We rake a minute. “You can tell me things, you know.”
“I know.” The quiet stretches out. I trust Mags. She’d cut her tongue out before she told a secret. But if she thought she was doing the right thing—saving me from myself, using that good head on her shoulders—she’d speak up. And I can’t have that. Because in this case, this one time, doing the right thing would be wrong for everybody. It would rip the heart out of who we are, and Nell—our Nellie, who we used to hold in the grass and tickle with dandelions, who helped Mags walk all the way home from Back Ridge Road when she twisted her ankle, who cries over old movies and has enough dreams left in her to love an actor who died before our moms were born—couldn’t be who she is anymore. I don’t even want to think about who people in this town would make her out to be.
“If you see the car again, tell Mom.” Mags sounds stiff. I’ve hurt her. “And don’t say anything to Nell. She’ll be seeing kidnappers everywhere.”
“No. I won’t tell Nell.”
An early moon hangs in a still bright-blue sky at five o’clock when I toss my rake into the bin and clap my gloves together, sending tiny green leaves and sticks flying.
Nell comes on the run. “Did you see it?” She waves toward the camper when I stare at her. “On the board. Mrs. Wardwell wrote your name.”
Mags catches up to us and we go take a look. D. Prentiss is scrawled in the last slot, number ten. Three slots below Gaines. I’m not the only girl on the board, but I’m the only local one.
I can’t help it; I whoop and do a little victory dance, throwing one of those high kicks we learned in cheerleading in sixth grade. Mags laughs, catching my shoulders before I tip over.
Mrs. Wardwell watches from her chair and snorts. “You boys better look out,” she calls. “She’s comin’ to get ya.”
She’s making fun of me, but I don’t care. I never thought I’d make it on to the board this harvest, period, and my tired feet feel a little lighter as we walk to the car.
There’s a folded piece of paper waiting for us under the wiper. Mags opens it, reads the message, and sighs, holding it out to me.
In round, messy handwriting that fits Jesse perfectly, it says: Quarry tomorrow before work be ready 6:00.
I look around, but he and Shea and Mason are already gone. Nice how he doesn’t wait to see if I want to go or anything, just assumes the answer is yes. Which it is.
“Oh no,” Nell says, and we follow her gaze. Two cop cruisers are coming up the barrens road. “Darcy, they’re not here for you, are they?”
Maybe Edgecombe’s behind one of those tinted windshields. Maybe he really wasn’t bluffing last night about the witness, the person who said they’d seen me in the barrens. It’s not until the cruisers pass by that I can breathe again. “Don’t be crazy.” But my voice doesn’t sound quite right.
Everybody in the field watches the cops continue on to the cabins. “Wonder what they’re going up there for,” Mags says.
Nobody has an answer.
I try to stay up late that night to see if the car comes back, but sleep wins out. The next thing I know, my alarm is going off at five thirty a.m. and my whole body is crying nooo.
What the crap was I thinking? I can barely get myself out of bed in time for work, and that’s an extra half hour of sleep on top of this. I tiptoe into the shower and shave everything that needs it, then put on my hot-pink bikini under a white mesh cover-up.
By the time I’m at the kitchen table, I remember to be nervous, and can’t eat more than a couple bites of breakfast. I scribble a note for Mom—Gone swimming—then sit on the porch steps with my tote, hoping Jesse has the sense not to rev his engine when he gets here and wake everybody up.
He doesn’t try anything fancy, just idles and waits for me to climb in. He’s shirtless, wearing an unzipped hoodie over baggy surf shorts and sandals; he looks as tired as I do, and we don’t say much more than hey before he pulls a U-ie and drives toward the quarry.
Downtown is hushed and empty, only a few employee cars parked at the Irving station and Hannaford. We park in the usual place in the woods and make our way down the cliff to the water. The sun hasn’t been up long, and there are still some streaks of orange reflecting off the water, which is black and flat as a stone otherwise. The thought of swimming here alone at this quiet time adds to the chill of the water. I slide in and kick my way deeper, taking measured breaths.
Jesse and I swim around each other, just swim, like we’re here for the exercise. He’s as strong a swimmer as I am, which is saying something, but he can’t lap me as we follow the curve of the quarry wall. Big rocks jut out of the water here and there like dinosaur backs, and I dodge them before climbing onto one of the ledges to catch my breath, grinning as he swims up.
He pulls himself up next to me, streaming water. “Hungry?”
“Starved.” I watch as he follows the path up to the truck and comes back a couple minutes later with a plastic bag. He’s got muffins and little bottles of orange juice. I’ve never known a boy to think of bringing food anywhere; I blink, taking a muffin. “Did you make these?”
“Yeah. Started baking around three this morning.” He breaks up laughing at my expression. “Bought them yesterday.” He takes a bite. “Still good, though.”
We eat for a minute, looking at the water. I give a shudder. “Almost looks dead, doesn’t it?” I giggle awkwardly. “Sorry. Don’t know why I said that.”
“No, I know what you mean. Something weird about water that doesn’t move. Give me the ocean any day, someplace with a tide.” He swallows. “Think of all the junk that’s ended up down there on the bottom over the years. Like that quarry in Hallowell. You read about that?” I shake my head. “Some company drained the Hallowell quarry a few years ago because they decided to start mining the granite again. People had been swimming there for like eighty years, like they have been here. I guess they found a ton of crap on the bottom. Stuff you wouldn’t believe. Jewelry, unopened cases of beer, car keys. A safe with a hole blowtorched through the side—”
I laugh. “I believe that.”
“So this one guy hears they’re draining the pit and gets an idea. Like thirty years before, dude went for a swim and dropped his brand-new school ring into the water. Searched and searched for it, but the quarry was so deep, there was no getting it back. His mom tore him up one side and down the other. That shizz is expensive.” Jesse spins his bottle cap on the ground. “You believe that guy climbed in and found that goddamned ring? Covered under dirt and junk, about forty feet straight down from where he was swimming that day.”