“Yeah—for now. These are rumors, of course, but where there’s smoke there’s fire. It’s a powerful place, Taylor.”
“That doesn’t change anything. And like you said, they’re just rumors.”
He studies her, squinting as if the sun is shining into his eyes. “Did you break the news to your dad yet?”
“No…. he’s busy right now with the restaurant.”
Her dad briefly reopens for spring break, and again in April for the Mid-Atlantic Regional Surfing Championship, viewing the crowds as a test drive for the upcoming summer onslaught. Because starting in July, wealth will arrive to the Outer Bankslike its own season: hordes of SUVs with attached roof boxes clogging N. Croatan Highway, the only road that runs to the beach towns. The houses on stilts will sag a little heavier as the masses descend on them like a flock of seagulls.
But this is not the real reason she hasn’t talked to her dad. She’s never been able to lie to him, and she doesn’t want him asking her questions she has to answer. Like:Why waitressing? What is this place?Thankfullyhedoesn’t live in Boston, so isn’t remotely aware of the Knox’s shadowy ties.
Then Sam says quietly, “And you’re sure this is a good idea? Not because of what I just told you, but because of…you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw your fridge. Your mom’s letter.”
Taylor takes a step back. “You read it?”
“I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I saw the letter on there, and I just thought it was something you were proud of, like you know, how people hang school photos on their fridge? I wouldn’t have read it if I realized it was from your mom. But then I saw the Knox symbol, and—”
“Wait, you know what the symbol for the Knox is?”
“Yeah.” Sam shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
“Why? How?”
“I dunno. I think everyone knows. I mean, people always dress up as the Knox on Halloween, wearing that top hat and a black cape.”
Taylor snorts humorlessly to herself. All along, she could have just asked Sam about the symbol. But then she likely would’ve had to tell him about Vivian. Right now, Sam just thinks she’s a homesick nurse who couldn’t cut it at Mass General. Not entirely untrue, but that explanation contains only slivers of the truth.
“What does your mom have to do with the Knox, anyway?You told me she came to Boston to model before…um, the basement house fire.”
Taylor leans against the doorframe, avoiding his eye. “Yeah, she did.”
“So, what does that have to do with the Knox?”
Taylor folds the offer of employment over and over, making it smaller. If only problems and worries were like that, able to be lessened and shrunk at will.
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly.
Taylor
A memory:
The sea ahead of Taylor and her mom, a furious gusting of gray absorbing the horizon. Wind beating at their backs and knotting their hair, sand snapping at their legs. There’s a glisten to her mom’s face, and it’s more than just wetness from the rain. Her mom grasps six-year-old Taylor’s hand in a firm grip as she determinedly pulls her along.
Edging them closer to the ocean.
The beachfront houses on stilts are barricaded, wooden planks covering their windows, driveways emptied of cars. The town is ghostlike. The local supermarket aisles have cleared—no more bottled water. Her dad has gone to get them supplies at another store.
A hurricane is coming.
Let’s go, little monkey, Mom had said, in their kitchen, as soon as he left.
Go where?Taylor had asked.
Let’s go see it.
