Evan looks dismayed at being called a child. “I guess so.”
She tilts the bottle in her hand. It’s filled with a pale liquid that glows with an odd rainbow sheen in the sunlight. “It must be dull for you, being here in the off-season,” she says. “Hardly anyone around. Except me. I’m here all the time.” She smiles. “I’m Mrs. Palmer. Anne Palmer. Feel free to stop by my house if you need anything.”
Evan doesn’t look like he’s about to speak so I do. “Thanks,” I say stiffly, thinking that she doesn’t look like an Anne. Anne is a plain, friendly name. “But we have everything we need.”
Her lips curl up slightly at the corners, like burning paper. “No one has everything they need.”
I reach to touch Evan on the shoulder. “We should get back to the house.”
But he ignores me; he’s looking at Mrs. Palmer. She’s still smiling. “You know,” she says, “you look like a nice, strong boy. I could use your help. I’ve got an old car—a classic, as they say—and it usually runs like a dream, but lately I’ve been having trouble starting it. Would you take a look at it for me?”
I wait for Evan to say that he doesn’t know anything about cars. I’ve certainly never heard him mention them as a special interest. Instead he says, “Sure, I could do that.”
Mrs. Palmer tilts her head back, and the sun glints off her hair. “Wonderful,” she says. “I can’t offer you much of a reward, but I’ve got a cold drink for you if you like.” The bottle in her hand sparks rainbows.
“Great.” Evan spares me only a single glance. “Tell the ’rents where I went, okay, Violet?”
I nod, but he doesn’t even seem to notice; he’s already heading toward the pink house with Mrs. Palmer. Evan never looks back at me, but she does; pausing at the gate, she glances back over her shoulder, her eyes skating over me in a thoughtful way that—despite the heat—sends a cold shiver racing up my spine.
Sunset comes and paints the sky over the ocean in broad stripes of coral and black. Damaris and the rest of the staff are setting the table on the porch. I sit at the edge of the pool, my feet in the water. I’ve been waiting for Evan to come up the steps for hours now, but he hasn’t appeared. Mom and Phillip are still sitting in their deck chairs, though Phillip has put down his book and they appear to be arguing in hushed, intense tones. I block them out, the way I always do when they fight, trying to concentrate on the sound of the sea instead. Everyone always says it sounds like the inside of a seashell, but I think it sounds like the beat of a heart, with its regular, pounding rhythm and the soft rush of water like the rush of blood through veins.