Levin rushes off to deal with a kayak incident and I stride over to Mark, standing in front of him so I block the sun. It takes a beat before he notices my presence. Then he glances up from his phone, his eyes hidden behind those dumb sunglasses.
“Can I help you?” he asks, annoyed.
I’m shocked even though I know I shouldn’t be. I’ve been in his daughter’s life for a decade and he still has no idea who I am.
“Goldie Easton,” I say. “Ava’s best friend.” Saying that phrase, those words sandwiched together, gives me a bubble of pride.
His face shows no emotion. “Right,” he says, then turns back to his phone.
“You know she’s here,” I say. “Up by the cabins. And you haven’t even said hello.”
This gets his attention and I can tell I struck a nerve by the force with which he shoves his phone into his pocket. He stands and crosses his arms, his back toward the water, hiding his face from his family. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head, and now that I’m so close I can see a few gray hairs sprouting above his ears. A spattering of wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.
There’s a small deodorant stain near the bottom of his shirt and the knees of his joggers are a bit worn. And when I glanceat his watch—a thick, shiny, heavy piece of metal that screamsexpensive—I can see that the pearl-studded hands are frozen, like the timepiece is broken.
A sense of unease hangs over me. Spending time with Ava and Imogen in New York, watching them dissect people in real time, it helped expose some of the cracks in perfectly manicured appearances. A bitten nail so red you can see blood? That means insecurity. A poorly stitched enclosure on a wallet? Yeah, that’s a fake from Canal Street.
Looking at Mark now I wonder if his façade is cracking in front of me.
“You know you’re Ava’s dad, too, right?” I ask. My shoulders tense and I know I’m pushing him.
Mark raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Goldie,” he says, looking at me intently. “Ah, yes. You must be the one from Roxwood. The townie.”
My heart stings and I wonder where he heard that word. If Ava ever used it to describe me. A moment of betrayal flutters in my heart. “I am,” I say, trying to hold my chin high. I lean in and lower my voice. I know I need to take a risk. It’s my only chance. “I heard something interesting about your business recently.”
But Mark holds up a hand, unconcerned. “With all due respect, Goldie, you have no idea what I do. And you certainly haven’t a clue about what goes on between me and my daughter.”
Then his wife calls to him from the sand. The twins look at us and wave excitedly. We both wave back, playing the roles of doting counselor and father.
When they turn away, Mark’s face falls. I try to think of something else to say, of another dagger to land in his chest. But I can’t.I’m frozen. Mark takes a few steps down the sand before he swivels his head to look back at me.
“Did you know the boy?” he asks. “The one who died here. His name was Heller, right?”
The question shocks me so deeply that the only answer I can provide comes in the form of a nod.
Mark shakes his head and looks back toward his family. “Such a shame.” He starts walking toward the water, his gait calm and secure. He doesn’t turn back around, doesn’t glance in my direction, even when he reaches the edge of the water, gazing out at the lake.
CHAPTER 40
Then
“You had to dowhat?”
It was my second summer at Alpine Lake and all of the girls in my cabin started talking about the ridiculous crap they had to do in order to gain admissions to camp.
Imogen nodded her head aggressively. “I had to send in tapes of my plays,” she said. “Of me singing and dancing, too.”
The ten kids in my cabin were sitting in a circle, and the other campers piped up, too. One said Stu and Mellie came to her little league softball games and another said they reviewed clips of her gymnastics meets. They all shrugged as if this were no big deal. As if being able to go tosleepaway campshould be determined by things like extracurriculars and participation in class.
Everyone commiserated about the test they took to determine their congeniality and how well they might get along with others. Apparently, the thing was divided into multiple choice and essay sections, like a standardized test.
“I thought it wasimpossible,” one of the girls said. “My mom kept saying it was harder to get into Alpine Lake than Harvard.”
“Mymom said she’d buy my older sister a new laptop if I failed and she retook it for me!” another one joked, as if this were a badge of honor instead of horribly embarrassing, not to mention immoral.
I hugged my knees to my chest and wondered why I didn’t have to do any of that to come here. I secretly hoped it was because I was special—I was worthy of being here without proving anything to anyone. But I knew it was not because I was special. My presence was a glitch. A mistake.
One of the other girls nudged me with her foot.
