“She would have told me—” But she knew her mother hadn’t liked to talk about her parents. Had it been for the reason Taured said? No. It was another of Taured’s lies.
“Then why was she taking me to them?” Her voice was a wail, her mouth open; she knew how she looked. Standing up from the table, she took a step back, her fingers gripping the flesh of her cheeks in a panic. She molded the skin there as she thought, and an image flashed in her mind: eating food, spread out on a desk. Taured’s office. A desk? Was that real? She’d never eaten in Taured’s office, she’d never laughed as he touched her hair. Then she was back in her mother’s room, her shoulder blades pressing against the wardrobe.
But Taured didn’t answer her question. Instead, he said, “She was taking drugs to deal with her grief. We tried to help her, but she wasn’t thinking straight.”
Drugs? No, never. She tried to say so, but her voice was as wobbly as her legs. Her dad took drugs, and her mother hated them. Her mama would never.
He opened the wardrobe, then pulled out one of its drawers, waiting for Summer to come over and look. Inside the drawer was a book she didn’t recognize, one her mother would never read. It was self-help: How to Live Well and Free. She stared from the book to Taured, not comprehending.
“Open it,” he said.
“Why?”
The flash of anger in his eyes made her reach forward and flip open the cover. But there were no pages—the book was hollow. Inside were several needles, a glass orb and four foil-wrapped packages the size of quarters.
“It’s not hers.” She looked him squarely in the eyes. “It’s. Not. Hers.”
He hit her again, this time hard enough to move her whole body. Before she had time to recover, he left. Summer crawled onto her mother’s bed and wept. She would not believe that liar; she would not turn on her mother, not even to save herself. “Stubborn like your dad,” Lorraine used to say. “Stubborn to a fault.”
She thought briefly of the memory before she fell asleep: the food, the feeling of being at the desk. Feelings she couldn’t identify with words. Then...nothing.
That night, Marshall and Dawn came to collect her. She’d been asleep when they opened the door and now, as they led her through the familiar halls, she was in a half daze. In the kitchen, they led her to one of the freezers.
“In you go,” Marshall said.
Taured was, of course, waiting for her, standing beside a table with his hands in his pockets. On the table was a lump covered by a light blue sheet. Before she could process the sight, Taured had pulled the sheet down. Beneath it was the bluish body of her mother, naked and still.
There was nowhere to go. She could see Marshall’s head outside the small window in the freezer door. Taured lifted her mother’s arm and held it up for her to see.
“These are track marks,” he said of the pinprick scabs that freckled the skin on the inside of her arm. He dropped her arm roughly and it landed with a thud on the table. Summer heard her own breath wheeze from her throat like she was being strangled.
He walked to Lorraine’s feet and stood in front of them ceremoniously; then he pushed apart her big and second toes. Summer wanted to scratch his face off for touching her. She didn’t want his hands on her or her mother, ever—ever.
There were marks between her toes, so tiny and hidden. While Taured spoke about her drug use, explaining how Lorraine had taken pains to hide it from everyone, Summer was thinking about how to kill him. How to make him lie dead on that table instead of her mama. The closest thing to her was a block of meat, so hard and frozen it was purple. While his head was still bent, her arm darted out to pluck it from the shelf. It was heavy but it felt good. Summer lifted it as Taured looked up. She threw it like Skye had thrown the baseball at her, a projectile of her anger. For a moment it sailed toward him, a strong line. Summer felt a pure pulse of adrenaline. And then the rock-hard meat hit the wall beside his head. He looked stunned, and then he smiled.
Marshall dragged her out as she screamed, “I’ll kill you!” over and over.
16
Now
The elevator doors were already open, so she stepped in, joining a middle-aged man in swim trunks who looked overly pleased with himself for some reason. He was dripping on the floor, his fleshy shoulders already showing a painful sunburn. He smiled at her, and Rainy felt nausea creeping in. She wished she’d thought to bring some aspirin. When the elevator doors opened, she rushed out, holding the back of her hand to her mouth. I will never drink again, she told herself.
She could barely hear her own thoughts over the humming of people and machines. Sweat was swimming across her skin despite the air-conditioning. She’d written a long text to Grant before she got out of bed, detailing their night, but leaving out the parts that were uncomfortable to remember. She trotted through the lobby and saw Braithe just through the doors, walking quickly, her phone pressed to her ear like she was trying to escape the noise. Maybe she was talking to Stephen. Rainy tried Grant again as she kept walking toward signs for the pool. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t want to be in the mess of noise and lights. When she stepped into the sunshine, she felt a thousand times better than she had ten minutes ago. Lying by the pool was exactly what she needed to decompress from last night. The concrete around the pool was still wet from the previous day’s rain; hotel workers were sweeping up the dirt from a potted palm that had fallen over.
“Wow, some storm, huh,” she said to Ursa as she tossed her bag on the lawn chair.
“Apparently, the wind blew some bottles over in their little bar, so they don’t have vodka for my screwdriver. How cruel is the wind.” One long leg was tented up and swaying from side to side as Ursa watched the bar over the top of her glasses. “They’ve gone to get more,” she told Rainy.
The thought of more alcohol made her stomach turn over, but Rainy nodded, pulling her cover-up over her head and tossing it on the chair. She sat down with her sunscreen in her hand, eyeing the twentysomething carefully. Last night, Mac had been tight-lipped for most of the cab ride back to the hotel. She’d reached across the seat to squeeze Rainy’s hand once, which made Rainy feel like she was apologizing for something. Ursa, on the other hand, didn’t apologize for anything, and had the type of blunt honesty that was shocking at times. If Ursa was in the mood, she’d tell Rainy what she wanted to know.
“I saw Braithe as I was headed over. She was outside the lobby doors, talking on the phone. She looked upset.”
Ursa’s leg stopped swaying and Rainy could see her blinking rapidly behind her oversize sunglasses. When Ursa didn’t say anything, Rainy swung her legs to the ground and stared her down.
“Is something going on, Ursa? Because I am getting really weird vibes from you guys.” She must have sounded as desperate as she felt, because something broke in Ursa’s face. Her lips pinched together, making a tight little rosebud, and she blew air out of her nose. She took off her glasses and set them on the small table between their chairs, where a bottle of Tylenol stood sentinel. Rainy wanted two of those little pills, but she didn’t want to interrupt what was about to happen. When they were knee to knee, Ursa tilted her head, pushing her lips into a frown.
“You’re right, things have gotten weird.” She tied her hair in a ponytail, avoiding eye contact with Rainy. “They planned that whole thing last night, Tara and Braithe. I don’t know why, but they wanted you to sit down with that psychic and they asked for our help getting you there. I feel really bad, I’m sorry.”
Rainy was momentarily speechless; the confirmation that something weird was going on the night before felt like a victory. You’re not crazy.
“Why?”