mother, my father, my grandmother, Connor and Faith, even. And yes, Sadie. Sadie and Grant and Bianca and Parker. How bizarre to expect a person to exist in a vacuum. But more than any of them, I was a product of here. Of Littleport. Same as Connor beside me.
“I don’t live up there anymore,” I said. He turned his head quickly, in surprise. “Long story.”
He leaned back. “I’ve got nowhere else I need to be.”
I tried to think of something to give him. Something true that would mean something to him. I pictured Sadie standing behind me in the window of her bedroom—and how we’d seen her standing there before, looking out. “At night, from the inside,” I told him, “the only thing you can see is your own reflection.”
As we were watching the house, the lights shut off unexpectedly, all at once. Not like someone was flipping the switches one by one. Like a power outage. Everywhere I looked, darkness.
“And I still get seasick at night.” As if there was one thing that could bridge the time. A place to start.
“Keep your eyes fixed on something,” he said.
“I remember.” He had said the same thing to me when I’d gotten sick over the side. But there was only the lighthouse in the distance, and the beam of light kept circling, appearing and vanishing as it moved.
I scanned the distance for a steady object as Connor started the engine again.
There. On the bluffs. A flash of light in the dark. Near the edge, moving away from the Loman house, down the cliff path.
Another person, watching. Moving. Someone was there.
“Connor. Someone’s up there. Watching. You see that, right?”
“I see it,” he said.
CHAPTER 19
The twinkling glow of lights along Harbor Drive came into view as we neared shore. The lights of Littleport, steadying me—guiding me back. The docks were empty at this hour, no more workers milling about. Just a handful of visitors out for a stroll after dinner.
How many times had Sadie and I been out there together, imagining ourselves alone? Walking back toward Landing Lane, the sound of the waves as we passed Breaker Beach. Not noticing the people around who might be watching. Laughter in the night, stumbling in the middle of the street—oblivious to the fact that someone could’ve been lurking around their house. Blinded to the true dangers that surrounded us.
Not tetanus, sepsis, or a misstep near the edge. Not a warning to be careful—Don’t hurt yourself—and a hand at my elbow, guiding me back.
But this. Someone out there. Watching, and waiting, until she was left all alone.
* * *
I HOPPED OUT OF the boat as Connor tied us up to the dock, checking to make sure the detective wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Avery,” Connor called, “you tell me what’s on that.” He nodded at the box tucked under my arm.
I was trembling with cold, the dried salt water coarse against my skin, my hair stiff at the edges. The ground shifted beneath my feet, as if we were still out on the water. In the distance, the lighthouse flashed over the dark sea. I just wanted to get home, get warm. “I will,” I said—but honestly, that depended on what I found.
* * *
WHEN I GOT BACK to my car, I had a missed call and voicemail. The sound of a throat clearing and then a man’s voice, professional and serious. “Avery, it’s Ben Collins. I was hoping to run into you today, wanted to check in on some things. Give me a call when you get a chance.”
I hit delete, stored his number in my phone, and drove toward the residential section behind Breaker Beach. I decided to park a few blocks from the Sea Rose and walk, just in case the detective was still prowling the streets, looking for me.
As I walked the two blocks toward the circle, the outside lights of the homes illuminated my path, making me feel safe, crickets chirping as I passed. I’d just turned onto the front path of the Sea Rose when I heard the sound of footsteps on rocks—coming from the dark alley between homes. I froze, unsure whether to run or move closer.
A shadow suddenly emerged—a woman with her hand on the side of the house for balance. She was in platform shoes, a skirt that hit just above her knees, a top that draped low in front. Unfamiliar but for the red glasses. “Erica?” I asked.
She stopped, narrowed her eyes, then took one more step.