That spring break when the cold war turned hot, we rented a house up in the hills. It overlooked the ocean and I think it was the best house we’d had there in the three years we’d been going. St. Barts is a very fancy place. And very expensive. It is a French territory, so there is a lot of gourmet food and dance clubs that are open all night long. Models and movie stars go there, which was why Mrs. Martin had insisted on making it our spring break tradition after she married Mr. Martin. My father had refused to take her. He said it was too showy, and anyway, he loved to ski and made her go to Utah, where she would sulk and stay inside rather than make a fool of herself trying to learn. My father was an expert skier and he offered to get her private lessons. But she preferred to protest the trip.
Hunter always had a few friends from school who were in St. Barts during spring break, and he would meet them in townor at the beach. Emma had always gone with him. But this year she was not invited. I could tell this made her sad because she was stuck at the pool with me and our mother and then just me when the adults went out at night. She was so sad that she tried to make peace with Hunter by asking him to put suntan lotion on her back. I know this sounds like nothing. But she was doing more than asking for help with her sunscreen. She was asking for things to go back to the way they were. She was saying she was sorry about letting Mr. Martin take the pictures and that she forgave him for calling her a whore and not telling her about Joe’s girlfriend before she had sex with him. And she was even willing to forgive him for posting those pictures on the Internet. These were very large concessions.
But as I have said, Hunter had learned his lesson about making his war plans without proper planning, and he had been plotting his next move for months. So he told her no. He could not help her with her suntan lotion.
I’m in a rush, Em. Cass can help you.
Emma stormed to her room and didn’t come out all day.
The next afternoon Hunter did not meet his friends. He stayed home and sat by the pool with me and Emma and Mrs. Martin. Mr. Martin did not like the sun, so he would go to town every day, as he did on this day, to drink wine and walk around. This also served the purpose of not seeing Emma in her tiny bikinis. He avoided us the whole trip, which Mrs. Martin was happy about because it meant she could sit and read the kind of magazines that made Mr. Martin think less of her. I think if she had not been so happy, she would have seen what was happening and then she would not have been happy at all.
Hunter sat facing the ocean. His sunglasses were on, so wecould not tell if he was watching us or the ocean or nothing. A long time went by. Emma listened to music and texted her friends, laughing here and there, running her hands through her short hair. I was reading a book for school—The Giver,which is about a made-up place where people don’t have feelings anymore. It was very awkward, being there with two enemies, pretending to be a family on vacation when really they were thinking of ways to destroy each other.
It was right before lunch when Hunter made his one deadly move, a move that would escalate the war and lead to everything bad that happened to Emma. And to me.
It’s so hot today!Mrs. Martin said. She put down her magazine, took a sip of her rum drink, and reached for her suntan lotion.
Hunter, who had not moved since breakfast except to jump in the pool one time, got up from his chair and sat down on the edge of Mrs. Martin’s chair.I can do your back.
Mrs. Martin smiled curiously. Maybe even cautiously. I could see her calculating how to answer, and because of my knowledge, I now understand why. If she said no, then she was admitting there was something wrong with her stepson touching her bare skin, rubbing it with lotion. But if she said yes, then her stepson would touch her bare skin, and rub it with lotion. She was undecided in that split second before she answered, until she noticed the hurt look on Emma’s face.
That’s so nice of you, sweetheart.
Hunter smiled. He took the lotion, squeezed some onto his hand, rubbed it with the other hand and then put both hands on our mother.
That was all that happened on that trip. But it was more than enough. Hunter went back to school and we would not see himagain until the summer, when the next battle would be waged, this time by Emma.
***
There was a knock at the door on day four of my return. I heard it from my bedroom. Then I heard Mr. Martin get up to answer it.
Dr. Winter and Agent Strauss were at the door, but they did not ask to come in. Instead, they offered to speak with Mr. Martin outside on the porch and alone. I could see them through the arched doorway between the living room and foyer, the gestures, the surprised shoulder shrug, the exit and the door closing. I did not know for sure that they had found out what I needed them to find out, but I became instantly hopeful. Mrs. Martin had been increasingly unnerved with every day the island was not found and every day that I was telling my stories and being believed. The hushed conversations with Mr. Martin were more frequent; the worry lines were starting to march across her face.
But it was not enough. None of this had been enough.
Until the fourth day.
The very next day, they would find where Richard Foley lived, and that would lead them to the island. But on day four, they had found the other thing that I had needed them to find. It had been worth the torturous waiting, the whole day with Mrs. Martin’s switch on love and treating me like a mental patient. It was worth her gloating and her arrogance. It was worth everything, even what it did to Dr. Winter.
SIXTEEN
Dr. Winter
On the evening of day four of Cass Tanner’s return, Abby and Leo were back at the Martin house.
They sat on the porch in wrought iron chairs. Jonathan Martin crossed his legs, leaned back and smiled like he was at a cocktail party with friends from the club.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
Leo smiled back. This was his show and he was an exceptional performer. But he was working with very few props. “Lisa Jennings,” he said.
Jonathan looked confused. “I’m sorry? Who?”
“The school counselor. From the Soundview Academy.”
“Oh, right. I remember now.”
Leo smiled wider. “She remembers you. Quite well, in fact.”
