“What if he didn’t come back?” I say. My voice is thin as fishing line, and I feel Evie shiver against me in the steamy midday heat. “What if he never left?”
I take advantage of the silence – everyone caught off guard – to conjure up that little flash of Elora.
That slicing rain.
And the sucking mud.
I try to focus on what she’s running from. What – who – she’s afraid of. Could it really be Dempsey Fontenot, our long-lost childhood boogeyman?
It’s no use, though. I can’t see Elora’s face, let alone the face of whoever is chasing her down through the storm.
If I’ve suddenly become a psychic, I’ve become a really shitty one.
Sera turns to Sander and whispers something to him in Creole. I wonder what she said, but I don’t speak much Creole. Just a word or two I’ve picked up from the twins over the years. Curse words, mostly. Evie speaks some French, but it’s not quite the same. Case, too. But what he speaks is Cajun French, so it’s a little different.
And that’s when I realize that Case isn’t here.
“Where’s Case?” I ask, and everybody gets really interested in the cypress needles scattered around the bottom of the boat. Evie sits up and pulls away from me. She’s watching Hart again, twisting that white-blonde hair around her finger and chewing on her lip.
“He’s around,” Mackey tells me. “We just haven’t seen much of him lately.”
“Why not?” I ask, and they all exchange looks.
“Case won’t come around if I’m here.” Hart’s arms are crossed in front of his chest, and ropy blue veins stand out against his skin. “The two of us got into it a while back.”
That’s nothing new, really. Hart and Case run up against each other from time to time, like dogs fighting over territory. Their little pissing contests never last long, though. And then they’re friends again.
Sera is the one who spells it out for me. “Hart thinks Case did something to Elora.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No way.” Case is a hothead. We all know that. But he wouldn’t hurt Elora. He’s head-over-heels for her. Has been since we were kids. I find Hart’s eyes, but I can’t read what he’s thinking. He’s turned off the lights and pulled the shades down. “Case loves Elora,” I say.
Mackey reaches over and lays his hand on mine. “We all loved Elora, Grey.”
Nobody corrects him.
We all love Elora.
Tourist sounds drift down from the boardwalk, and it’s like some kind of spell has been broken. Sera gets to her feet. “We need to go,” she says, and Sander stands up, too. “Time to make some money.”
“Me too,” Mackey says, and he seems grateful for the excuse. On busy weekends, Mackey and his brothers take paying customers out on airboat rides. “Swamp Photo Safaris,” they call them. Turns out the ability to see death coming isn’t a psychic talent that people really appreciate. Or pay for.
The three of them say their goodbyes, and Mackey gives me a hug. Then they hurry up the ladder and head off down the boardwalk, leaving Evie looking back and forth between Hart and me. She stands up, but she doesn’t follow the others.
“I could stick around,” she offers. And there’s something hopeful in her voice. “I mean, if you guys want company.”
“That’s okay,” I tell her. “I need to get back and spend some time with Honey.”
Hart nods. “I gotta get to work.”
Sometimes he hangs around the river dock up in Kinter making a little money here and there helping guys off-load cargo. It’s backbreaking work, but nobody bothers him. And they pay him in cash. I figure he makes just enough money to keep himself in cigarettes.
But Hart doesn’t head toward the ladder.
And neither do I.
Evie hesitates another few seconds, shifting her weight back and forth to stand on one long leg and then the other, like some kind of flamingo.
Finally she gives up and says, “Okay. I’ll see you later, Grey.” We share a hug before she turns toward Hart. “Bye, Hart,” she tells him, and I feel a tiny twinge of jealousy when he smiles at her.
Evie has always worshipped the ground Hart walks on. Ever since she was born. But there’s something new about the way his name sounds in her mouth this year. Something that’s different from last summer. And all the summers before that. Something about the way her eyes linger on his face – and the rest of him – a split second longer than they should.