THE WIND WAS high the next day, the sky pale blue, full of fast-moving clouds.
Pearl drove to the Spencer compound. She went down the road to the cottages, parking at the last one, the flags whipping and snapping on the pole. She didn’t wait for a response to her knock before letting herself in.
Bridges was making breakfast. Granola and a pitcher of milk sat on the island; some housekeeper or other minion had delivered a fresh carafe of coffee. Most of him was hidden by the fridge door, and he straightened up, surprised. “Whoa. Is it ten thirty already?”
It was barely nine. After a night of fractured anxiety dreams, and a restless morning of watching the clock after Dad left for work, she couldn’t wait anymore. She wanted the words out of her, the weight of them gone. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town when the Garrisons were killed?”
He straightened slowly, his arm still resting across the top of the fridge door. He wore a white undershirt, blue plaid boxers. He set a little sterling silver pot of cream down beside the carafe. “What?”
“You were here. On the night before Christmas Eve.”
Bridges didn’t move. “Who told you that?”
“So you admit it.”
He laughed, a strained sound, shoving his hair back from his face as he added cream to his mug, wiping a drop off the counter. “Well, it’s not like it’s a secret. I didn’t lie to you.”
She shut her eyes for a moment. “How could you not say anything?”
“Because. I didn’t think it was important, I guess. My family visits Gramps for the holidays every other year. I talked to the cops when they interviewed everybody else on Cove Road. It’s not like I’m a witness or something.”
Pearl bit her lip. “Were you in love with her?” His gaze moved slowly, resting on her. “Or maybe she was in love with you and you let her be, because it got you what you wanted.”
“What—”
“No, be quiet a second, I’m trying to figure this out. You’re the reason they came back to Tenney’s Harbor for Christmas, right? You got Cassidy to ask her parents, so the two of you could hook up.”
His lips parted soundlessly; he cleared his throat, tried again. “That’s not how it was.”
“You were cheating on Hadley and Cassidy was cheating on Akil last summer. You’re the reason Cassidy ended it with him.”
Bridges rested one palm on the counter edge, the other on the island, studying the floor. “Do I get to say something now?” When she stayed silent, he looked up. “You’re making it sound like this terrible thing. We didn’t plan any of it.”
“That makes it okay?”
“We figured out how we felt about each other last summer. She was around more because of Akil, and—it just happened, all right?” He exhaled heavily. “We used to meet at Little Nicatou. She told me she’d liked me for a long time, and I thought she was . . . amazing. But she was always practicing and performing, and I always had a girlfriend. Until last summer.”
“You’re calling Hadley a friend with benefits? Because I think she’d be surprised to hear that.”
“I didn’t like doing that to Had, okay? She’s a nice girl. And I broke it off with her eventually. It’s not like I kept leading her on. Cassidy was all wrong for Akil, anyway, everybody knew it. We did what we were supposed to do at the end of the summer.”
“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.
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.