The Lies They Tell(41)

No one moved. The window powered down and a slice of Tristan’s face was visible in the dash glow. “I’m going out on the water,” he said. “Are you coming?” There was an edge to his voice Pearl had never heard before.

Bridges shared a look with Akil. “What about the girls? We can’t—”

“Bring them.”





Fourteen


“DID YOU DO it, man?” Akil faced Tristan as they drove. “Did you give their stuff away?”

“Some of it.”

“Why?”

Tristan reached down, raised a bottle from the floor. Vodka, with a pattern of migrating geese on the glass. He took a drink, handed it to Akil. “You know how it is. You’ve got to deal with these things.”

In the backseat, Pearl felt Hadley stiffen beside her; they were Quinn’s words, from the day of the regatta. Had he overheard the whole conversation? Pearl remembered all that had been said, the insensitivity of it, the flippancy she’d ignored while busy trying to pump the girls for information.

Akil drank, swore softly, looked out the window. “I saw them working on that house. Out in the garage. Cassidy was trying to get Joe into all that little stuff she liked.” He was quiet. “I gave her shit about it. Said dollhouses were for kids.”

“Miniatures,” Tristan said, “are for people who need the illusion of control. A world where they get to decide everything.”

On Pearl’s right, Bridges sat silently, tie loosened, hand open on the seat. He took the bottle as Akil passed it back.

“She had OCD,” Tristan said. “And an anxiety disorder. Did you even know that?”

Akil paused, said stubbornly, “She didn’t act like she did.”

“Because she was medicated. She had panic attacks that should’ve kept her off the stage, but it turns out they have pills for that, too.” He fell silent, downshifting as they reached the curve that led toward the waterfront, then spoke again, more quietly. “What better therapy than building a scale model of your life that you can smother under a sheet every night.”

Bridges spoke up. “But . . . she didn’t do any shows last summer. She actually got to hang out.”

“Do you know why last summer happened?” Impatience in Tristan’s voice. “Cassidy’s psychiatrist told our parents they had a choice. Let Cassidy take some time off now, or accept the possibility that she might not have a musical career beyond the age of seventeen. Burnout. Last summer was a test. Cassidy got a little length on her leash, that’s all.” He glanced at Akil. “You were a part of that. You think my father tried to get between you two? He tolerated your presence as a part of Cassidy’s treatment.” When he spoke next, his tone was soft, dismissive. “You were a tool.”

The silence was heavy. Something bumped Pearl’s knee, and she looked over to see Bridges holding the bottle out to her. She took it by the neck, her nostrils tingling with fumes.

Tristan pulled into the yacht club parking lot and cut the engine. Akil stared straight out his window.

“It wasn’t just the dollhouse,” Pearl said. “The vases and the Swiss clock, those came from your house, too. Stuff that survived the fire. You tricked people into buying their dead friends’ things.”

“They weren’t our friends. They were followers.”

She remembered the women in the bathroom, the casual, gossipy way they tore the Garrisons to shreds while freshening up. These were the friends who Sloane had lunched and shopped with, served on boards and committees with, whose husbands golfed and shot skeet with David.

“It’s good stuff.” Bridges’s voice was low, and she remembered the bottle in her hand. “It won’t make you cough or anything.”

She knew the attention of the front seat was on her, too, though in the rearview mirror she could see that Tristan’s eyes were on the dark water. She put the bottle to her lips and sipped, already anticipating the burn as she swallowed, the vapors flooding her sinuses. No big mystery there; she’d smelled enough of the stuff on Dad’s breath to know what it was like. She stuck the bottle back through the seats, and Akil grabbed it as he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

Hadley climbed out and lingered by the Bentley, letting the rest of them walk ahead toward the docks. “For real, where are we going?” She reached down and tugged at the sandal strap around the back of her ankle, laughing uncomfortably. “I mean—we’re going out on a boat now?”

“Yes.” Tristan didn’t turn.

“Yeah, you’ll never believe it, Had.” Akil tucked the bottle inside his jacket. “Boats come with these things called lights.” Backing up Tristan, as usual, as if Tristan hadn’t just cut him to the bone. Akil gave an impatient gesture for her to come on; when she caught up with him, he slung his arm over her shoulders.

They were taking Tristan’s speedboat. Pearl grabbed Bridges’s hand as he helped her aboard. “You guys?” Pearl said. “You didn’t answer her question. Where are we going? Or are we not supposed to ask?” No immediate response. “You really like your secrets, don’t you?”

“We do?” Bridges said, facing away from her as he untied the lines.

“The way you took off after we left the party on Little Nicatou? Into the darkness, under a shroud of mystery.” She sat down on the bench seat, studying the three of them.