“Hey now.” I shot her a meaningful look. “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way. I just don’t like being evasive with Aaron. I like him a lot.” I gave my head a quick shake. “I want to be open with you, okay? No secrets.”
She cracked a smile. “Girl, you’re the one who’s being weird. I’m an open book.” She pushed past me. “I’m gonna grab some of those seltzers, and then we’re going swimming! Can you add some air to the floatie?”
She strode up to the cabin, stepping over roots and rocks, moving as smoothly as a lynx. Her words echoed in my mind: I thought it’d never happen to me.
Two dead backpackers, a year apart. Two dead parents, killed in a fire. One dead best friend, killed in some kind of accident. So much death.
I thought of the article again—Paolo’s handsome smile, the merry texts to his sister. His father’s solemn vow.
Another echo in Kristen’s voice: I told myself you’d do the same for me.
CHAPTER 24
A mosquito whined in my ear, high-pitched and screechy, tiny nails on a chalkboard. I swatted at the air and pulled the strings of my hoodie tighter. It was cold out here, colder than I’d expected. Compared to Milwaukee, we were only a few hours closer to the North Pole, but here the air chilled as soon as the sun slinked away.
“Did you see that one?” Kristen pierced the sounds of night: throaty frogs, chittering crickets, the tinkling gurgle of lake water around the pier’s metal legs.
“Crap, I missed it.”
“It was a good one.”
“Damn.” This was Kristen’s second shooting-star sighting since we’d picked our way out here twenty minutes ago, our flashlights nosing over the root-strewn path. Even with my crummy night vision, I could tell the popcorn sky was spectacular: pinpricks of light stretching from the trees’ lumpy tops to the far side of the lake. On the narrow pier, we’d splayed on our backs, heads almost touching, legs in opposite directions.
“Maybe I should turn around and face that way,” I said.
“No, they were both right over us. Oh look, there’s a satellite.” The silhouette of her hand blotted out the stars, and I tracked the dot across the sky: a freckle of white moving steadily, determinedly west. I lost it where the stars marbled into a creamy band. The Milky Way, the edge of the galaxy, as Kristen had explained during her two-minute astronomy spiel, alongside the Big and Little Dippers and Orion’s brilliant belt.
A swishing sound, and a cluster of stars blinked out. “What was that?”
Kristen snickered. “A bat, most likely. You know way more about wildlife than I do.”
“A bat—must be.” I willed my heart rate to slow. It was so peaceful out here, and beautiful, but also isolated and rustling and remote. Terrifying in its own small-town way.
“My parents used to tell the story of how a bat got into the cabin,” she said, “long before I was born. I don’t even think they were married yet. They used to throw these epic parties here, and somehow a bat came in through the fireplace.”
I stayed quiet.
“It’s not even that good of a story. You can tell it must’ve been really funny at the time, but in the retelling there was just a lot of yelling and grabbing weapons and running around. I guess the women were worried about it flying into their hair, so my mom told everyone to put, like, pots and colanders on their heads.”
We both laughed, and the sound rolled around the lake before dying out.
“Well, I love it. That’s some quick thinking on your mom’s part.”
Kristen let out a hm, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “She was awesome. You would’ve loved her.”
“Definitely.” A breeze made the treetops whisper. I pulled my sleeves over my hands and tucked them under my armpits.
“Dad avoided us when we were up here—he just wanted to fish—but Mom would play with me all day long,” she went on. “She’d set up obstacle courses in the water: around the sandbar, touch the reeds, that kind of thing. In retrospect, she just wanted me to be a strong swimmer.”
A memory from my own childhood dilated: I was four or five and when my mom was too sick to take me to a neighbor’s pool party, I’d begged my dad. The pool was rectangular and teeming with kids, and I jumped right into the shallow end, which came up to my shoulders. I was thrilled to be there, amazed my dad had agreed—shocked that my pleading had, for once, worked. As my tiny feet skimmed the floor, I lost track of how far from the edge I’d strayed. Without warning, the pool’s bottom slanted away, and I was hopping, coughing, finding it harder with every second to keep my head above water.
Just as the panic peaked, salvation: A mom, one I didn’t even know, was suddenly in the water too, clutching me in her arms, murmuring, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” She was fully clothed—a tank top and jeans. I clung to her neck and looked around for my dad and felt a rush of relief and love when I saw the strangled worry on his face. The warm feeling popped like a blister on the car ride home: As I shivered atop a damp towel, Dad said gruffly, “You shouldn’t go in the pool if you can’t swim. That woman had a beeper on her—you ruined it.” That night I got a spanking for causing a scene.
“Or she’d scrounge together craft supplies,” Kristen continued dreamily. “One time we made toy sailboats out of chunks of two-by-fours and poked ’em all the way along the shore.”
In the stillness we heard a loon’s sudden tremolo, three warbling notes.
“I miss my mom,” Kristen said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Aw, Kristen.”
Another beat. “Last year I missed the anniversary of her death. Isn’t that weird? I thought of it two days later. It felt like I’d betrayed her. Erased her existence.” She choked out a bitter laugh. “And then my next thought was ‘Oh right, Dad too.’ They died the same goddamn day—November 10, 2001. And I was glad to not have thought about him for so long. Manipulative prick.”
My heart stung so hard I pressed my hand over it. “I’m sorry, Kristen. I’m sorry.” I wondered if it was easier for her to talk about this while facing the sky, both of us cloaked in darkness. But why tonight? Was it the Sazeracs we’d sipped after dinner, or something deeper, something coming to a head? “Do you think…is this something that’s been coming up more for you lately?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe it would help to talk to someone,” I said. “You’ve mentioned how much your therapist helped you back then. Have you looked her up? Maybe she’s still practicing.”
“Lydia Brightside—she was a character. Maybe you’re right. Or maybe I’m just…feeling sorry for myself. Which is not like me, you know. I hate the wallow.”
“You do! Rarely do you let me indulge in pity parties. It’s why…” I was going to joke, It’s why I keep you around. But the tug in my gut had returned, the desire to distance myself from her—at least until I had more answers. About Jamie, about her parents, about her baffling indifference to Paolo’s body being exhumed. “It’s one of many reasons you’re unstoppable,” I finished.