And we both laughed. It was my mom’s line. Actually, it was my grandfather’s line, but my mom had claimed it as her own. Darcy reached for the pancake mix as tears filled my eyes.
Don’t cry. Do not cry over IHOP, I told myself, clutching the dish towel. There’s no way to explain that.
As I watched Darcy move around the kitchen, her graceful movements so much like my mom’s, I wondered what kind of selfless acts Darcy and my dad would need to do to make them Lifers—and how I could help them accomplish those feats. I’d already said good-bye to my mother; I didn’t want to have to say good-bye to them, too. Not if there was anything I could do about it.
“How about we start over?” Darcy said, pulling some eggs out of the fridge.
“We?” I asked, happily surprised.
She shrugged. “I’ve baked for a lot of bake sales. I must’ve learned something. Where’s your measuring cup?” Darcy asked, taking a clean bowl out of the cabinet.
I reached past her for the ceramic coffee cup I’d been using, and she grabbed my arm, staring down at my leather bracelet. My cheeks burned and I snatched my arm back.
“Where did you get that?” she demanded.
“Nowhere,” I said automatically. She gave me a “nice try” sort of look, and I sighed, busted. “Krista gave it to me.”
“She just gave you one. Just like that,” she said skeptically.
I shrugged one shoulder. Obviously Darcy had noticed, just like I had early on, that Tristan, Joaquin, and their entire crowd all wore these bracelets.
“So…what? Are you part of their little clique now?” she asked, opening a drawer so violently all the utensils inside came sliding to the front.
“No! Of course not. She just thought I’d like it,” I improvised. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Uh-huh.” She took out a set of plastic measuring cups and slammed the drawer. “Whatever you say.”
I swallowed hard, knowing how jealous Darcy must have felt. She was supposed to be the popular, cool girl, not me. If there was one thing she hated, it was being left out. Of anything.
“Darcy, I—”
At that moment, my dad came barreling down the stairs. I was about to ask him if he wanted pancakes when he entered the kitchen, and the question died on my tongue.
His face was flushed, his eyes wild, his normally neatly combed hair sticking out behind his ears. It was a look I knew well. For a long time, my father’s temper had been beyond short, his ability to be patient nil. Whenever the cable guy was an hour late or they forgot his fries at the drive-through window or he had to wait at the doctor’s for more than fifteen minutes, this was the look he got on his face—like that of a deranged madman.
“Girls,” he said, half in, half out of the kitchen, “I just came in to tell you I’m driving over to the mainland.”
“What?” I blurted out, gripping the counter as my legs gave way beneath me.
“Can I come with you?” Darcy asked at the same time.
“Why?” I demanded.
“Because we’ve been here for over a week and no one has contacted us,” my father explained, shaking his fist angrily. “Not the FBI, not the U.S. marshals. And I can’t dial out from this damned island. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to know what’s going on back home and whether or not Steven Nell is still on the loose.”
Sweat beaded on the back of my neck. Steven Nell wasn’t still on the loose. He was dead, just like we were, except, according to Tristan, I’d sent him to the Shadowlands. We were completely safe right now. If you considered being dead a state of well-being.
“Dad, I’m sure everything is fine,” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
“No, it’s not! This is not okay!”
I looked at my father, his eyes alight with hopeful concern. He was just trying to protect us. Just trying to get us home. I loved my dad in that moment. More than I had in a long time. But I could not let him leave this island.
“Dad, let’s just wait a few days. Maybe by then—”
But he didn’t listen. He closed the door so hard it shook the windowpanes. I had only made it halfway through the living room when he leaped into the car and gunned it out of the driveway.
“Dammit,” I said under my breath, reaching back to untie my apron.
“Where’re you going?” Darcy demanded, throwing a hand up as I ran out the door.
“I’ll be right back.”
“But what about the pancakes?” she shouted after me.
“I’m sorry!” I called back.
Out on the street, I chased after the car. My father took the left toward town at top speed and disappeared up the hill. I ran after him as hard as I could.
What am I doing? I thought desperately, trying to control my breathing. There’s no way I’m going to catch him.
But I knew I had to try. His afterlife might depend on it.
When I emerged at the top of the hill, I saw my father’s car across the park, turning toward the ferry docks. I took a moment, relieved. At least he wasn’t going to the bridge.
The wind whipped, and from the corner of my eye I saw an odd flash coming from the rotunda windows of the library. My heart thumped. The flash came again. Then again. It was as if someone was sending Morse code, flashing the sunlight back out at the world with a mirror. I squinted but could make out nothing, and suddenly, the blinds fell.
My dad turned the corner, and I tore myself away from the window. Taking a deep breath, I sprinted across the park, then up the hill to the bluff. In the distance, bobbing over whitecaps, was the ferry. It was still a few minutes out, but once it was docked, my father was going to attempt to board it. I did the only thing I could think to do—I ran up to Tristan’s front door and collapsed against it, pounding on the wooden panels as hard as I could with both hands.
Tristan threw open the door. He looked angry until he saw me. Then his face softened.
“Rory, what—”
“What happens to someone if they try to leave the island?” I demanded, grabbing his arm.
He turned pale. “What?”
“My father…he’s on his way…to the ferry,” I said between gasps. “He wants to go back to the mainland to find out what’s going on with Steven Nell.”
I managed to get the bulk of it out in one breath, then leaned against the wall. The world was starting to go prickly, and I had to bend over to keep from passing out.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, steadying my shoulder in his strong grip.
“Yes! But my father—”
“I’m on it,” he said, turning toward the door on the far side of the foyer. I took a staggering step to go with him, but he placed his hand on my shoulder again. “You should wait out here. The mayor can be sort of…” He paused as I looked up at him through my sweaty bangs. “Just wait here,” he said with an apologetic, grim smile.
“Okay. Just hurry. Please,” I told him. Then I fell onto an antique bench against one of the front windows, leaning my head back against the cool pane. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was the determination in my father’s face. If Tristan didn’t automatically have an answer for this, then it was not good. I heard a door open and jumped up.
A tall woman in a cream-colored suit and matching heels strode out of the office, her long, tapered fingers clasped in front of her. Her makeup looked professionally applied, and there wasn’t a single stray hair slipping out from her blond chignon. Diamond earrings dangled from her earlobes, and she wore a strand of pearls around her imperious neck. When she smiled at me, I ran my tongue over my own slightly crooked front teeth.
“Rory Miller,” she said in a welcoming tone, her hand stretching out in front of her. “It is a distinct pleasure to finally meet you.”