Tighter (5 page)

I’d been born three years after Uncle Jim died, and I’d only met Hank once, at a long-ago holiday party. Yet they’d both known exactly what it was like for me that night, when I’d stood outside Mr. Ryan’s door, unable to breathe, buried alive in the avalanche of the moment.

“Who is it?” the woman had called. I’d gotten a glimpse of a brunette in a twinset.

“Some kid needs directions.” Mr. Ryan was already turning away from me.

The shut of the door, the slide of the bolt. I’d stumbled to my car. In motion, my humiliation turned liquid; my eyes were swimming in it and my brain was toxic with it until I got home and dropped a couple of muscle relaxants—one more than I’d been prescribed. I went to bed and let the bath of anesthesia wash over me. Lying numb and motionless, I let my mind slip into the quietest room of myself, and I thought absently of bridges and pills, of filling the tub and drowsing into the courage to slice.

I hadn’t. I hadn’t sunk my blade or looked beneath the kitchen sink. Instead, I’d fallen asleep. But late that night, Uncle Jim and Hank had come to me for the first time. They couldn’t reason with me. They didn’t even want to. But they didn’t want me to be completely alone, either, if I decided to do it for real. They were family, after all.

That’s why they were here now.

“Go away,” I whispered. “I hardly thought about anything today. It was only a three-pill day, besides. I’m good.” At least until the pills ran out.

this is no place for help for you this is no place for you

Their thoughts kept ghosting my brain waves, over and over, like a skipping needle on a dusty record.

this is no place for help for you this is no place for you

“Jamie!”

Now my eyes opened for real.

“Jamie!” Her breath was hot on my face. “Sorry to wake you up, but I had a really bad dream!”

“Isa.…” Groggy, I propped myself on an elbow. “What do you want?”

“I want to get in.” So I flipped back the sheet, and she crawled into bed beside me. She smelled like apple shampoo. “I’m still scared.” Her eyes fretted through the dark to meet mine. “Is it safe here?”

“Of course it’s safe.” Though I sensed it, too, a smell of burning and then a flicker in my vision that made me bolt up, spine locked and loaded with fresh pain.

“What?” whispered Isa. “What do you see?”

Nothing. “Nothing. Go to sleep.”

Except that someone had been here. Not Uncle Jim, not Hank. Someone else. Watching me from the far corner, by the bookshelf. My pounding heart was sure of it, someone who had left as quickly as he’d entered
Jack be nimble Jack be quick Jack jump over the candlestick
and I thought I detected a whiff of tobacco smoke, faint and fading to nothing, as I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and then snapped on the lamp, squinting into its bright surge.

No. Whatever, whoever, if anything had been here, it was gone now.

Isa was already asleep again. She hadn’t even reacted when the light had switched on.

I snapped it off. Isa’s breath was a gentle rise and fall, but as I dropped back on my pillow, her fingers crawled and hooked me at the shoulder as she bumped her forehead against mine, murmuring words too quiet for me to hear.

Then her arm fell like a branch across my neck. Uncomfortable, but I let it be, rather than risk disturbing her.

SIX

I woke late the next morning. Isa was gone. My head felt thick, my body reluctant. I rolled from bed and forced myself to draw the curtains.

In the morning sun, the mark was harshly visible on the carpet.

A cold shiver passed over me. Here it was—my evidence. On instinct, I quickly backed away, my eyes never leaving the mark as I first observed it from a distance, and then approached carefully, as if it might bite. I rubbed at it with my big toe. Then knelt and touched a finger to it. Sniffed.

It looked and smelled like a cigarette burn. But whose? Was it Milo, spying on me and leaving proof? Or maybe there was someone else who lived here, like a boarder? Except that Connie hadn’t mentioned anyone like that, and she tended to get very MEGO and persnickety when discussing the details of the house.

Maybe there was a boarder she didn’t want me to know about.

Only one thing to do. Today, I’d take a tour. Top to bottom. I’d uncover the hidden staircases and revolving bookshelves, the cloak-and-dagger nooks and crannies. I should have done that yesterday. It would be my first project after breakfast.

Isa had other plans. “Morning, sleepyhead!” She waved a piece of toast. “Connie says you can take me to the beach.” She was ready to go, too, in a bikini printed with cherries, along with a scarf that pinned her hair back from her face.

“How about later, when it cools down? The sun looks fierce.”

“Except everyone’s there
now
.” Isa frowned. “It’s only six miles. Connie says we can use her car.”

“Um …” As the au pair, did I have to do whatever Isa wanted? Mom had sworn that au pairing was a way for teenagers to make money while doing things they’d have done anyway. But I didn’t want to go to the beach. On the other hand, Isa looked so hopeful that it was hard to disappoint her.

Connie, busy at the kitchen sink, nodded to the fruit smoothie she’d prepared for me, and then returned to sudsing the blender.

“Thanks.” I chugged it as Isa pleaded and persisted.

“Please, Jamie? Hey, and I bet Milo’ll come with us,” she said, loping after me up the stairs and back to my room. My heart was playing scales, wondering if the mark would still be there, or if by some wild possibility it had been a trick of the eye. “Pul-eeze? We’re members of Green Hill Beach Club, so we’ve got a cabana for changing and storage. We can go to the Mud Hut for lunch. And there’s a big pool plus a kiddie pool, but last summer someone pooped in the kiddie one, so I never—”

“Look. Look there.”

Isa followed my pointing finger to the mark. “Ooh, Jamie, you might get in trouble for that. Smoking
and
wrecking our nice rug.” She paused. Then added, softly, “That’s just like
him
. Something he would do.”

“Just like who?”

“Jessie’s old boyfriend.” She went right to the mark and tamped at it in the same way that I had, with her big toe. “But that burn looks fresh, so it’s your fault.”

“It wasn’t me. And Milo smokes, too,” I reminded her.

“No,” she answered. “He does not.”

“Yes, he does.”

“You can’t just go and blame your mistakes on poor Milo.”

I didn’t want to get into it with her. “Who else lives at Skylark?”

“Only us four now,” said Isa. “The blue room’s our best. Most everyone’s put in the yellow room down the hall. But Dad told Connie to put you here. He wanted you closer to me.”

“What about Jessie? Was she in the yellow room?”

“No, Jessie lived with her mom and dad. Only this summer, Mr. and Mrs. Feathering shut up Crescent House and went to Italy. Can we go to the beach now?”

“Give me ten minutes.” I snatched my bathing suit and shorts from the drawer and went to the bathroom to shower and change, then encore-shaved my legs and bikini line at the sink. I didn’t want to show up at Green Hill Beach Club looking like some hairy yokel.

Carefully, I tracked the razor up and down, keeping focus, as my mind shuffled the possibilities. Who would possibly want to spy on me? Could Dr. Hugh have sent someone, or maybe he and Connie had decided to—

“Ooooooooh!” Isa’s squeal interrupted my thoughts. I dropped the razor and dashed out to find her hopping up and down at my window. “Dad’s Porsche is parked out front. I wonder who did that?” She smirked at me. “I think it happened earlier, when you were drinking your smoothie and I went to the bathroom. Which means yay, right? Which means we’re going to the beach, right?”

I looked. The lollipop-red sports car was adorable. And Milo, hunkered like a vintage James Dean poster behind the wheel, looked like he was meant for it.

“Your brother doesn’t have his driver’s license,” I said. “What’s he doing? Would he really take out the car?”

Isa shot me a wondering look. “No! He wouldn’t dare.” Then she yanked up the window glass. “Hey, hotshot!”

“Hey, yourself,” Milo called up. “I was hoping you potatoes would roll.”

I was down the stairs and out the front door in a snap. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Before you issue a warrant, all I wanted was to test-drive her down Bush Road.” Milo raised his hands in defense. “Unless you’ll do the honor?”

“Just get out.”

He swung out leisurely and then leaned against the door, as cocky as a car salesman.

“Yes!” squeaked Isa, joining up. “Let’s go!”

“I’m sure your dad doesn’t want me to drive this. It probably costs a million dollars just to change the oil.”

“He let Jessie drive it,” said Isa. Which was exactly what I’d hoped she’d say.

Connie was standing in the door. “If you’re gonna go to the trouble of taking the Porth outta the garage without permithion, the leatht you can do ith drive Itha to the beach,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind thome peath.” And when she went back inside, her slam made its own point.

Isa was already strapping herself into a tiny bucket backseat. Milo sauntered around to the front passenger side and opened the door. “Go west, baby!”

Such a gorgeous machine. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to drive it. The key slid into the ignition like a Cinderella slipper.
Ah, what the hell.

As Skylark receded from my rear view, I kept grip on the wheel. Hunched so close I could have licked it. Milo found an indie radio station that I’d have picked myself, and then it was hard not to accelerate as the ocean breeze livened my senses.

“Connie didn’t even yell at your brother for sneaking out the car,” I shouted to Isa, with a sidelong glance at Milo, who was tipped back in the sun, all haughty profile and closed eyes. “What’s his secret?” Connie hadn’t challenged Milo on anything, come to think of it. Not on getting kicked out of camp. Or on his bad table manners, or making fun of her lisp. Nothing.

“My secret,” said Milo, “is I’m a badass.”

“Milo’s secret,” added Isa, “is that Connie’s scared of him.”

“Because I’m a badass,” said Milo, brushing his hand across my knee as he adjusted the volume.

“Shoo.” I swatted him off. And while I didn’t believe that Connie was scared of Milo, I could see that she kept a wary distance from non-housekeeperly issues. She made the meals, cleaned up, arranged flowers, tended her kitchen garden and stayed in her tidy world. And that was fine by me.

Soon we were flying. The speedometer trembled to forty, fifty, sixty. I turned up the volume. “I love this song.”

“Who doesn’t?” But I knew Milo was impressed I’d kicked it up a notch, and the conflict twisted in me.
Don’t be a show-off, Jamie.
Whatever. No doubt everyone showed off for Milo. He was that kind of kid. It didn’t mean anything.
So if it means nothing, then stop.

“Jessie drove crazy fast, too.” Isa’s hair was whipping like long black ribbons in the wind. “She was fun just like you.”

Instantly I let the speedometer fall and set my hands at three and nine. “Sit back, Isa,” I reprimanded.

Green Hill Beach Club looked the way it sounded, whitewashed and trying too hard to be unpretentious. An American flag plus a yellow and blue
G.H.B.C.
one flapped in kinship from a single flagpole. Past the gates, the club was overstaffed with tanned kids breezing through their summer jobs. Slack-jawed parking valet, cell-phone-texting card swiper, iPod-bopping cabana attendant.

A kick-back bunch
, Miles McRae had attested. I didn’t see it.

They weren’t
un
friendly, but something was off. It wasn’t just me. I got a lingering glance from the iPod kid. As we passed the pools, a straw-hatted woman leaned up from her chaise and whispered to her friend. Who flapjacked over and watched us. Next was the goggle-eyed fry cook at the Mud Hut.

“Why are people checking us out like we might be visiting space aliens?” I whispered as we took off down the boardwalk that hugged the dunes to an oceanfront dotted with beach umbrellas in club colors of yellow and blue.

Milo pulled his baseball cap lower over his face.

“Jessie,” answered Isa.

“Jessie, your babysitter who died in a car crash Jessie?”

“Plane crash,” she corrected. “It hasn’t even been a year. It’s still on people’s minds, I guess. It happened right off the coast. They showed the wreckage on CNN. Peter died, too. Seemed like the whole island went to the funerals.” She took a breath.

“Peter was her boyfriend?”

Isa nodded. “I hate talking about it. I miss them. Are you sad, Miley? Is it lame to hold hands?” When he didn’t answer, she stuck up her chin, and I could tell he’d wounded her. “Fine, be that way. Mr. Badass.”

So I let my own hand drop and rest a moment on the back of Isa’s neck, as much to get my own bearings as to offer her comfort. Two deaths, not one. The fact of it overwhelmed me. Would I have come here if I’d known it beforehand? At least I should’ve had a choice in the matter. Miles McRae might have warned me—at least in a footnote or a P.S. No matter how checked out McRae might be from his kids’ lives—according to Connie, the guy wasn’t even planning to come back from Hong Kong until Labor Day—he owed telling me.

Finding out this way was not normal. I couldn’t help but think it was a deliberately kept secret.

We reached the beach. The crash of the surf made an unfriendly sound, and the horizon looked hard and dark as stone. Milo staked the spot for me to plant and grind the club umbrella as Isa snapped flat three beach towels. “Sunblock me?” she asked. “I’ve got fifty proof in my bag. Then Milo.”

“Just you,” I said. “You can do Milo’s sunblock yourself.” And I spread it like primer paint over her shoulders and back.

Milo took the farthest towel and made a show of flexing, sending a toned ripple across his shoulders. Posing for me, before he launched onto his stomach. He was flirting on purpose. Milo was a devil, a tease. He wanted to see if I’d bite. Probably testing to see if he could bring back some hot story to his posh Boston prep school.