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“Oh, that’s so smart. Was it your idea or Rhys’s?”
“Mine, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
We laugh.
“I know you’re from Philly and I know your parents are Scottish. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I ask.
She hitches a breath.
For some reason, I feel like I committed a faux pas.
“I never knew my older brothers. They were twins and died in a swimming accident at Pymatuning Lake.”
“I’m so sorry, Arianne,” I say.
“My parents were devastated for a very long time.”
“Understandably.”
“They blamed themselves for the accident.”
“Why?”
“Let me start from the beginning,” she says.
“Okay.”
“My mom’s youngest sister, Aunt Moira, has a history of dating losers—she still does. She took Rylan and Dylan—the twins—with her daughters Marley and Mirai for a weekend camping. Weekends were so busy at the restaurant, my parents thought it would be good for the boys to be away. At the time my aunt was on a hiatus from her on-again, off-again main squeeze and father of her three girls, Fraser Golightly. He didn’t want to put a ring on it, so she was on a rebound, using—I mean, dating—this guy Arvin Judas Dive—”
“His name is Arvin Judas Dive?”
“Yes,” she says. “Arvin was supposed to be the adult, instead, he turned out to be a real douchebag and a bully.” She pauses. “Dylan was the shy and introverted twin. Mom said he was scared of his own shadow. Arvin decided to poke him by provoking him. He dared Dylan to man up by taking a swim in the lake because only wimpy crybabies still wet their beds. Aunt Moira told Arvin Dylan was still wetting the bed at eight—”
“She betrayed her own nephew?” I ask.
“She wouldn’t know a private matter even if it hit her across the face,” Arianne says.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all,” she says. “Aunt Moira was napping—her second favorite activity after stirring up shit. Marley and Mirai were with Arvin and the twins. Poor Dylan jumped in the lake. When he started to panic, Rylan jumped into the water, but he never surfaced. Marley and Mirai were so freaked out they didn’t know what else to do other than to run and get their mother. Dylan drowned and got swept away by the current.”
Jesus Christ.
Sad eyes meet mine. “Mom said Arvin told the police later he didn’t know how to swim, so he couldn’t even save them.”
I’m dumbfounded.
“Dad wanted to kill him.”
“Did Arvin go to jail?”
“No. It’s not like he pushed Dylan in the water, and he wasn’t responsible for Rylan hitting his head on a rock.”
“He was the adult in charge,” I say.
“There was no recourse.” There’s such finality in her words. Such injustice.
