The Lies They Tell(63)
“Except tell the truth. Because that would’ve been too messy, right?”
“Well . . . yeah.” His expression was pained, indignant. “Akil was wrecked after she dumped him. If he’d known it was because of me, it would’ve ruined everything. This place, the summer. I mean, we were going to tell people about us when we all came back together in June. But until then, it seemed better to . . .” At once, his eyes were damp, and he turned away from her, looking down.
Pearl stood there, hands clenched, uncertain how to push forward. “Did you know about all the stuff she was dealing with? The panic attacks?”
He nodded, his voice slightly hoarse when he spoke next. “I was the only person she told. She was embarrassed. She didn’t want everybody knowing about the pills. Some of it was performance pressure, but mostly it was her family. She said nobody knew how bad it was. I tried to get her to talk about it, but she didn’t want to.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “God. When Gramps got the call, saying there’d been a fire at their house . . .” He paused, then spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. “We were supposed to meet the next day.”
Empathy flooded in, the last thing she wanted to be feeling right now. “And you never told anybody.”
Bridges went to the table and sat, hands dangling between his knees. “The cops know. They found some of our texts and stuff when they went through Cassidy’s accounts. But that’s as far as it went. Nobody else knows. Not even Tristan.” He didn’t move for a long time. “She said I made her feel safe.”
Pearl couldn’t look at him for a moment after that, her righteous anger spent in an instant after a glimpse of his pallid, still face. She sat down across from him, speaking quietly. “Was that what this was all about? You and me? Why you came after me so hard. Because I’m the opposite of Cassidy Garrison, and you were trying to forget.”
He stared at the tabletop. “I really like you, Pearl. I mean it. I never lied about that.”
It was about as clear a yes as she was going to get. From concert pianist to townie waitress over the course of six months: talk about a downgrade. “You should’ve told me about you guys.” Fists hammering on the other side of a door, ready to tear it off its hinges to get to Cassidy. “It was important.”
“Why?” His tone was soft, incredulous.
“Because it might have something to do with what happened.”
“You think somebody did that because of us?” He pushed back from the table, shaking his head hard. “No. No way. Nobody could care that much.”
“How do you know? How do you know Akil never found out? If I did, anybody could.” She stood. “Maybe it was more about killing one of them. Like, just Cassidy. Maybe the rest of the family was collateral damage or something to cover it up.”
“What are you going to do?” Bridges followed her. “Look, nobody has to know—it’s not going to help anything. If there was some connection there, the cops would’ve found it—”
“I just need to go, Bridges, okay?”
“Pearl, don’t tell. Please.” He was on her heels right up to the door, where he caught it just before it struck him, standing at the threshold, watching her take the steps two at a time. “At least tell me who told you.”
She yanked her car door open. “Somebody with a good reason.”
For a time, she drove aimlessly, so distracted that she nearly cruised through a red light down on Ocean. She found herself heading to Narragansett Way, not sure what she was going to do even as she reached Tristan’s driveway and found it empty.
She pulled in and parked, staring up at the house, replaying the conversation with Bridges in her head, punishing herself with the details. She thought of the little club, Cassidy’s miniature world, the one she would’ve associated most with Bridges. Watching him at the pool, the tennis courts, crushing on him but too trapped by her own life to do anything about it. Pearl checked her phone; already two missed calls and two voice mails from Bridges. And one missed call from Reese.
That one she returned. “Hey. Indy said you stopped by yesterday.” He sounded like he’d woken up not long ago. “Sorry I missed you.”
“Me too.” There was an almost reverent pause; all that had happened between them over the last forty-eight hours deserved that. “I really just wanted to say sorry. You were right. I ran out on you the other night.”
“It’s okay. It was a lot all at once.” She could almost see him sitting there, slightly rumpled from sleep, treading as carefully as he knew how to try not to wound her. And again, she felt on the verge of tears. “We’re cool now, right? You’re not secretly pissed and plotting against me?”
She laughed, hoping he couldn’t hear the lump in her throat. “We’re good.”
“Nothing’s going to change, Haskins. You know that.”
It was changing now, hearing Indigo’s words filtered back through him, having to wonder if the two of them had sat together and discussed her last night. A few raindrops splattered the windshield, and she looked up to see a partially clouded sky, much of the blue now lost behind gray patchwork. “I wish we could have a do-over for this summer, you know? I wish I could erase . . . I just never meant for us to fight.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, felt dampness at the corners of her eyes. “If I’d known how much it would bother you—seeing me hang out with those kind of people—I would’ve dropped the whole thing.” She wished to God she had, now. She wished she’d never found out about Bridges and Cassidy, about cheating and lies and what lay beneath the glossy veneer of the summer kids’ world.