The Last House Guest(74)

“What about him?”

“Would you know his state of mind last night?”

His shirt sliding over his head. Guiding me to the bed—

“I wouldn’t know anything. Me and Connor don’t speak anymore.”

“But you saw him there.”

Connor’s face, inches from my own. The feel of his hands on my hips.

“Yes,” I said. “I saw him.”

“Was he there the whole time?”

The power of this moment, constricting the air. No one could be sure, really, who was there and who had gone. A party like that, you could only say the thing you hoped others would say for you. A deep-buried instinct to protect your own. “Yes. None of us left.”



* * *




LATER THAT MORNING, AFTER the police had returned to the main house, I saw a figure standing at the edge of the garage, staring at a phone.

I opened my door, called her name in a voice that was almost a whisper. “Luce?”

She startled, then turned my way, and I walked out to meet her. Up close, her eyes were bloodshot, her face gaunt and makeup-free.

“I have to get out of here,” she said, shaking her head. Her hair was pulled back tight, severe. “I don’t belong here right now. I’m trying to . . .” She tapped at her phone, exasperated. “I’m trying to find a way to get to the bus station. If I can get to Boston, I can make it home.”

It was then I saw that she had a bag in her other hand, her grip tight on the tan leather handles. Her eyes searched mine as if I might have the answers.

“I’d take you myself, but I don’t have my car. It’s still at the overlook.” I swallowed. “Maybe you can take Parker’s car. Since Grant and Bianca are here now.”

Her eyes widened. “I am not asking him that right now.” She looked over her shoulder at the house and shuddered. “I don’t belong there. It’s not my place. It’s—”

“Okay, come in. Luce, come on.” A hand at her elbow to get her inside. I led her there, into the living room.

She sat on the couch, her back inches off the cushions, hands folded carefully over her knees, luggage on the floor in front of her. I gave her the number of a car service she could try; she was clearly rattled, unable to focus enough to find this information herself.

“Stay here. I’m going for my car. If you’re still here when I’m back, I’ll drive you to the bus myself.”

She nodded, staring at nothing.

It was the last time I saw her.

I started walking. Down Landing Lane, past Breaker Beach, where there were cop cars blocking the lot, the whole area roped off. I kept walking into the town center, where a solemn, shell-shocked air had settled over everything, like a thick fog.

My throat tightened, and I bent over on the sidewalk, hands on my knees.

“Avery?” A man turned from the back of his SUV at the curb. Faith’s father, securing a crate of coffee into the back of his vehicle, trunk open. “You okay, there?”

I stood and wiped my knuckles across my cheeks. “I left my car,” I said, my voice stuck against my windpipe, like I was choking. “At the party last night.”

He looked over his shoulder, up the road, in the direction of the party. “Well, come on, I’ll take you there.”

His car smelled of coffee grinds and fresh laundry, the world continuing on with or without Sadie. We drove up Harbor Drive, past the police station at the top of the hill. “Terrible news, about the Loman girl. I heard you were close.”

I could only nod. Couldn’t think about Sadie in her blue dress, standing at the edge. Barefoot, listening to the violence of the sea below.

He turned the car toward the Point, then cleared his throat. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Yes,” I said, not understanding the question. Before realizing, without Sadie, the entire foundation of my life was about to shift.

“Well,” he continued, “you let us know. End of season, you know we have the room, should you need it.”

I turned to take him in—the deep lines of his weatherworn face, the longer, graying hair pushed back like he was facing the wind, and the sharp angle of his nose, like Faith’s. “I don’t think Faith would like that,” I said.

“Well,” he said, turning past the bed-and-breakfast, heading for the homes up on the overlook, “that was a long time ago.”

“It was an accident,” I said.

He didn’t respond at first. “You scared us all then. But you came out the other side okay, Avery.” He pulled onto Overlook Drive, where the Blue Robin was located.

“This is good,” I said as my lone car came into view. I wanted to be alone. Not think too hard about what I had done and what I had meant to do. What I was capable of when the bonds that held me in check were released.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He gestured down the tree-lined road, from here to Sunset Retreat and the Blue Robin. “These all gonna be rentals, then? Every one of them? They’re gonna keep building?”

“Not right away. But yes, that’s the plan.” I stepped out of the car. “Thank you for the ride.” He nodded but kept his gaze down the long lane of uncleared lots.

I walked down the street, imagining the stream of people heading toward the party the night before—and then racing out, after the police arrived. I’d missed whatever happened in the aftermath, but it was obvious that people had left in a rush. The tire marks in the place where the grass met the road. The trash and debris left behind on the shoulder. An empty bottle. A pair of broken sunglasses.