CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun blazes from a sky free of clouds early Sunday afternoon. The glare off the sand is so blinding, I wouldn’t be able to tell that Becky is making her incredulous face without my sunglasses. I take off the glasses. It doesn’t help. I can still read Becky’s mind.
“You’re in way over your head with Max,” Becky says.
Yep, I’m right about what she’s thinking.
Becky and I sit side by side on black beach blankets. Mine feature zombies, hers vampires. I rearrange myself, covering some rotting flesh. I should have bummed a ride from Max instead of calling Becky.
This lack of wheels thing is getting me down.
In the surf, Julian runs through ankle-deep water toward his friend Tommy. Mom ambushed me on the way out the door and practically ordered me to take Julian to the beach with us. Tommy’s mom sets up her beach chair nearby facing where the boys are playing.
“I thought I needed somebody to take my mind off Hunter,” I say.
“You do! But not somebody with baggage.”
“My baggage is as heavy as Max’s baggage.” I’ll have to break the news to Becky about me and Max sometime. Might as well do it now. “We’re going out.”
She thumps me on the arm. Hard. “Get outta here!”
“It’s true.” Well, sort of true. But if I can get Becky to believe it, everybody else will. I shove aside the guilt that I’m not being completely honest with my best friend. “Adair’s back with Hunter, so why not?”
“That’s not a good reason.”
“How about this one?” I cast around for something Becky will buy. “Max is hot.”
“Again, not a good reason.”
“Isn’t that why you’re into Porter?”
“Maybe I’m into Porter because he’s the strong, silent type.”
I whistle softly. “He also looks damn good without his shirt.”
“Porter’s here?” She practically shrieks.
“Over there.” I nod to the emptiest part of the beach, which is still pretty full.
Becky’s head whips around so fast her ponytail flies. “Wow! He looks great.”
“So do you.”
She’s wearing a canary yellow two-piece that highlights her tan and blond hair.
“Go over there and get him. This is your chance, Becks.”
Her muscles bunch like she’s about to spring to her feet, but she doesn’t move. “You already know I’m holding out until Porter puts the moves on me.”
“Because of the you chase him until he catches you thing? Where’d you hear that?” There’s only one logical answer. “Your mom, right?”
“She knows what she’s talking about. That’s how she got Dad to fall for her.”
“Back in the nineties,” I point out.
“It’s worth a try,” Becky argues. “Porter’s not just any guy. He’s the guy.”
“So make him notice you. Strut your stuff. If he doesn’t look up from his book, kick some sand his way by accident.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“It’s a great idea.”
“Okay.” Becky leaps to her feet. “Wish me luck.”
“Always.”
Becky’s not bad at strutting her stuff. If the strip of sand between me and Porter was a runway, people would applaud. Porter doesn’t even glance up. He must be reading one damn good book. Like The Haunting of Hill House. Or The Amityville Horror.
Now I can appreciate good scenery, like the tall guy in sunglasses walking past Hunter’s blanket. His chest is impressive for someone so thin, all lean muscle and not too much hair. He’s got a good walk, too. Confident but not cocky. Sort of like Max’s walk. I slip my sunglasses back on to get a better look.
It is Max. My heart rate speeds up.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Max calls from a few steps away.
I like the sound of that gorgeous too much to let it go. “You don’t have to say stuff like that. I’m already on board with your plan.”
He drops a rolled-up beach towel on the sand and sits down next to me on one of the zombies. “Still need to sell it.”
His lips close over mine in a soft, sweet kiss. Before I can summon the will to draw away, he does. His smile is as bright as the blast of sunlight that spells doom for vampires in the movies.
“What’s with the grin?”
“I thought you’d stand me up.”
“We’re putting our heads together, remember?”
He leans closer to me, like he’s coming in for another kiss. This time I do muster the will to draw back. “Not that close together.”
He laughs. “I should have offered to pick you up. How’d you get here?”
“Becky.” I nod toward her. She’s flirting like mad, but with a boy I’ve never seen before, probably a tourist. Becky smiles, laughs and peeks at Porter. He keeps on turning the pages.
“Did you tell Becky about me?” Max asks.
“Well, yeah. She’s my best friend.”
“Then she knows I lost time, too?”
“She knows you were a missing person.”
“You didn’t tell her the rest.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Why not?”
“Becky doesn’t even believe I was missing, okay? And she doesn’t trust you.”
“Neither do you.” He stretches his long legs in front of him. His skin isn’t quite as pale as when I first met him, but he could still use a few days in the sun. “You called the Greensboro police.”
“How do you know that?”
“My mom. She’s always phoning the police about their progress on the case, not that there ever is any. She called yesterday right after you did.”
While I think of how much to admit, I search the beach for Julian. He’s not around, but neither is Tommy. Tommy’s mom lounges in her chair, reading a magazine. If she’s that chill, the boys are probably under the pier. It’s a gathering spot for Julian’s crowd during the day.
“If you thought I’d take your word that you were a missing person,” I finally tell Max, “you’re crazy.”
“Neither of us is crazy, but we’re wasting time checking up on each other. We’re not the bad guys.”
The woman closest to us, who’s either pregnant or suffering from excess belly fat, is listening to an iPod. I lower my voice to a whisper, anyway. “Who is?”
“Maybe whoever dumped Constance Hightower’s body.”
“Seriously?” This preoccupation with the Black Widow is becoming a problem. “I get that it’s an interesting case. It’ll probably wind up in those supermarket tabloids. But what does Constance Hightower have to do with us?”
“Maybe nothing, maybe everything,” he says. “There’s not a lot of crime in Midway Beach. The same people who killed her could have abducted us.”
“Midway Beach isn’t Gotham City. How big and bad do you think these people are? By your logic, they poisoned Hunter, too.”
“Hunter was poisoned?” Max seems genuinely surprised. “Where did you hear that?”
“At the hospital yesterday.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was too busy defending myself.”
He reaches out and trails a finger over the faint bruise on my cheek. “You didn’t do a very good job of that.”
The warm shiver his touch produces annoys me. Ditto for his deliberate misunderstanding of my meaning. “I wasn’t talking about defending myself against Adair. I meant the argument I had with you in the elevator.”
“That Hunter was poisoned proves I’m right,” he says. “I told you he was bad news.”
“Hold up.” I’m not in the mood to inform Max he was also right about Hunter using a bogus last name. “You think Hunter brought this on himself?”
“Yeah, I do,” he says. “This thing with Hunter, it’s got nothing to do with the other stuff going on in Midway Beach. The guy’s unpredictable. Maybe he even swallowed something on purpose.”
“Really? That’s your theory?”
?
??Got a better one?”
“Depends. Did Hunter buy anything at the concession stand?”
Max takes off his sunglasses and gives me a hard look. “I don’t like the guy, Jade, but I didn’t poison him.”
If I wasn’t so mixed up about the truth, I’d think Max was telling it. Except I can’t shake the feeling that Max’s dislike of Hunter has roots in a shared past he won’t admit they have. “Then maybe Adair poisoned him. Hunter ordered some food, right?”
“I honestly don’t know. When I noticed how steamed she was, I gave them some space. But I can’t see Adair poisoning anyone.” He shakes his head. “We’re getting off track. We’re supposed to be solving our own problems.”
He’s right. Getting abducted and losing time trumps getting poisoned when we’re the ones who experienced the abduction and time loss.
“Okay, then. Seems to me our next move is getting inside that cabin in Wilder Woods.” Now that I’ve brought up the subject, I’ve got to ask him the next question even though it pains me. “Did you get that invite from Adair yet?”
“What invite?” Maia is suddenly standing over us in a teeny two-piece that barely covers her. “Is Adair having a party she didn’t tell me about?”
“Like Adair would tell me if she was having a party,” I say.
“Then what were you two talking about?” Maia sits down on the blanket beside us, acting unaware that she’s intruding. “It looked like pretty heavy stuff.”
“You know what they say about looks.” Max smiles at her. “They can be deceiving.”
Maia scowls. “Yeah, but—”
Screams interrupt her. They’re coming from near the pier, down at the surf line. I stand up, shielding my eyes from the sunlight slipping through the top of my sunglasses. At least a half dozen people are gathered, pointing at something in the water.
Max and Maia stand, too.
“I think someone’s caught in the current,” Max says.
Julian. Where is he? Lots of boys Julian’s age are playing in the surf. None of them are Julian. My heart compresses like it’s caught in a vice. But Julian knows not to swim near the pier, where the currents are unpredictable. Doesn’t he?
“What is it?” Max touches my shoulder.
“My brother, I don’t see him.” I take off toward the ocean, ignoring the hot sand burning my bare feet.
Please, God, I pray. Please let Julian be okay.
Max passes me, his arms pumping, his feet digging into the sand. Beyond where the people are gathered, a head surfaces from the deep water. Whoever is struggling to keep alive out there has dark hair. Like Julian. I spot his friend Tommy in the crowd. Tommy’s pointing and screaming.
Julian isn’t with him.
It feels like something exploded in my chest. My heartbeat thrashes in my ear. I drive myself forward on legs that suddenly feel weak, refusing to stop or even slow down. I’m getting closer, but I’m still too far away.
Please, please, please. Don’t let it be my brother.
The dark head disappears, then reappears again. Is that two times? Or three? Is it true that a drowning person resurfaces only three times before hope is lost? My lungs burn, but I try to pick up speed.
Please, someone help whoever it is.
But none of the gawkers venture from shore. Their feet seem to be stuck in the sand. It’s well known the currents near the pier are treacherous. Only a true hero would risk himself to save someone else, and in my life heroes have been in short supply.
But, wait! Somebody is in the ocean, cutting through the water with powerful strokes.
Max reaches the crowd of onlookers before I do. He pushes his way through the mass of humanity, high steps through the shallow water and dives into a wave. In the deeper water, the hero draws closer to the drowning person. I reach Tommy and put my hand on his shoulder, whirling him around.
“Where’s Julian?” My voice sounds shrill and unnatural.
Tears fill Tommy’s eyes. Wordlessly, he points toward the deadly water.
A new wave of horror washes over me at the confirmation. The ocean roars in my ears, angry and merciless. I run through the deepening water, frustrated at my slow progress. I’m knee-deep when a wave knocks me over. Saltwater rushes over my head. I swallow some and come up coughing, pushing the wet hair back from my face.
The first swimmer is beyond where the waves break, at about the place where I spotted Julian. I don’t see my brother. The swimmer’s head disappears beneath the water. And then I don’t see anything at all but the sun shimmering on the water and sea gulls circling overhead.
“No!” I cry.
I’m about to start swimming when a head surfaces from the deep water. No, not one head. Two! The swimmer gets Julian in a cross-chest carry, like a lifeguard, and sidestrokes toward the shore. A third person reaches them—Max—and there are three heads above the water, moving as one.
Another wave rolls toward me and breaks. I struggle to stay upright, straining to see if my brother is moving through the salt spray. I’m too far away, and the waves are too numerous. I wade back toward the shore at an angle, stopping every few seconds to check the state of the rescue, until I reach the gathered crowd. Progress is slow, but the trio draws closer and closer to the shore. And, then, finally they’re standing in the surf. Max and the other person—the hero—support Julian between them.
I run toward them, the weight of the water around my ankles slowing me down. Over the sound of the surf, I hear my brother cough. My knees nearly buckle.
Thank you, God.
I don’t only owe God thanks. I owe the hero a debt of gratitude my family will never be able to repay. Max is on one side of Julian. On the other is a man in a woman’s bathing suit. No, not a man. A tall woman with broad shoulders and a hulking walk.
It’s Roxy.