But a boy is dead at my feet and Bess has said “We need you,” so I swallow all my rage and listen to Penny’s story.
“We came down here to fool around,” she says. “Well, at first to sit on the dock and like, kick our heels against the wood and look at the water, but then we started kissing and all of a sudden, he was like, on me.” Penny kneels down next to Pfeff’s body. “And I guess he expects stuff from girls. Like he’s had a lot of experience or doesn’t think sex is a big deal. He took his shirt off and he was like, tugging my pants down, and his pants down, and I was like—oh my god, no. I barely know him and we aren’t going out, and I just thought we’d mess around a little. Here he was, like, forcing himself on me. I said no, and he just kept saying ‘Please. Please, Penny, please.’?” Penny is crying, and she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “And I got confused by the ‘please,’ you know? But I still said no, this was all I was doing—but stupid, stupid, I let him kiss me again. Then he just seemed on automatic, somehow, just going ahead even though I’d said no. I was thinking how do I get out of this? And I said no a third time and he kept saying please and I wished I could be anywhere in the world but here, only I couldn’t figure out how to leave. Then Bess came and hit him on the head with that board.”
Bess nods. “I should have pulled him off, or even just shouted, but I was running down the dock and the board was just there, and I picked it up. I wasn’t thinking.”
Penny pets Bess’s hair. “You saved me.”
“But he’s dead now,” moans Bess. “He’s dead and it’s my fault.”
“He wasn’t going to stop,” says Penny. “He’s a fucking rapist.”
We stand in silence for a moment. I am immobile, unable to move or speak, the situation is so overwhelming.
Bess turns to me. “What should we do?”
56.
I COULD SAY, “Let’s ask our parents’ advice.”
But our parents are not easy people to confide in.
I could say, “Let’s wake the boys.”
But we’d be throwing our lives into the hands of Pfeff’s friends.
We could call the police.
But I do not want to expose Penny to the terrible things people say about a girl who has been nearly date-raped.
She shouldn’t have been alone with him.
She wanted it. He was cute. She wouldn’t have gone there with him if she didn’t want it.
She accused him after the fact, to save her sister. She’s a slut and a liar.
And Bess. I must protect her from whatever happens to fourteen-year-olds who kill someone with rusty nails and an old board. An investigation. A trial. Some kind of juvenile home. Or even if she gets acquitted, even if Pfeff’s death is understood as morally justified by a jury, the exposure will be awful.
Oh, sure, Harris would pay for her defense. He would uphold her good name to the end. But when people know you are capable of killing someone—well, you’re no longer a credit to the family. Let’s put it that way.
The decision doesn’t feel like a decision at all. It feels like the only path.
I am choosing my sisters. I am choosing their safety. I am the protector and I can see the best way to protect them. I failed to keep Rosemary safe and I will not fail Bess and Penny, even if it means we must do terrible things on top of the terrible things that have already been done.
“Bess,” I say. “Go to Clairmont, really quiet, and get—I’m going to give you a list of things to get there. Okay?”
She nods.
I think for a moment and then run through it. “A bottle of whiskey. A bathing suit for each of us, plus a cover-up—shorts and T-shirt, whatever. Sweatshirts, too. Spray cleaner and a roll of paper towels. And take some food from the pantry—like Pop-Tarts or whatever is easy to carry. Got it? Say it back to me.”
She does.
“Be absolutely silent. Get a tote bag for the stuff. Use one of the beach bags in the mudroom. You clear?”
“I’m so sorry,” she snivels.
“Keep it together,” I say. “Don’t panic. Go.”
Bess turns and heads down the dock to the house.
“Now, Penny, go to Goose, but don’t go in until you’re sure all the lights are off. Everyone has to be asleep. Peek in and be sure no one’s passed out in the living room. Then make coffee. Doesn’t matter if it’s bad coffee. Just make it, first thing you get there. You know how to make coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait. Before you go inside, get the sand off your feet and put your shoes on. Squeeze out your wet shirt. I don’t want you dripping water in that house or tracking sand.”
Penny nods.
“Okay, get four beach towels. Four. And then go up to Pfeff’s room. Can you do that?”
She nods again.
“On tiptoe, you hear me? Peek in there and make sure the bed looks slept in. If Luda was in there cleaning this afternoon, his room will be neat. Mess up the bed. Get it seriously messy, like pull the sheets out at the bottom. ’Kay? Then mess things up a little more, throw some clothes on the floor. Get one clean shirt for him. Doesn’t matter which one. Get that, and the four towels. Fill four thermoses with coffee, and come back.”
“What do I do if George and Major are still up?”
“Wait outside till they go to bed. Don’t let them see you.”
“Why don’t I go to Pevensie? Nobody’s there.”
“We want Pfeff’s bedroom how we want it. And we need his shirt. Also, we need the towels and the thermos cups to be from Goose. Tipper and Luda know everything that’s in all the houses.”
“What are we doing?” asks Penny. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“We are taking care of things when they need taking care of,” I answer. “Like Harris tells us to.”
57.
MY SISTERS ARE gone and I am alone on the dock with Pfeff’s body.
I cannot stop to feel sad or shocked. I just act. I pull off my sweater and wrap Pfeff’s head in it. His wound is not large or particularly bloody, but I don’t want to risk getting anything more on the dock than what we have to clean up already. It’s awkward, putting the sweater on his head and tying the arms loosely, but I am relieved when it’s done. I don’t have to look at his face.
I put my arms under Pfeff’s and pull him toward Guzzler. His jeans snag on the ragged boards of the dock. I have to set him down and pull up his pants. I refasten his zipper and button. I buckle his belt.
Then I move him a second time, getting him to the edge of the boat, sitting him against its hull. I climb in. I reach over, grab him under the arms again, and pull his body onto the seat. I lay him down and get out.
I take the loose board to the beach by the foot of the dock. I kick off my shoes and roll up my pajama pants. I wade in and I wash the board, forcing myself to touch the sticky, hairy nails, rubbing them clean.
Bess comes back with the bag of supplies. I spray the board with cleaner and rinse it again in the ocean. Then I give the cleaner to Bess.
She takes the paper towels and my flashlight. She scrubs the dock, going over each board, looking for signs of blood or hair.
Meanwhile, I collect several large, heavy rocks from the beach, lugging them to the motorboat and setting them carefully inside. Then I load in the rest of Bess’s supplies. I check the bag she brought. “You forgot the whiskey,” I say, alarmed.
She looks up from scrubbing the dock. “I didn’t—I didn’t know what to take,” she says. “The bar cart was confusing. Like, is bourbon whiskey? Is rye?”
“So you brought nothing?”
She nods. That is so Bess. If she’s not sure she’s doing something perfectly, she won’t do it at all.
“I need the whiskey” is all I say. “Where’s Penny?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going up to Clairmont.”
“But—”
I don’t give Bess the chance to complain about being left alone with Pfeff’s body. I walk up to the house as quickly as I can. I enter through the mudroom, being careful not to make a sound. There are cases of hard liquor in the cellar. I should have told Bess to go there, instead of to the bar cart.
I have to flip a light on in the basement—Bess has my flashlight.
And when I do, Rosemary is sitting in an old wicker rocking chair.
58.