I tried to pretend that I thought my sister was innocent.
I tried to pretend that I didn’t think about Clarice Fernweh and her two locked-away children almost every minute of every day.
I tried to keep my promise to Annabella:I will find who did this.
That promise seeped into my dreams.
I was in the barn again, only this time it was filled with water, and this time my sister was drowning. I woke up choking, terrified, and I went to see Harrison that evening—to inform him of my renewed sense of purpose, my rekindled desire to clear not only my sister’s name but now mine as well.
And I was genuinely surprised when Prue answered.
With everything going on, Prudence Lowry had been mostly removed from the forefront of my mind. But now, standing before me in a simple striped cotton dress, her mouth opened in surprise, her hands holding what smelled like a cup of peppermint tea, I felt a rush of affection, a rush of hope, and a rush of...
Something else. Because Prue wasn’t looking like she was that happy to see me. In fact—it was kind of the exact opposite.
I felt my heart sink to somewhere around my stomach as it occurred to me that Prue might be of the same mind-set as most of the island: that the Fernweh women had something to do with Annabella’s death.
“I was just looking for your brother,” I said quickly, feeling my face grow hot as Prue continued to stare at me in a way I could not begin to discern. “If he’s not here, I can go.”
“What? No, you don’t have to—he’s not here, no, but you should come in,” Prue said, shaking her head, moving aside for me.
“I can just come back later,” I said, turning around. I felt her hand close softly around my upper arm, and I hated myself for noting how warm it was.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
I turned around again. “Do you think my sister killed Annabella?”
Prue looked confused. She removed her hand (put it back, put it back) and took a step away from the door. “Can you come in for a second?”
“I don’t know,” I said. But I didn’t move.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Prue said quietly. She gestured into the room. Two twin beds, one made neatly and one made messily, with clothes scattered across the quilt and a straw hat on the pillow.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
Prue sat on her bed (the messy one, which made my heart soar with I didn’t even know what) and gestured to the other. Harrison’s, perfectly made with not an inch of fabric mussed. Figured.
We sat across from each other. Prue still held that mug in her hands, so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.
Then she laughed. “Okay, I definitely don’t think your sister had anything to do with this,” she said. “Sorry, that actually... I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Really. Promise. The thought never crossed my mind.”
I felt a welcome rush of relief and relaxed a little on the bed. “Okay. That’s good. That’s great.” But Prue still looked a little... strange. “Is there something else?”
“There isn’t really an easy way to say this,” she said.
“Prue? Whatever it is...”
She stifled a yawn, and I noticed how tired she looked. Her mascara was smudged a little underneath her eyes; her hair hadn’t been washed in a few days. Her dress was wrinkled. She looked like she hadn’t slept either. I remembered the time, a few summers ago, when Hep Shackman had stayed up for forty-eight hours taking notes on Annabella’s nesting habits. He’d become convinced that he, too, was a bird, and Annabella’s eggs weren’t hatching because he was the one who was supposed to sit on them. My mother had given him a cup of tainted tea and he hadn’t come out of his room for a day and a night. When he finally did, he had to admit that he was not, in fact, a bird, and that sitting on eggs would do nothing more than crush them. There was something about Prue now that reminded me of that—maybe the way her eyes seemed to take a few extra seconds to focus, the way she kept gripping that mug in her hands.
Finally she took a deep breath, set her mug on the nightstand, and said, “I think I’ve been avoiding you. Just a little bit. But not because of Annabella, it’s nothing like that. It’s just... you’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed. And I didn’t know how to tell you that.”
“Oh,” I said. “Wow.”
“I mean, I know I’m... I know I like girls. And guys. The girl thing is sort of newer. Harrison is the only one who knows.”
