BLAIR IS EXPOSED IN A LIE, PART ONE
BLAIR’S never been sailing before, and she has no idea what to wear. The sky outside her window is threatening, and her phone tells her the temperature is only a sliver above frigid.
Maybe she’ll get hypothermia on Luke’s boat, and the two of them will have to take off their clothes and huddle in a foil blanket together as a lifesaving maneuver.
Blair Johnson, Blair Johnson tells herself.
Still, a girl can dream.
It’s hard to dress warmly and look cute. And what about shoes? Do you need special shoes for boats? Hasn’t she read that somewhere? She doesn’t have special shoes for a boat. She has her running shoes, her warm but ugly winter boots, and various flats and heels that are barely suitable for walking down a sidewalk in this weather, let alone sailing the high seas.
Luke saw her look cute at Lola’s party and at the movie, she reasons. He knows she cleans up well. Freezing to death is unattractive, despite the potential for foil-wrapped hypothermia rescue scenarios.
Hideous puffer jacket and hideous-er boots it is.
The drive to the Brosillards’ is familiar now. Blair allows herself to briefly indulge in future speculation on the way: herself, a year from now, expert sailor and madly, mutually in love with Luke Brosillard, her first book about to publish to universal acclaim …
Except what is her book going to be about?
And if she’s still in Oreville in a year, that means she’ll still be living with her parents.
Doing what?
Fighting her brother for the bathroom?
Watching him go to high school every morning?
Smiling cheerfully at the dinner table after a long day of … work? In a … restaurant?
Luke is rich. Luke could sail her to a magical tropical island, and they could live in a beautiful hut by the sea and go swimming every day and eat whatever it is that people eat on magical tropical islands, all expenses paid by the Brosillards.
Bananas, perhaps.
Maybe Luke will sail her to the magical tropical island of free money today, and then she won’t have to deal with telling Cam about Meredith Payne-Whiteley.
Or Mattie.
Or Luke, for that matter. Because what is she going to say to him?
Hi, so I sort of lied to you from the beginning, and originally I only got you to ask me out because I’m trying to find out what happened to your sister, but now I think I might have it pretty bad for you even though we’ve only hung out once?
Who was on the tropical island first, colonizer? Sophie says in her head.
Blair releases her tropical island into the gloomy December atmosphere with a sigh.
She’s always let other people make decisions for her. But now that she’s trying to make decisions for herself, she’s not turning out to be much good at it.
Mattie answers the door, shutting it behind them and stepping out onto the front porch. “You didn’t get in her room, did you?” they hiss.
“Hi to you too,” Blair says.
“Did you try?”
“It wasn’t that easy,” Blair says. “I couldn’t ransack your house while your brother was standing right there.”
“What do you think you’re going to find on the boat?” Mattie asks. “She doesn’t sail.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You would’ve known if you asked me,” Mattie says. “This isn’t about her. This is about my brother. You’re going on a date with my brother.”
“It’s not a date,” Blair says weakly. “Did Lola sail?”
“She got seasick. Don’t change the subject. You like him.”
“I barely know him,” Blair says.
“Girls always like my brother,” Mattie says wearily. “They think they can fix him.”
“What girls?” Blair asks. “Does your brother have a girlfriend?”
Mattie gives her a look of utter disdain. “You can’t, you know.”
“Be his girlfriend?”
“Fix him.”
“I’m not trying to fix anyone,” Blair says.
“Everybody loves a project,” Mattie says disgustedly.
The door opens again behind them, and Luke peers out. Blair’s stomach lurches as his clear green eyes meet hers.
“Hi,” he says. “Is this a private conference?”
“I was saying hello,” Mattie says. “To my mentor.”
“Did you want to do that inside?” Luke asks mildly. “It’s sort of cold.”
Mattie huffs, stomps past him into the cavernous foyer. Shoulders hunched up to their ears, hair sticking up, oversized men’s clothes dwarfing their small frame—for the first time, it occurs to Blair how much Mattie resembles Cam in temperament and sheer pigheadedness. Though Mattie’s street-urchin aesthetic has an air of careful cultivation about it, whereas Cam’s mismatched old clothes convey more of a distracted-genius-indifferent-to-fashion message.
Maybe that’s deliberate too. Blair’s never thought about it.
Luke winks at her. Luke and Blair follow Mattie into the kitchen.
“I’m getting the rest of my stuff together,” Luke says. “Be right back.”
He disappears down the hall, and Blair and Mattie stare at each other in the immense, sterile white room.
You could do surgery in here, Blair thinks. Did the cleaning lady come today? Or is this how it is all the time?
She wonders if Ruth cooks. Ruth doesn’t look like someone who rolls her sleeves up often.
Blair breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry,” she says, though she’s not totally sure what she’s apologizing for. “I’ll try to get into Lola’s room next time.”
“She’s always in it,” Mattie hisses. “That was the whole point of going shopping with her. I spent two hours with her and you didn’t do anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Blair says again. “How did the shopping trip go? Did she say anything useful?”
Mattie glares out the bank of kitchen windows. It is, Blair notes, starting to rain.
So much for that tropical island.
“It was fine,” Mattie says.
“Fine?”
“She ate it up,” Mattie spits. “‘This sweater is perfect for your style, these pants are so cute, oh my god you look like Humphrey Bogart in The Big Sleep, want to watch it later?’ She thinks she can butter me up. But she can’t. It’s not going to work. She can fake being nice to me all she wants, but I know what she really is.”
“Fake being nice?” Blair asks. “What if she’s just … nice?”
“How can she be nice? She’s a liar. She’s a fraud. She’s trying to get something from us, and I don’t know what it is or why she’s here!”
“Right,” Blair says.
“She can fake all this stuff she knows about me—”
Mattie stops.
“All what stuff?” Blair asks.
“Nothing,” Mattie says.
“Mattie.”
Mattie’s jaw works. “She talked about something that happened with me and Darren and Lola before she was kidnapped. Just the three of us. We went to these hot springs Darren and Lola loved. I don’t know how she knows. But she can’t fool me. You have to find out how she knows. It could tell us who she is. What she did with my sister.”
Mattie’s expression is a study in misery.
Blair thinks again about what it’s like for them in this house.
Ruth, cold and often cruel.
Luke, caring but unable to help—and, Blair admits to herself, perpetually stoned.
And now Lola. Whether she’s the real Lola or a fake, she’s the only person in Mattie’s life who’s trying to build a relationship with them.
Blair doesn’t want to push Mattie. Not here, not now.
But why would a stranger do that?
Why would someone who isn’t Mattie’s real sister care?
How would she know about something that happened years ago, when Mattie was the only other person there?
“You don’t believe me,” Mattie says.
“Of course I believe you,” Blair says.
Mattie shakes their head. “I knew it,” they say.
“Knew what?” It’s Luke. Mattie and Blair both jump. He’s wearing a heavy jacket that looks official, waterproof, and extremely expensive, and a waxed-canvas duffel bag is slung over one shoulder. A wool watch cap is pulled low over his ears. Blair can tell from where she’s standing that it’s cashmere.
I am way out of my league, she thinks. On all sides.
“Knew I picked the wrong essay topic,” Mattie says, without missing a beat. “Blair had Mr. Stone for freshman English too. She was giving me advice.”
“He’s a softie,” Blair says. “He’ll like whatever you write about, as long as you work in something he said in class like it’s a really brilliant observation.”
“Great idea,” Mattie says, their voice flat. “Thanks, Blair.” They give their brother an inscrutable look and march off in the direction of their bedroom.
Luke watches them go, his expression quizzical.
“If you ever figure out what Mattie actually means when they say something,” he says finally, “definitely let me know.”
“Deal,” Blair says. Their eyes meet again.
Blair feels like a traitor. But she likes the way Luke’s looking at her. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, but she ignores it. Their eyes hold and the moment thickens, gains weight.
If Blair takes one tiny step forward, she’ll be close enough to kiss him.
Her phone buzzes again. She reaches into her pocket and thumbs it to silent.
“You ready?” Luke asks.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Blair says.
They’re on their way to the harbor when a torrential downpour loosens itself from the leaden sky. Blair turns her windshield wipers all the way up.
Luke slaps his forehead with one hand.
“I’m an idiot,” he says. “I meant to bring an extra jacket for you. I took all the foul-weather gear off the boat to get it cleaned last month and I haven’t put it back yet. Do you have a raincoat?”
“Not with me,” Blair says. “Which makes me the idiot.”
“Not an idiot,” Luke says, smiling at her from the passenger seat. “An optimist.”
As if it’s heard him, the rain stops as suddenly as it started. “See?” Blair says.
“Still, you should have one,” Luke says. “It’s going to rain again. This is Washington.”
“My house is on the way to the harbor,” Blair says. “I can run in and grab something.”
“Probably a good idea,” Luke says. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” Blair says, turning off from the harbor road. “It’ll take five minutes, tops.”
But it won’t take five minutes, tops, she realizes as she pulls into her driveway.
Because Cam’s standing on her front porch, her mouth open in an almost comical O of astonishment as she clocks Blair behind the wheel and Luke in the passenger seat.
Astonishment that’s turning to anger.
“Ah, shit,” Blair says.
BLAIR IS EXPOSED IN A LIE, PART TWO
Blair hasn’t been answering her phone all morning, which is a problem, because Cam’s almost certain she’s figured out where Becca will be this afternoon. Becca is an unlikely candidate for Gambling Addiction, Living with Cancer, or Family of Alcoholics. Disordered Eating, maybe.
But Substance Abuse and Trauma, which meets Sunday afternoons and Thursday nights near the harbor, seems a sure bet.
Cam doesn’t want to go alone. Mattie doesn’t have a car, or a driver’s license. It’s not like she can ask Irene for a ride. (Hey, Irene? So I totally abused the information you gave me in confidence to support me in seeking help for my own problems because I want to confront a vulnerable person about a highly traumatic experience—oh, did I mention Blair and I are investigating another maybe-missing girl’s sort-of disappearance? No.)
And this whole thing is Blair’s deal, anyway.
So where is she?
Cam’s stewing in her room. Kitten snores thunderously at her side. He gets this occasional rattling wheeze she doesn’t like the sound of.
It’s not nice to think about Kitten getting old. He’s been a part of her life for almost as long as she’s been sentient. And before she met Blair, he was her best friend.
Her only friend, but who’s counting.
Cam remembers what happened the last time she considered Kitten’s mortality. Stop thinking about this, Cam thinks. The last thing she needs is another panic attack.
She scratches Kitten under the chin. “You’re fine,” she says to him. He grumbles in his sleep, flexing one paw.
Think about something else, Cam thinks. What else is there to think about? Physics? Lola? No, not Lola.
Sophie.
I miss you so much, she texts Sophie, not really expecting a response. But her screen lights up seconds later.
I miss you too. How are things with Blair?
She’s still being weird
About this missing girl?
Honestly, I don’t know
Cam watches the telltale dots forming and disappearing, thinking of Jenny.
What would Jenny do? Jenny would talk about her feelings. Before she can regret it, she types, Is everything okay with us?
What do you mean?
Come on Sophie you know what I mean
No, Cam, I don’t know what you mean
Are we still
You know
Together????
Yes
Of course we’re still together Cam
Why would you think we’re not together
You’re never there
…
…
I know
I’m sorry
My world here is so different
There are so many things to get done
But nothing changes how I feel about you Cam I promise
Things will be better next year when you’re out here
Did you hear from MIT yet
I got in
Full ride
CAMERON MUÑOZ WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME
OMG OMG OMG OMG OH MY GODDDDDDDD
CAM I’M SO PROUD OF YOU
CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sophie I really love you
I really love you too Cam
We’ll talk for real when I’m back for break
I miss you
I have to run I’m so sorry!!!!! CONGRATULATIONS
love you too Sophie
What should I do about Blair though
Sophie?
Are you there?
Cam’s own girlfriend has left her on read.
She resists the urge to throw her phone at the wall. Irene can’t afford to buy her a new one.
“That’s what I get for talking about my feelings,” she says to Kitten. Kitten does not express interest in further discussion.
Still, it was not an entirely pointless exercise. She doesn’t feel reassured, but she does feel somewhat lighter.
She is not crazy.
Blair is being weird.
Sophie is being distant.
At least it’s out in the open now, even if nothing has been resolved. And at least the whole exercise didn’t turn her into a sobbing, shuddering mess. Small victories.
For once, it isn’t raining, and Blair’s house isn’t all that far away. Cam could do with a walk. She gives Kitten a kiss on the top of his head to convey her appreciation for his ongoing loyalty.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, old man,” she says.
Kitten opens one eye and looks up at her. He is, she notes, drooling on her bedspread. “See you soon,” she says. He opens the other eye, looking hopeful. “No snacks,” she adds. “Sorry.”
Cam stuffs her raincoat, notebook, and water bottle in her backpack. What else should she bring, if they’re really going to go on a Becca hunt? She has no idea what she might need. Maybe Blair will know. Blair knows a lot more than Cam does about talking through feelings.
Normally she does, anyway. Lately, Cam’s not so sure.
The walk to Blair’s is as refreshing as Cam had hoped. The air is cool, with the rich, peaty, rain-heavy scent of Washington in winter. Cam is no fan of Oreville, but she can still appreciate the peninsula’s wild beauty.
Maybe someday she and Sophie will end up in their own cabin in the middle of the woods, like Jenny and her girlfriend. Cam can’t hammer a nail straight, and Sophie will be too busy for carpentry, but perhaps Jenny can build it for them.
And the idea of a cabin in the middle of nowhere—Sophie laboring tirelessly alongside their First Nations neighbors toward a more just future, Cam solving the Beal Conjecture and securing its concomitant million-dollar prize—does have a certain appeal. Sophie will demand she reparate the million dollars, which is perfectly sensible, but she will first set aside a small amount to send Brad and Irene to Mexico, all expenses paid. And take Kitten to the finest veterinarians in all the land, so he can live forever.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” she says to a crow pecking at a McDonald’s bag in the middle of the shoulder as she passes. The crow hops twice and gives her a knowing look.
But when she gets to Blair’s, there’s nobody home. She rings the doorbell twice to be sure.
She pulls her phone out again. Blair hasn’t read any of her messages.
“Where are you?” Cam asks aloud.
Which is when she hears the familiar froggy rattle of Blair’s engine.
Blair, turning into her driveway. Reachable at last.
And not alone.
Cam sees who’s in Blair’s passenger seat.
“Blair Johnson, you are kidding me,” Cam says.
And sees Blair clearly mouth the words Ah, shit behind the windshield when her eyes meet Cam’s.
AN AWKWARD REUNION OF GREAT MINDS
“You did not,” Cam is already shouting as Blair turns off the engine, so loud Blair can hear her inside the car. “You did not!”
“Oh my gosh,” Blair babbles to Luke. “I am such a space cadet. I, uh, made plans with Cam for today! I totally forgot!”
“She seems kind of pissed,” Luke observes neutrally.
“She’s a passionate person,” Blair says. She unbuckles her seat belt, opens the door. “This will just take a minute,” she says to Luke.
“I can’t believe you!” Cam is already at her door, on the verge of dragging her out of the car by her elbow.
“Cam, I can explain,” Blair says. “We’re—I’m—” She escapes the car, shutting the door on a bemused Luke.
“You’re on a date with Mattie’s brother,” Cam snarls, blotchy with fury. “What are you doing? Does Mattie know?”
“Yes,” Blair says.
“You both knew and you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s not like that—” Blair tries, her cheeks bright with embarrassment.
“No? What is it like, then? Tell me, Blair, because I’m very interested in hearing what it’s like.”
Luke has gotten out of the car. He comes around the front to where Cam is shout-whispering at Blair.
“Hey, it’s Cam, right?” he says easily. “You and Blair are helping Mattie out at school.”
Cam snaps her mouth closed on whatever she was about to say to Blair.
“Yes,” she says savagely.
“That’s so cool,” Luke says.
“What?” Cam asks.
“That you’re doing that,” he says in the same placid tone. “I’m really grateful. They need that. I’m sorry to screw up your afternoon.”
“What?”
“I badgered Blair into coming sailing with me. I didn’t know you already had plans.” A fat drop of rain hits him in the middle of the forehead, and then another. He gestures at the sky. “This is crappy weather anyway, even for me. We can take a rain check.” He gives a rueful grin at his own bad joke.
“I’m so sorry,” Blair says, unsure of who she’s apologizing to.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Cam says stagily. “Don’t let me get in the way. I’ll just walk back home now.”
“No, don’t do that,” Luke says.
Blair marvels at his approach; he is utterly serene in the face of Cam’s fury. Maybe Blair should start smoking pot.
With no one to combat, Cam deflates slightly.
“Why don’t you drop me off at home, and you guys can go do your own thing,” Luke says to Blair.
Without waiting for an answer, he walks back around to the passenger side of the car and gets in.
“That’s my seat,” Cam says.
“I’m sorry,” Blair says again.
“I have something important to tell you,” Cam says. “We have somewhere important to go.”
“Now?”
“I’m not going to tell you in front of him,” Cam says.
“Let me drop him off,” Blair says, trying for Luke’s casual ease.
Cam huffs noisily, but clambers into the back seat without another word.
A painful silence reigns as Blair ferries Luke back to the Brosillards’. Sheets of rain shiver across the road, and Blair has to turn her windshield wipers all the way up.
“Don’t get out, it’s pouring,” Luke says when they’re in front of the house. He touches Blair’s arm, smiles. “I’ll call you.”
And then he’s gone.
Cam gets out of the back, stomps around to the passenger seat, slams the door, makes a production out of shaking rain from her wet hair.
“Where am I going?” Blair asks.
Wordlessly, Cam pulls out her phone, sends Blair the location tag for Becca’s support group. She turns to look out the window, not sure she can trust herself not to cry, not sure if she can live with herself if she does and Blair sees it. Cam has had about enough of feelings for one week.
“I’m sorry,” Blair says for a third time. “I should have told you.”
“You don’t say,” Cam says. She blinks hard several times to check for tears. Nope, she’s okay.
She looks at Blair, who’s staring ahead at the water-slicked road. To Cam’s surprise, she really does look sorry.
“Are you dating?” Cam asks. “That was fast.”
“No!” Blair says. “No. I don’t think so. We only hung out once. I promised Mattie I’d try to get into Lola’s bedroom and look around. I got … carried away.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d go for it.”
“I wouldn’t have,” Cam says.
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“You really like him,” Cam says. It’s not a question.
“I barely know him,” Blair protests.
“Come on, Blair. I’ve known you since you were twelve.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cam sees Blair’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.
“You’re right,” Blair says. “I really like him.”
“More than James?”
“Oh, James,” Blair says philosophically. “James is a child. Luke is an adult.”
“He doesn’t look like much of an adult to me,” Cam mutters.
“James is the past,” Blair says.
“Do you still talk to him?”
“Not really. He sends me these plaintive text messages sometimes at like four in the morning. But I expect he’s just drunk.”
Sophie never sends me plaintive text messages, Cam thinks.
Then again, Sophie is not really the plaintive drunk-texting sort. And if she were, Cam probably wouldn’t like her. Much to think about.
“Blair, you can’t date Luke,” Cam says. “What if he killed his sister?”
“What?” Blair exclaims. “Of course he didn’t kill his sister. I think that girl is his sister.”
“You do?”
“Don’t you?”
“You’re the expert,” Cam says sourly. But then she relents. She can’t stay mad at Blair; it’s like getting mad at the best part of herself for being upstanding. Even though Blair hasn’t been especially upstanding lately. “Yeah,” she says. “I think it’s her. But that still doesn’t explain where she went for the last five years. He could know more than he’s telling you.”
Blair remembers Luke’s phone conversation in the movie theater.
Of course I don’t fucking know what she wants.
She sighs.
“What?” Cam asks.
“I heard Luke on the phone with someone,” Blair says. “When we were at the movies. He said, ‘You shouldn’t even be calling me.’ And then he said, ‘Of course I don’t effing know what she wants.’ Except he said, you know.”
“Fucking?”
“Yes,” Blair says. “He said ‘fucking.’”
“He said ‘fucking’ in front of a minor?”
“You leave me the fuck alone, Cameron P. Muñoz.”
“Who was he talking to?”
“He said it was his aunt,” Blair says weakly.
“His aunt?”
“She was calling to ask what Ruth wanted for Christmas. You know, Ruth would be hard to shop for. What do you buy a fascist millionaire who has everything?”
“And you bought that?” Cam is incredulous.
“There’s no reason to think he knows anything about what happened to his sister. He was the one who said there was someone else in the house the night she disappeared. Why wouldn’t he say who it was, if he knew?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Cam says, heavy on the sarcasm. “But let’s pretend just for a minute he was lying. Who would he be talking to? Who wasn’t supposed to call him? Why wouldn’t he know what Lola wants?”
“He doesn’t know anything about what happened to Lola,” Blair says. “I can tell.”
Cam snorts. “Yeah, since our all-powerful instincts sure helped us out the last time around,” she says bitterly.
“Is that what this is about? Last year? Is that why you’re so mad?”
“No!” Cam yells. “I’m not mad! This isn’t about last year! It’s about everyone being a liar!”
Blair’s silent for a beat. Then: “Everyone?” she says.
Cam is overcome by the urge to disappear. She buries her face in the sleeve of her grubby hoodie, aware she is being absurd. Like a small child playing hide-and-seek, lying in the middle of the floor with her eyes covered: If she can’t see Blair, maybe Blair can’t see her.
“Cam, did something happen with you and Sophie?”
“No,” Cam says into her sweatshirt.
“Are you thinking about—the basement?”
“No!” Cam yells into a mouthful of fabric.
Blair pulls over, puts the car in park, and turns off the engine. She gently tugs Cam’s arm away from her eyes.
“Look at me, Cam,” she says.
“No,” Cam says.
“Cam?”
“What?”
“There’s something else I have to tell you,” Blair says.
“No,” Cam says. “I don’t want to know. I want to go home. I don’t want any of this. I changed my mind.”
“I need to tell you anyway,” Blair says. “A week and a half ago, this lady called me from New York.”
And then it all comes out, a mess of words so tangled she can’t imagine Cam can understand her. She can barely understand herself.
Cam listens without saying anything as Blair explains that Meredith Payne-Whiteley is handing her everything she’s ever wanted, all of it arranged for her on a platter.
The plane ticket to New York, the book proposal, the need for a new project, the whole thing.
All of it for Blair, and Blair alone.
Mattie showing up at Cam’s with this incredible story.
Just at the right time.
“I thought it was a sign,” Blair says. “Like, how is it possible that this is really happening to us twice? In a town the size of Oreville? I thought … I don’t know what I thought. I thought this was my chance. To be—you know.” It’s hard to say the words, but she forces herself. “To be a writer.”
“Blair,” Cam says. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because the podcast was your idea. I felt like I would be stealing all your hard work. And the longer I took to think about how to tell you, the harder it got. I’m so sorry, Cam. I’m … I’m really, really sorry.”
“What on earth would I do with a literary agent?”
“What?”
Cam, incredibly, starts to laugh. “I can’t believe you thought I’d care. Why would I ever want to write a book? Writing books sounds horrible. You can have this Meredith person. That podcast was the worst idea I’ve ever had.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Blair, I almost got you killed last year. I got your family sued. I thought you were acting like a freak because you were still mad at me.”
“I’ve been acting like a freak?”
“A freak with a dirty secret.”
“Oh,” Blair says.
“Is that everything? You want to bone Lola’s brother and you’re about to get a bazillion dollars for your first book before you even write it and you’re not actually pissed at me?”
“I don’t want to bone Lola’s brother,” Blair says.
“Yes, you do.”
“Maybe slightly.” Cam snorts. “Fine,” Blair says. “Yes. I want to bone Lola’s brother.”
“For your book.”
“Solely for artistic purposes.”
“But you’re not mad at me?” Cam asks.
Blair turns to face Cam head on. She takes both of Cam’s hands in hers.
“Cameron P. Muñoz, I am not mad at you,” Blair says. “What happened last year was not your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” Cam says.
“You’re not the teacher who had sex with his students. You’re not the person who murdered Clarissa. You’re the person who told the truth. What happened in that house was scary, and it was bad. But it was not your fault.” Blair looks harder at Cam’s face. “You don’t believe me,” she says. “But it’s the truth. Are you mad at me for not telling you about Meredith?”
“No,” Cam says. “Because I got into MIT, and I didn’t tell you yet either.”
“You what? Cam! Cam, that’s incredible!” Blair shrieks.
“But it means I ruined your life and now I’m leaving,” Cam says.
“That’s all you’ve ever wanted!” Blair says. “The leaving part.”
“It means I’m leaving you,” Cam says.
“Oh, Cam,” Blair says, leaning across the center console to wrap Cam up in a bear hug. “You lunatic. I love you.”
“That’s all the secrets?” Cam says into Blair’s shoulder.
Blair releases her, sits back. “I quit track,” she says.
“You love track.”
“Not as much as I love this. Finding a story.”
Cam nods.
“And I lied to Meredith too, sort of,” Blair says. “I made her think Lola is a fake, because it’s a better story.”
“That’s your problem now,” Cam says. “Are you sure you’re not mad at me for leaving?”
“Cam, I’ve known you were going to leave Oreville since the moment I met you. I could never be mad at you for leaving.”
“You’re going to leave Oreville too, though, right? Want to come with me?”
“To MIT?” Blair laughs. “I don’t think I have a lot to offer them.”
“You could move to New York and get a fancy apartment and drink whiskey,” Cam says. “Isn’t that what writers do?”
“Is it?”
“It’s what they do on television.”
“I think rent in New York is sort of expensive,” Blair says.
“But this Meredith person is going to sell your book for millions of dollars. You can have all the whiskey and New York rent you want. I’ll come visit you.”
“Will you?”
“Of course,” Cam says. “Can we go see the dinosaurs?”
“What dinosaurs?”
“At the Museum of Natural History. Irene says they have great dinosaurs.”
“It will be my pleasure to visit the dinosaurs with you,” Blair says. “You’re sure you’re not mad about the book? I can tell Meredith Payne-Whiteley to eat a bag of dicks.”
“No!” Cam says. “No, don’t do that. We have to get you out of Oreville. I don’t ever want to come back here for a visit.”
“What about Irene?”
“I’ll think of something,” Cam says.
“Cam, did something happen with Sophie?”
“No,” Cam says. “Nothing. That’s the problem. She’s never there.”
“Do you think she’s cheating on you?”
“I’m trying not to. Think, I mean. What does Mattie think about being in a book?”
Blair is silent. Cam looks at her.
“You didn’t tell them?”
“I’m waiting for the right time,” Blair says.
“Blair,” Cam says.
“I know,” Blair says. “I’ll tell them. Hand to heart. Hand to god. Whatever.”
“Tell them now.”
“Where are we going, anyway?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Cam says.
“Cam, I’ll tell them.”
Cam frowns at her. “I think I found Becca’s support group,” she says. “Blair Johnson, I will help you with this investigation. I will interview Becca now with you. I will look forward to your book. I will even stop arguing with you about Lola’s brother. For now. Mostly. But you have to tell Mattie.”
“I will,” Blair says.
“We can’t lie to them, Blair.”
“I know,” Blair says. “I let this get out of hand.”
“Yeah, well, let me tell you from experience,” Cam says. “That’s not the way you want to do things.”
“Are we good? You and me?” Blair asks.
“If Luke Brosillard gives you the clap,” Cam says, echoing Irene with great satisfaction, “don’t you come crying to me.”
“Deal,” Blair says, and starts the car.
BECCA HAS A FEW THINGS TO SAY
On Sundays, Becca’s support group meets from two to four p.m. in a former real estate office between a weed store and a Domino’s Pizza in a strip mall near the water.
Blair pulls into the parking lot at ten to four. They sit in the car, watching the door.
“The weed store is a little on the nose,” Blair says.
“If you wanted to rent an office space not next to a weed store in rural Washington, you’d have to leave the state. It’s kind of depressing, though.”
The office has a hollowed-out look, like a place that’s been abandoned for a long time. There are still faded flyers with houses for sale papering the dirty windows. Cam can’t see the prices from here, but she can imagine. Everyone wants a piece of the peninsula these days.
But the paint is peeling from the building’s exterior wall in long brown strips, and the weed store has bars over all its windows. Rich people buy up acreage in the remote, scenic woods. They don’t bother investing in the half-shuttered downtown.
At five minutes after four, a handful of people trickle out the real estate office door.
One of them is unmistakably the girl from Lola’s party. She has the same heavy eyeliner, and her short dyed-black hair is tucked behind ears bristling with tiny hoops. Her nails are painted black, her fingers stacked with silver rings. She’s wearing another short, stretchy dress over black tights with little cats on them and battered black Doc Martens. She’s laughing at something one of the other support-group attendees has said to her.
“That’s her,” Blair says, sitting up.
“You go talk to her,” Cam says. “I’ll scare her.”
Blair rolls her eyes, but she gets out of the car and walks confidently up to Becca. Cam can’t hear what she’s saying, but Becca’s smile disappears. Becca shakes her head. Blair says something else. Becca looks around and back at Blair, scowling. Finally, Becca follows Blair back to the car.
“This is Cam,” Blair says as Becca climbs into the back seat.
“Hi,” Becca says curtly.
“Starbucks okay? It’s the closest,” Blair says.
“No,” Cam says.
“Why?” Blair asks.
“They’re on strike,” Cam says.
“Right,” Blair says.
“I like those milkshake things they have,” Becca says.
“I don’t cross picket lines,” Cam says.
“I’m doing you a favor,” Becca says.
Blair gives Cam a pleading look.
“Blair has to donate to the strike fund,” Cam says. “And then donate extra for Becca and me.”
“Fine,” Blair says. She drives down the street and parks in front of the Starbucks, where a small handful of workers mill around outside with signs.
“I don’t know how you live with yourself,” Cam says to Becca.
“Cam,” Blair says.
Becca gazes at the striking baristas shivering bravely in the freezing damp.
“We can go to that place by the high school,” she says, her voice slightly warmer.
“Thank you,” Cam says. “Also, I appreciate your—” She has no idea what Blair has told Becca to get her to come with them. “Uh, helping us. With our … thing.”
“It’s cool,” Becca says. “Mattie’s a good kid.”
Blair must’ve given her the same story she gave Darren, then, Cam thinks, as Blair drives to the next coffee shop.
Inside the café, Becca gives Blair a sly look and orders the most expensive thing on the menu, an extra-large mocha with several flavored syrups and a tower of whipped cream. Cam, ever budget-conscious, orders a small black coffee. Blair goes for a cappuccino. They settle into a booth with their coffees.
“Sorry you saw me flip out at Lola’s,” Becca says without preamble. “I was having kind of a bad day.”
“I could see how you’d be mad,” Blair says, feeling her way forward. “You were close, right? And she didn’t invite you?”
“She hasn’t called me,” Becca says. “So I’m not really sure how I can help you with Mattie, if Lola doesn’t want me there.”
Blair remembers the screaming, sobbing girl she and Cam witnessed in Lola’s backyard.
That’s more than a bad day, she thinks. That’s something way bigger.
If Lola ran away, did Becca help her? Or if someone really did kidnap her, does Becca know who? Did she help them? Is she scared she’ll get in trouble, now that Lola’s back? Is she still in touch with Darren? Did he threaten her?
Blair decides on a version of the truth. “We’re worried about Mattie,” she says, kicking Cam under the table to warn her to stay quiet.
“They worshipped her,” Becca says. “I’m sure they’re going through a lot right now. Not hearing anything for so long, and then…” She trails off and looks at her mountain of whipped cream.
“They’re saying that girl’s not Lola,” Blair says.
Becca freezes. A slow flush creeps up her neck.
“That’s not possible,” she says.
“No,” Blair says, feeling like a traitor. “I don’t think so either. But it goes to show you how upset they are.” Becca still won’t look up. “You don’t know what really happened to Lola, do you?” Blair asks.
“She got kidnapped,” Becca says.
“That’s what she says happened,” Blair says. Next to her, Cam starts to say something. Blair kicks her ankle again, and she subsides.
“You don’t believe her?” At last Becca meets Blair’s eyes.
“I haven’t asked her myself,” Blair says. “But Mattie says she’s vague on the details.”
Becca sucks her lip piercing into her mouth, spits it out again. “Huh” is all she says.
“You were there that night, right?” Blair asks. “The night she disappeared?”
Becca’s eyes flick around the coffee shop. “A bunch of people were there,” she says. “She was still there when we all left. Whatever happened to her, it happened to her after we were gone.”
“That’s what you told the police,” Blair says.
“Because it was the truth,” Becca says.
“Lola was into some dark stuff, right?” Blair asks.
Becca’s eyes narrow. “Who told you that? Who have you been talking to?”
“What about you?” Blair asks. “Were you doing heroin too?”
A multitude of emotions flicker across Becca’s face, but she stays quiet.
“Were you and Lola close?” Blair tries.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“We’re trying to figure out where she went,” Blair says. “If something bad happened to her. For Mattie’s sake.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious something bad happened to her,” Becca says.
“Or she ran away,” Blair says.
“I wouldn’t know,” Becca says.
“But you were close?”
Becca closes her eyes, breathes in deep and out again, repeats this a few times. As if it’s an exercise someone’s taught her. Cam remembers what Blair used to tell her last year, about the utility of calming breaths.
Cam opens her mouth. Blair shakes her head. Cam scowls but stays quiet.
When Becca opens her eyes again, they’re brimming with tears. “We were really messed up that night,” she says. “Darren came over and … I don’t know, okay? It was a long time ago. I thought Lola was my best friend, and then I never saw her again. I didn’t hear a thing from her for five years. And then she comes back like that? Without a word? I felt like I was losing my mind. If I were Mattie, I’d be freaking out too.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
Becca is quiet for so long that Blair’s not sure she heard the question.
“I don’t know,” Becca says. “I thought she was dead. Maybe I’d feel better if she was.”
“You don’t mean that.” That’s Cam, unable to hold it in.
Blair knows what Cam’s thinking, because she’s thinking it too: Clarissa, who disappeared into thin air and stayed missing for twenty years.
No one who loved her knowing whether or not she was still alive.
No one who loved her able to fully let her go.
Whatever else they’d done, Blair and Cam had given Clarissa’s friends and family closure.
But what if Clarissa hadn’t been murdered? What if she’d run away?
What if she had come back, and hadn’t bothered to tell the truth about where she’d been?
What if she’d showed up like nothing had ever happened?
“What about Darren?” Cam asks.
“What about him?”
“Did he think Lola was dead too?”
Becca’s expression is unreadable. “Is this some kind of a test? Did he put you up to this?”
“A test of what?” Blair asks, surprised. “Were you and Darren…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, but Becca gets where she was going. “Me and Darren? Are you kidding?”
“Because he was your best friend’s boyfriend?” Blair asks.
“Because he was Darren,” Becca says. “He was that guy. You know that guy. Graduated years ago, still hanging around with teenagers. The guy who brings all the drugs, buys everybody booze. Darren was the only thing me and Lola ever fought about.”
“Why?” Cam asks.
“Because Darren was a loser,” Becca says. And then she puts her hand over her own mouth, her eyes wide. “Please don’t tell him I said that,” she says. “What does he want? Why did he send you to talk to me?”
“He didn’t send us to talk to you,” Cam says. “Why would he? Are you still friends?”
Becca is tearing her napkin into pieces, her drink untouched. “We were never friends.”
“What about Luke?” Cam asks. “Why didn’t you stay in touch with—”
Becca flinches.
Cam sits back. “You and Luke were a thing,” Cam says.
Becca stares at her. “That’s none of your business,” she says, low and harsh.
“But you were,” Cam says. Blair tries kicking her again, but Cam’s moved her leg out of the way. “You know something about what happened that night, don’t you? You and Luke? Did Lola run away? Was Darren—”
“Stop it!” Becca cries. “Just leave me alone! Why are you asking me about this? That was the worst night of my life, okay? This has nothing to do with Mattie. Why are you doing this?” Her voice is climbing to a heartrending pitch. All around them, stroller moms with lattes are turning to look at their table, mouths open.
“You know something!” Cam insists. “You know something about where Lola went, don’t you? You owe it to Mattie—”
“I don’t owe anyone in that family shit,” Becca snarls. She stands up so fast her chair tips backward, hitting the floor with a loud crack. There’s not a single person in the coffee shop who isn’t staring at them now, and a barista is coming around from behind the counter, walking toward them with a stern expression.
Becca grabs her bag from where it’s fallen.
“Becca, please—” Blair pleads. But Becca’s already stomping toward the door, slamming it behind her.
The barista has reached them. He’s trying for authority, but is thwarted by his wispy facial hair and ill-fitting uniform. “Young ladies,” he says.
“We’re not any younger than you are,” Cam snaps.
“Cam,” Blair says, tugging at her arm. “We’re going,” she says apologetically to the barista, righting Becca’s toppled chair. “Sorry about that.”
“We’re amassing quite a track record of getting walked out on in coffee shops,” Cam says in the car.
“You did take kind of a hostile approach,” Blair says.
“She knows something!”
“Sure,” Blair says. “Something she’s definitely not going to tell us now.”
Cam’s mouth twists, and she looks down at her lap. “Sorry,” she says.
“It’s okay,” Blair says. “You, uh, meant well.” She frowns. “But why would she think Darren sent us to talk to her? What did she mean by a test?”
“I don’t know,” Cam says. “What would he want to test her about? He didn’t want to talk to us either. Especially after he realized you lied to him.”
Blair doesn’t get defensive, which makes her a better person than Cam. Not that this is a surprise. “Darren told us that Becca and Lola weren’t close,” she says thoughtfully. “But she said they were best friends. So, which one was it? And why would one of them lie?”
“He didn’t want us to talk to her,” Cam says.
Blair nods. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. But why? What does he think she knows?”
“Darren was a lot older,” Cam says slowly. “And he went to jail. More than once. What if it wasn’t just for drugs? What if he hurt Lola?”
“Maybe,” Blair says. “Mattie might not know that, but Becca would. If she and Lola were as close as she says.” She shakes her head. “There’s something she’s not telling us, that’s for sure. But I don’t know what it is. This whole thing is like something out of a Lifetime movie.”
“I’m sure it will be a bestseller,” Cam says.
“Maybe,” Blair says. “But first we have to get to the end of the story.”
“She’s afraid of him,” Cam says. “She’s afraid of Darren.”
“Yeah,” Blair says. “I think so too.”
“I went to see Jenny yesterday,” Cam says. “To ask her about doing drugs.”
“You’re going to start doing drugs?” Blair asks, startled.
“To ask her why people do drugs,” Cam clarifies. “She said that people can change a lot when they get sober.”
“You think Lola seems different to Mattie because she’s not using drugs anymore?”
“Could be,” Cam says.
“Maybe Lola didn’t tell Darren and Becca she came back because she’s trying to stay clean,” Blair muses. “But she still knows what they did back then. If Darren set up the kidnapping, she could get him in a lot of trouble if she wanted to.”
“You need to find out who Luke was talking to in the movie theater,” Cam says. “And if you tell me ‘his aunt,’ I’m going to let Kitten pee in your car.”
“Do you really think he’d lie to Mattie if he knew where Lola went? For five years?” Blair asks. “You’ve seen how he is around them. He loves them.”
“You’ve seen him a lot more than I have,” Cam says.
Blair winces. “Fair enough.”
“Maybe Luke doesn’t know anything,” Cam says. “But I bet Darren does. Darren and his perfect new life. Didn’t he say he’s getting married?”
“Darren has a lot more to lose than Luke,” Blair says.
“Yeah, since Luke is an adult who still lives with his mother,” Cam says.
Blair ignores this. “If Darren did help Lola fake her kidnapping, and he’s scared Lola or Becca might talk, what would he do?”
“We need to find out what happened that night,” Cam says. “Before somebody gets hurt.”