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My eyes flit to my phone and hope is quickly replaced with disappointment. Just a friend from Chicago. Asking where I am. I haven’t told everyone I’d be MIA.
The original plan was to get in and get out without anyone noticing I’d left for long. That might not work out, but I’m unsure of how to respond. So I just send a vague, I’m okay. Out of state for a bit. Be back later.
Settled with the text reply, I hike away from the lighthouse. It’s a laborious effort trying to wheel my luggage over stones and grassy patches, since my suitcase is still down a wheel.
It feels a little like déjà vu. Being kicked out of another place.
Not far into the long trek, Parry’s white Mustang rolls to a stop. Scratch marks and dents mar the driver’s side door. Roof down, he leans a shoulder out of his convertible.
His eyes dart immediately to my suitcase. “You’re leaving?”
“Not Mistpoint,” I correct. “But Colt won’t let me stay with him.”
Parry nods, understanding. He gestures with his head to the passenger side. “Hop in.”
“What about feeding Colt?”
“I’ll be back before dark.”
After shoving the rest of the cinnamon roll in my mouth, I heave my suitcase in the backseat next to a couple takeout bags from The Drunk Pelican. Then I climb into the passenger side. Still chewing, I buckle and finally swallow, licking icing off my thumb.
He zips off.
The brisk air pinches my skin, even with the warm heat from the vents. I once asked Parry why on fucking Earth he chose a convertible. It’s not like we live in sunny Florida.
But he said, to weed out the weak, Zo. Can’t hack the cold then get the hell outta my life.
That was years ago. And as I look at Parry now, I wonder if that’s partly why he’s chosen to befriend Durands. We might be the easy targets in this town, but we’re not weak. We’re people who were always meant to survive.
“Was October right?” I ask him as he drives. “When she said you work at the Pelican because you have the hots for Brian?”
Parry lets out a noise. “No.” He glances to me, then the road. “I work at the Pelican because I love you and Colt…” He trails off for a long beat.
“And Brian?”
“I love your family,” Parry says, “and what the town has done to all of you…it’s not right. You don’t do that to people.” He defends us because he loves us—because his moral heart knows we’ve been wronged.
I smile softly. I love you too, Parry.
The Mustang has survived all this time as well, but the scratches and dents are new. I smell fried fish from the takeout in the back, and nostalgia overpowers me. Dizzies me.
Parry is driving towards the center of town. “You change your mind about staying at my place?”
“No,” I tell him. “Take me to the Harbor Inn.”
His brows jump. “Kelly won’t give you a room.”
“She will. I have a plan.”
Parry doesn’t protest; his eyes flit to the rearview, looking back at the lighthouse as it fades. “Did Colt talk to you?”
My bones chill. I explain everything he told me and end with, “So that’s why you brought me here. To find evidence that Augustine Anders was on the water that night—or shit, that she even exists.”
Parry frowns. “What? No.”
“No?” My stomach drops.
“I called you out here to convince Colt that this girl doesn’t exist.” He glances to me, then back to the road. “He was tired that night, Zoey. He did about ten lighthouse tours back-to-back.”
A wave of hurt presses against my chest. I always thought Parry would take my brother’s side. On anything. “So you agree with Sheriff Carmichael?”
Heat touches his eyes. “The same sheriff who did an ass-backwards job investigating my parents murder? Who told me, ‘It’s a closed case, son. Animal attacks happen around here. Nuthin’ we can do for you.’ That one?”
“Yeah,” I say tensely. “That one.”
“No, Zo. I don’t believe shit that comes out of his mouth.”
“Then why do you want me to convince Colt that this girl doesn’t exist?”
“Because he’s been set-up—they’re setting him up to think he heard something. They knew how long he worked that night. They knew what they could do to him. What they could make him believe he heard.”
“Who did?”
“The town council.”
Damn.
I’m stunned silent for a second. “…so you think Augustine Anders is fake—that the town council created this ugly hoax,” I realize, and partially, I begin believing this a lot more too.
It makes sense.
But I want, so badly, to also believe Colt. To be in his corner. But does being in his corner mean siding with Parry?
“And Sheriff Carmichael is in on it somehow. I know he is.” Parry narrows his eyes on the darkened street. Clouds still gathering overhead. It hasn’t rained yet. Shockingly.
