“It’s my grandpa’s island, okay?”
“Right. You just use it to entertain a few hundred of your closest friends.” He tipped his head back and laughed. Pearl laughed with him; it was impossible not to. “How come I’ve never heard anything about this place belonging to the Spencers?”
“Gramps kept the deal pretty quiet. The family who owned it for, like, sixty years decided to sell, and I guess the old guy figured, why not? He loves Tenney’s Harbor. Been coming here ever since he was a kid.” He shrugged. “So, we own a big chunk of rock now. Don’t hold it against me.”
“Okay. I won’t. How long are you in town for?”
“Until August fifteenth. It’s just me this year. My mom and sisters usually come, but the girls wanted to go to some horseback riding camp in Kentucky this summer, so Mom sent them and stayed home to take a vacation from the family. It’s cool. They don’t really get this place the way Gramps and I do, anyway, why it’s special. Your turn.” She glanced over. “I said I wanted to get to know you.”
“Why?”
“Because you have the coolest eyes I’ve ever seen.” At her withering look, he planted his feet. “I’m not moving until you tell me something about yourself. Think about it. I’m your ride. You’ll be stuck on Little Nicatou forever.”
“Foraging for beer and canapés. Rough life.” She sighed, ruminating. “I graduated a couple weeks ago. I’m starting at the College of the Atlantic in the fall, keeping my job at the club.”
“Nice. I’m going to UMass, rushing Sigma Phi Epsilon.”
“I thought all you guys went Ivy League.”
“You mean guys with money? Nah. I mean, I’ve got an uncle who went to Stanford, he could pull strings. But we both know I don’t have what it takes.”
“Not like Tristan.” The words spoke themselves.
He snorted quietly. “You have no idea.” He flipped a mussel shell over with the toe of his sandal. “Anyway, it’s cool that you’re staying in the area. It’s beautiful here.” He paused. “Used to be like paradise, you know? Feels different this summer.” He shrugged. “I guess it should.”
She watched him. It was the first remark, indirect or otherwise, that she’d heard any summer person make about the Garrisons since the season began.
A knot of girls moved up the beach toward them, and now they stopped, heads together in conference. A tall, lanky blond girl stepped out and called, “Really, Bridges? Really.”
His expression froze. “Hey, ladies.”
The blonde marched over, dragging along a petite brunette with long, side-swept hair who looked like she wished she was anywhere else. “So, this is like compulsive behavior with you,” the blonde said. “New summer, new girl.”
“Not really your business, Quinn.” Bridges glanced at the brunette and said, “Hey, Had.”
“Hi.” Her voice was soft.
“It’s absolutely my business. My friend got her heart stomped on. I know how she feels, remember?” Quinn folded her arms. Pearl recognized the brunette: Hadley Kurtzweil. Her parents had let Dad go in an email this spring, claiming they’d “made other arrangements” for the caretaking of their home on Millionaires’ Row. “And FYI, watching you slobber all over your trailer-trash date is only like the biggest turnoff ever. So, yeah. I’d lose that.”
“Christ, Quinn, do you even hear yourself? Look, if you’ve got a problem, there’s the door.” He jerked his thumb at the water and stepped around her. “Nobody made you come tonight.”
“I happen to be hanging out with Hadley, if that’s okay with you. Unless you want to kick her off, too?”
Akil came up then, finishing his last beer. “Hey, girls. We’ve got a game of quarters going. Winner gets to sit on my lap. You in?” Quinn held her middle finger in his laughing face and left, pulling Hadley along.
Hadley called “Bye” to Bridges, who nodded before taking a deep breath and turning to Pearl.
“Uh, about all that.”
“No explanation needed.”
“I’m not some letch. I swear. I dated Hadley last summer, but it didn’t work out. She lives in Colorado during the year—”
“Seriously. I don’t want to know.”
“You dumped Quinn.” Akil sat heavily, tipping his bottle back. “That’s the real problem. That’s going to come back to haunt your ass forever.”
“We were fourteen.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should’ve waited until she dumped you.”
Pearl faced Bridges. “Anyway. I need to pee. I’m assuming you’ve got a bathroom up there?”
“Oh, yeah. Composting toilet and everything. Spared no expense.”
When she was halfway up the path, she glanced back. Bridges stood below, watching her. Once she stepped past a spray of spruce branches, he said something sharply to Akil and kicked sand at him.
The little A-frame cottage sat on a rocky outcropping, clam and mussel shells scattered over the walk and pressed whole into the mortar of the stone steps. Inside, tables were spread with food that had barely been touched.
As Pearl crossed the room, a woman solidified at the edge of her vision: midforties, dressed in a white blouse and apron, standing with her hands folded in front of her. Clearly some member of the Spencer help. For Pearl, it was like seeing herself run through age-progression software. “Hi,” Pearl said. The woman gave a slight nod, avoiding eye contact.
Afterward, still rubbing in hand sanitizer, Pearl went back down the path, sidestepping a reeling, giggling couple. She checked her phone. One missed call. Reese. It felt like years since they’d talked, and now she had all this fodder for conversation: the Night Pearl Went to a Posh Party and Survived. She hadn’t intended to tell him about it, at least not right away. But he’d called. Maybe he’d never had any plans with Indigo. Maybe she’d had no right to get so angry in the first place. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what those two were all about.
Her thumb was still poised over the screen when a light went on by the base of the cliff. A flickering, unreliable light, like a bulb not fully screwed into a socket. It was far enough away from the party that she stared. A doorway was visible, seemingly in the middle of nothingness, the glow spilling onto the beach.
Pearl continued down the path, then took a fork in the direction of the light. It was a stone boathouse, big enough to accommodate a large sailboat, the floor stained with rust. Someone stood inside, casting a long shadow as he circled beneath the bulb.
Tristan Garrison. Exploring, reaching up to trace his fingers over an ancient, cracked buoy slung over a hook. He held that position, arm outstretched, then sank into a crouch, fanning his hand through the debris scattered across the floor, crushed shells and sand. Pearl stood motionless, not daring to draw breath. Nothing on the floor was of interest, so he folded his arms across his knees and lowered his chin onto them, rocking back on his heels. She’d never seen him look that way, pulled into himself. Backing away, she slipped off her flip-flops and escaped on bare, silent feet.
When she got back, she found Bridges and Akil sitting around a fire pit. Bridges got to his feet as she came up, brushing sand off his shorts. “Did you get lost?”
“No.” Sitting, she hugged her knees, willing her heartbeat to slow down.
Bridges sat beside her, holding her token beer. “Want me to open this for you?” She let him have his moment with the twist-off. As he handed her the bottle, his expression changed. She followed his gaze to Tristan emerging from the boathouse. Bridges said, “I thought he wasn’t coming.”
For once, Akil didn’t have an answer.
By the time Tristan reached them, many of the partyers had faded back, found other places to be, other people to turn to. His separateness was a physical force; even Pearl had to fight down the need to make room. He stood looking at the fire, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. In the charged silence, Akil leaned forward. “S’up, man. Want a beer?”
“How’d you get here?” Bridges said. “Where’s your boat?”
“On the other side of the cliff.” Same tone as in the dining room, low, distracted.