Page 53 of Dead of Summer
“Orla,” David says. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He says it louder than he must have intended, and she wonders if he’s a little drunk just like she is. Maybe he’d had something before, to get himself through the engagement.
“You invited me, you idiot, when you showed up at my house wasted.” She lifts her glass up to his, sloshing some over the side. It falls onto the front of his jacket, turning a patch of it dark. “Fun night, the way it ended wasn’t exactly what I’d expected.”
He glances anxiously around him. “Orla, please.”
“No worries. It’ll dry clear,” she says flippantly, pretending he is talking about the stain.
He leans in and drops his voice, giving her a warning look. “Orla, can we not?’?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to congratulate my old friend on his upcoming nuptials.” David looks furtively around the bar. His neck is turning bright red against his white collar.
“You don’t have to go through with it, you know,” she stage-whispers.
“Not here,” he says angrily, pulling away from the bar. “If you have something you need to say, let’s go talk somewhere quiet.” He grips her by the arm and steers her forcefully toward the dark end of the lawn where it dips down to the beach.
“I don’t have long.” David glances back at the party. “Faith will be looking for me.”
Orla ignores him and looks into her cup. It is nearly empty now, half of it having spilled on the walk down to the beach. “Ah, remember gin and tonics? That summer, before everything went to shit?”
He cuts her off.
“What is it that you want?”
She looks out toward those horrible dark waves, hugging herself. “I’ve seen her in New York. More than once.”
“What are you talking about?” he scoffs. But his features have shifted, and she can see that he is afraid.
“I see her everywhere. But every time I realize I’m wrong. It’s not her at all. It’s just my guilty conscience. I can’t escape what we did. What I did.”
David steps away from her, rubbing his neck with his hand and glancing back in the direction of the party. “Is that right? You might want to talk to someone, Orla, that sounds a bit psycho—”
“Looks like Geoffrey’s off to celebrate on his yacht,” she interrupts him, her voice dripping with meaning. David pales.
“He probably has a meeting out there. You know Dad, always working.”
She nearly laughs. “God, you are always protecting him, aren’t you. You just can’t help it.”
“He’s my father.”
She lowers her voice. “You know what I mean.”
“Is that all?” He glances back at the party.
“Off to his new hobby, then?” Orla says. “I don’t think you ever meant the boat when you said that, though, did you? You always knew what he was up to with his friends.”
“Stop it. That’s enough,” David snaps. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what you think you saw. We were children.”
“Oh, we were old enough, though.” Orla presses on. “You knew, didn’t you? All along. You knew what was happening to her with those disgusting guys.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he says quietly. “She didn’t have any money. She said she needed help.”
“Help her bywhat? Bringing her as an offering to Geoffrey?”
“That’s not what it was. He was going to hire her on to help her, like a little job working on the yacht.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Dad isn’t some pedophile.”
