the empty spot in front of Warden House. “Rudy and I lived here when we first moved to Rock Harbor and Rudy’s still fond of the place.”
Kevin looks up at the decaying old house as if wondering why anyone would be fond of such a broken-down wreck. “So Rudy was waiting here when you got here?”
“Yes,” I say, wary now of saying too much.
“And that was at three-fifteen?”
I nod. “Thereabouts. Remember I showed you the text from Rudy on my phone? I got that at just after three and I left as soon as I got dressed. I noticed it was three-oh-six when I left the house and it’s only a ten-minute drive from there.”
“Uh huh. Did you happen to notice the tide?”
“The tide?”
“Yeah.” Kevin turns to face the coastline. “You can see the water from here. Did you notice how high the tide was and whether it was going in or out?”
I pause to think. I remember that when I first got to the path I could hear the water, but after I went behind Warden House and came back I didn’t hear it. When I reached the Point I could see the bare rocks of the causeway gleaming in the moonlight. But of course I can’t tell Kevin that I went to the Point. He’s trying to trick me, I think, into giving away that I went out to the point, but I won’t fall for it.
“No,” I say, “I didn’t notice. I just picked up Rudy and left.”
Kevin holds my gaze for a moment as if giving me the chance to change my story, then turns back toward the water. “Me, I grew up here. My father and grandfather and his father were fishermen. I helped out on the boat during the summers, so I’m always noticing the tide. See how you can see the tip of that pointy rock there?” He points to a sharp rock standing a couple of yards off the shore. “Locals call that the Ebb Stone because when it appears you know you’ve got fifteen minutes before the causeway is clear. Come on.” He smiles, like the boy he’s recalling, shrugging his shoulder toward the path. “We have just enough time.”
Just enough time for what? I want to ask, but I don’t say a word as we walk, afraid now that I will give something away. Besides, Kevin seems happy enough to do the talking.
“I used to race the tide when I was a kid. As soon as I saw the Ebb Stone appear I’d start out from my house and cut through the back of campus—did you know I grew up two blocks behind where you live now? You can make it here in five minutes on foot, quicker than driving along the coast road. Rudy could have made it home faster by walking than waiting for you.”
The introduction of Rudy in the narrative makes the back of my neck prickle. I shrug off the chill. “I always tell him to call if he wants a lift home. I’d rather come get him than have him wandering the town in the middle of the night.”
Kevin ignores my parental philosophy and goes on, “Me, I could barely stay put when I was that age. I couldn’t sleep. It felt like I might miss something. When I saw the Ebb Stone from my window it felt like a dare. If I started out from my house I could make it to the Point just as the tide cleared the causeway. There’s nothing like that moment when the sand and rocks are laid bare, when you’re the first one to step on land that was under water only moments before. Like an explorer being the first to step foot in an undiscovered country.”
I glance at Kevin. “I remember that from Senior Seminar,” I say. “You played Hamlet.”
“And you played Ophelia,” he says with a wistful smile. “That phrase—the ‘undiscovered country’—always makes me think of this.”
We’ve reached the end of the path. We’re below the Point—where Rudy was waiting for me that night—and the rock causeway leading to Maiden Island stretches out in front of us. There’s still a corrugated film of water over the rocks, but as we watch it withdraws, as if pulled by a magician’s hand, leaving bare gleaming rock and sand. I can almost hear the suck of the tide retreating, like an indrawn breath—a gasp—and I notice that I’m holding my own breath. This is what I saw when I