Hampton’s mouth spreads into a thin line as she looks back and forth between Ethan and me. Ethan’s chest begins to rise and fall quickly, so noticeable I can see his torso move out of the corner of my eye.
“I’d really like to ask a few more questions,” she says. “Especially of Mr.Silver. We’re hoping to learn more information about Billy’s movements last night. We heard he threw a party.”
Ethan looks to my dad, communicating something I can’t quite understand, and my dad shakes his head. “We’re leaving. But if you’d like to ask them anything else again, you can call me, their lawyer. Understand?”
Detective Hampton makes a sucking noise, then stands, grabbing the folder in front of her.
The hallway is so quiet I can hear our shoes squeak against the tiled floor as we walk to the lobby.
“What did she mean by—” I start, but Dad shakes his head quickly.
“Honey, would you wait by the car for Lucy?” he says. “She’ll take you home.”
I remember the words Ethan said to me:Stay with me.“Ethan, are you…” I ask.
But he won’t meet my gaze. His hands are by his sides, his thumbs flexing back and forth. He nods once, and Dad leads Ethan to his black SUV parked next to Lucy’s. Together they get inside, and I watch them drive away.
Lucy
A heel juts into my stomach, hard and swift from my left, and I wake with a start, popping up in bed. But when I sit up, my foot extends, colliding with a meaty thigh on my right, and the person that thigh belongs to grunts.
“Shh,” the body on the other side says, and I rub my eyes, realizing I’m smushed between Frankie and Millie, who seem to be taking up most of my mattress, leaving only a sliver of space in the middle for me.
“What are you guys doing here?” I climb over Millie, and when I get out, she and Frankie fill the extra space easily, spreading out under my quilt.
“It’s too freaky to be alone,” Frankie says, mumbling into the pillow.
Millie nods her agreement, her face hidden beneath the sheets.
My stomach drops, and I remember what happened yesterday. Billy, dead in the water. The crowd on the beach. The tears in Millie’s eyes. The fear on Frankie’s face. The terror shuddering through Ethan, the way he shivered when we got to the police station, how my dad took him home, kept him in his study for hours, so late that I didn’t see him before I fell asleep in a fit. It’s enough to remind methat everything on Pelican Island has changed in an instant. Nothing will ever be the same as it was.
I squeeze my eyes shut and see Billy as I knew him, smiling and laughing, crossing his eyes, chugging a beer, throwing Ethan in a headlock, kissing Erica, his fingers pressed against her neck. I never liked him, not even when he was at his best. But the loss of him is staggering, so swift, so complete, it nearly takes my breath away. Even if he wasn’t perfect, even if he wasn’tniceorkind, he should still be alive. He should still have the chance to change.
All I want to do is slip back under the covers and shut my eyes, wish to rewind twenty-four hours before any of this happened.
But I look at my two sisters, still and intertwined, and I know I have to set the example. Move forward. Be strong. Show them how tobeafter witnessing something like that.
“You guys rest up, okay?” I dip down and drum my fingers on Millie’s shoulder before I reach for my phone. I expect to see a text from Ethan. But there’s no word from him, not evengood night, which he usually sends every evening. Nor a good-morning message, which always comes in before I wake up. I call him, but it goes right to voicemail, so I send him a text:lmk when you’re up. Worried about you.
I splash some water on my face and brush my teeth, then hear the sound of the coffee grinder in the kitchen, and soon the smell of a fresh pot lures me downstairs. Dad is already standing at the kitchen counter, dressed in his tennis clothes, his brows narrowed as he stares at the percolator.
“Hey,” I say.
“Oh, hi, hun-bun.” Dad moves toward me and plants a kiss onmy forehead, but he’s still tense, his shoulders up around his ears and his voice strained. “You’re up early for a Sunday.”
I shrug and slide onto a seat at the counter. “Not a normal Sunday.”
“No,” he says. “No, it’s not.” The coffee machine beeps, and Dad pulls down two mugs and retrieves the milk from the fridge.
“Thanks,” I say as he slides mine over. When it reaches me, liquid sloshes over the side, scalding my fingers, and I yank them away, shaking them in the air to cool.
“Ah, sorry, Luce.” Dad reaches for a rag and dabs at my hand. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say, though my skin burns. “It wasn’t even that hot.”
“Run it under cold water,” he says, and I follow his lead, let him get the tap just right. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “Preoccupied. As are you, I’m sure.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. Dad’s focused on my hand even though my skin has returned to its regular shade. “Can I ask you something?”
