when our bodies and minds aren’t jacked up on artificial foods and outside stimulants. And you know, Hidden Beach is where Brock was able to complete his recovery. There’s something nourishing about the way we live, even if it’s not what you’re used to.”

I’m silent for a minute, trying to figure out what I think. She claims she’s not rigid, but it seems like she is. She says she’s not forbidding anything, but she is forbidding. “You should have asked before you opened my bags and took my electronics,” I tell her. “Since it’s only a suggestion and not a rule.”

“You’re right,” says June. “I’m used to being the maternal figure, making calls on what’s going to be best for the boys and then guiding them to their best choices. But of course you’re different.”

“You didn’t guide me, actually. You just took my stuff.”

“Meer said he told you how we do things here.” She picks up a stack of linens and puts them in a large cardboard box. “But you have a good point. I should have asked. Why don’t you see how you feel with keeping electronics to a minimum?”

“I’d actually like my phone, please.”

She stares at me for a beat, then tells me that since it’s Monday, my devices are available in the office till two.

“What time does Kingsley get home today?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you tell me when you know which plane he’s on?”

“I won’t be checking my texts.”

“So he’ll just show up, later this afternoon?”

“Or he might not.”