Night had fallen once we went back up to the cabin. He lit a bonfire and laid out a grate for the fish to cook on. The flames made my cheeks quickly grow hot, and the tiny hairs on my skin seemed to melt off. I rubbed my hands over my face and felt a sudden hunger. I eagerly ate the white flaky meat with a fork, drinking wine to ease it down. I had another glass and fell back into my chair. I could see Dad’s eyes observing me above the fire, the sparks dancing around his face, glowing like a shaman, an invocation cast over us.
Marlow remained quiet. She didn’t drink and ate very little. I envied her ease. I envied her ability to return again and again, a creature that could not be put down. Stronger each time, unstoppable in her growth. She was untouched and more beautiful than ever.
And I had been altered in every single way possible. Beaten by death before even dying. A woman who lost everything that meant anything to her.
“Look at you,” I muttered, barely holding my glass up, the stem sliding down my hand.
“What?”
“I said, look at you.”
She stared back at me with disappointment. “Isla, there is so much you don’t know.”
“I know enough,” I said, pouring what was left down my throat.
“No . . . you don’t understand. I need to tell you—” Her eyes went to Dad, who had stood up.
“I don’t care. I don’t care because there is nothing you can say that changes anything.”
“Oh, Isla . . .”
She became even more serene. As if what I just said was a flowing compliment for her to bathe in. The heat in my face surged, and everything I had resented her for, everything I had blamed her for, flashed bright. I wanted to engulf her into ashen pieces right in front of me.
“Oh, Isla?” I mocked. “Oh, Isla, you poor thing. You poor thing who lost everything. Do you know what it’s even like? To barely make it through the pain each morning? And when I finally have the strength to get up, when I walk down the street . . . the first thing people wonder is if I’m your sister.”
“No. I can’t.”
Her eyes were so sad. Or were they amused?
My confusion rattled what was already so enraged.
“Stop!” I screamed.
I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder. I jerked away.
“Stop! I want you to stop!”
She shook her head. “Do you think this is what Moni would have wanted? Sawyer?”
A snarl rose up and out of me. “Don’t you say their names! Don’t you say his name!”
Broken glass shattered on the ground, and I looked down to find my hand empty and shaking. A sob shuddered in my throat, and I turned to get away from them. I stumbled up the stairs and into my room. I lay on the floor. My hands opened and closed against it with each cry. The emptiness put me to sleep.
When I came to, there was no light.
The lights in the cabin were out. The bonfire hissed from being extinguished.
I went down the stone steps and covered my arms from the cold air. The lake was unforgiving at night; no one would be comforted as she slept. I turned to go inside but heard a shout.
A shout cut off before it could ring out—scissors had snipped the thread.
I stared out at the dock to see someone at the end of it.
I walked slowly at first, my bare feet padding against the grain of the wood. But the figure at the end grew smaller. I walked faster and then began to run.
My arms reached out. They knew before I could see him. They knew what he was doing to her.
He knelt down, one knee tucked in as if in prayer before flattening his body out, crossing the dock like a railroad track. He shook from the resistance.
The water splashed playfully as her hands remained above the surface, striking left and right to come up.
CHAPTER 54
ISLA
The Day of the Interview
I dial the number on my phone and let it ring.
“Hello?” she answers.
There is skepticism in her voice. She doesn’t recognize this number, after all. She’s likely getting dinner ready and annoyed the phone rang.
“Hello?” she asks again.
“Mom,” I say. I feel so cold saying it. Mom.
She is silent.
