The Lies They Tell(64)
Reese was quiet a moment. “You know, my dad’s one of those people, Pearl.” He laughed drily. “He doesn’t have their money, but he spends like he does. Everything’s got to be the best. Got to be seen in the right company, you know? At the same time, he’s using cards to pay off cards, and leaving Jovia hanging for all the support money he owes her.” He paused. “I hate cheap, rich bastards.”
They laughed together, releasing a burst of tension; she’d never wanted him with her so badly. “Are you on tomorrow?”
“You know it.”
“Then I’ll see you.” She waited for the disconnect. She didn’t want to be the first one to say good-bye.
She checked her other accounts quickly, found a message waiting from Mom. Just checking in. Call me when you get the chance. Pearl brought up the keypad, started to respond, then closed out. Later. Tonight. She’d get back to her tonight for sure.
Tristan’s car wasn’t parked at the club. Pearl backtracked to the Row and drove up to the shell of the Garrison estate, but no Bentley. She knew of only one other place worth checking.
An occasional raindrop splashed her skin as she walked the yacht club dock, pulling on the hoodie she’d left draped over the tennis racket in her backseat. Tristan’s Rivelle bobbed in its slip, unoccupied. She stood for a moment, watching it, cupping her elbows, then remembered the Islander.
The yachts were moored at the end of the dock, row after row of cruising vessels, some she recognized from the day of the regatta. Starchaser, Penobscot Princess. The Cassidy Claire was one of the last, and it seemed abandoned until she reached the edge of the deck and saw Tristan crouching, his back to her, using a compound pad to wax the boat’s hardware with detailer.
He heard her approach and straightened up in the wind, his polo shirt rippling around him.
She raised her voice. “I had to see you.” She stood there, wondering how much damage she’d done by leaving him the other night, if he’d want to hear anything she had to say at this point. “It’s about Bridges. And Cassidy.”
After a moment, Tristan stepped back, watching her come aboard. Now that she had his ear, she could barely find the words. “He begged me not to tell anyone, but . . . I thought you should know.”
By the time she was done, Tristan was standing back against the mast, gripping a line, his eyes narrowed against the wind. “The police already know about this?”
“Bridges said they did. But he could’ve been lying again. He’s good at that.” She shifted, refolded her arms. “We don’t have to tell anyone else, if you don’t want to. I mean, I understand if you don’t want Akil to find out. And Hadley would be hurt. I just didn’t want to be the only one who knew.” There was Indigo, of course, but her name would never come into it, at least not from Pearl’s lips. “Should we go to the cops?”
“Probably.” He brushed his fingers across his brow, tossed the compound pad onto the deck beside the bottle of detailer and a dry bag of gear, and stared off at the bay. “I’ll call them.”
She stayed quiet, wandering around the deck, running her hand over the railing. “It really is a beautiful boat,” she said absently.
Tristan glanced back, wiping his hands off on a rag. “Do you want to take it out?”
She squinted at the sky. “Do you know what it’s supposed to be like later?”
“Scattered showers, some wind. Nothing serious. We’ll bring her back in if it gets bad.”
Leaving land behind sounded wonderful. Her only regret was that, eventually, she’d have to come back. She remembered his big bed in the darkened room, the pounding of shower spray against tiles; this time, she said yes.
Twenty-Three
THEY WENT OUT into the bay, sailing as they had done the day of the regatta: Pearl trimming the sails, Tristan at the helm. They didn’t speak much. It was a relief, not having to do anything but read the changes in the wind and watch the water spread out before them.
They passed Little Nicatou. It was impossible not to imagine Bridges and Cassidy meeting there, maybe sitting on the lip of the boathouse as Pearl had done with him that morning. Telling each other how they felt, touching for the first time. Pearl thought of Bridges’s white, agonized face this morning, pleading with her to keep his secret, not to ruin everything. Watching Tristan’s back, she couldn’t say if it was guilt bothering her, or maybe, deep down, a case of wounded pride. Was she that petty? Was she really upset because it turned out that Bridges had always controlled what they shared, using her to fill the hole left by a girl whose act Pearl could never hope to follow?
The wind pushed them northwest, into open water. The rain started to spit faster, speckling Pearl’s face and lashes; she put up her hood. The sky had gone from patchwork to solid oyster gray.
Tristan locked the wheel into autopilot and came forward. “If you want a rain jacket, I’ve got some below.” He paused. “We could have a drink. If you’re interested.”
She shifted, glancing up at the sails, the telltales fluttering. “We’re okay to leave her for a second?”
“It’ll be fine. Nothing out here but waves.”
He held the cabin door for her, and she ducked under his arm, aware of their closeness as they started down together. Telling herself she wanted this, that uncertainty was all a part of it.