But it’s not for the reasons they might think. It’s not only because they didn’t save Billy when they could have. It’s because I couldn’t ignore one tiny detail in their story—that Olivia was supposed to come back for Billy.
My brain is foggy, like I can’t form complete thoughts as I pedal through the backyard to Olivia’s pool house. I stop and stagger off my bike, knocking on the door.
“Olivia,” I call. “It’s me, Lucy.” A figure moves inside, and the din of a television squawks in the background. In a moment the door opens and Olivia’s leaning against it in a white tank top and jean cutoff shorts, her blond hair spilling over her shoulders. “Hey,” she says, smiling, but in an instant, her face falls, and she stands up straighter. “Are you okay?”
I don’t know how to answer that question other than by stepping inside the pool house and pressing my lips to Olivia’s. All I want to do is remember this feeling once more, feel the warmth ofher body close to mine, a reminder that this felt good and right, even if I’m about to blow it all up.
A deep well of desire fills my stomach, but Olivia steps away and folds her bottom lip inside her mouth. “Wow,” she says. “As much as I want that right now, I feel like something’s going on?”
“Billy…” I start, trying to find the words. But how do you accuse someone of something so ghastly? How do you ask the simple questionWhere were you?
Olivia sits down next to me on the couch, holding my hand in hers. “What about him?”
“Did they ever release a cause of death?” I ask.
Olivia wrinkles her nose. “Actually,” she says, leaning down to retrieve her laptop from under the couch. “Hampton just sent us the autopsy report.”
“Really?”
Olivia nods. “They’re going to share it with the press tomorrow,” she says, tapping open her email. She pulls up a file, scooching over so I can see it. “Drowning,” she says, pointing to a line on the document that says as much. Then she scrolls to another document with the wordToxicologyin big letters at the top. “He had Xanax and amphetamines in his system,” she says. “They’re calling it an accident.”
“An accident,” I repeat.
“That’s what Hampton said.” Olivia sets the computer down. “Can you believe that? After a freaking manhunt all summer, they’re declaring it an accident. He must have fallen overboard and been too messed up to get himself back on the boat. Uncle Reid and Aunt Sally are devastated. I think in some ways it’s easier to thinkyour son was murdered by someone else than to think he did this to himself.”
“Wow.” My throat is sandy, and I think of the Silver boys, of what they did anddidn’tdo, if they would be held liable for their inaction.
“They’re going to close the case tomorrow,” Olivia says. “That’s it.”
“And all those wounds?”
“From his fight with Justin, I guess.” She shakes her head. “It’s awful,” Olivia says, running a hand through her hair. Then she stops and looks at me, her fingers still pushing through her waves. “I was supposed to get him.”
“What?” I lean in toward her, my chest pounding.She’s going to tell me.
“Uncle Reid asked me to take the tender out and pick him up once it was light out.”
“And you did?”
“Yep. I was already awake, so I went out around five. Climbed aboard theSea Witchlooking for him and everything. But he wasn’t there. I figured someone else picked him up. Or…I don’t know. I never assumedthis.” She rests a hand on her heart. “I feel like I could have saved him if I’d gone earlier.”
“How could you have known?” I place a hand on her shoulder, ashamed that there’s a bubble of relief expanding in my chest. Olivia had nothing to do with this. She was only trying to help.
“I told Hampton, but she told me to keep quiet during the investigation while they ruled everything out. Otherwise, I would have mentioned it sooner.” Olivia sighs. “Anyway, can I get you some water or something? You look like you’re going to faint.”
“An Advil would be amazing. I feel like I’m about to get a serious headache.”
“Coming right up.” Olivia scoots down the hallway to her bedroom.
I lean forward and rest my head in my hands, looking down at the mirrored coffee table in the middle of the room. In it, I can see my reflection—my pink lips, now puffy, and my hair, all frizzy and out of place. I hadn’t worn makeup today, and for the first time, I realize that I look so different than I did only a few weeks ago, when I was preparing to graduate, when I was still with Ethan, when our futures were planned together.
So much has changed since then, and while I don’t want it any other way, my reflection shocks me. I didn’t expect to look so changed, so free, and it makes me wonder if the shift I’ve gone through inside my body and brain is noticeable to those around me. Because despite what had happened, I’ve never felt more like myself than I do in this exact moment. I’ve never been more certain of myself, of what I want,whoI want, and that feeling is intoxicating.
“Hold on,” Olivia says from the bedroom, her voice muffled. “I know I have some here somewhere.”
“All good.” I shift my gaze to Olivia’s laptop, still open beside me. Billy’s files from the detective are bright on her screen, and I pick up the computer, studying the documents. Right there on the paper—drowning, Xanax, amphetamines.
Maybe the boys couldn’t have helped him. Maybe by the time they reached him, he would have already been gone. The truth I have to believe is this: Billy did it to himself.
