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“You’re safe,” Connor says before he can stop himself. “Do yourself a favor and stay that way.”
Now she looks at him with suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve settled into this life with Hannah and Didi. Why throw it away?”
“Settled in? I’ve been here two weeks! That’s hardly settled in—and now that you’re here—”
Connor never considered himself much of an actor, but now he feigns irritation for all he’s worth. “Now that I’m here, what? You think you’re going to join me in raging against the machine? What makes you think I want that?”
Risa is speechless, as he hoped she would be. With the first emotional punch thrown, Connor follows up with “Things are different now, Risa. And what we had at the Graveyard . . .”
“We had nothing,” Risa says, saving him the pain of yet another lie—replacing it with a different kind of pain. “We just got stuck smack in each other’s way.” Then she stands up just as Cam makes his appearance at the door. “But we’re not in each other’s way anymore.”
Cam has a beach towel wrapped around his lower half, but his upper half is on display. The perfect package of six-pack abs and sculpted pecs. He came in here like that on purpose, Connor decides. Because he knows Risa is here.
“What did I miss?”
Risa puts her hand unabashedly on his chest, tracing the lines where his flesh tones meet. “They were right, Cam,” she says gently. “Those seams healed perfectly. No scars at all.” She smiles at him and gives him a peck on the cheek before she strides out of the room.
Conner hopes her sudden attention to Cam is merely a jab against him, but he can’t be sure. Rather than thinking about it, Connor looks to his grafted arm, letting it draw his focus. He’s conscious to keep the fingers from contracting into a fist. Some people wear their emotions on their sleeves. Connor wears his in the skin of his knuckles, pulled tight in a gesture both offensive and defensive. He concentrates on the shark on his wrist now. Its fiery unnatural eyes. Its oversized teeth. The muscular curve of its body. Such an ugly thing, yet disturbingly graceful. He hates it. In fact, he’s come to love how much he hates it.
Cam closes the door and immodestly exposes the rest of himself as he dresses, as if Connor cares. He’s all smiles the next time he looks at Connor, as if he knows more than he does.
“No surprise which way the wind is blowing when it comes to Risa,” Cam says.
“The wind’s gonna blow sand in your eyes if you’re not careful,” Connor responds.
“Is that a threat?”
“You know what? You’re not half as smart as you think you are.” Then he goes to take his own shower—a cold one that can hopefully numb the heat in his head.
63 • Grace
While playing with Dierdre is a treat, it’s only to settle Grace’s mind. Powerful forces are at work in this house, and those forces are a hairbreadth away from tearing each other apart. Cam and Connor had been so united in purpose until now, in spite of their rivalry. And although Grace considers herself just along for the ride, she knows she sees the things that the others don’t.
For instance—she sees Connor: She knows he loves Risa and is intentionally pushing her away to save her. He will not save her. Risa will push back, acting out against his cold shoulder by throwing herself into the war against unwinding even more recklessly than before. By trying to save her, he may just get her killed.
And Risa: She would have stayed here had Connor not shown up, but now it’s out of the question. Connor will never see that. He’s convinced he knows her better than he truly does.
And Cam: He’s the real loose cannon. He’ll foolishly lap up any attention Risa gives him, whether that attention is real or calculated. In the end, whatever she gives will not be enough for him. He will feel betrayed and used—and even if Risa chooses him over Connor, he won’t believe it. He won’t trust it. His confused fury will fester. Grace knows that someday soon Cam will blow, and God help anyone near enough to get caught by the shrapnel.
So Grace plays with harmless Dierdre but hears every word, sees every move the others make, knowing nothing she can say will affect this doomed board of play.
• • •
Late that night Grace lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Shadow tree limbs crawl ominously across the ceiling with each passing headlight.
Risa gets up and quietly goes to the door.
“Don’t,” Grace says. “Please don’t.”
“I’m just going to the bathroom.”
“No, you’re not.”
Risa hesitates, then stiffens a bit. “I have to.” Then adds, “It’s not your business anyway.” But Grace knows she’s wrong about that.
Risa leaves, and Grace closes her eyes, hearing the door to the boys’ room creak open. She knows what will happen in there.
