it’s just better if we talk in person. I’m at 631-959-4095 if you want to give me a call.
When I read her messages one way, she’s writing to a girl she knows. When I read them again, she’s talking to a stranger. I read them so many times I can recite Zoe’s words in my sleep.
On Saturday night, I’m alone in the pool house, Zoe’s messages open on my screen. I look away, but the words dance along the bedroom wall. She gave me her number. I didn’t respond to her on Messenger, but I could have called her. I don’t remember doing it, but then again, I don’t remember reading these messages before either. And Messenger shows that I did. I click over to my call log, but I already know I won’t find anything there. I’ve only had this phone since June.
A persistent voice inside my head says I called Zoe in December. That three days later, I came to Herron Mills like she asked.
And then she disappeared.
I stare at her messages one more time. Then I write back.
8/1: Zoe? Hello?
In the two weeks that have passed since my last awkward movie night with Caden, we’ve texted some, but I’ve only seen him a couple times around the neighborhood when I’ve been out with Paisley, and neither of us has suggested making another plan to hang out. Charlie’s come and gone from Windermere a few times over the past week, although as far as I can tell he’s only gotten as far as replanting the grass in the backyard. The ruins of the stable remain untouched. Not that I’ve been spying. Much.
On Sunday, four days after I discovered Zoe’s messages on my phone, I sit alone in the pool house for what seems like the hundredth evening in a row. Dinner’s over and there’s still so much night left. I think about texting Martina, but I basically invited myself along last weekend. I should probably wait for her or Aster to invite me next time.
Finally, I pull up my last messages with Caden and fire off a text. It’s clear that things have shifted between us, but only I know why. If Caden thinks I got weirded out by his mom or lost interest in his friendship or even that I had something to do with the fire, he’s kept his thoughts to himself.
Over the past four days, my mind has been churning, Zoe’s messages triggering more and more fragments of memories that don’t fit together. There’s the indoor pool at Zoe’s house, but it’s not just that. I’ve been remembering specific details about Zoe. I’ve scratched the surface of something; I just need a little more information to connect the dots. And I think Caden can help.
Hey. Long time.
I stare at Caden’s reply, then start typing.
Yeah, I know. Just busy. You want to come over and hang?
Can’t really leave, as per usual. But you can come over here. Come around front, you can see the work I’ve done on the pond.
A few minutes later, I’m waiting for Caden to let me in at the front gate. It hits me that this might be the last time he invites me over to Windermere. After everything I’m about to ask, he’ll probably give me a wide berth. But I can’t help it. I need answers. Caden has them.
It’s only a little after seven, and the sun is still bright in the sky. Caden gives me a tour of the renovated pond, which he says is ready for fish again. The overgrowth has been cleared away, revealing a pretty stone rim around the edge. He explains that the whole thing had to be drained, the liner and skimmer pump replaced, and so on. Honestly, compared to the shape of the estate’s interior, fixing up the koi pond seems a bit like putting lipstick on a pig, but with Mrs. Talbot’s health—and indoor aviary—I can see why he would want to focus his energy on an attainable goal.
I plop down in the grass and hug my knees to my chest. Tonight, I’m wearing my hair down, and my sunglasses are propped on top of my head. The Zoe-factor is in full effect, and somehow that feels fitting.
“I don’t know how to explain this really,” I say, “so I’m just going to dive in. I need to ask you a couple questions about Zoe.”
Caden frowns and joins me in the grass. “You’re not recording this for Martina, are you?” He narrows his