A DAY OFF
BLAIR wakes up to Kitten’s increasingly insistent meows. He’s spent the last several hours in what must be absolute Kitten heaven, snoring and drooling rapturously across not one but three entire warm humans nested in a pile of musty sleeping bags and extra blankets on Cam’s bedroom floor.
He shoves his hard little skull under Blair’s chin and meows again. Then he waddles across her stomach and stands by Cam’s door, looking at her in a significant way.
“You have to feed him,” Cam says sleepily from the other side of Mattie. “Or he’ll come back and meow in your face again.”
“You have to feed him,” Blair says. “He’s your cat.” She checks her phone, sits up in shock. “Oh, no! We’re going to be so late for first period.”
“Hnnnnph,” Cam groans into her pillow. Mattie’s still dead to the world. No wonder; it was after three when they went to bed. Blair is a spaghetti alla puttanesca à la Brad convert for life.
Blair struggles to her feet, follows Kitten into the kitchen. Irene and Brad are both gone—to work, Blair assumes—although Irene’s left them a full pot of coffee. A Post-it on the oven reads INSIDE: TREASURES in Brad’s sprawling hand, with a surprisingly convincing sketch of Smaug settled on his hoard. Blair opens the door, finds scrambled eggs keeping warm in a Dutch oven.
Brad, the gentle domestic goddess, preternaturally thoughtful of others, soother of Irene, constant provider of delicious foodstuffs: who would’ve guessed, last year, when she and Cam confronted him in his sad and lonely exile surrounded by guns.
We all contain multitudes, Blair thinks, but some of us contain more multitudes than others.
Cam yawns her way into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes and nearly tripping over Kitten, who surges to his feet to twine around her ankles. His meowing increases to a frantic pitch.
“Let’s skip,” Cam says.
“The whole day?” Blair asks.
“First period,” Cam says. “I haven’t had an absence all year. And it’s social studies. I could do with a break from the discussion of current events.”
“It’s important to remain aware,” Blair says.
“I’m aware current events are very bad,” Cam says. “Plus, Mattie’s still asleep. Young people need a lot of rest.”
Even after all the years of their friendship, Blair has absolutely no idea at times like this if Cam is joking or in absolute earnest regarding, for example, the sleep needs of young people, a group to which she herself indisputably belongs. But Blair doesn’t have much use for first period either, and she’s not going to college anyway, so who cares if she misses it.
“Okay,” she says.
Cam opens a can of wet food for an ecstatic Kitten. Mattie comes into the kitchen. Their eyes are ringed with dark circles, their face pale and ghastly. Their hair is sticking up at odd angles. Blair’s heart twinges in her chest.
“Hi,” Mattie says, trying and failing for a brave face. “I think we’re missing first period.”
“We made an executive decision,” Cam says. “While you were asleep. Unexcused absences all around.”
Mattie grins devilishly. The smile transforms their face. “Unexcused? Seriously? You found a whole entire missing girl, got into MIT, and still never learned how to forge an excuse note?”
Cam looks at Mattie with respect. “Goodness,” she says. “In that case, let’s skip the whole day.”
So they do.
Pillar Point is a beach about an hour west of Oreville that Lola tagged often in her public Instagram. Blair drives them there along Highway 112, a winding and beautiful road that slides in and out of heavy forest to offer mist-shrouded views of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
This time of year, the beach is empty. The tide is halfway out, the driftwood-strewn rocky beach giving way to seaweed-dotted mudflats along the water’s edge.
Cam raided the apartment before they left, filling Blair’s back seat with a mismatch of old raincoats, a pair of galoshes of mysterious origin that fit neither her nor Irene but are somehow the perfect size for Mattie, a thermos (Brad’s) full of coffee, and half their sleeping-bag nest for good measure.
Cam and Blair wrap a sleeping bag around themselves and sit on a bone-white length of wood, trading the coffee back and forth, while Mattie ranges along the beach, their head bent.
“Now what?” Blair asks. In the distance, Mattie squats down, picks something up, holds it to the light, drops it again. Moves down the beach.
“I don’t know,” Cam says.
“They’re not going to let this go,” Blair says.
“I know,” Cam says. “Maybe we can talk to her.”
“Lola?” Blair asks.
Cam nods. “Whatever happened that night, she has to tell them. No matter how bad it is. Whatever Darren did…” Cam trails off. “If he did something,” she says. “If Becca did something. If Lola did something.”
“You think it’s her,” Blair says.
“It has to be her, Blair. Don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Blair says.
“Do you think Luke—”
“No!” Blair says.
Cam is quiet.
Blair sighs.
“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe he knows something. Maybe that’s why he stuck around. But there’s no way he left the book. He loves Mattie.”
“You think you can solve this and fix him,” Cam says.
“I do not!” Cam gives her a stern look. Blair sighs. “When did you get perceptive?” she mutters.
“I learned it by watching you, Dad.” Cam smirks. “But if he’s been lying to Mattie this whole time, that’s too big of a project even for you.”
“He’s not a project!”
“Fine. You’re the boss. But he knows something. ‘Of course I don’t fucking know what she wants,’ remember?”
“I know,” Blair says. “I…” She shrugs helplessly. “I think he’s torn. I think if he knows where Lola went, he’s trying to protect her and Mattie.”
“How noble of him,” Cam says.
Blair ignores this. “Let’s say he was talking to Darren. If Darren and Lola planned something together, and she came back—does that mean Darren thought she was going to blackmail him?”
“Maybe it wasn’t money,” Cam says. “It could’ve been the drugs. If Darren was selling them, and Lola knew—maybe she was selling drugs too. And whoever was selling them drugs got pissed about it. So Becca and Darren had to help her hide, and make it look like someone kidnapped her. Isn’t that what happens when people sell drugs? That’s what happens on television.”
Blair laughs.
“It’s not funny,” Cam says.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Blair says. “I’m laughing at this whole mess. The heroin kingpin of Oreville, whoever that is, putting out a hit on Lola so that she has to flee the state is as good an explanation as anything else.”
“What are you going to tell Meredith?”
“I don’t know,” Blair says.
“Rich people have problems too,” Cam says. “That could be your book title. I Had No Idea: But Really, They Do.”
“Meredith will flip,” Blair says, smiling.
“A novel angle,” Cam says. “Bud-dum bum.”
“You are not allowed to make puns,” Blair says. “Not at a time like this. Honestly, I’m more worried about what we’re going to tell Mattie.”
Cam watches Mattie’s small figure, stooping once more to look for treasure amid the gray stones. “They’re not going to forgive us,” she says.
“That’s why I’m worried.”
“But we have to do it.”
“I know,” Blair says. “It would be easier if we had an answer.”
“This is Lola’s fault, not yours. Ours. She’s the one who lied to them. She’s the one who’s still lying.”
“That’s not going to make them feel any better,” Blair says.
“No,” Cam says. “That’s going to make them feel worse.”
Cam and Blair fall quiet as Mattie makes their way back to them. A lone seagull wheels above the water, shrieking invectives at the cloud-strewn sky.
“Today,” Blair says when Mattie is almost back to them but still out of earshot. “We’ll go home and tell them today.”
“Okay,” Cam says.
“I’ll do it,” Blair says. “I’m the one who started this.”
“We’ll do it,” Cam says. “Together.”
CHEWING GUM
On the drive back, a deer wanders out into the road while they’re still far out into the county. Blair sees her in plenty of time.
She stops the car. The deer stands in front of them, unconcerned, for a long time, before turning and leaping gracefully back into the woods.
It’s late in the afternoon by the time they’re back inside Oreville city limits. Blair and Cam are bantering idly about which of Brad’s dishes is the finest when Mattie makes a strangled noise from the back seat.
“Are you all right?” Blair asks.
Mattie’s pale. The hand holding their phone is shaking.
“Pull over and look at this,” they say.
Blair does. Mattie hands their phone forward. Cam leans over Blair’s shoulder to read.
It’s some kind of a table, charting letters and numbers that make no sense to Blair.
“What is this?” she asks. “An email?”
“Scroll down,” Mattie says.
She does.
Reads:
Statement of results: The siblingship index is calculated by multiplying the sibling index values for each DNA locus. The siblingship index represents how many times more likely it is that the tested individuals are full or half-siblings than not related. Based upon the genetic data, siblingship index is calculated at .01 and indicates that the genetic evidence is not supportive of a sibling relationship. These results should not be considered to supersede any other testing involving the biological parents of the sampled individuals.
“Mattie,” Cam says. “What is this?”
“I told you,” Mattie says. “I told you.”
“Oh my god,” says Blair.
Cam takes the phone from her and reads the email.
Biological specimens corresponding to Lola Marie Brosillard (Alleged Sibling 1) and Mattie J Brosillard (Alleged Sibling 2) were submitted by Mattie J Brosillard for confirmation of sibling relationship …
“Holy shit,” Cam says. “This is—is this her? Are you sure this is right?”
“How did you—” Blair begins.
“Chewing gum,” Mattie says. “Whoever she is, she used to smoke. She goes through like a pack a day. Yeah, I’m sure. It was her gum. And she’s not my sister.”
They take their phone back, slumping in the back seat. They run a trembling hand through their hair. “I was starting to think I was losing my mind,” they say. “Like I was in some kind of horrible alternate universe. Nobody believed me. You didn’t believe me.”
“We—” Blair begins.
“You didn’t,” Mattie says. “I’m not mad about it anymore. I wouldn’t have believed me either.” They look down at the phone in their lap. “Take me home,” they say.
“What are you going to do?” Blair asks.
“Find out what that bitch did to my sister,” Mattie says. Their voice is cold and absolutely calm.
“We should call the police,” Blair says.
Mattie laughs. “Seriously? Who? Detective Bradshaw? The police don’t care. They didn’t care when she ran away. They’re not going to care now. I doubt this is legal.” They hold up their phone. “You think they’re going to arrest that girl because of an email? I can’t prove it was her gum. They’re not going to take the word of a crazy fourteen-year-old over my entire family.”
“They’ll listen to us,” Blair says. “Me and Cam.”
“No, they won’t,” Mattie says. “They didn’t listen to you last time until somebody held you at gunpoint.”
“Mattie, this could be really dangerous,” Blair says.
“What’s she going to do?” Mattie asks. “Murder me?”
“She might,” Cam says. “But she’s not going to murder all three of us.”
“What?” Mattie asks.
“You’re not going back to that house alone,” Cam says. “We’re coming with you. Me and Blair. Right, Blair?”
Blair takes a deep breath.
This is such a bad idea, she thinks.
“Right,” she says. “Let’s go.”
LOLA, INTERRUPTED
They drive. The twilight is gusty and disordered with stars, patches of constellation gleaming briefly through scraps of cloud.
Mattie’s house is dark and silent. Luke’s car is gone. So is Ruth’s.
“I don’t know where my brother is,” Mattie says. “Ruth has pro-life circle on Friday nights.”
“Pro-life circle,” Blair echoes.
“They make a lot of posters,” Mattie says. “It’s the only time she gets her hands dirty. You really don’t have to come in with me.”
“Shut up,” Cam says.
Inside, the house is quiet and still. A lone light on in the immense kitchen, motion-sensitive night-lights flaring to life along the halls. The air smells of Lysol.
If this was a horror movie, Blair thinks, we’d be about to die.
Lola’s door is closed, as always. But a line of light, as always, gleams along its base. Mattie knocks.
“Mats?” Lola says from inside. “Come on in.”
Mattie opens the door. Lola—whoever she is—is sitting on her bed, a laptop open in front of her. From the sound of it, she’s watching The Vampire Diaries.
“Slumber party?” she asks, her eyes on Cam and Blair. “Am I invited?”
“Who are you?” Mattie asks. “What did you do to my sister?”
“The cute one’s here,” says a vampire from Lola’s computer. She closes it mid-quip.
“Mattie,” the other Lola says. “We’ve been over this.”
Mattie brandishes their phone. “Yeah,” they say. “But now I have a DNA test. Who are you?”
The other Lola laughs. “Seriously? Pulling hairs out of my hairbrush?”
“Your chewing gum,” Mattie snarls.
“And?” Lola is calm, smiling, but her eyes are fixed on Mattie’s face. It’s as if Cam and Blair aren’t even there. This showdown is just for Mattie and Lola. “What do you think that’ll change? You dug someone’s gum out of the garbage, and you think that means I’m not your sister?”
“It was your gum.” Mattie’s voice is a howl. “I watched you take it out of your mouth. I know you’re not Lola. Who are you? Where is she?”
Blair is afraid Mattie is going to assault this girl. She puts a hand on their shoulder, both for support and as a check.
But Lola—the fake Lola—whoever she is—is implacable. So calm, Blair feels doubt creeping in. How does Mattie know for sure the gum was Lola’s?
“And your little podcaster friends are here to back you up?” Lola says, amused. “I thought your whole thing was how true crime was a bogus suburban-mom obsession? Are you changing your minds now? DNA evidence leads to wrongful convictions all the time.”
“Sometimes it also exonerates innocent people,” Cam says. Like Blair, like Mattie, she’s watching the other Lola like a hawk. But somehow, the balance of power in the room has already shifted—to Lola. She is so calm, so in control. Cam feels almost foolish, standing there in the middle of her room. The three of them accusing her of something so wild it’s barely plausible. It’s barely possible. Gum or no gum. DNA or no DNA.
“I know what you are,” Mattie rasps. “I’m not afraid of you. You thought you could scare me off with that book, but I’m not stopping until the whole world knows you’re a fake.”
For the first time, Lola looks surprised. “What book?”
“Don’t you dare pretend—” Mattie lunges forward. Blair’s hand tightens instinctively on their shoulder, the only thing holding them back.
“The book you left them,” Blair says. “The threat.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lola says.
Mattie takes a deep breath and rears backward, bringing themself under control with a visible effort. They dig through their backpack with shaking hands, pull out the mutilated copy of The Big Sleep. They throw it at Lola where she sits on the bed, hard enough to hurt if they’d hit her, but missing her deliberately. Lola picks up the book and pages through it, her expression unreadable. Finally, she looks up.
“I didn’t do this,” she says. She smiles, a hard, merciless predator’s smile. “If I wanted to get rid of you, this isn’t how I’d do it.”
“Oh, no?” Mattie says. “You think you can hurt me? You can’t hurt me.”
“I could get Ruth to send you to a conversion camp tomorrow if I wanted to,” Lola says, her voice absolutely flat. “She’s halfway there on her own.”
“You wouldn’t,” Cam says. Rage is flooding through her like a drug. “You wouldn’t do something like that. You can’t do that to them. You can’t.”
“You don’t know anything about what I can do,” Lola says to her. “You don’t know anything about what I’ve done already.” The three of them stare at her, at a loss for words.
“You killed her,” Mattie whispers finally. “You killed my sister, didn’t you?”
To all of their astonishment, Lola laughs. Clear and bright. “Of course I didn’t. I am your sister, remember?”
“No,” Mattie says. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you did to her. But you’re not. You’re not.” Their voice is almost desperate now. Pleading.
This, Blair thinks, is not how I thought this was going to go. But how did she think it was going to go? Lola, confronted with Mattie’s barely there proof, reduced to a tearful confession?
No way. Whoever this girl is—the real Lola, an evil twin—she’s never lost a game in her life.
Lola sighs, the laughter gone. She runs one hand through her long, silky hair. Leans back against the wall, crosses her legs on the bed. Settling in. The way she’s been settling in all along. Into this house, into this life, into this skin.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” she says to Mattie. “You drop this. All of it. Your little investigation, your little friends. Give me a month or two, and I’ll be gone again. All I really need is some money and a new ID. A passport. The car, the house, the credit cards…” She shrugs. “Nice if you can get them, but I don’t really like it here. I never did.”
“A deal?” Mattie says in utter disbelief.
“And if you keep your end, I’ll get Ruth to leave you alone. You know I can do it. I’ve got her eating out of the palm of my hand, Mats.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Cam blurts.
Mattie shakes their head. “I’ll never—I would never—where is my sister?”
Lola looks at them for a long time, debating some question Cam and Blair can’t parse. “Conversion therapy for minors is illegal in Washington,” she says. “But Idaho is right next door. Or she could send you pretty much anywhere in the South. Or Montana. Wyoming—”
“Stop it!” Cam shouts. “Just—stop! What kind of monster are you?”
“You wouldn’t,” Blair says suddenly. Even as she says the words, she knows they’re true. “Because you actually aren’t. You’re trying to be a monster. Maybe you want to be a monster. What you’ve done, coming here, pretending to be someone you aren’t—that’s a monstrous thing to do. Maybe you did hurt the real Lola, or—or kill her. Or you know where she is. I think you’re a person who’s done a lot of awful things. But you’re not a monster. I’ve seen the way you are with Mattie. You care about them”—Mattie makes an awful noise—“I know, Mattie, but it’s true. She does. Don’t you?”
Lola breathes in hard, her eyes widening, as she looks at Blair.
“You do,” Blair says, triumphant.
Lola looks away. “Oh, hell,” she says tiredly. “You wretched little bitch.”
“I’m right,” Blair says. “And you owe Mattie the truth.” Cam and Mattie, next to Blair, are speechless.
Something strange moves across Lola’s face as she looks at Mattie, as though she is processing some new emotion for the first time. And then her expression resolves into stoicism, and she seems to come to a decision.
“Sit down,” Lola says to the three of them, gesturing to the floor.
“I—” Cam says.
“Just sit,” Lola says. “I’ll tell you the truth. I’m not going to hurt you.” She looks at Mattie. “She’s right,” she says in rueful wonderment, as if she can hardly believe it herself. “I would never hurt you. Sit.”
Mattie’s shaking so hard they can barely stand anyway. Blair and Cam sink to Lola’s bedroom floor, holding on to Mattie.
This is insane, Blair thinks. Is this happening?
“A few months ago, I did something that wasn’t entirely legal,” the girl says easily. “It seemed like a good idea for me to go away for a while. I read a story in a magazine years ago about a man who made a habit out of pretending to be other people. He’d search online for boys who’d gone missing, boys who looked like him and who’d disappeared long enough ago that any differences could be explained by the passage of time. That’s where I got the idea.”
“You…” Mattie says. They’re having trouble forming words.
“It took me a long time to find your sister. But when I did—she was perfect. Mysterious disappearance. Police gave up right away. We were almost the same age. Same height, same size. She looked so much like I did that it seemed like a sign. So I thought, Why not? I didn’t want to be the person I was anymore. I wanted to be someone else. It was worth a try. It’s not that hard to figure out what it is other people want from you, and give it to them. I’ve been doing it all my life. If I couldn’t pull it off…” She shrugs. “I’d already disappeared once. I could do it again.”
Cam finds her voice. “For money? You did it for the money?”
“I had no idea about the money until I got here,” the girl says. “The money doesn’t hurt. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead when I ran. I wasn’t sure it would actually work—it couldn’t possibly work, right? It was a completely insane idea. In that police station—god, I was terrified. Once I started it, I couldn’t take it back. But I was so sure the three of you would show up and see I was a fraud in seconds. I thought I’d have to crawl out the window. Cops chasing me with guns, or dogs, or something.” Lola shakes her head. “But it was so easy. So easy, to be her. The prodigal daughter, miraculously returned a better version of herself. Ruth never wanted the Lola who disappeared. All I had to do was be the daughter she wished she’d had. Nobody asked questions. Except for you,” she says to Mattie. “You knew. I thought, with enough time, I could convince you. I guess not. Which is funny, in the end, because you’re the reason I wanted to stick around.”
“But my sister,” Mattie says in a tiny voice.
“I don’t know,” the girl says. “I never met her. I never heard of her before last month. I don’t know anything about what happened to her.”
“But you knew,” Mattie says hoarsely. “You knew about the time we went to the hot springs.”
“I found her journal,” the girl says. “She really loved you, Mattie. She really, really did.”
Mattie chokes on their sobs, buries their face in Cam’s side. Cam and Blair put their arms around Mattie, hold them tight as they cry.
The girl watches them, her expression hard to read.
“I can see why she did. You’re an easy person to love, Mattie Brosillard,” she says.
Cam wants to hit this girl. Tear her to pieces. “Don’t you dare,” she snarls. “Don’t you—don’t you dare say things like that to them after what you did. You’re evil.”
“Ruth was going to send your sister away,” the girl continues, ignoring Cam. “To one of those wilderness places that kidnap you in the middle of the night. Boot camp for troubled teens. Lola found out. I don’t know if that’s why she ran away.”
“Boot camp?” Mattie echoes.
“It’s the last thing she wrote in her journal,” the girl says. “A few days before she disappeared. She was staying up all night, waiting for them to come and get her. She hadn’t slept in days. She told Luke about it, and he told her not to worry. Looking the other way seems to be standard operating procedure for your brother.”
“But Luke…” Blair says, pleading. “Luke thinks you’re his sister.”
“No, he doesn’t,” the girl says. “He asked me what I wanted on the second day. He asked me if I was here for money. He said he’d do whatever I asked. If he wanted me out of here, he could side with you, Mattie. But he’s terrified of me.”
Mattie lifts their head, their eyes bloodshot. “What?”
“He knows I’m not your sister,” the girl repeats. “But he hasn’t done anything about it.”
“Why?” Mattie whispers.
“You’ll have to ask him that,” the girl says.
“And the book?” Cam asks.
“I’d ask him about that too,” the girl says.
“He wouldn’t,” Blair says sharply. “He didn’t.”
“Well, someone did,” the girl says. “And it wasn’t me.”
“Darren,” Blair says.
“No!” Mattie protests, their voice breaking. But they sound unsure. Blair doesn’t blame them.
They were right all along, and now everything is worse. Their whole world is collapsing around them.
“Luke would never,” Mattie croaks. “Not Luke.”
The other Lola only shrugs.
“I’m calling the police,” Blair says, taking out her phone.
“What do you think the police are going to do? I’ve read all about you. I looked you up as soon as Mattie brought you to that awful party. Two teenybopper podcasters at the end of their fame, trying to dig up a new story? The police aren’t very fond of you, are they? You made them look bad. They’re not going to admit they were wrong about another missing girl.”
“Ruth,” Cam says.
The girl laughs. “Ruth? Are you kidding? You’ve met her. You know better. Ruth won’t back you up. Luke won’t back you up. The police will laugh you out of the room.”
“The DNA test,” Mattie says.
“You say it was my sample,” the girl says. “You can’t prove anything. It’ll be your word against mine. Ruth’s not going to make me take an official one.”
“Do you think you’re going to stay here?” Cam asks incredulously. “Just … keep being Lola? After all this?”
“I could,” the girl says.
“Why are you doing this to us?” Mattie cries.
The other Lola’s perfect face is uncannily serene.
“You were there,” she says. “And look how easy it turned out to be.”
“Except for me,” Mattie says.
The girl smiles. “Except for you,” she says.
There’s something like affection in her voice.
Something like a wry respect.
“How can you live with yourself?” Mattie asks. “How can you do something like this, and—” They’re struggling for words. “What are you?”
“We know what you are,” Cam says, ferocious. “We won’t let you do this. We’ll—we’ll—”
She falters while the girl watches her struggle.
Because the truth of it is, the girl is right.
What are they going to do?
Who are they going to tell?
Mattie’s been telling the truth all along, and no one’s listened.
Cam and Blair didn’t believe them until an hour ago. And only because of the proof Mattie can’t prove is real to anyone else.
The adults in Mattie’s life have already signed off on this version of Lola. The police. Their mother. Their brother.
The adults in Mattie’s life have watched them suffer this whole time, and done nothing.
Because it’s easier for this girl to be the Lola everyone wanted than for the real Lola’s family to admit this Lola doesn’t exist.
Mattie comes to a decision. They stand, tugging Cam and Blair to their feet. “You’re sick. You do whatever you’re going to do,” they say to the girl. “I don’t care. Tell Ruth whatever you want. Tell her I’m staying up all night shooting heroin and having sex with strangers. Get me put in jail, if that’s what makes you happy. I’m going to find out what happened to my sister. And we will never, ever have a deal.”
“Mats—”
“Keep that name out of your mouth,” Mattie snarls. “That name is for my sister.”
Mattie pushes Cam and Blair out into the hallway.
The last thing Cam sees, before Mattie slams Lola’s bedroom door, is the other Lola’s huge green eyes.
Gleaming with tears.
“We have to find my brother,” Mattie says when they’re outside. “He’ll know—he’ll know what to do. Text him, Blair. Tell him—I don’t know. Tell him you want to go on a date. Tell him anything.”
“Mattie,” Cam says. “I don’t think—”
“Just do it,” Mattie says.
Mutely, Blair obeys.
hey, you busy tonight? want to hang out?
“Tell him we know,” Mattie says. “Tell him—” Their voice breaks again.
Blair looks at her phone. Actually—got some news about your sister, she types. Thinks for a while. What can she even say?
Mattie has questions. They’re with me and Cam right now. Can we talk?
She sends the message.
The three of them stand in Mattie’s driveway for a long time, staring at Blair’s phone. The screen stays dark.
“Let’s get out of here, at least,” Cam says. She looks up at the house, looming over them like a bad dream. At its heart, still, the other Lola, weaving her spider’s web. How can Mattie ever go back inside? How can any of them stop this from happening? What is she supposed to do now? She hasn’t felt this powerless since the basement.
“Do you want me to call the police?” Blair asks Mattie.
Mattie scoffs. “She’s right about that much,” they say. “What would you even tell them?”
“I don’t know,” Blair admits.
“Let’s just drive,” Mattie says. “Somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t care.”
Blair hands her phone to Cam. The three of them climb into her car. Blair drives.
Maybe she’ll drive them to California. Keep going south, to Mexico. As far away as she can get them. Anywhere but here.
A pair of headlights on bright devour her windshield, blinding her. A car roars past in the other direction, speeding.
And then the road is dark again.
“Is Luke at work?” Blair asks.
“No,” Mattie says. “Not on Fridays. Sometimes he hangs out at that dive bar on Water Street.”
Blair, numb, drives them to Water Street, loops the block to check for Luke’s car. She parks. Cam hands back her phone.
Luke’s read her message, but he hasn’t responded. For a moment, she sees a text bubble spring to life, the three dots flickering. He’s typing something.
“Hold on,” she says.
But the dots disappear.
No message.
“I’ll check the bar,” Mattie says. “Wait here.” They’re out of the car before Cam or Blair can say anything, running down the street. Disappearing into the bar. A moment later, they pop out again, shaking their head as they lope back to Blair’s car.
“Where else?” Blair asks. “Friends?”
“My brother doesn’t have friends,” Mattie says.
Blair’s phone buzzes in her hand.
Hey Blair, sure, we can talk.
last minute but tonight is
parade of lights in the harbor,
i’ll take you out in the boat.
it’s cheesy but pretty. bring
cam & mats too
“Is it him?” Mattie asks.
“Yeah. He wants to take us all sailing,” Blair says.
“Now?” Mattie asks. “Are you serious?”
“Parade of lights,” Blair says. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Ask him when,” Mattie says. “No. Don’t ask him. Tell him we’re coming.”
“I think this is a bad idea,” Cam says loudly.
Mattie gives her a bewildered look. “It’s my brother,” they say. “He’s not going to hurt us. I just want to talk to him. I just want to— She was lying,” they add. “She was lying. He never asked her that. He thinks she’s the real Lola. When we tell him—when we prove she isn’t—he’ll help us. He will. He just needs to see the proof.”
Cam sighs. “Right,” she says. “Knight in shining armor, your brother.”
“He’ll help us,” Mattie insists. “Text him,” they order Blair. “Tell him we’ll meet him there.”
in the car, Blair texts. should we come to the harbor?
A moment. Then: perfect see you in a few
“What’s the parade of lights?” Blair asks, pocketing her phone.
“Boat parade,” Mattie says. “Everybody puts Christmas lights on their boats and sails around in a circle. All the rich people try to outdo each other.” They frown. “Usually it’s the day before Christmas.”
“Maybe it’s early this year,” Blair says.
“I guess,” Mattie says. “I’ll do the talking.”
“Are you sure you want us there?” Cam asks.
Mattie gives her a withering look from the back seat.
“Just making sure,” Cam says.
PARADE OF LIGHTS
For once, there’s no rain. But a cold, wet wind is blowing in off the water, and the stars are blotted out with clouds. Blair parks in the harbor lot. Mattie’s out of the car before she turns off the engine, stamping with impatience.
“How often do boats sink?” Cam asks.
“Not often,” Mattie says curtly.
“That’s good, because I can’t swim,” Cam says.
“Doesn’t matter, this time of year,” Mattie says. “The water’s so cold you’ll freeze before you drown.”
“Thanks,” Cam says. “That’s very reassuring.”
Mattie’s so tense they’re nearly vibrating as they half walk, half run along the network of jetties toward the Rorqual.
Luke’s out on deck waiting for them, a steaming travel mug in one hand. He’s wearing a wool fisherman’s sweater with a complicated knit and a beanie pulled low over his ears. His expression changes when he sees them, but it’s not enthusiasm.
It’s fear, she thinks.
But that doesn’t make sense.
“You made it,” Luke says, helping Cam and Blair step off the dock onto the boat. Mattie stays on the dock, loosening the lines from their cleats. When the boat is free they leap agilely onto the deck as Luke starts the motor and pulls deftly out of the slip.
Blair watches the dock slide away before it occurs to her they’re out on the water alone.
“Where’s the parade?” she asks.
Luke is busy with the wheel. “We’re early,” he says.
Misgiving is rising in Blair’s belly. “But there are no lights,” she says.
“We must be really early, then,” Luke says without conviction.
“Did you get the date wrong?” Mattie asks. “Isn’t parade of lights always the day before Christmas?”
“Maybe,” Luke says.
Cam’s eyes flick from Mattie, who’s not worried yet, to Blair, who clearly is.
Surreptitiously, she slides her phone out of her back pocket, sets it next to her butt.
But who is she going to call if something goes wrong?
Does 911 get you to the coast guard?
Does Oreville have a coast guard?
“If it’s the wrong day, let’s go back,” Cam says. “I’m cold. I think I might not like boats very much.”
“We have to talk,” Mattie says. “I found out something, Luke. I have proof. It’s not her.”
Luke glances at his sibling, his mouth tight.
“Oh, Mats,” he says. His voice is heavy with weariness.
“I don’t see anyone else,” Cam says, enunciating.
“Just a few minutes,” he says. “We’ll see everybody else moving out in a second. We can talk then, okay?”
They are moving farther and farther away from land, out into the bay.
“Luke,” Mattie says, “I need to ask you something. And you have to tell me the truth.”
“Not now, Mats,” Luke says.
There’s a noise from inside the boat. A loud thump, and then footsteps. And then Darren comes out on deck.
“Darren?” Mattie is bewildered, not frightened. They’re looking from their brother to Darren and back again, confused. Even Blair looks surprised. After all this, Cam thinks dourly, after everything. She’s so distracted by her feelings for Mattie’s brother that she still can’t see it.
The three of them are in trouble, now, for real.
I knew we shouldn’t have gotten on this goddamn boat, Cam thinks. Mattie and Darren and Luke and Blair are all looking at one another, waiting for someone to speak first. Cam reaches for her phone. RORQUAL BOAT HELP Cam texts with her thumb, as fast and as covertly as she can.
But Darren catches the motion, is across the deck in one long stride, snatching Cam’s phone and pitching it over the side of the boat over Cam’s squawk of protest.
Did she hit “Send”?
She really, really hopes she hit “Send.”
Does she have a signal this far from shore?
Please, no, Cam thinks. Not this again.
She should be panicking, she realizes. She should be reduced to a shivering mess. But here, in this moment, when the danger is real and right in front of her, she is astonished to find herself calm. This is it, she thinks. I have to get us through this. I have to take care of my friends.
I’m strong enough to take care of my friends. The knowledge moves through her, sure as weather, as the turning of the earth.
“Darren,” Mattie says. “What are you doing here? Why are you—”
“Phones,” Darren says. “You too, Mats.”
“Darren,” Luke says, an unconscious echo of Mattie.
Darren holds out his hand.
“Please turn the boat around, Luke,” Cam says. Her voice is steady. “I would like to go home now.”
“Not yet,” Darren says.
“Yes,” Cam says. “Now.”
But in the faint glow from the boat’s running lights, Blair can see the bulk at Darren’s waistline.
She’s spent enough time at Brad’s range to know what it is. Cam hasn’t seen it yet. Neither has Mattie.
“Cam,” Blair says, handing over her phone. “Mattie. Listen to me. Just do what he says.”
Mattie looks at her, at Darren, back at her.
Wordlessly, Mattie reaches into their pocket, digs out their phone, gives it to Darren.
Blair is trying to think how to transmit gun to Cam without scaring Mattie. Or Cam, for that matter. But for all Cam’s mighty brainpowers, telepathy has yet to number among them.
“Luke,” Darren says. “Phone.”
“Darren, come on,” Luke says. “This isn’t what you said. You said we were just going to talk.”
“I’m changing the plan,” Darren says, and reaches for his waist.
“Give him your phone!” Blair says. “Please. We can figure this out. Everybody take it down a notch. Let’s see what Darren wants. Right, Darren? We’re just talking. That’s all.”
Luke glances at Blair, uncertain.
“Just do it,” she pleads. He shakes his head, but hands the phone over.
“That’s right,” Darren says. His voice is tight with tension. “We’re just talking. We’re just going to talk, and nobody needs to get hurt.”
“Who’s getting hurt?” Mattie barks. “What’s going on? Darren? Darren?”
“Mats,” Luke says, warningly. “Calm down.”
“Somebody tell me what’s going on!” Mattie yells. “That girl—”
“Mattie,” Blair says. She remembers the voice Irene used last year, when everything fell apart and Cam was locked up in a basement and Blair was pretty sure they were all going to die. Irene’s magic talking-people-down voice. “Mattie, we’re just having a conversation. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. Darren, what did you want to talk about?” Blair says, doing her best Irene. Calm, authoritative, reasonable. “Did you have something you needed to say to us? We’re listening, Darren. We’re right here.”
Darren’s hands are shaking, Blair notes. There is a part of her brain hovering above the boat, watching, detached, taking notes.
“I want to talk about Lola,” Darren says.
Darren’s hands are shaking, Blair thinks.
Darren has a gun.
Darren needs to talk to us. Luke and Darren had a plan, but Darren changed the plan, and now Luke doesn’t know what’s going on.
“That girl isn’t Lola,” Mattie says.
Blair thinks MATTIE NO SHUT UP, but it’s too late.
Darren starts to laugh. “No shit,” he says. “You had to go and be a detective, huh, Mats? Couldn’t leave it alone? Let your brother be happy? Let me live my life?”
“What happened to my sister?” Mattie says. Their voice is low and hoarse and their eyes are huge and they are gazing up at Darren with horror. “Darren, what did you do?”
“Darren, I really think we should—” Luke begins. He’s turning the wheel back toward shore.
“Shut up, Luke, and give me the wheel,” Darren says.
That’s when he pulls out the gun.
“No,” Cam says, a small awful sound that cracks Blair’s heart in half.
“Darren, you don’t need a gun,” Blair says, still trying for Irene.
But Irene is a grown woman with years of experience talking down drunk skinheads at punk shows and punk friends freaking out on bad drugs and who knows what else, a person with the dense weight of authority and confidence behind her, and Blair is a teenager, and she knows her words don’t have the same force.
So what’s she going to do? Shoot out Darren’s kneecap with eyeball lasers?
Darren’s holding the wheel with one hand and the gun with the other, and even from here, in the dark, Blair can see the hand with the gun is shaking harder than ever.
What happens if you shoot a gun on a boat? Blair thinks. Do boats have gas tanks? In the movies if you shoot a car in the gas tank the car explodes immediately, but Blair is pretty sure that might not be scientific.
“I would like you to put the gun away now,” Cam says, loud and clear and calm, and now she’s the one who sounds like Irene.
“Darren, man, come on,” Luke says.
“I’m not going to jail,” Darren says. “I’m not going to jail. Not now. Not after all this time. I have a life. A real life.”
“We don’t want anybody to go to jail,” Cam says. “I know you’re not a violent person, Darren. Darren, I know you don’t want to hurt us.”
Where did this Cam come from? Blair wonders in awe. Has she been practicing?
“We all know that, Darren,” Blair agrees. “We know you just want to talk. We’re listening, Darren.”
“Where is my sister?” Mattie screams.
Darren starts. He jerks the wheel hard, and the boat lurches.
Blair crashes into Cam.
Luke loses his balance, falls into the two of them.
And then Luke is crying, still half sprawled on Blair’s lap.
“Lo’s dead, Mats,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Me and Darren killed her and buried her in the woods. She died that night. She’s been dead this whole time.”
A DÉNOUEMENT
“Luke, no,” Darren says, slumping forward over the wheel. The gun is still in his other hand, but the meanness has gone out of him. He looks like what he is.
Darren was a loser, Blair thinks.
Becca had called it, all those years ago.
“What did you do?” Mattie cries. “What did you do to her? Luke? Luke?”
“What are you going to do, Darren?” Luke begs. “Shoot them all and throw them overboard? You gonna kill me too? Put the gun down, man. It’s over. It’s time to tell Mattie the truth.”
Darren’s eyes are wild. “I was thinking about killing myself,” Darren says.
He means it, Blair thinks. And if this guy shoots himself in front of Cam, it will mess her up for the rest of her life.
And then she thinks, If this guy shoots himself in front of me, it will mess me up for the rest of my life.
“If you shoot yourself in front of Mattie, it will mess them up for the rest of their life,” Cam says calmly. Maybe she is telepathic after all. “We can all get out of this. Put the gun down, like Luke said. Tell us what happened. Tell Mattie what happened, if you don’t want to tell me and Blair. They deserve to know.”
“I can’t,” Darren says. “I … I can’t.” The hand with the gun wobbles harder, and then he’s flipping on the safety, putting it back in his waistband.
If this was a thriller movie, we’d all be tackling him to the deck, Blair thinks.
But none of them move.
“Please,” Mattie says.
Darren looks at Luke, and then away. “I can’t,” he says again thickly.
“It was the end of the night,” Luke says. “Just me and Darren and Becca and Lola, out on the back lawn. Everybody else had left. Me and Becca were—uh. You know. Messing around. Darren was passed out. We were all so high, Mats. After a while, me and Becca passed out too. When I woke up it was four in the morning. Lola was lying on her back in the grass. I thought she was asleep.” His voice cracks. “But then I saw that her eyes were open. There was—she had—I think she choked. I don’t know. I was still high. And then Becca was there behind me, screaming her head off—”
“I slapped her,” Darren says. “We were outside, Becca was making so much noise, I could barely think— Becca started sobbing, but at least she quieted down. I knew we had to get her out of there before she freaked out again.”
“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?” Mattie asks, pleading.
“She was dead, Mats,” Darren says. “She was—she was cold. Like ice. There was nothing we could do. If we called an ambulance—it would’ve been—I mean, for me, it would’ve been over, can’t you see that? It would’ve been the end of everything. I brought the drugs. I was over eighteen. It was heroin. I would’ve gone to jail for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to do that. Come on. Who would that have helped?”
“You just—” Mattie’s mouth is working, but they can barely get the words out. “You just … you just did nothing?”
“I wasn’t thinking at all,” Luke says. “Darren was saying we had to get Becca out of there. I had no idea what I was doing. But somehow I remembered I had left my car by the side of the house so people had room to park. Darren was asking about the cameras on the driveway.” He looks up at Darren. “I don’t know how you had it so together,” he says.
“I was on autopilot,” Darren says. “I was as high as you were, Luke.”
“Yeah, well,” Luke says bitterly. “You seemed pretty okay to me.”
“I wasn’t okay,” Darren snaps.
“He told me to bring the car around,” Luke says to Mattie. “So I did. To the backyard. Must’ve only been a hundred feet or so, but I could barely drive. Darren took over. Pushed Becca into the back seat. She was in shock. I mean, obviously. Darren disappeared for a few minutes and when he came back”—Luke’s voice cracks again—“he had a shovel. I don’t know where—I didn’t know you knew the house that well,” he says, talking to Darren again.
“I was her boyfriend,” Darren says. “Of course I knew the house.”
“Right,” Luke says dully. “Her doting boyfriend. ‘We have to put her in the trunk,’ you said.”
“You asked me who I was talking about,” Darren says.
“I guess I was in shock too,” Luke says. “I don’t—I don’t really want to talk about the next part, Mats.”
“You,” Mattie says. “You don’t want to—”
“She didn’t feel anything,” Darren says. “She was already gone.”
“We got her in the trunk,” Luke says. “I couldn’t—I was—Darren drove. We took Becca home first. Darren said some stuff about how we had to keep quiet. We could all go to jail. I don’t know if that’s true, now. We were minors. I don’t know if Becca understood him.”
“She understood him well enough to stay quiet for your sake for the next five years,” Cam says savagely. “Even though it almost killed her. She was fifteen, Darren. Her best friend had just died in front of her and you told her she was going to jail if she talked about it?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Darren says.
“No?” Cam says. “What was it like, then, Darren? Please tell us what it was like for Becca when her best friend’s adult boyfriend told her she was going to jail for the rest of her life for something she didn’t do if she didn’t stay quiet.”
“Nobody did anything,” Darren says. “It was an accident. An accident. Nobody hurt her.”
“Nobody hurt her?” Mattie shrieks. “She died!”
“Everybody was scared,” Luke says. “Darren was the only person thinking straight.”
“You call that thinking straight—” Cam’s so furious she almost chokes.
“Then what?” Mattie asks. They’re crying, the tears running down their cheeks unchecked without their noticing, as if they’re in a trance. “What did you do after that?”
“Darren drove us out to—I don’t know where we were. Somewhere in the Olympics. We, uh. We buried her,” Luke says.
“She’s in the trees, up in the mountains,” Darren says to Mattie, pleading. “She’s in a place she loved with her whole heart. I wanted her to have a special place to rest. I loved her, Mats. I loved her. You know how much I loved her.”
Mattie’s fist is against their mouth, as if they’re trying not to throw up.
“It was past dawn by the time we were done,” Luke says. “I don’t really remember what happened after that very well. Darren drove us back to the house. We came in the back door. He said we had to do something to explain why she was gone. He broke the glass in the patio door from the outside, so it would look like a burglar got in. It was so loud. ‘Go to bed,’ he said. ‘We’ll deal with the rest of this tomorrow.’
“But then Ruth came into the living room. We didn’t hear her until it was too late. She stood there and looked at us. We were covered in dirt and broken glass. ‘Where’s your sister?’ she said to me. And I said, ‘I’m not sure.’ And she said”—his voice breaks a third time, and tears are running down his face, but he doesn’t stop—“‘What has she done now?’ And I said, ‘I don’t know.’ She was—we were yelling. ‘What did your sister do?’ she kept saying. And Darren said, ‘We don’t know where Lola is.’ He just kept saying that. ‘Did she run away?’ Ruth screamed. And I couldn’t take it anymore, I just—”
“You put your hands over your ears like a child,” Darren said.
“He was a child,” Blair says quietly.
“I did what I had to do,” Darren says. “I told her Lola wanted to leave town. That she hadn’t wanted us to tell anyone, but since Ruth was her mother, she deserved to know. I said we took her to the bus station.”
“And she believed you?”
“I don’t know what she believed,” Luke says. “But that’s when you woke up, Mats. You came into the living room and we were all standing there and you asked what was happening. Where Lola was. You saw the broken window and you started crying. And then you grabbed Ruth’s phone—she had left it on the sideboard when she came out to see what was going on—”
“I didn’t do that,” Mattie says. “I was asleep.”
“No, you weren’t, Mats,” Luke says. “You woke up. You just don’t remember.”
“I didn’t,” Mattie says, shaking their head. “I didn’t. I would remember. I would!”
“It was you,” Luke says. “Not Ruth. It was you who called.”
“I would remember,” Mattie says hoarsely. “I would…” They falter, looking at Blair and Cam, back at their brother. “I thought I remembered everything perfectly. I always remember everything perfectly.”
“Nobody remembers everything perfectly,” Luke says. “Ruth tried to stop you. She didn’t want to call the cops any more than—than Darren did. I don’t think—” He pauses. “I don’t think you could have lived with her,” he says finally. “If you remembered it the way it really happened. I think that’s why you forgot.”
“I remember her yelling at me,” Mattie whispers. “I remember…” Their eyes fill again with tears. “She slapped me,” they say. “I forgot … She slapped me, didn’t she? I remember the phone. I had her phone.” Their voice cracks. “I…”
Luke presses his lips together, looks away.
“It would’ve been fine,” Darren says heavily. “Everything would’ve been fine. Ruth was handling it. But you had to go and call the police, Mattie. Jesus.”
“You want to blame Mattie for this?” Cam is incredulous. “You think this is Mattie’s fault? What is wrong with you?”
“Ruth sent me home,” Darren says, ignoring her. “Like I was—like I was nothing. Nobody. ‘Don’t show your face around here again.’ Unbelievable.” He shakes his head.
“We had to tell the police something when they showed up,” Luke says. “They came so fast. There was the broken window, dirt everywhere. You couldn’t stop crying. Darren was gone by then—I couldn’t even think straight. Ruth said that her daughter had vanished in the night and someone had broken into the house. She said we had all been home, the whole night. She told them that I was asleep and didn’t know anything. She told them I had a dream that someone came into the house, but that maybe I hadn’t been dreaming. That it was real, and I’d been half-asleep and not understood what was happening. But she knew they wouldn’t push it too hard. Lola had a record. Nothing was missing from the house.”
“Did she know?” Mattie whispers. “Did she guess what you did?”
“I don’t know,” Luke says. He can’t meet their eyes. “I don’t know how much she guessed. She was just trying to protect us, Mats.”
“Not us,” Mattie says. “You.”
“We never talked about it again,” Luke says, still not looking at them. “Not after that night. It was like it had never happened. I started to think—maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it had just been a bad dream. Maybe I was…”
“But she was gone,” Mattie cries.
“I know,” Luke says. “I know. I’m so sorry, Mattie. I’m so…” He can’t finish the sentence.
“It was better for you this way, Mats,” Darren says. “Wouldn’t it have been so much worse if you knew? If you thought she ran away, she could still be alive for you.”
If Mattie doesn’t kill Darren, Cam thinks, as if from a great remove, I might. She feels as though she will be ill.
“Mats, we were trying to do our best,” Luke says. “Don’t be like this. Please.”
“And then she came back,” Darren says. “I thought I had lost my mind.”
“We all did,” Luke says. “Me. You. Becca. You should’ve seen her at the welcome-home party, Darren.”
“She had to go to the hospital,” Cam says. “You did that.”
“I didn’t do that,” Darren says, holding up his hands. “I wasn’t there.”
“Yeah, you weren’t much help,” Luke says bleakly. “You wouldn’t talk to her. You didn’t want anything to do with us.”
Blair remembers the night of their first date. Luke’s phone call.
Of course I don’t fucking know what she wants.
“You thought she was trying to blackmail you,” she says.
“I didn’t know,” Darren says. “I had no idea. It wasn’t possible. None of it was possible. Lola was dead. I knew that. I saw—” His voice cracks. “She was dead,” he says again.
“The book,” Mattie says. “That was you.”
“I just wanted you to drop it,” Darren says. “Everything would’ve been fine. She was back. She came back. Ruth was happy. Luke was happy. But you wouldn’t let it go. You wouldn’t stop asking questions. You couldn’t leave it alone. I wasn’t really going to hurt you. I’m not a bad person, Mattie. I swear.”
“Did you give it to him?” Cam asks Luke. “Did you give him the book?”
“What book?” Luke asks. The confusion on his face is genuine.
“He didn’t have anything to do with it,” Darren says. “I still have a key, from when Lola and I were together.”
“You were never together,” Luke says under his breath.
“But it wasn’t fine,” Cam says. “It wouldn’t have been fine, Darren. Because you thought the fake Lola was trying to blackmail you. You were going to hurt her too, weren’t you?”
“No,” Darren says weakly. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I’m not that kind of person. I wouldn’t.”
“You know what’s funny?” Mattie asks savagely. “She had no idea what you did. She wasn’t trying to blackmail you at all. But you…” Mattie looks at the gun in Darren’s waistband. “You went to the house first,” they say. “Before you came here. You passed us on the road. Before you told Luke to text us. Did you kill her?”
“No,” Darren says. “I swear.”
“Darren,” Luke says. “Jesus, Darren, what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Darren says. “She wasn’t there. She’s gone.”
“She was there an hour ago,” Cam says.
“She’s not there now,” Darren says. “She left the front door unlocked. I went in. Her room looks like a tornado went through it.”
“You went there to kill her,” Mattie says. “That’s why you have the gun.”
Darren’s mouth opens. Closes again. He looks at Mattie, beseeching. “Mats, what happened to your sister was an accident,” Darren says. “I have a life now. I have a girlfriend. We’re getting married. We’re talking about having a baby. Please don’t screw that up for me. Please. We can keep going the way things are now. The past is just the past.”
“You think you deserve to have a life now?” Mattie can’t hold it back anymore, gun or no gun. “You think I should pretend this never happened?”
“Someone’s coming,” Luke says.
“What?” Darren’s head snaps up. The roar of a motor is building across the dark water, a blaze of light heading directly toward them.
“Who did you tell?” Darren demands, bringing the gun up again. “What did you do, Luke?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Luke protests. “I swear to god, Darren, I didn’t tell anyone!”
“I did,” Cam says. “Put the gun down, Darren. It’s over. If you shoot us in front of my mom’s boyfriend, I guarantee he’ll tear you apart with his teeth.”
Darren’s hand with the gun goes up.
Cam moves faster than Blair has ever seen anyone move in her life, lunging straight for his chest. She hits him hard in the torso with both fists and he shouts in surprise and yanks at the wheel again, trying to keep himself upright.
The boat spins hard and Darren goes flying over the side and into the water.
Mattie’s on their feet almost instantly. “Blair!” they shout, their voice full of authority. “Point at him! Don’t take your eyes off him! Hold out your arm and point!” Blair obeys without thinking, jumping to her own feet, arm outstretched, pointing at where Darren is crying out in the black water, sliding away from them as the boat moves forward. “Luke, kill the engine!” Mattie yells, hurling themself across the cockpit at a fluorescent-orange life preserver.
“Cameron, we’re here!” Brad’s huge voice rings out over the motor of the approaching boat.
“Kill your engine!” Mattie bellows. “Kill it now! We have a man overboard!”
The heavy roar of the motor cuts out immediately. “Where?” Brad shouts.
“Follow Blair’s arm!” Mattie yells. “Luke, bring the boat around! Blair and Cam—”
But Cam’s already standing next to Blair, pointing her own arm. Is that still really Darren? The darkness is thick as ink. The boat is turning as Luke pulls hard at the wheel. A white light flares to life as Mattie throws the bright circle of the life preserver out as far as they can, the harsh glow of the safety beacon arcing through the air.
Blair can’t see Darren anymore, but she can hear him shouting in the dark—a funny, high-pitched noise that barely sounds human. And when the life preserver lands on the water, the light illuminates his pale, desperate face. Mattie’s aim was true. He thrashes toward the life preserver, frantic.
Blair drops her arm. If it was me, she thinks, I’d let him drown.
But Mattie pulls on the line, bringing him in. Brad’s deftly using the speedboat’s momentum to bring it alongside the Rorqual, and even in her state of shock Blair is capable of marveling at how he handles it—surely it’s much, much harder than he’s making it look to parallel park a speedboat next to a moving sailboat while someone on the sailboat is carrying out a nautical rescue.
“Cam!” Irene shrieks. “Cam, are you okay? Cameron, where are you?”
“I’m here!” Cam yells. “I’m here. We’re all here. We’re all fine.” No, she thinks, they’re not fine. But they are whole. Un-shot. Un-tied-up-in-basements. They are alive. Even Darren, wailing in the frigid water, is alive.
“Help me get Darren into the boat,” Mattie shouts, snapping Cam back to the situation at hand. “Cam! Blair! Come on! He’s going to pass out!”
“You!” Brad barks at Luke, who’s standing at the wheel, dazed. “Put out a fender and tie us up!” Luke moves automatically to help, catching the line Brad tosses him and wrapping it around a silver cleat on the Rorqual’s deck. Brad doesn’t wait for him, leaping the gap between the boats neatly.
Mattie and Cam are trying to pull Darren out of the water. His sodden weight drags them under with him. Blair moves quickly to help. Between the three of them, they manage to drag him onto the sailboat’s backboard. His lips are turning blue, and he’s shivering so hard he can’t talk anymore. His eyelids slide closed.
“I think he’s unconscious,” Cam says with alarm.
“Irene, we need you,” Brad says. Irene’s already clambering aboard the sailboat, though rather less gracefully than Brad.
“Call 911,” she orders Brad. “Right now. He’s going into hypothermic shock. You!” She snaps her fingers at Luke. “What do you have for first aid on this boat? I need an emergency blanket, now! We need to get his clothes off.”
But Luke isn’t moving. It’s as if tying the boat off was all he could do. He’s just standing there, swaying with the motion of the boat.
“I’ll get it,” Mattie says, pushing past him and diving into the cabin. They emerge seconds later with a first aid kit. Blair and Cam help Irene haul Darren the rest of the way into the sailboat, pull off his sopping clothes. Mattie digs a foil blanket out of the first aid kit, and together they and Irene wrap Darren tightly.
“Is he breathing?” Cam asks in a low voice.
“Barely,” Irene says.
“… at the harbor,” Brad’s saying into the phone. He looks at Mattie, and then at Cam and Blair. “Boating accident,” he says. “… No, I happened to be in the area. I didn’t see what happened … Yes, in the water for several minutes … Thank you.” He hangs up. “We need to get him on the speedboat,” he says. “The ambulance is on its way. You”—this to Luke—“you’re in shock. The water is too deep here to drop an anchor. Irene, can you drive the speedboat back to shore? I’ll help him bring the sailboat in.”
“I can do it,” Luke says numbly.
“No, you can’t,” Mattie says. “I’ll do it.”
“I’m not leaving you on this boat alone with him,” Cam says.
“I’m not leaving either of you alone on this boat until somebody tells me what’s going on!” Irene shouts.
Across the water, the sound of sirens.
Mattie shakes their head. “There’s no time,” they say. “Just go.”
“But—”
“Come on,” Blair says, pushing Cam toward Brad’s boat. “Mattie can do this.”
Brad climbs back into the speedboat. “Move him to the edge,” he directs. “Give me his feet. This is going to be tricky.”
Mattie holds the line connecting the two boats, keeping them pressed together, as Irene, Cam, and Blair half drag, half push Darren up against the cockpit wall. Brad leans over from the speedboat, grabs his legs. “Ready? Watch the gap. Mattie, hold tight. Now push him over.”
Darren’s a dead weight, but the four of them manage it. He tumbles into the speedboat, Brad catching his upper half so that he doesn’t hit his head. Irene climbs into the boat, helping Brad haul him into one of the seats.
The sirens are closer; Blair can see whirling lights now, flashing toward the harbor.
“Come on!” Brad shouts. “Cam! Let’s go!”
Cam topples into the speedboat, her crisis-prompted coordination abandoning her. Blair climbs cautiously after her. “Loose the lines! He’s clear!” Brad directs Mattie. They undo the ropes binding the boats together, toss the speedboat’s line to Cam.
Irene hugs Cam and Blair tight to her chest as Brad pulls away from the Rorqual with a burst of speed.
Blair turns as the boat roars away to see Mattie at the wheel, their face set. Luke is slumped next to them in the boat’s cockpit.
He’s not moving, not helping.
Mattie’s handling the boat entirely alone.
And then Mattie’s just a pale point in the darkness, fading fast into the night.
Cam is soaked from pulling Darren out of the water. “You’re going to freeze to death,” Irene worries. “Blair, help me look in these compartments. There’s got to be another emergency blanket here.” She glances in the direction of the sailboat. “We need two,” she says. “We shouldn’t have left Mattie alone.”
Blair and Irene ransack the boat; Irene tosses aside pristine lifejackets, fishing rods, and a Yeti cooler. She cries out in triumph as she unearths another space blanket. “Here,” she says. “Cam, take off your jacket, you’re wet.”
“I’m fine,” Cam says.
“Don’t you argue with me right now!” Irene barks. Cam starts, and then meekly pulls off her bedraggled jacket. Irene wraps her up in the emergency blanket like a burrito, checks on Darren, moves back to Cam, efficient as a nurse in a field hospital.
The gun, Cam thinks suddenly. The gun is gone, lost somewhere in the dark water. And she’s still here. The worst happened, and she and Blair and Mattie got through it, and now Irene and Brad are here, and everything is going to be okay.
They might not all live happily ever after. But they’re here. Together.
“Maybe I will try therapy again,” Cam says to no one in particular.
Brad catches it over the roar of the speedboat’s engine and smiles.
“How did you know where to find us?” Blair asks.
“Cam texted me the name of the boat,” Brad says, as if this explains everything. He sees Blair’s confusion. “It’s a requirement for boats of a certain size to have an automatic identification system. A lot of smaller sailboats have one too. I found the Rorqual with a marine traffic app. Luckily.”
“Lucky you knew what to do,” Blair says.
“That’s why I texted him and not Irene,” Cam says, her teeth chattering. “No offense.”
“I can take the blanket away,” Irene says dryly.
“I’m glad you came too,” Cam says. “Mom.”
“I didn’t know you had a boat,” Blair says to Brad.
“I don’t,” Brad says, slightly embarrassed. “I hot-wired this one.”
“Irene,” Blair says, “I think you should probably marry this dude.”
BLAIR’S BOOK PROPOSAL: THE AFTERMATH
Dear Meredith Payne-Whiteley,
In the end, it came down to spaghetti alla puttanesca à la Brad again.
That was after we’d handed Darren over to the EMTs, who’d whisked him away in the ambulance in a blare of noise and light.
After Brad tied up the stolen speedboat—he had, I noticed, managed to pick the most expensive-looking one in the whole harbor—and we stood on the dock, watching Mattie moor the Rorqual with a level of skill that startled all of us. Calm and assured, despite everything that had happened.
After Luke walked past the four of us, without a word, heading for the parking lot. He didn’t look back at us—at me—once.
After Mattie started to follow him, their face set.
“What are you doing?” Cam asked as Mattie trudged past.
Mattie stopped.
“Going home,” they said. Their face was blank with shock and grief, their eyes like dark pits. My heart contracted.
“That’s not your home,” Cam said.
“Come on,” Brad said. “It’s freezing. Let’s get out of here.”
And he was the one to reach for Mattie then, to fold them into the shelter of one big arm, and Cam and me into the other.
Irene flung her arms around the whole bundle of us, holding tight.
“Somebody,” she said, her voice muffled by Cam’s shoulder, “had better tell me what the hell happened here.”
“Yes,” Brad rumbled. “Over pasta. Let’s go.”
And now, we’re all at Cam’s kitchen table again. Kitten purrs lasciviously in Mattie’s lap, kneading his way to heaven. Irene wrapped Mattie in a pile of blankets, but they’re still shivering in their chair, one hand numbly stroking Kitten’s fur.
I want to ask them if they’re okay, but I don’t. Because that’s the stupidest question I could come up with, under the circumstances.
I don’t know if Mattie will ever be okay.
But I know if anyone could be okay after something like this, that person will be Mattie.
It’s Cam who tells Irene and Brad the rest of the story, so Mattie doesn’t have to talk.
She doesn’t mention the gun. Or the mutilated book.
She doesn’t mention that Darren went to the Brosillards’ before he waited for us on Luke’s boat.
That the first time, he became a murderer by accident.
The second time, he was ready to become one for real.
Brad’s clanking around at the stove while Cam talks, and the kitchen smells increasingly incredible. He mutters to himself as he pulls mismatched plates and bowls from the cupboards, loads them full of pasta.
Just as Cam finishes, he sets the food in front of us, and nobody talks for long moments after that because we’re too busy shoveling in food. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. Nothing like a brush with death to whet a person’s appetite.
Irene pushes her empty bowl away with a deep, satisfied sigh and sits back in her chair.
“I should go home,” Mattie says dully. They’ve barely touched their pasta. Cam’s eyeing the almost-full bowl, and I know she’s weighing the horrifying rudeness of stealing a grief-stricken person’s meal against the magnificent benefit of more Brad pasta.
For once, she decides to be her better self.
“None of that,” Irene says matter-of-factly.
“What?” Mattie looks up.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Irene says. “You’re staying here as long as you want.”
“I can’t do that,” Mattie says.
“Why not?” asks Cam.
“Because—” Mattie stops. “Because you’re not—you don’t have to—” They can’t finish the sentence.
Irene gets up, finds WORLD’S #1 DAD and her bottle of wine, pours herself a mug, sits back down. “Being an adult is a pile of shit most of the time, but every now and then you get a chance to do whatever you want, which almost makes it worth it,” Irene says. “Now is one of those times. You are welcome in this house, Mattie. If problems arise due to that decision, we will solve them. Do you understand?”
Mattie nods mutely.
Brad puts one arm around Irene’s shoulders, and she leans into him. “Together,” he says. “We will solve them together.”
“Thank you,” Mattie says.
“Do you want to call the police?” Brad asks. “I mean, about your sister?”
“I thought about that,” Mattie says. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. When I thought it was—her. The fake Lola. What I wanted to happen to her, if she killed my sister. But the truth is so…” Mattie trails off. “The truth is so much more complicated,” they say. “I don’t think Darren is a very good person, but he didn’t mean for Lola to die. Even if the cops did do something, even if he went to jail … It wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t change anything. I want him to hurt like I’m hurting, but he never will. He could go to jail for a thousand years, and he wouldn’t know what this feels like.” Mattie starts to cry. “I want my sister back,” they say, choking. “The only thing I ever wanted was my sister back. And I’ll never have that. I don’t even know where they—buried her. And I don’t really care about anything else.”
“I know how that feels,” Brad says. Mattie looks at him, and I can see them see it in his face: He does know. He knows what Mattie’s going through in a way Cam or I or even Irene don’t. Can’t.
He knows what it’s like to wait for someone who’s never coming back, and find out the truth far too late.
He knows what it’s like to wish for a killer to suffer, and to know that nothing, no punishment ever devised, will equal the suffering that person has already inflicted.
He knows what it’s like to go over and over and over the last thing you ever said to someone you love, the last moment you ever spent with them, when you had no idea that was all you’d ever get.
He knows what it’s like to carry around all the things you’ll never be able to say.
I don’t know anything about any of that. I’ve only ever seen someone else go through it. I know I’ll find out one day; I’ll lose someone I love, and have to enter a world I’ve only witnessed from the outside. I’ll have to learn to live with grief the way most human beings do.
But I have learned something about stories in the last year, Meredith. I’ve learned about what happens when I walk into a story that isn’t mine and make myself a part of it. I’ve learned what happens when I try to take the words out of other people’s mouths. I’ve learned that good intentions don’t lead to better consequences.
And this time, with this story, I can’t even say my intentions started out good.
I’m not sure if I believe in fate. I don’t know if I would’ve had the conviction to talk Cam into helping Mattie if you hadn’t called me. I don’t know if Mattie would’ve found out the truth about their sister on their own. I don’t know if they needed me and Cam at all. I don’t know if we helped, honestly.
And Luke—
Yeah, I still have a lot of learning to do, it turns out. I’ll deal with that part later.
Not that that’s any of your business either, Meredith.
I don’t mean that to be rude.
It’s the truth.
But tonight, after everything, we’re safe.
And looking at Mattie and Brad in Cam’s kitchen, at the understanding moving between them—a connection so strong it’s almost visible, like a living thing taking shape in the steamy air, among the empty plates and bowls, Kitten purring in Mattie’s lap, the winter night storming against the windows, Irene lighting a cigarette—looking at that, I think:
Mattie and Brad were meant to find each other.
Cam and I helped with that. That’s what I mean about fate. Mattie and Brad would’ve been strangers forever if Mattie hadn’t come to me and Cam. If you hadn’t called me and asked for a book. If I hadn’t talked Cam into this.
Mattie and Brad were meant to find each other.
And their story, both of their stories, belong to them.
One day I’ll come to you with a story that’s mine alone. I don’t know yet what that story will be. If it’ll be true, or something I made up, or something that’s a bit of both. I don’t know if it will be any good. I guess you never do, until you’re done telling it. And even then, it’s probably hard to be sure.
Maybe it’ll be a story that you think people want to hear.
Maybe not.
That part’s not up to me.
I know you were hoping for serial killers, Meredith. Something flashy, at least. The real Lola tied up somewhere, tortured and terrified and eventually murdered in some slow, horrific way.
You wanted gore and survival against the odds. Me and Cam trapped in a basement again while the killer advanced, chewing through our bonds just in time to fight for our lives or rescued at the last minute by heroic police.
You wanted the fake Lola to be a monster with a thirst for blood. Maybe a manhunt, a body count, a sea of dead girls.
Their blank eyes, their ravaged bodies. Until, in the final pages, justice prevails and everybody is happy and the film rights go for millions.
I’m not stupid; that’s what sells.
But that’s not my story.
And Mattie’s story isn’t mine to tell.
For that one, the one that is?
I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.
Respectfully,
Blair Johnson