But for all our differences, this was it—what we were here for, what drew us in. We were a group who appreciated a certain aesthetic, a certain lifestyle. We gravitated here, and to one another, from this commonality alone. We assumed things about one another because of it. We assumed we were alike.
We had kayaks and paddleboards and fishing lines. We spent summer weekends in our bathing suits underneath cover-ups, coolers ready to go, an assortment of insulated mugs to keep our drinks cold. We had midday happy hours and late-night barbecues, hair tangled from the wind or the water.
Maybe Brandon and Fiona hadn’t known what they were getting into when they moved here. To be fair, neither did I. I’d toured the area with Aidan before we moved, thought it looked calm and peaceful and quiet, that it was the type of place that would settle into me—that it would settle me. Turn me into someone still driven but more carefree, like Aidan. But that was before we were both ultimately surprised by the people we turned out to be. Seeing each other for the first time out of context when we moved here. Maybe Aidan seemed so academically driven only because he preferred it to the finality of what came next. Something he was actively avoiding.
And maybe I seemed outdoorsy and adventurous only because I’d been pushed outside all my life, sent to camps, enrolled in activities—anything to avoid the pitfalls my brother had fallen prey to. Maybe I became this way only because my parents were terrified of what could happen to me when I remained stationary. Like there was something sinuous that targeted stillness, always waiting to sneak up on me, sneak into me. This fear that I was at the whim of something greater, outside my control.
It was easy to forget now that the Truetts were one of the first families in. And maybe that tainted their perspective, too—that someone was always moving in, changing the rules, changing things on them.
A large subset of us at Hollow’s Edge overlapped at work. It wasn’t just Brandon and me, in the admissions department, and Ruby, who had been a student. It was Tina in the health center and the Seaver brothers in grounds and security. Paul Wellman in alumni giving; Charlotte, as a counselor; and Tate, who helped coach lacrosse as a second job.
It was the reason, I believed, that our neighborhood sometimes took on the approximation of dormitory living. Like we were an extension of the college in both location and age. Conforming ourselves to the unique structure of a private post-secondary education.
Except for the Truetts.
Every time they lodged a complaint （the backyard parties on summer weeknights; the fireworks on New Year’s Eve; the garbage can left out too long）， the animosity grew around them. No one knew why they wanted to live here. They were never seen down at the pool on weekends. They had never shown up at a neighborhood party. Had never walked barefoot from the edge of the road, through the woods, straight into the water.
The shore wasn’t technically for swimming, though we all did it. The finger of water kept us sheltered from the current in the main channel. It was private and belonged to us alone, just one more secret of the community.
In the drought over the last few months, though, something had gotten lost. The hidden edges of the shore had slowly been revealed, the roots and mud and dirt and debris. The trash brought out on boats and left behind, washing up, catching on the decaying logs. Secrets rising from underneath.
Sometimes, at night, you could hear rats scurrying out from the edge.
Sometimes I thought all of this was because of Brandon and Fiona Truett. That nothing beautiful could ever last here again. That the story we told ourselves about this place was rotten, and now this, too, must rot.
* * *
RUBY WAS OUTSIDE.
She stood on the corner of my street, in front of the Seaver house. Currently no less than six feet from Mac, who was halfway down his walkway, rocking back on his heels, hands on his hips.
Five feet now, as he stepped even closer.
I tapped my brakes as I approached, then eased to the curb. Ruby was turned away from me, but Mac was smiling at something she’d said. His expression didn’t change as he saw me pull up beside them.
I lowered the window. “What’s up?” I called.
Ruby turned quickly, ponytail whipping behind her. “What’s up with you?” she asked. “I woke up and you were gone.”
“Had to grab some things from work for later,” I said, and Ruby frowned, quick and fleeting. I said to Mac, “I ran into Preston on campus. Thought maybe you’d be working this morning, too.”
His hands were in his pockets as he shook his head. “Not me. The project is off this week. Half the crew was on vacation anyways.”