Part One
Matilda
1
It was abad place to fall in love.
On the property called Hidden Beach, a wooden castle stood on a monstrous cliff. It was a place of
barbecues, sunblock, acoustic guitars, and midnight swims.
Oil paint, intrusive briars. Hungry dogs.
Drawings on skin, terrible lies, and
long afternoons at the edge of the sea.
The three boys who lived in the castle followed strange rules, fended for themselves, and became the whole world to each other, keeping their secrets locked in a tower. They were prisoners in an endless idyll.
There was something rotten there, like a bowl of beautiful berries gone putrid in the heat.
I was eighteen, a cold cup of tea, unwanted.
I had an arsenal of weapons.
I was the bringer of madness.
—
When he firstbegan building the castle on the cliff, my father’s friends traveled to see him. People slept in half-constructed towers and outbuildings. They even slept in tents on the lawn. They cooked clams in bonfires on the beach and threw themselves into the ocean waves on hungover mornings. The idea was that they’d live apart from the rest of the world, free of obligations and conventional beliefs.
Some of those friends didn’t leave for years. They took up lives in the towers and the pool house. They played guitar, wrote poetry, took photographs, and wove tapestries. They took drugs and raised children.
And they modeled for my father. He spent his days with paintbrush in hand, capturing the faces and bodies of his friends, the frenzy of the sea at his feet.
That’s all over now.
2
My name isMatilda Avalon Klein. I am the only child of Isadora Hirschel Klein.
My mother escaped her parents pretty young. They told her she was worthless and she disagreed. She spoke to them as little as possible when they were alive. It was better to keep away, and now they’re gone.
She and I have always been a family of two.
If I asked about a dad, Isadora told me we were better off without him and left it at that. The details never seemed important.
Then, midway through the summer after I graduate high school, my father introduces himself by email:
Matilda,
This is Kingsley Cello. I am an artist. I am your father.
I know I have never been in your life, but I’d like to change that.
There is a painting I want to give you. Please come see me at Hidden Beach for a visit.
I never even knew my father’s name until today. And maybe I should hate this guy Kingsley for never being around, for whatever he did to Isadora. But instead, his stilted note makes the world begin to hum.
