“Paul won’t help me,” Seton says. “My mom burned down his house, and they hate each other anyway. Besides, I need money for the retainer, and I don’t have a clue where it will come from.”
I would help Seton if I could, but most months I barely make my rent check. “I don’t even know how I’ll pay my hospital bill,” I say.
Seton rubs the bridge of her nose. “I’m not asking for a handout, Charlie. And I don’t know how to break this to you, but you’re rich. Don’t act as if you aren’t. You live on the lake. You went to prep school and a fancy private college. And please stop calling that house abungalow.”
“I’m a production assistant at a public radio station and drive a forty-year-old car I fix myself. And I owe tens of thousands of dollars in student loans.”
“Do you have any idea how much this island is worth?” Seton asks. “Or how much Reid Construction will pull in from building those houses at Burkehaven?”
None of that money’s mine, though Seton doesn’t want to hear that right now. “I could take a loan against my 401(k). I might have five thousand dollars there.”
“I don’t want a loan!” Seton says. “But don’t talk about your hospital bills like we’re in the same boat. I’m sure your mom will pay them for you.”
I put a hand on her arm, but she shakes me off. On the dock, Reid dives into the lake and swims toward the opposite shore, his strokes strong and assured.
“Tell Reid he shouldn’t swim alone,” Seton says. “And you and I should keep our distance from each other till the state cops learn what happened. I have to watch out for myself. And my mom.”
She grips the steering wheel and won’t meet my eyes, and I can tell no matter what I say in this moment, it won’t be the right thing. I get out of the car, and she backs away. “Take care, Charlie,” she says through the open window, before speeding off into the trees.
Seton’s been a friend—maybe a little more—for as long as I can remember, the two of us bonded by shared tragedy. We could have given up on each other years ago, but if we had, I’d have lost the one person who truly understands growing up under this particular shadow of grief. I can’t imagine a life without her in it, or that these latest events might finally push us apart.
Chapter Twelve
I change out of the smoky running gear I’ve been wearing all day and check my phone. The unsent text to Julian about scrapping the podcast waits for me on the screen. I delete it for now, then wash my face, scrubbing at the last remnants of ash and blood. The wound on my forehead is tender and swollen, with a welt forming around the stitches that will probably take days to heal. I sweep dark hair from my forehead and sneer into the mirror, my blue eyes—my father’s blue eyes—staring back at me. Maybe the doctor’s right and the scar will add character.
And maybe Seton and I can talk tomorrow and leave what happened today behind us.
Outside, chilly air and thick clouds have rolled in with the promise of rain. The dock is empty, while out in the lake, Reid cuts a line through the water as he swims across the cove, breathing rhythmically to the left and then to the right. I perch on one of the Adirondack chairs as he reaches the opposite shore and begins the return.
My brother has another life away from Idlewood, one he doesn’t share much with the rest of us. He keeps an apartment in Boston’s South End, the penthouse in a building he developed. It’s only a few miles from my place in Somerville, though we rarely see each other. I’ve found photos of him on social media with groups of handsome men on beaches or yachts in far-flung locales. Once in a while, he’ll bring one of those men to Idlewood for the weekend, though they rarely make a return appearance.
He swims up to the dock, touching in with a flourish and shoving away. When he sees me, he says, “No permanent damage?”
“Maybe a scar,” I say.
“You had us worried there.”
He hauls himself out of the water, his body long and well muscled. He pulls the swim cap from his blond hair, tucks his goggles into the side of his red briefs, and lies on the dock to stretch.
“The water must be freezing,” I say.
“I’m used to it,” Reid says. “Was that Seton I saw out in the parking area? Watch what you say to her. She’s a cop, and she has a personal interest in what her mother did. Don’t be too trusting.”
I won’t mention our argument over money.
Reid slides his left leg under his right and leans across the dock. “Gilcrest had plenty of questions for me,” he says. “Now I need to get the insurance company to sign off on the damages from the fire. Not the easiest thing with arson.”
“Do they know it’s arson?” I ask.
“They will soon enough,” Reid says, turning onto his stomach and lifting his chest forward. “The state fire marshal’s here. Let’s hope he gets what he needs before the rain starts.”
“When you talked to Gilcrest, did he mention Dad?” I ask.
Reid finishes the stretch, stands, and slides his feet into a pair of flip-flops. “Not once,” he says. “And right now, Mom and I have enough to deal with without you opening up old wounds. Let this podcast thing go. And stop asking questions.”
He leaves me on the dock and heads up the path toward the cabin.
Now I’ve managed to piss off SetonandReid. I sit by the water until the first of the rain begins to fall, forming concentric circles as it patters onto the lake. I snap a selfie of the welt on my forehead and text it to Julian.
