Augie saw the Clines first, sporting silky red summer-wear; then the Andersons in matching floral prints; then the Schmidts in boho chic; and so on. It didn’t take long for the pool deck to fill with glowing tans and strappy sandals and screaming children. Augie was relieved when Mrs. Cline approached to ask for a mai tai. Work had begun.
Time moved quickly as Augie settled into the routine of the party. She kept an eye on the food as people began eating, ran drinks back and forth, helped TC with an especially large order of champagne. She was glad to be busy. It made it easier to avoid watching for Chat. She even forgot to check her phone, despite Leah promising she’d text when she and her dad were on their way.
In fact, Augie and Zami were so busy at the grill station that Augie didn’t think about Leah until she was cleaning up their station, batting away smoke from the barbecue, and felt someone grab her arm. For a second, she imagined Chat. She was relieved to see it was Leah—until she took in her face.
Despite her bronzed makeup, gold hoops, and stunning orange halter dress, Leah looked wild. Immediately, she pulled Augie to the edge of the party, behind a blown-up palm tree.
“Why haven’t you checked your phone?” she snapped.
Instinctively, Augie placed her hand over the front of her apron, the outline of her phone. “Sorry, the start is always crazy. I was just—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Leah looked at the crowd. She pulled them farther behind the palm tree. Her expression was one Augie hadn’t seen before: eager and panicked and determined.
“What’s going on?”
“This is crazy, but—listen.”
Augie pushed away a palm tree leaf as it blew into them.
“I was looking up the Latvian hockey roster again, like we tried before. But this time, I went through the group photos from each year. And out of nowhere, I see this.”
Leah shoved the phone toward Augie’s face.
Augie went cross-eyed, studying the screen. It was a slightly pixelated picture of a hockey team, rows and rows of men in red jerseys.A second later, Leah tapped the caption below the photo, pointing at a guy in the back row.
Trey Fortin, it read.
“That’s Trey.” Leah’s eyes were so wide, Augie could see the pink lining of her eyeballs. “Once I saw his full name, I found more pictures.” She pulled back her phone, scrolled, and pushed his Facebook toward Augie, impatient.
Augie couldn’t deny it. While he had a longer face and lighter hair, his eyes and smile told her this was definitely him—Chat’s uncle.
“So that’s his last name? Fortin? Not Efhart like Chat’s?”
“Exactly. He must be Chat’smom’sbrother.” Leah was rushing, impatient. “Augie, there’s more. This is crazy, but look. I didn’t put it together right away, but the more I looked at his photos, the more it hit me. I’d seen him before. I knew I’d seen him before.”
Leah reached into her bag. “He’s the same T. Fortin ashere.” Her voice hitched as she pulled out the worn picture Augie had seen all those years ago—the one from Leah’s shoebox.
It was the group photo from Lyle’s summer training camp. His last summer alive.
“See.” Leah tapped the left back row. “T. Fortin. Number thirteen. It’s the same guy. The same Trey. He knew my brother, Augie. He knew Lyle.”
Augie pulled both photos closer, looking back and forth, feeling dizzy.
“Augie?” Leah grabbed her wrist. “Trey could have been at The Manor that night, with Lyle. We need to find Chat, now. He has to know something.” Leah scanned the crowd.
“I don’t understand... so do you think Danika knew Lyle, too? That they all did?”
“I don’t know anything for sure.” Leah took a sharp breath. “Buttheyarethe same age, and this proves Trey knew Lyle. Something is definitely up.” She folded the photo back into her bag, and Augie sensed the energy coursing through her.
“Okay.” Augie tried to compose herself for Leah’s sake—to finally be the one to be able to help. “Let’s go. Let’s find Chat.”
26
Chat looked most like Trey when he dressed up. Danika always thought so. Trey had never been overly preppy, or into fashion, but he’d insisted on looking his best when taking Danika out. He joked he was always glad to change out of his hockey gear, which he claimed smelled like rotten socks no matter how many times he washed it.
Danika insisted he didn’t need to dress up for her, but it had made her feel special all the same. She loved seeing him in a polo or button-down when he came to pick her up. At sixteen, meeting him after moving to St. Cloud had felt like a true lifeline; she had never experienced love like that, and after coming off her father’s death, it felt even more like a gift.
With Chat around, it was impossible not to fall back into those memories. It was always a sweet, bitter pain, like staring at the sun too long. It was especially difficult in moments like this, before the party, when the wine made her body and mind fluid and she was no longer in control.
