Spells for Forgetting(66)

She rose from the step, standing so that she and I were the same height. She drew in a breath before she spoke. “Did you kill her?”

That small second of silence felt like my entire lifetime crushed into one moment. “No.” I didn’t look away from her. “I didn’t.”

She stared at me for a long time before she stepped down another step. The closer she got, the less I was breathing. I traced the outline of the star that bloomed in her left eye, like a faceted emerald stone cast into the sea. My heart was that strange, shooting star. Always falling.

“Then what are you hiding, August?”

It was the first time since I’d arrived on the island that she sounded like herself. I let that feeling sink deep inside me. I’d take that with me when I left, too.

“August?”

“Emery.” I’d said the words a thousand times to myself through the years. Still, they were like knives in my throat. “Em, I set the fire.”





Thirty-Nine


    EIGHTEEN MINUTES BEFORE THE FIRE


   AUGUST


The lightbulb that hung from the ceiling had been burned out for years, but no one had bothered to replace it.

The small room in the loft of the barn was barely lit enough for me to see myself in the mirror. It had been my dad’s room, before he married my mom and they moved into the cottage. Now, the only people who came up here were me and Dutch.

I pulled on the suit jacket my mom bought for me, straightening it over my shoulders. My grandfather had called me back to the orchard to work in the farthest row on the hillside after a fence fell down, and instead of helping set up for the party like I’d promised, I’d been cutting wire.

I hadn’t argued. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have done any good. My grandfather didn’t believe in days off. The orchard wasn’t a job. It was a life. Those were his words, not mine. I could either break my word to my mom to appease Henry or ruin this night for my mom by pissing Henry off. I’d chosen to avoid my grandfather’s ire, figuring that would have the least amount of fallout.

My mom had gotten fairly good at walking on eggshells with him, but I hadn’t.

I pulled the sleeve of my shirt down to cover the scrape on my wrist. Gloves or not, I always cut myself on the damn fence. I raked my hand through my hair, smoothing it back as much as I could. The heat and damp made it wave on the ends, but I’d pass for showered.

The music was already playing outside, and the sound of voices was multiplying. The island held this party every year after the high school graduation, one of the only rites of passage that resembled the lives of the kids on the mainland.

The party was supposed to be for all of the graduates, but this year it was at the orchard with my mom in charge, making it feel like one gigantic spotlight on our family. That attention had grown more acute in the last six months, with the town at odds with my grandfather over the future of the orchard. I was beginning to think this party was my mom’s way of smoothing things over. The only reason I was doing any of it was for her.

One more day. That’s all. Then Emery and I would be gone and Saoirse and the orchard and my grandfather would be nothing but memories.

All I had to do was get through the night without drawing my grandfather’s attention. I’d spend thirteen more hours under his thumb. Then, we’d be on the ferry.

The wind made the wooden walls creak as it blew through the orchard, bringing the scent of soil and hay in through the window. I didn’t think I would miss it. My dad sure as hell never did. If he had, he would have come back. But the bastard hadn’t so much as called my mom since he left.

It had always been just the two of us in my memories. My father was the first Salt in generations to leave Saoirse and the orchard behind. And though no one knew it yet, I would be the second.

I let out a heavy breath, smoothing my hands over the jacket. She’d understand. I’d told myself that each time I thought about what it would be like when she woke up the next day to an empty house.

But she knew me. She often knew me better than I knew myself. That’s what I was banking on.

I picked my work clothes up from where I’d dropped them on the bed, and I flinched when I caught sight of a figure in the dark corner of the room.

“Shit”—I let out a tight breath—“I didn’t see you come in.”

My grandfather leaned against the wall with glinting eyes, watching me. He was dressed in a clean shirt, which was a rare sight, and the silver-streaked hair that was usually covered by a hat was combed. But he had that look on his face, like he was ready for a fight. I knew it well.

I tossed the clothes into the basket against the wall. “Mom’s going to kill me if I don’t get down there. I’m already late.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

I sighed, resigning myself to the argument, whatever it was. He didn’t look or smell drunk, so I figured it couldn’t be one of the bad ones. And I didn’t think he’d risk a scene when the whole town was downstairs. My grandfather got away with most things because of who he was, but there were some lines even he wouldn’t cross, if only for the sake of appearances.

I slid my hands into the pockets of my jacket, waiting for it.

He looked me up and down, his lip curling. “You know, August, you aren’t the brightest Salt to ever grace this island, but I did think you were smarter than this.”