An Honest Lie(41)

When Taured spoke about the isolation rooms to Kids’ Camp, he framed it as a wonderful, sacred time. She’d once asked what the rooms had been used for when it was a prison, and they’d told her they were the cells used for pregnant, incarcerated mothers. Inside, they’d been painted cream, the floors concrete. The only light came from a single bulb that was operated by a switch outside the cell. Once you were inside, you had no control over the light, and were only allowed brief periods of illumination through the day. This, he claimed, was a test of trust and a time to reflect on your bad and grow into your good.

“Will one of us ever have to go in there?” a kid named Ginger had asked. He was a couple years younger than Summer, and he’d moved to the compound from New England with his family the year before. He’d brought some weird habits with him, like some strange taste in junk food. He was always complaining about the contents of the Snack Shack. She’d noticed the older boys enjoyed picking on him, while most everyone else ignored him. The kid seemed to latch on to strange ideas and not stop talking about them.

“Are you scared, Ginger?” yelled someone from the back of the room. Summer knew the voice belonged to Skye.

“Of course he is—he’s scared of everything,” another voice called out.

Ginger, who had light strawberry blond hair (Sara said his mother had been ambitious with his name), turned around to give the speaker a dirty look. “What do you know, you big meatball?”

Summer liked his spunk, but he was probably going to pay for that later; Skye was a bully.

“I’m not afraid,” Ginger said, turning back to address Taured. “I would go in there voluntarily. I would.”

Summer and Sara had turned to each other at that point and rolled their eyes. They usually sat somewhere in the middle of the room.

Taured spoke directly to the boy. “If you focus on fear, you’ll live a life of fear. Do you understand that?”

Ginger nodded enthusiastically. He was sitting in the front row of the chapel, in the seat directly in front of Taured. When they worked the orchard, he tried to outpick everyone by double and he was always trying to get Taured to notice him. The other boys would chant, Ginger has a finger up Taured’s ass!

“He thinks Taured is his daddy,” Sara would say, shaking her head. Summer had to agree, but wasn’t that what Taured wanted them to think? Most of the kids here were missing one parent or the other, and the ones who had both were a little cocky about it—Sara included.

“So rather than worrying about being in the isolation rooms, worry about doing the right thing so you don’t get there.” Taured ruffled his hair and Ginger looked pleased.

“Think about it,” he’d told them. “I’m an adult and I can tell you that I don’t know how to trust. But you guys aren’t jaded by the world. You know how to trust. And by giving me your trust, by allowing me to make healthy decisions for you—well, you guys are ahead of the game. Your parents don’t even know how to do that. Will you guys trust me when the time comes?”

She didn’t know how everyone else reacted, hadn’t looked around to see, but when he asked them to trust him, she had. At least back then.



14


Now


Rainy forgot her earlier desire to go to bed. When she danced, it felt good. When Braithe chose her over Tara, it felt good. Maybe it was the alcohol working her limbs into a frenzy of dancing. She was almost acting like a normal person, and in that moment, as she lifted onto the balls of her feet to hit one of the clear orbs that was bouncing around, she couldn’t remember who she’d been before now, or who she’d be tomorrow. Only now.

As they were leaving the bar, Braithe stopped midstep; it was sudden, and they all stopped with her.

“We should find somewhere to have our cards read.” Her voice was breathy and excited.

The adrenaline that had pushed Rainy through most of the night drained at Braithe’s words, and suddenly she felt gross, and sweaty and tired. But more than that, she felt empty, and all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and talk to Grant.

“I’m in,” Ursa said. “This one time, a psychic told me I’d meet a guy named Oscar while fishing and I did. I was in Miami and he was just right there.”

“But you don’t want to meet anyone now, right? Since you have Alex.” Mac looked nervous.

“They don’t just tell you things about love,” Ursa shot back. She started listing the other topics on her fingers: “Careers, dead relatives, unfinished business—and this one time, my aunt went to a psychic to tell her why her cat, Sequins, always bolted from the downstairs bathroom like its tail was on fire.”

“And?” Rainy couldn’t help herself; she wasn’t a believer, but she wanted to know about the cat.

“She said that my dead grandfather was haunting Sequins. And honestly, my grandfather hated cats, so it came as no surprise to any of us.” Ursa shrugged. “My family is weird. We got rid of the cat, but not the ghost.”

They laughed so hard they held their bellies, holding on to each other for balance as they maneuvered the sidewalk in their high heels. A slow rumble of thunder came from the sky and Braithe yelped, grabbing Tara’s arm and staring at the sky suspiciously. It was all humorous and fun beneath the veil of alcohol.

Maybe this isn’t so bad, Rainy thought. She walked alongside Ursa, who was recounting her time with Miami Oscar. Tara and Braithe were up ahead, leading the way, and Mac was somewhere in the middle, calling out directions as she read them off her phone.