Page 59 of Fire Island
For me.
For us.
As we reach the house, the screech of the radio splits the air.
“Watchhouse to Fire Island. Over.”
Cal rushes to the radio and plucks up the handheld receiver. “Watchhouse, this is Fire Island. Over.”
Emmett sounds tense.
Static channels through the room, and he glances at me.
“Hey, bud. Ah, your sister needs you back here. ASAP. Over.”
“Em, really, tell Irry to text me.”
“You know that’s patchy at best. I’ll pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t it wait?” Cal says, focusing on me.
“No. This time it can’t. Over and out.”
Sixteen
CALLUM
The bell to the diner door jingles overhead, but inside is oddly vacant. I look up to find my sister standing shy of the door. Her face is a war between upset and anger. Evie files in behind me. I couldn’t leave her on the island by herself. Besides, she said there’s no way she was staying out there alone.
I search the room and find Em sitting at one of the tables toward the back. His face looks as vacant as this room, as if he’s in shock, his focus fixed on one spot across the room.
“Hell, if you tell me Errol died, Irry, I’ll shout for the after-party.”
The grin that splits my face with that particular thought fades when her expression doesn’t change. Em clears his throat, fighting with his cap in his hands, and I track his gaze to where it hasn’t moved from since I stepped inside.
What I find has to be some kind of sick dream.
One I’m sure I will wake up from any second now.
Maybe I never survived the rescue after all, and this is simply a screwed-up version of the afterlife.
Because the woman sitting at Iris’s counter should be dead.
She stands, straightening her shirt as she offers up a tight smile. She’s older, but I would recognize that face, that blondehair, and those blue eyes anywhere. Only now, she has the same aloof air about her that her mother did. Her hair is cut shorter, just above her shoulders, and it’s straight, not wavy like it used to be. A single string of pearls sits around her neck above a beige top over dark jeans, a prim-looking handbag hanging from one slim shoulder.
With... rings on her finger. And not the one I gave her.
“Ava,” I choke out.
Iris spins back to glare at the woman we all thought was dead and gone. “If you don’t want her here, say the word and I’ll shove her sorry ass onto the curb faster tha?—”
“Callum,” Ava says, moving closer. A chair scrapes to my right. I glance back to see Eve sitting at a table with her hand over her mouth, shock etched into her face.
I open my mouth to say god knows what, but every last thought I have isn’t fit for human consumption. The realization she’s standing here, alive, means she lied. The entire fucking town lied to me, then treated me like a goddamn criminal. Blamed me for her death. For the tragic death of our...
I stumble back and hit the closed door.
The ridiculous bells jingle.
