The House in the Pines(12)

Her heart beats faster as they reach the top and Aubrey steps out on the enormous boulder that juts, diving-board-like, over the pool. Maya stays several feet behind her. She feels like the high diver at a circus, looking down a crazy-long ladder at a tiny pool.

She can’t do it. She’ll just have to climb down and is already inching that way when Aubrey looks back over her shoulder. Her face is kind. Eyes bright with excitement. She reaches out her hand. The waterfall roars in Maya’s ears. She can’t do it, but then she does. She steps tentatively forward and takes Aubrey’s hand.

Together they look out over the forest, the water crashing at their feet, and then they look at each other. This isn’t the first time they have done something dangerous together. But it might be the last.

“One!” Aubrey says.

“Are you kidding me? You think I’d fall for that twice?”

But Aubrey’s smile is genuine. “Two.” Her voice is lost beneath the clamor of the falls; Maya reads the word on her lips.

They clasp their hands tighter. Raise them in the air.

“Three!”

They yell it at the same time, then step hand in hand over the edge.





SIX




Maya woke with a shrieking headache and a sour, leathery tongue.

She didn’t know where she was at first. The moon shone through slats in the blinds, illuminating a room that looked like it belonged to a teenager. Sonic Youth and Blade Runner posters, comic books on the shelves. Glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. This had been Dan’s room. The night came rushing back. She had vomited. In front of Greta. On her birthday. Then she’d stood in the bathroom for twenty minutes, too embarrassed to return to the dinner table.

She had decided to tell them she had the flu.

Some kind of stomach bug, hopefully nothing contagious, she’d said to Greta, and Maya had certainly looked sick enough, hollow-eyed and pale. She’d watched the wariness on Dan’s face give way to concern. Carl had offered ginger ale for her stomach—but it was impossible to tell what Greta thought behind those all-knowing eyes, looking out, always, for her son’s best interest.

Maya didn’t blame her. She almost wished Dan hadn’t believed her, that he had called her out for drinking too much. But instead he had laid a hand on her forehead, checking for fever. He had brought her water and Pepto Bismol. He slept beside her now, his breath the only sound in the dark room.

She’d promised to be honest with him. Now she had to be honest with herself. She’d never been delusional, and the longer she went without pills, the clearer it seemed that she could have stopped Frank. But she hadn’t, so Cristina died. And no amount of drinking would make Maya feel okay about that.

If she had been the one to die, Aubrey would have proved that Frank killed her. The truth was that she was smarter than Maya. She might not have worked as hard in school, but Aubrey was perceptive beyond her years.

Most of the friends Maya had made since were like Wendy—friends who didn’t know her very well. People who went to the same parties but who she’d never sat with in silence. Now that she’d cut back on drinking, Maya hardly saw those friends, and it occurred to her that she didn’t miss them.

She missed Aubrey. She missed her laugh. Maya thought of her every time she read a good poem and wanted someone to share it with. Every time she had the urge to try something adventurous, like trapeze lessons. Aubrey had been fearless. She’d been quick. She never would have let Frank get away with killing her best friend.



* * *



— Maya knelt beside Dan and whispered his name.

She had dressed and stuffed her clothes from last night into the backpack she wore over one shoulder. The light was thin and blue, the house quiet. Dan blinked a few times as he woke.

“Hey,” she said.

“. . . what’s going on?”

“I’m going home for a few days.”

“What?” he asked, half asleep.

“Pittsfield, I mean, my mom’s house.”

Dan rubbed his eyes. “Okay . . . why . . . ?”

“I want to take care of some things.” She wouldn’t lie. “I have my ticket. I’ll just walk to the Peter Pan station up the street. My bus leaves in forty-five minutes.”

Lying in the dark for five hours, thoughts spiraling, Maya had decided this was the easiest way. Better to slip out before everyone was awake than to continue her flu charade. She wasn’t going to fall back asleep anyway. It wasn’t just withdrawal keeping her awake now. How could she sleep knowing Frank had killed again?

She’d already bought the bus ticket on her phone and located a station close to Dan’s parents’ house.

He propped himself up on an elbow. “You haven’t been to see your mom in—what? A year?” He squinted at her. “What is this about?”

Tell the truth. She looked down. “The video.”

He hadn’t believed her yesterday and she didn’t expect him to believe her now. She expected him to be dismissive, frustrated with her, but instead he took her hand and held it to his chest. He looked at her with kindness, his eyes focusing on her as he got his bearings. “I get it, Maya. I get why you’re upset.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Two people have dropped dead around this guy. It’s creepy as hell. When you first told me about it, my instinct was to insist there was a logical explanation. Try to make it less scary.”