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I should turn back.
Iwillturn back.
I just need one last look, enough to let me face Garrett and say, in all honesty, “I did my best.”
No, screw Garrett. It’s Madison I’m thinking of. I need to be able to stand in front of her and honestly say that I did my best to save an old friend.
I’m heading for a tree. The island is half covered with trees, more than one would expect on this northern hunk of rock. But they seem to flourish here, and this is the most impressive and implausible of all—a massive oak, gnarled and gorgeous.
Is it silly to have favorite trees? I do, at least on Hemlock Island, andthis is my most favorite of all. When I saw that someone carved their initials in her, I’d been ten times more outraged than when someone defaced my boat. I’d spent hours gently sanding out the initials.
As much as I respect the age of this grandmother tree, I love her even more for her thick and climbable branches. In that sense, she does indeed remind me of my own grandmothers, who even in their twilight years would put out their arms to let Madison climb up to her safe spot in their laps.
I rub my hands on the tree and murmur a warning.I’m going to climb your branches again. Hope that’s okay.Then I heave myself onto the lowest branch and continue up two more until I reach a wide one worn from me lying on my stomach, plotting and dreaming.
Today, that branch serves a new purpose. It lets me see deep into the dark forest, where I might catch a glimpse of Sadie’s shirt or hair. I lean out but it’s all trees and dying foliage, browns and grays and greens.
“Sadie?” I call. “I know you’re here! Let me help. Say something. Lift a hand. I don’t want this for you.”
My eyes prickle with tears.I never wanted any of this for you. For us.
When this is over, we need to sit down. I understand what you want and why you want it. After what you’ve done, to Kit, to Jayla, to me, I’m not sure there’s any coming back, but if there is steady ground we can find, I want to.
“Sadie?” I say. “Please. Whatever you think I did, I swear—”
Movement. It’s off to my left, and my heart stops as I squint into the darkness.
Don’t be a rabbit. Don’t be a squirrel or a mouse or a fox.
Be Sadie. Please, please, please—
I glimpse pale skin through a bush. A hand, I realize. The blur of a pale hand lying palm down on the ground. The fingers work, clawing at the ground, as if Sadie is trying to drag herself, no longer able to walk.
I scramble down the tree and race toward that bush. When my foot slides on wet undergrowth, I go down hard on one knee.
Breathe. Relax. She’s there, and she’s not going anywhere. I can still see her hand. Her fingers just keep clawing at the ground in a slow, robotic way, as if running on instinct alone, unaware that she isn’t pulling herself anywhere.
Must keep moving. Must keep going.
Like me in the lake.
I resist the urge to reassure her that I’m coming, which might not be reassuring at all. She’s barely functioning. Don’t stress her out. Don’t panic her.
I take two more steps, completely focused on that moving hand. Then I stop.
Something about the hand is wrong.
Everything about this is wrong, Laney, and you know it, and yet you keep insisting it’s normal, just bad people doing bad things.
No, that isn’t it. It’s not the way her hand is moving or its position. It’s…
It’s not Sadie’s hand. It’s wide, with thick fingers and square nails and a smart watch. A men’s smart watch on a man’s hand.
Garrett.
Shit!
I leap forward, and I will fully admit that as I do, I’m not thinking “Oh my God, Garrett is hurt!” I’m thinking “Where’s Kit?” Kit was with Garrett, and if Garrett was hurt, Kit would still be with him… unless he’s also injured.
