“I don’t know,” I said finally.
“But you have to—it has to be true. That way...” Mom trailed off.
“Sally, that’s enough,” Dad said.
“Who areyouto say what’s enough?” Mom snapped. “These—they’re never wrong?”
Wells. Caleb. “Somehow, they’re accurate.” As if I’d summoned him, Wells pressed this thumb to mine, a gesture I was certain was meant to reassure me.
The pulse that passed between my parents was loaded. “See?” she said to my father.
I recoiled. I’d never heard her talk like that before. Some energy, or presence, or sensation in the room slid off-kilter,something you could sense only if you grew up here. My breath stumbled in my throat. “You’re not each other’s soulmates, are you?”
“Ugh.” Mom pressed the backs of her hands to her eyes, as if she could push tears back into their ducts. “Honey, please. Another time.”
Heat flushed my temples. Caleb stood, retrieved a Kleenex from a wicker-patterned tissue box holder, offered it. “Here,” he said gently.
“Mom,” I begged.
Her expression was heady, powerful. If I dipped even a pinky nail into it, it could take me away. Natalie slipped her hand into mine.
My father was still locked on the TV. I cleared my throat. “Dad?”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said.
“But—”
“Nothing,” he said firmly. He stood. “I’m going to go clean the grill. You young people are a pleasure.” He jammed his feet into his work boots, vanished.
I gripped Natalie’s hand.
Mom paused the TV. “You know, the night Sabrina died, we got into an argument about her wearing a crop top out. She’d made it in home ec. The seam was as crooked as her eyeliner.” She fisted her hand over her mouth. “She told me I was a prude. Screamed at me over and over, but I—” Teardrops traced her lashes. “I just didn’t want her to be cold,” she whispered.
“She had her hoodie with her,” I lied. “The zip-up from the beach in P-town.”
Mom blinked. “How do you know?”
“I looked for it after. I wanted to sleep in it,” I said, which was true. “And then I remember her having it in her friend’s car.” Another lie, before I could stop myself. So much for facts.
“Huh,” my mother said.
Wells reached over to rub my mother’s shoulder. “It’s no consolation, but having known your family as long as I have, I have no doubt she knew how much you loved her.”
“I hope that, too,” Mom said.
“So Sabrina is your soulmate.” I tried to brighten each syllable with breeziness. Acceptance. It clanked in my stomach then: Mom’s interest in Natalie and Helena. “Who is Dad’s?”
“Petey,” Mom said.
It figured. Dad’s fishing partner. Brothers by the water. It would’ve been funny, ironic, sweet, if it weren’t so sad.
Twenty-Six
Wells was right. The fan made a clicking noise. After everything, I had forgotten to nab a spare from my parents’ house. I sank into bed, trying to quell my lower lip’s trembling.
Wells sat on the foot of the bed. The weight of his body tipped the mattress ever so slightly. I shut my eyes.
“I’m such a jerk.” His voice sounded strange. He’d always had something of an aristocratic tone, measured, purchased, educated. Right now, it rang with uncertainty in a way I’d never heard.
