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Noah’s gaze flicks to the empty pool outside, and I know he’s thinking of his mother lying in the water, the brick still tied around her ankle. He sinks into the chair, his head falling forward into his hands, dark hair tumbling over his eyes. “If that Brentwood guy doesn’t kill you, Dad will find someone else. He’s used to getting his way.”
“So am I.”
Noah lifts his head, his voice cracking. “Claudia, I—”
I cut him off. “I should find something for breakfast.”
I flee the ballroom as fast as I can. I don’t look back. How can I tell Noah that if his dad is determined to kill me, then I might just have to beat him to the punch?
Eli
I sit out on the porch swing, Gizmo in my lap and a dusty bottle of homemade cider from the cellar in my hand. I drink and rage into the nighttime, falling in and out of consciousness until the sun peeks over the horizon.
I consider hiding at Everlasting Hart Ranch forever. I have Gizmo in my lap and enough money in my wallet for a few weeks of food and supplies. No one will miss me. I can drink my way through the cider in the cellar until my skin turns green and I melt into the landscape.
Until I forgot Mackenzie Malloy – the girl I loved who left without a goodbye – and Claudia August – the bitch who stomped my memories into dust.
Gizmo leaps off my lap and bounds toward the outbuildings scattered along the edge of the field behind the shed. There’s a big red barn filled with rusting farm equipment, and a bunch of smaller workshops and a tack room for the horses my dad never got to ride. Gizmo wiggles her tiny bum and disappears through a hole in one of the rotting wood boards of the stable block. She’s probably stalking mice, reveling in being a country cat.
I watch, my eyes swimming and unable to focus, but she doesn’t pop out again the way she usually does. I call out to her. No reply. I debate staggering over to the barn to bring her back when a car pulls down the drive.
At first, I assume it’s Noah. I toss the empty cider bottle into the driveway, where it shatters across the gravel. I debate picking up one of the jagged shards of glass, but instead, I curl my hands into fists, ready for a fight. He’s not allowed to be here, not after he chose her over me.
As the vehicle nears, I see it’s Maria’s battered old Honda. My mother begrudgingly pays her a decent wage to keep our house and cook for us (I make sure of that), but Maria doesn’t believe in flashy vehicles. She’s been driving this same car since we hired her, way back when we first moved to Emerald Beach.
The car narrowly misses the broken glass as it shudders to a stop next to mine. Maria climbs out and runs toward me. I try to rise to meet her, but I forget how much cider I drank. My feet slide in opposite directions and I turn into a jellyfish.
Maria leaps onto the porch and catches me in her arms before I can faceplant into the garden bed. She settles me back onto the swing. I slur, “Thankoo—”
She slaps my cheek.
Either she deliberately pulls her strength or I’m even drunker than I think, because I don’t feel it.
“You rotten weasel,” she scolds. “I have been so worried. You haven’t been home since Friday morning. The school called to say you weren’t in class today. I thought maybe you were with your friends, but you are wrong to make me worry.”
The way she says it, with a smile in her voice, I know she’s really asking if I was seeing a girl. I stare at my hands, wishing they were holding a demijohn of cider. I can’t find the words to answer her.
“This isn’t like you, Elias Hart, hiding away out here.” The swing creaks as she settles in beside me. I resist the urge to lay down with my head in her lap, the way I’d done as a kid when I needed her to soothe the nightmares away. “You haven’t showered in days. You smell delightful, did you know that?”
Maria has been part of my life since my earliest memories. She’s more a parent to me than Walter or Darlene Hart could ever hope to be. As a kid, I was terrified of my father’s job and all the symbols of death that follow our family. Around every corner I imagined restless spirits coming after me. Every minute of every day I worried Death would take the people I loved away from me. It got even worse after I met Mackenzie and saw how even someone as strong as her could be felled by cruelty. When the phone rang in our house, I was certain it was the cops to say Howard Malloy had finally taken his punishments too far. Although why they’d call a ten-year-old boy who was hiding his friendship from the world I didn’t know.
Dad called me a sissy. Mom was too busy. Maria held me and sat with me at night and even used some of her own money to drag me to a therapist after Mackenzie disappeared. It didn’t help – I wasn’t ready to talk or heal, but I’ll never, ever forget that she was the one who tried to help me.
As I got older, we’ve been more like friends, but I can hear the mothering tone creeping back into her voice. “I’ve been worried about you, Elias.”
Claudia’s secret dances on my tongue. I desperately want to blurt out the whole sordid story. Something stops me, some tug deep inside my chest that says I need to stay quiet, that carrying this secret alone will keep Maria safe.
“I can’t talk about it,” I growl into my armpit.
She pats my arm. “It must be a girl. Only a girl can string you out like this. Don’t worry, you tell me when you’re ready. I’ll fetch you a glass of water.”
“I don’t want water.” I want Mackenzie back. I want my father to not be a criminal. I want this nightmare to end.
“Elias Hart. You are drunk. You don’t know what you want. I’m here to look after you.” She steps into the house, returning a few minutes later with a tall glass of water. I take it and sip. It’s heaven on my raw throat.
“Have you moved things around in the kitchen?” she asks. “I was trying to find the saucepan to make you some pancakes, but it seems to have disappeared.”
I nod to the broken shards of the demijohn on the driveway. “I don’t know. Probably. How can you make pancakes in that kitchen, anyway? The mice probably got into the flour in the cellar.”
