Merrily flicked palm fronds away from her neck and reached for her silly drink. Her hand shook. She pulled it back.
“I’m sorry,” Alice said to her.
“We don’t know it’s him.” It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Not Rick. She took out her phone, pulled up Officer Vasquez’s number, and tapped out a text: Body found in the Dunes not him right? “It’s not.”
Her mom. What could she say to her? Nothing. Nothing for now. She held the phone to her chest and tried to breathe. Not him. It couldn’t be.
“I think we need to accept the possibility—”
“No!” It was a big room, and everyone in it turned to look their way. She’d wanted to be watched, hadn’t she? In a lowered voice, she said, “I don’t need to accept it. It’s not him. It won’t be him. Remember the fire? The body that wasn’t him? It won’t be him.”
“It was someone in that fire. Do you think it’s weird that you’re hoping he leaves another dead human being in his wake?” Juby said.
“That’s not what I meant,” Merrily said.
“But if it’s not him, then it’s someone else,” Alice said. “Someone’s dead.” She glanced toward the nearest table. “Maybe we should go somewhere else to talk.”
Merrily stood up. “I don’t want to talk.” She had no idea where she was going. If she saw her mom right now, she would break down and her mom would call Rick some disparaging word and then she’d have to feel pathetic for liking the guy, for wanting him to be alive. Not that he was dead. It wouldn’t be him.
“Come on, Merrily,” Juby said. “It’s not him, OK? It could be some other person found dead in the dunes, right? Someone drowned, maybe.” Alice turned toward the awkward hope in her voice.
“Then let’s go to the dunes right now,” Merrily said. “I’ll drive.”
The other two women didn’t move, wouldn’t look at her. Juby said, “I don’t think that’s a great idea. Stay in town with your mom, go shopping or something, take your mind off—”
“I’m not shopping.” She couldn’t make herself understood. It wasn’t him, but what if it was? She couldn’t walk up and down the Mag Mile having the time of her life. In her hand, her phone buzzed. G. Vasquez.
I am not your cop boyfriend, Nancy Drew.
Fine for him. This was why she didn’t waste her time with—with real men. “I’m going.”
Alice put a hand out before Juby could jump in. “Is that a great idea? If it’s him or if it’s not him—is it better to go there and be frustrated and kept away, or is it better to wait and see?”
At some point, without Lillian, Alice had decided she was the leader, the big sister, that she got to be the voice of reason. Merrily didn’t have to listen to them. Who were they to her? She wanted to leave. The destination didn’t have to be the dunes. She didn’t know where to look, anyway, and the beach would be closed off with this body—this other person, this stranger—found. The dunes weren’t a single beach. They were miles of sand, miles of places to hide, to be found, not to be found. Miles and miles of sand and lakeshore. She’d been once or twice, her mom bursting from a bikini and the men turning to watch as the two of them carried their picnic basket. She needed to be somewhere else, though, to be someone else, right now.
Merrily pressed the heel of her hand to her eye. She was going to lose it.
Her phone plink-plinked the news she had a ChatX notification. Searcher6, again, with something else to say. She was tired of men. Exhausted. Weary of them, always wanting, wanting. Even with the tips into her account, it wasn’t worth it, to give so much of her time away. To give so much of herself, and then have to cover for the missing pieces. She had hollowed herself out and draped the gaps with secrets, and for what? She pulled up his latest messages.
I recognized the hotel from your photo, the first said. Forgive me.
The penthouse suite is ours. Now.
Merrily’s stomach fell to her feet. He was breaking every rule, online and otherwise. What was that now about?
But she knew she would go, even as she thought of all the ways she should scold him, take back the power she held. She was in charge. She called the shots. It wasn’t seedy or sad—she was queen of this board, all moves were hers. And she was going to remind him of that, upstairs in the penthouse, with a glass of real champagne in her hand. Away from here and these people, in any case.
“What’s going on?” Juby said.
“I’m meeting a friend.” Merrily tried to sound calm.
“I thought you were having a drink with us,” Alice said, picking up the drinks menu.
Merrily reached for her glass and threw back the last of it, set the glass down harder than she’d meant to. Then she went for her wallet, reaching into her purse past the photos of Rick, steeling herself for his youthful grin, for that hot dog ploinked onto the roasting fork, and threw a fistful of bills onto the table, as much cash as she had on her.
“Whoa,” Juby said. “I think a twenty should do it.” She pawed through the bills and Merrily knew she would try to hand back the rest, a gesture so cheap and degrading that she turned and stalked away to avoid it. She didn’t look back when Juby called to her, only located the registration desk and directed her attention there. Every move was her move, and if she believed it, if she convinced herself, then she might convince everyone else.