“Come on,” Noah says, looking back to make sure Rosie and I are still following.
A low stone wall stretches across part of the beach, crumbling and overgrown by vines and weeds, and I know we aren’t the first people to set foot here. We are just the first in a very long time.
“Don’t wander off, okay?” he says. A moment later, he looks right at me and repeats, “Okay?”
“Yeah. Right. I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him.
He doesn’t look convinced.
As we walk closer to the fire, I feel the heat of it, pulsing toward me like the music. Through the lapping flames I see Noah’s sister chatting with some English girls known as the three Cs: Chloe, Chelsea, and Charmaine. From this distance, Noah and Lila look alike, almost like the twins that they are. But when Lila spies us, she glares, and I remember that that is where the similarities end.
“What are you doing here?” Lila snaps, coming forward.
If I thought that our newfound sisterhood was going to bond us, I was obviously mistaken.
“I wanted to be close to you.” Noah tries to swallow her in a hug. “Just like in the womb.”
Lila rolls her eyes, then, for a second, lets her gaze drift onto me. Is she thinking about Ms. Chancellor and the Society? Or maybe about how Dominic followed us through the streets this afternoon and how I ran away? I’ll never know.
“Just stay away from me,” she snaps at Noah, and I feel like I should say something, but all my witty banter has abandoned me, so instead I stand perfectly still for a long time, staring at the fire.
It’s a mistake, and I know it. I can feel the flickering glow washing over me. But even if I turned away, I’d still see the way the light flits and moves across the trees, how the shadows dance in the sand. The whole party is bathed in the orange-red aura of the flames. Then the wind shifts. I smell smoke … and that’s when I start shaking.
Noah and Megan have moved up ahead, talking to someone I don’t know. Rosie is no longer by my side. I am alone in the middle of the party, surrounded by the music and the flames.
“Grace, no!” my mother screams.
I close my eyes and shake my head and try to keep the panic at bay, but it’s here — it’s always here — closing in on me. I spin, looking away from the fire, trying to find air to breathe that doesn’t taste like smoke.
I push away from the flames and only realize how far I’ve walked when I feel the sand beneath my feet turn to rock and grass. The smoke is fainter here. The flickering light is muted, and I can feel my heart stop pounding and my head stop spinning.
I put on my shoes and pull a flashlight from my pocket. No one looks at me like I’m a freak because I have one. I just look … prepared.
There are noises in the trees. I hear a few shouts, some laughing. Couples who have peeled away from the pack for a few moments of privacy, overanxious boys eager to jump out of the woods and scare some unsuspecting female who has been told tales of monsters and ghosts.
No one dares to jump out at me.
I let the beam of my flashlight dance across the trees and bushes, the outcroppings of rock and the boulders that, upon closer inspection, look more like giant fists, fighting free of the ground. I step closer, let my light and my gaze sweep deeper into the overgrowth. Vines have almost overtaken the island. They climb and crawl, and I swear I can almost feel them wrapping around my ankle. I kick and claw, spinning.
And that is when I see it.
Someone has carved something into the trunk of one of the ancient trees. I step closer, shine my light directly on the words, and make myself say them aloud.
“Caroline and Dominic forever.”
And just like that my blood turns cold.
Moms aren’t supposed to have pasts. Not old crushes or first loves. But the words have been there for ages, I can tell, and it’s far too easy to imagine another night in another year — another party filled with other kids. I can’t help but see my mother here. Alive and young and in love. Long before my father. Long before me.
Long before everything went wrong.
Suddenly, I think I’m going to be sick. I want to cry, but I don’t cry anymore. My grief comes out of me in other ways. I can feel it in my pounding heart, my running feet.
My promise to Noah is the furthest thing from my mind. Besides, I’m not wandering off. I’m fleeing, retreating, going deeper inland, exploring this new place that is actually incredibly old. I only know that I can’t go back to the music and the fire and the laughing. I don’t belong there. I’m far more at home in the dark.