“You wanted to die?” he said, like it had never occurred to him.

“No. I don’t know.” But, the blade. The list of things I had done—leaning forward from the lighthouse, falling asleep at the edge of the water—the time he had found me on Breaker Beach, drinking so I wouldn’t have to make a decision either way.

Salt water in my lungs, in my blood. A beautiful death, I had believed.

But it had been Sadie’s death instead, and the reality of it was horrible. All I could give him was the truth. “It was a bad time.”

He sighed, ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I knew it was bad timing.” He saw it the other way—that it was his fault. Timing, not time. “You weren’t yourself.” Except I was. In one way or another, I was never more myself than right then. Desperately, terrifyingly, unapologetically myself. And I’d just discovered the power of it, how it wreaked destruction, not only on myself but on others.

“When I saw you on the beach,” he continued, “I wanted to die, too.” A smirk to soften the truth.

“I didn’t go there to hurt you. Some nights I’d sleep out there.”

“I know. That’s why I went there. You weren’t home, and I was worried.”

They had just shown up. Two guys, a bonfire. I knew them, a year older, but I knew them through Connor. “Everything just went to hell.”

I thought of that journal, how fast I was sinking, at the whim of some current I couldn’t see.

He sighed, then spoke quietly, as if someone else might be listening in. That detective, somewhere on the dark beach in the distance, watching us. “I need to know, Avery. What role you’re playing here. It’s not just your life, you get that? It’s mine, too.”

I didn’t understand what he was implying. “I’m not—”

“Stop.” His entire body changed, no longer feigning nonchalance. Everything on high alert. “The police kept asking why I was there that night, at the party. And I didn’t know what to say.”

“Why were you there?”

“Are you kidding me?” His eyes went wide. “You sent me the address. Why did you want me there?”

“I didn’t.” I pulled out my phone, confused, even though this was a year ago.

“You did. You sent me the address. Listen,” he said. He leaned forward, close enough to touch. “It’s just me and you here. No one can prove what you say to me right now. But I have to know.”

I shook my head, trying to understand. “It must’ve been Sadie,” I said.

The same way I’d just accessed her phone. I checked the password settings on my own phone now. She’d programmed her thumbprint, just as I’d done on hers—we’d done it together, years earlier. Because we shared everything, for years. And when that changed, we’d forgotten to redefine the boundaries.

Now I was picturing Sadie getting Connor’s number from my phone. And then sending him a text about the Plus-One from me. She wanted him at the party that night. Which meant she was planning to be there, too.

“It was from your number,” he said, his hand braced on the bench between us.

“I didn’t send you that text, Connor. I swear it.” And yet he had shown up, thinking it was me. It was a startling confession. But Connor always saw the best possibilities in people.

“It’s not over, Avery.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Collins questioned me, sure. But I’m not the only one they want to know about. Not back then, and not now.” Even in the dark, I could feel his eyes on the side of my face. I pictured that list. The one I’d been filling in to make sense of things. But also: the one Detective Collins had slid in front of me the very first day. He’d written out each name. Avery. Luciana. Parker. Connor. A list of suspects.

Mine was first on that list. He’d practically told me from the start: You.

And I’d gone straight to him with the phone, hoping he’d reopen the case.

“Did you tell the police about the text from me?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t mention it.” His eyes slid to the side. “I didn’t mention you at all. So don’t worry.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe I’m a better person than you.” He shook his head. “I loved you once.” Changing his tune but proving the first comment true in the process.

“You hated me, too,” I said.

He grinned tightly. “I don’t even know who I’m talking to anymore. What you’re like.”

An echo of Greg’s thoughts, claiming I was Sadie’s monster instead of someone fully formed. There were pieces of others who gave everyone shape, of course there were. For me: my 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. “Avery? Is that you?”

She had something in her other hand, and she twisted it out of sight, looking over her shoulder into the dark alley, then back at me. Her face nervous and unsure—like she had something to hide.