Siren (21 page)

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friends and more-than-friends, or that I had no idea where that left us now. I wasn't paralyzed with shock or regret that I'd done something so forward, so unlike me, with anyone, let alone the one person I didn't want to lose.

What made me focus silently on the lake through the window instead of making small talk was that it was nine o'clock. It was nine o'clock, and I wasn't blinking away visual remnants of last night's nightmares. Which meant that for the first time in a long time, I'd slept eight uninterrupted hours.

"I think we're too late."

My head snapped toward Simon. "Too late?"

He stood next to the closed bedroom door, tilted his head, and listened. I heard it then, too: dishes clanking downstairs.

I jumped out of bed and threw my clothes on, wondering what Caleb would think of our entering the kitchen together. I figured it'd be a shock, since the idea of Simon and me together like that definitely wouldn't have occurred to anyone, but I hoped it wouldn't be hurtful, too. What if seeing us together triggered fresh, painful memories of Justine? What if he felt betrayed and ran off again? What if--

"Eggs?"

I froze in the kitchen doorway. If Caleb was shocked, hurt, or betrayed, he didn't show it. He sat at the table, which was now clear of the broken ceramic pieces Simon and I had left there the night before, eating breakfast and reading.

"They're on the stove," Caleb said without looking up from his book. "OJ's in the fridge."

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Taking a glass of juice from Simon, I sat across from Caleb. He'd washed the brown dye out of his hair and, after eating and sleeping, already appeared stronger, healthier.

"It's pretty early," Simon said. "You must still be tired. Don't you want to get some more sleep?"

"Nope," Caleb said, closing the book.

I slid
The Complete History of Winter Harbor
toward me when Caleb pushed it aside. Flipping through, I searched for passages about strange Winter Harbor weather patterns, unexplained deaths, and smiling victims.

"So after we call the cops, I think we should confront her directly."

Simon sat next to me. "We can't call the cops yet. We only have suspicions, not proof. And how can we confront her? What are we going to say? 'Hey, Zara, I know what you did this summer'?"

"Pretty much," Caleb said. "Vanessa can hang back and pretend to be a tourist with a digital camcorder so we can record the guilt on her face."

"Cal," Simon said patiently, "I understand you're angry, but we have to give this a little more thought. If we're too rash, we could scare her off before we get any answers. Plus, you said you can't be near her without her messing with your head. What makes you think you'll even be able to talk to her?"

They continued to debate the issue as I scanned the history books. Oliver certainly knew a lot about Winter Harbor--his research went back centuries--but there was no mention of

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bodies washing mysteriously onshore. I also looked for passages about the Marchands, but found only one small paragraph about the founding of Betty's Chowder House.

"Why don't I talk to Paige?" I said several minutes later. My face grew warm when they turned to me. Despite the current topic, I couldn't help but wonder if Simon thought of last night when he looked at me now, and whether Caleb could sense what had happened.

"Aren't those two really tight?" Caleb asked.

"That's exactly why I want to talk to her," I said. "And don't worry--I wouldn't say anything about yesterday, or about Justine. Paige is pretty open, so I don't think I'd have to push too hard to find out if Zara's been acting stranger than normal lately."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Hang on," Simon said, shooting Caleb a look. "I don't--
we
don't--want to do anything that could pull her attention to you."

I didn't really want her focused on me either, but for some reason, I thought I could handle it better today than I could've even twenty-four hours before. "I'll be fine. I'll do it this morning, when they're both at work. Zara can't do anything in a public place, surrounded by tons of people."

"Okay," Simon said after a pause. "But we're going with you. We're staying together until this is resolved."

"Fair enough," I said.

"I'm going to charge my iPod." Caleb stood from the table and shot Simon a look. "You should bring yours, too."

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After Caleb left the room, Simon and I silently cleared the table. I wondered if he was mad at me for wanting to talk to Paige--or, worse, if he regretted what had happened last night. I tried to summon the same nerve that had enabled me to do everything I'd done only hours before. I would simply ask what was going on. I'd ask if he regretted it, and when he said that he did, I would promise that I was totally fine with just being friends. It could be like nothing happened, if that was what he wanted.

After starting the dishwasher, I looked at him. He leaned against the counter, watching me. I grabbed the counter to keep from running to him and held on tight until he reached out one hand.

"Vanessa," he said, pulling me to him, "last night was ..."

"I know," I said, relieved. "I mean, I'm glad you think so, too."

He put his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "I think, though ... that maybe we shouldn't let it happen again. At least not now."

I froze, then pulled back.

"It's not that I don't want it to," he said quickly, his face flashing concern. "Believe me. It's just that it might be too much, too soon for Caleb. I'd hate for him to feel worse than he already does."

Thinking there had to be another reason, that this was just an excuse to hide his regret, I tried to come up with an argument. But I couldn't. Because he was right--it wasn't fair. Regardless

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of what I wanted, Caleb had been through enough, and we would only remind him of what he'd lost.

"I should go," I said finally. "I'll come back after I shower."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I was out the door before he could.

I hurried across the Carmichaels' backyard, and then ours, barely noticing the early-morning lake activity or feeling my stomach turn. Maybe the timing wasn't right ... but that didn't mean that what we'd done was a mistake. It didn't mean it shouldn't have happened. Simon and I shouldn't feel guilty, or regretful, or--

I stopped short. I'd just crossed the deck and entered our house, and it was too quiet. I didn't remember turning off the TV and radio ... but maybe that was just because I'd been too excited to meet Simon at the library the day before. Deciding that was it, I headed for the kitchen.

"Sleep well?"

I froze in the doorway. "Mom?"

She sat at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her. A cup of coffee sat next to her BlackBerry and car keys. She stared at the computer screen and pretended to read without looking at me. "I heard there was quite a storm last night. I know how you hate storms, so I'm sure you didn't sleep a wink."

"What are you doing here?"

She took the coffee from the table, sat back, and looked at me.

"I told you I was fine. I hope you didn't cancel any important

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meetings to drive up here and take me back to Boston, because I'm not going."

Her perfectly glossed lips turned up. "You did tell me you were fine. You also told me you were sleeping well. So you can imagine how surprised I was to get here before dawn this morning and find your father's car not in our driveway, but in the driveway next door."

"We got back late," I said, my face burning. "They invited me over for dinner, and since it was already raining, it was just easier to park there than here."

"They?" Mom's face relaxed. "Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael are back from Vermont?"

I looked down.

"Vanessa?"

"No ... but it's not what you think." Even though it was probably
exactly
what she thought. "We just fell asleep watching movies."

"Forgive me, Vanessa--I didn't sleep last night and only had one cup of coffee this morning. I want to make sure I'm getting this right." She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You're telling me that after
weeks
of making me worry about your being here all by yourself, and not calling me back or answering your phone all day yesterday, that you're completely fine? That you were fine enough last night to watch movies with Simon Carmichael, even if his brother is responsible--"

"Don't say it." I stepped into the kitchen. "Caleb isn't responsible for what happened to Justine. He loved her more than

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anyone. He wouldn't have done anything to hurt her."

"Vanessa, please. Too much time alone in the wilderness has obviously taken a toll. If he and your sister had any kind of relationship, it was a meaningless mutual crush. It meant nothing. If you think whatever you have going on with Simon is any different, I'm sorry to say you're a very confused little girl."

I stared at her. "Where's Dad?"

She pressed one manicured hand to her forehead. "Your father is in Boston."

I strode across the kitchen and grabbed the phone from the wall.

"What are you doing? This conversation isn't over."

"Dad understands," I said, dialing quickly.
"He
didn't come because he knows I needed time. He knows this was what I needed to do. And since you obviously don't get it, maybe he can try explaining it to you again."

I turned away from her as the phone rang on the other end. It rang once, twice, three times. After six rings, I hung up and tried again.

"No answer." It wasn't a question.

I hung up and walked past her, out of the kitchen.

"I'm not going anywhere, Vanessa," she called after me. "If you want to stay here all summer, that's fine by me. The deck will make a lovely home office."

I grabbed my duffel bag from the downstairs bedroom and dragged it into the bathroom. I showered quickly but took longer than usual getting dressed. I'd never paid attention to what

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I wore when Simon and I hung out, but today was different.
I
was different. I wanted him to know that, even if circumstances kept us apart. Also, if I'd learned anything from watching Justine get ready for countless dates, it was that the right clothes and makeup could mean the difference between leaving a lasting impression and none at all.

Of course, I'd had no idea before leaving Boston that I'd have reason to wear anything other than jeans, shorts, T-shirts, and sweatshirts in Maine. My options limited, I finally decided on a clean pair of jeans, a white tank top, and a fitted purple cardigan. My footwear selection was also limited, so the best I could do was switch from sneakers to flip-flops. I left my hair loose to air dry and put on mascara and lip gloss--which I happened to have only because Justine had insisted I always carry them in my purse, just in case.

When I was done, I looked in the mirror above the sink. I almost expected to see flashes of silver surround my reflection, just as I had the morning Simon had shown up before we went to the Winter Harbor Marina. When they weren't there, I was almost disappointed.

Back in the kitchen, Mom was still at the table. She didn't look up from her laptop as I passed. "I'm not going to chain you to the couch to get you to stay. But you can at least tell me where you're going."

I paused with my hand on the door. That was it? Even Dad put up a bigger fight when he was unhappy with me. "Betty's," I said without turning around.

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She sipped her coffee. "Dinner's at six. Call if you're going to be late."

I opened my mouth to tell her that I would be back when I was back, and that I'd been managing to eat all on my own ... but then closed it. There were several other people whose company I would've preferred to Mom's, but the thought of her being there--of
someone
being there--when I got back wasn't entirely terrible.

Simon and Caleb were ready and waiting for me on the front porch by the time I reached their yard.

"Sorry it took so long," I said, quickening my pace. "I had a surprise visitor."

Simon looked toward our driveway. His eyes grew wide when he spotted the BMW.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere--at least not yet. I think she just needed to see me in person to believe that I hadn't fallen off the planet." I peered behind Simon, at Caleb. He sat in a wicker chair, eyes closed and head bobbing. "Is he okay?"

"I think so. And he seems to think that Green Day will help keep him that way."

We were quiet on the drive to town. Caleb listened to his iPod and stared out the window in the backseat. Simon focused on the road ahead. And I thought about what I would ask Paige, feeling less sure about everything the closer we got to Betty's. It was one thing to imagine talking to Paige with Zara nearby while safe in the Carmichaels' kitchen, but it was definitely another to actually do so.