Silver must be cooking. For one fragile moment, things feel almost normal, and somebody help me, domestic. Until I enter the kitchen.
She’s standing near the stove, turned half away from me, smiling down at the phone in her hand. Her dress moves when she breathes, and I’m frozen by the sight of it. The muted blue color, the dip of the neckline, the tie at one side of her waist.
It can’t be. I haven’t seen that dress in years, but I remember it perfectly. I should since I bought it for Isla for her birthday. It was her favorite and she wore it all the time, even the day that she disappeared.
My chest locks up and air seizes in my throat. The room narrows, the sound of the music dropping until all I can hear is a violent oceanic roar of blood rushing in my ears. Silver turns to smile at me, and for a heartbeat the present fractures.
Silver’s hair is dark brown. I’ve threaded my fingers through it enough times to know, but for a second it isn’t. The dark flashes to blond, then dark, and back again like a badly edited film. Blond hair loose down her back, catching the sunlight on the dock. Dark hair, wild and damp on my pillow. Blond hair and dark hair cascade over the shoulders of that dress.
My knees go weak at the rush of memories. Isla wore it barefooted during the summer our air conditioning went out, and we sat in the shade in our tiny backyard. She wore it as she leaned over the stove and swatted my hand away forstealing food before it was finished. She wore it the last time I ever saw her, smiling up at me from the porch swing.
Silver takes a step toward me. “Hey.” At the sound of her soft voice, my recent nightmare slams into me, mixing with the day of the fire.
The endless hallway where smoke rolls along the ceiling and heat shimmers in the air. Silver is limp in my arms as Isla pleads for help. I can’t move and they’re melting, melting out of my arms onto the floor. Their voices braid together, calling my name over and over. I shake my head like that might clear the confusion, and my heart slams so hard it hurts.Lee. Lee.
“Lee.” It’s Silver calling, just Silver, as she watches me with curiosity. “Is something wrong?”
“No!” I hear myself spit out the word as the world seems to come back into focus. “No! Take it off!”
Silver freezes, confusion creasing her brow. “What?”
“Take that dress off!” The shout rips out of me, sharp and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you doing? Take it off!”
She recoils and steps back. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who?—”
One second I’m by the door and the next I’m in front of her, grabbing at the dress, trying to pull it off of her. The moment my fingers close around the material, the familiar feel of it sets off something inside of me, a mix of nostalgia and pain like I’ve never felt.
“Get it off!” I shout again. “You don’t wear that. You don’t!” She shoves me, not hard but hard enough to shock me into my senses, and I stagger back a step.
Silver’s eyes blaze, hurt and confusion and fury twistingtogether. “Don’t touch me,” she yells. “What’s wrong with you?”
The question drills holes in me, into all the guilt and fear, grief and love. She’s waiting for a response, but I don't have one. It’s too much. Too much to feel and too much to say. I don’t have an answer that won’t wreck us both. Because in this moment, I feel a resentment toward her, smoldering and buried and deeply unfair.I was okay for years before you.
I’m lying to myself. I wasn’t okay and Silver isn’t the problem. The asshole playing games with me is the problem.
She backs away, shaking her head, and bolts into her room where I hear her bathroom door slam behind her.
Fuck. Hot shame floods into me for reacting the way I did. I stand there with my chest heaving and try to get a grip on myself. The smell of garlic has turned acrid, and I step over to turn off the burner under a pan. I need to know where she got the dress, but first, I need to know she’s okay, that I haven’t scared her.
“Silver,” I call through the bathroom door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my shit like that.”
There’s no reply, but the lock clicks, and the door opens just far enough for the dress to fly out before closing again. It lands on the floor in a soft heap, and I can hardly bear to look at it. I don’t want to picture Isla wearing it. I don’t want the ghost of her haunting me anymore and that makes me feel guilty.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the closed door, to the dress, to the woman I’ve never been able to bury. The words are flimsy and inadequate, but they’re all I have. The sight of the lakethrough the window draws my attention because it’s so still, like a sheet of black glass while everything inside of me is turbulent. I sit down on the edge of her bed and close my eyes.
Silver’s faint voice reaches through the wall, but it isn’t directed at me. She’s calling about a hotel room. She’s going to leave and I can’t let that happen. She isn’t safe. I’m going to lose her if I don’t tell her the truth. I know she doesn’t buy my explanation about Landon, any more than I believe her story of stumbling across the cabin during a walk. She’s watched me leave down that trail too many nights. Of course she followed it to see why.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, loud enough to be sure she can hear me through the door. “It’s Isla’s dress. Someone is screwing with me.”
The bathroom door is yanked open and Silver regards me, her face set in grim lines. “What?” She pulls her dark gray robe around her tighter, holding onto herself like it’s keeping her together.
“It’s Isla’s dress. Seeing you in it was…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She stares at me through one blink, a second, and a third before replying. “You didn’t scare me. You pissed me off. What do you mean someone’s messing with you? Are you telling me that you didn’t have the dress delivered to Lucky’s?”
“No, I didn’t.” Before I can open my mouth to speak again, she reaches under her bed, pulls out a white gift box,and thrusts a small red card at me that bears my name and a heart.
My mouth dries out as I realize what this means. They didn’t leave it in some anonymous location like the letter, or even at my house. Whoever is targeting me knows she’s here, knows where she works, and used her to deliver more proof they know where Isla is. As if the damn ring wasn’t enough. It takes a huge effort to tamp down the anger I feel that they dragged her into this. Like she hasn’t been through enough lately.
