“She had OCD,” Tristan said. “And an anxiety disorder. Did you even know that?”
Akil paused, said stubbornly, “She didn’t act like she did.”
“Because she was medicated. She had panic attacks that should’ve kept her off the stage, but it turns out they have pills for that, too.” He fell silent, downshifting as they reached the curve that led toward the waterfront, then spoke again, more quietly. “What better therapy than building a scale model of your life that you can smother under a sheet every night.”
Bridges spoke up. “But . . . she didn’t do any shows last summer. She actually got to hang out.”
“Do you know why last summer happened?” Impatience in Tristan’s voice. “Cassidy’s psychiatrist told our parents they had a choice. Let Cassidy take some time off now, or accept the possibility that she might not have a musical career beyond the age of seventeen. Burnout. Last summer was a test. Cassidy got a little length on her leash, that’s all.” He glanced at Akil. “You were a part of that. You think my father tried to get between you two? He tolerated your presence as a part of Cassidy’s treatment.” When he spoke next, his tone was soft, dismissive. “You were a tool.”
The silence was heavy. Something bumped Pearl’s knee, and she looked over to see Bridges holding the bottle out to her. She took it by the neck, her nostrils tingling with fumes.
Tristan pulled into the yacht club parking lot and cut the engine. Akil stared straight out his window.
“It wasn’t just the dollhouse,” Pearl said. “The vases and the Swiss clock, those came from your house, too. Stuff that survived the fire. You tricked people into buying their dead friends’ things.”
“They weren’t our friends. They were followers.”
She remembered the women in the bathroom, the casual, gossipy way they tore the Garrisons to shreds while freshening up. These were the friends who Sloane had lunched and shopped with, served on boards and committees with, whose husbands golfed and shot skeet with David.
“It’s good stuff.” Bridges’s voice was low, and she remembered the bottle in her hand. “It won’t make you cough or anything.”
She knew the attention of the front seat was on her, too, though in the rearview mirror she could see that Tristan’s eyes were on the dark water. She put the bottle to her lips and sipped, already anticipating the burn as she swallowed, the vapors flooding her sinuses. No big mystery there; she’d smelled enough of the stuff on Dad’s breath to know what it was like. She stuck the bottle back through the seats, and Akil grabbed it as he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
Hadley climbed out and lingered by the Bentley, letting the rest of them walk ahead toward the docks. “For real, where are we going?” She reached down and tugged at the sandal strap around the back of her ankle, laughing uncomfortably. “I mean—we’re going out on a boat now?”
“Yes.” Tristan didn’t turn.
“Yeah, you’ll never believe it, Had.” Akil tucked the bottle inside his jacket. “Boats come with these things called lights.” Backing up Tristan, as usual, as if Tristan hadn’t just cut him to the bone. Akil gave an impatient gesture for her to come on; when she caught up with him, he slung his arm over her shoulders.
They were taking Tristan’s speedboat. Pearl grabbed Bridges’s hand as he helped her aboard. “You guys?” Pearl said. “You didn’t answer her question. Where are we going? Or are we not supposed to ask?” No immediate response. “You really like your secrets, don’t you?”
“We do?” Bridges said, facing away from her as he untied the lines.
“The way you took off after we left the party on Little Nicatou? Into the darkness, under a shroud of mystery.” She sat down on the bench seat, studying the three of them.
Tristan turned the key in the ignition, where he’d apparently left it dangling since the last time he’d gone out. “She’s curious, Bridges.”
Bridges didn’t smile. The bottle had come back to him, and he sat beside Pearl, taking a long swallow. “You’ll see,” was all he said.
They cut through the bay, the only boat on the water, as far as Pearl could tell. It had been a warm night back onshore, but out here, the wind had bite, and she wished she were wearing anything but this dress.
They passed black, silent Little Nicatou, the boat headlights providing a ghostly flash of tree trunks and rocky cliff side. Akil still had his arm around Hadley, brushing his face close to hers, trying to initiate something that Hadley seemed reluctantly interested in. Before long, they were kissing.
Pearl glanced away, half expecting Bridges to follow Akil’s lead, but he was distracted, looking down at the curds of foam rising along their hull, taking occasional sips from the bottle. He passed it back to her. She drank once, handed it off.
Tristan drove for nearly half an hour. When he finally killed the ignition and steered the boat up alongside a sheer cliff, Pearl had no idea where they were. Tristan dropped anchor, tied off on a rocky outcropping, bent to open a storage box beneath one of the seats. The only sound was the sloshing of water against the hull.
Hadley pushed Akil back, slightly breathless as she looked around. “Where’s this?”
“A special place.” Tristan brought out three Maglites, tossing one to Akil, another to Bridges.
Pearl looked up at the cliff. “If I’d known we were going rock climbing, I would’ve worn my stilettos.” Beneath the words, her own unease mixed with the furred sensation the vodka had left on her tongue, and she felt vaguely sick.
When the flashlight beams hit the rocks, it was obvious that the wall wasn’t sheer after all. There was a cave opening, at least twenty-five feet across, the blackness inside swallowing what scant moonlight filtered down to the base. Akil swung one leg over the side of the boat, feeling for the rocks, lunging off as Hadley caught her breath.
He made it, though the force of his leap sent the boat drifting sideways, away from the outcropping, and Tristan had to haul on the line to pull them back. There was a scraping sound as the hull rubbed rock, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “Bridges, help Hadley.”
“That’s okay.” Hadley sat up straighter, pressing her back against the seat. “I’ll wait for you guys here.”
“Nope. Doesn’t work like that.” Akil laid his flashlight down, put out his hands. “You come with us, you’ve got to take the challenge. That’s the deal.”
“The challenge?” She looked at his hands for a moment, then took them and stood, weaving slightly with the motion of the boat. Bridges boosted her over the side onto the rocks, where she stood hugging herself, shifting from foot to foot.
Bridges was next. Pearl glanced at Tristan, surprised to find him holding a waterproof jacket out to her. “You look cold,” he said.
“Thanks.” She put it on, tugging the zipper to her chin. Bridges’s gaze was on her, she could feel it, but she focused on getting herself across the divide, Tristan close behind.
Tristan moved around her so that he was first through the arch, his Maglite beam cutting through the blackness. Akil finally seemed to notice that Hadley was shivering and held out his jacket. She put it on, folding her arms tightly and dropping back to bring up the rear.
Pearl spoke to Bridges as they walked side by side. “So. This is where you guys go at night.” She glanced up, listening as her words echoed up to a vaulted ceiling she couldn’t see.
“One of the places.” Bridges’s voice was quiet, colorless.
The walls of the cave were bumpy and rough-hewn, the floor glistening with moisture and algae left by the tide. Seawater trickled in through small cracks and runnels at their feet.