Page 43 of Summer's Edge

“Nothing,” Chase says sharply, uncharacteristic of him. He tries to pull Mila away from the edge of the water, but she slumps back like a stubborn toddler refusing to leave a toy store.

She grins at me and hands me the slick, mildew-covered oar. “Dead things, Chelsea. Dead things.” Then she looks Chase square in the eye. “And if we survive the night, I’m telling.”

The tension in the air is as heavy as the fog. “Mila, Ryan’s the one behind all of this,” I say. “He made up the story about the gas leak. This is all his revenge.”

But she barely reacts. “Great job, Chelsea. Now tell me. Revenge for what? Have you cracked the case yet? Who kissed the killer?”

I falter. None of that was real. Right? “What happened to you out there?”

“Nothing worth telling, apparently.” Mila pulls her lighter out of her pocket absently, ignites it, and stares at the little dancing flame. “It doesn’t matter what we do now anyway,” she says. “We’re fucked.”

“Mila,” Chase says again. “Enough.”

Mila flicks her lighter shut. “Delicate.”

I’m three seconds away from exploding, and that can’t happen now. Not when Mila is so close to giving in. I use the old trick, picturing a glass jar, the kind Mr. Hartford builds tiny ships in, a hurricane swirling inside. Imagine striking a match, holding the flame to a ring of wax, sealing the jar airtight. Pressure within, silence without. But the wordsShut upescape.

She shakes her head. “Have any of you ever really faced consequences in your lives?”

“Mila, please.” There’s pleading in Chase’s voice now.

“No. No more coddling. Not for any of you. You all ran off and left me to take the fall. I was the one dealing with reporters, detectives, private investigators. No one, not a single person, believed our story.”

I feel like I’ve been smashed into pieces.Our story.“It wasn’t a story,” I say numbly.

“People are going to remember me as a murderer for the rest of my life. And you thank me by lying to me. To all of us.”

“You’re wrong,” Chase says. “I haven’t been lying. Maybe I forced myself to suppress a few things as a defense mechanism or something. Butnoneof us is a murderer. You know that.” Chase’s eyes are fixed on me.

The worddelicatevibrates through my bones at an alarming pitch. “If that’s true, why is she calling it a story?”

“You’re really living in a total state of denial, aren’t you?” Mila says in disbelief. “Even now, surrounded by memories.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Chase says quietly. “All of us are guilty of turning a head to certain unpleasant truths.”

I stare at him, my sense of horror growing. What truths? “I was completely isolated from the outside world last year. Maybe I didn’t dig for the truth, but it’s not like it was at my fingertips.”

“What about the Summer of Swallows?” Mila says. “The year before the fire.”

“How is that even relevant? Every year is the same,” I say impatiently.

Chase gives me the look I hate the most. Pity. “Not exactly the same.”

Mila stands and heaves her suitcase up. “It’s Kennedy’s fault we’re in this mess. I’m not waiting for her. Chase, you can get your stuff or I can walk to town without you.”

“We’re leaving together,” Chase says firmly. He shivers. “It’s probably not a bad idea to grab our things, though. And maybe wait at the end of the driveway.”

“Kennedy said to wait here,” I say with a rush of panic. “Have you seen her? She took the boat to find you.”

Mila casts Chase a long look. “Yeah, I saw her out on the boat. And I sure as hell didn’t stop to say hello.”

I stare at her, taken aback. “Why? We have to find her.”

She looks exhausted. “You still believe everything Kennedy tells you, Chelsea?”

A chill runs through me. “I have to believe it.”

“The only thing I have to do is go home.” She turns away wearily.

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