Under gray skies, we hike down a sandy path bounded by tall grasses and more beach roses to the first historical site, set away from the coast at the edge of the woods. The settlement of Rapture—religious colony, pig farm, trading post—was torn apart by war and weather, so what remain are merely the outlines of where buildings once stood, stone labyrinths in the dirt that hint at rooms and the spines of fallen fireplaces.
As the skies darken, we loop around the other end of the island—pausing to take pictures of gravestones—and when we’re halfway down the opposite coast, we stop to eat a late afternoon snack at something called the Stonehenge of New England. It’s a mysterious standing stone circle—rather, what was lauded as one in the 1920s, before the last hurricane wiped out several grand summer homes that had been built here by a few pioneering rich people who thought Beauty was too crowded. Those were the last people to live on Rapture Island: One of those survivors admitted later that he built the stone circle as a hoax.
“It’s a pretty good hoax, you have to admit. I would’ve been fooled,” Lucky says. He’s picking up the remainders of our picnic near one of the stones that’s lessstandingand more leaning while I finish snapping another roll of film. “I think the fact that he built it inside an actual stone wall that’s hundreds of years old added to its veracity. Sort of a fool-the-eye thing. Heshouldn’t have told anyone and let the mystery stand.”
“I wonder if guilt finally ate away at him,” I murmur from behind my Nikon. I’m getting a lot of spooky shots out of this trip. It’s getting darker out here, though, with the line of storms veering closer. Not sure how this roll will turn out. I bump up the ISO as far as it’ll go and say, “Speaking of guilt … I broke into my grandmother’s closet.”
“Whoa. Really? You did?”
“I found something. My mom’s old yearbook. And I think I found an inscription from her mystery navy lover. It said, ‘It’s finally over. Only palm trees and white, sandy beaches on the horizon now. Our future is bright and sunny, and I can’t wait for the two of us start it together.’?”
“Interesting …” He says this like someone who knows way more than he’s letting on, and that frustrates me to no end.
“Know anyone in town named Drew who was once in the navy?”
“Drew …” He scrunches up his face, and I can’t tell if he’s actually thinking about this or pretending to. That’s weird. He wouldn’t be lying to me … right? The one person in my life that I trust not to lie to me for any reason. Especially for no reason. And some random guy from my mom’s past definitely seems like a silly reason to lie.
So maybe it’s just my imagination.
Maybe I’m projecting all my mom’s lies onto him. It’s getting confusing.
The wind’s blowing pretty hard, and I can hear waves breaking just over a shrubby line of pink beach roses past the circle. “See, that’s always been her big dream, to move to Florida. The endgame. Everything’s better in Florida—that’s what she’s told me constantly for the past few years. That’s why we’re here right now in Beauty, in fact. So she can save money and we can move to Florida.”
“But you aren’t going with her,” he points out. “LA is a long way from Florida.”
My chest squeezes as I lower my camera. “A very long way.”
“If your mom is convinced that she’s going to settle down in Florida and stay put there, then why don’t you just go with her instead of moving to LA? Do you not trust that she’ll stay in Florida?”
It takes me a long time to answer. “Remember how the Summers & Co store window was before I broke it?”
“Much the same as it is now, only it was a lot filthier back then.”
I huff in frustration. “What I mean is, remember how they had all the beautiful Christmas displays, and people would stand outside on the sidewalk and press their faces against the glass and stare at the pretty, sparkly things inside the display window that werejuston the other side of the glass,justout of reach, but they couldn’t touch?”
“Sure?”
“That’s what it’s like, living with my mom.”
He shakes his head, confused.
“She’s beautiful and sparkly, but just out of reach. I’m just a stupid bird that sometimes flies into the glass and gets hurt.”
His brow lifts. “Ah … She’s got an invisible wall up.”
“You know,” I say, peering at him thoughtfully, “I think she really might. And if I had to guess, it went up after the big fight with Grandma, when we left Beauty five years ago. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure it will ever come down. Not for me, not for anyone.”
“You never told me what that fight was about. What caused the neighbors to call the police all those years ago?”
I shrug. “The funny thing is, I don’t even know most of it. Some of it, I think I’ve blocked out, and some of it, I just couldn’t hear clearly. I was in my bedroom—they wouldn’t let me come out—and they were in the kitchen. I heard a lot of swearing and shouting. I heard my name, so I know some of it was about me. About Mom getting pregnant with me in college and decisions she made. Maybe she regrets keeping me, I don’t know.”
“Aw, come on,” Lucky chastises. “Winona adores you. Anyone can see it. She brags about you nonstop to every customer that walks in the shop.”
This surprises me. So much so, that I’m not sure I believe him. “Well, I didn’t say theentirefight was about me, but like everything else, Mom won’t talk about it. Forbidden subject. And if we can’t talk about it, how can we get past it? So maybe you’re right about the invisible wall theory. You and I, we’re okay now, becausewe let down the wall. But Mom and me? I’m not sure we can ever be fixed. If there’s a permanent wall up between us, blocking any communication, the only way it’s coming down is with a bomb—see? That’s why that fight with Grandma happened.”
“Which is why you won’t go to Florida with her,” he says, finally understanding.
“It would be like flying smack into the Summers & Co window. Only pain and heartbreak for us little birds, not palm trees and sand.”
