Best of all, I couldn’t see Jackson’s Rock. I’d almost convinced myself that the boat, that Grey, was a vivid dream and nothing else. Seeing the lighthouse would ruin that; it was too real to ignore.
Sitting on the top step, Bailey dug into her backpack for her lunch. “I texted you about a million times yesterday.”
I took my place next to her and stole a stick of her celery. I had my own lunch, but for some reason, Bailey’s always tasted better to me. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. It was a messed-up day.”
“Mine too,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
Cracking open a plastic container, Bailey stirred her pasta salad with a fork, then sighed. “You have enough going on.”
“So? Talk to me.”
She hesitated. And I realized she was fighting with herself about this. That she had something eating at her and she didn’t want to say. I felt bad, because she was my best friend. She needed somebody to talk to, too, and I’d blown her off completely. Twisting around, I nudged her. “Bay.”
“Cait’s up and decided she’s going to apply to USC,” she said. She stabbed her pasta, then put the container aside hard.
Surprised, I said, “I thought you guys had a plan.”
“Yeah, me too.” The bitterness in her voice clung to her. Eyes flashing, she picked up her lunch again just to abandon it. “She says it’s a better school for what she wants to do. And I’m, like, why didn’t you say something before?”
“Why didn’t she?”
“She didn’t want to hold me back.”
Slinging my arm around her, I slid in close. “So you broke up?”
“No, but we’re going to.” Bailey swiped a knuckle across her cheek, then looked into the distance. She was so far away in her eyes, and she looked painfully small. “I’m not stupid. Three thousand miles apart is too much.”
“That’s a year and a half away, though.”
“It’s an expiration date.”
Uselessly hopeful, I said, “Maybe she won’t get in.”
Bailey paid that about as much attention as it deserved: none. Waving her hand, she said, “I can’t . . . It’s like saying, okay, I’ll love you for exactly this long, but then it stops.”
I leaned my head against hers. It’s not like she wasn’t making sense. But I grasped for her anyway. If everything was over for me, then that’s just the way it was. For Bailey, I could be the one who punched at the moon and expected to hit it. “You guys are happily ever after. It’s gonna work out.”
“And then they never saw each other again, the end. Some fairy tale.” She wiped away another tear, then stiffened. In an instant, she put herself back together. “There’s somebody coming.”
She had ears like a bat; she must have heard footsteps on the stone walk, because there wasn’t anything to see just yet. Though I tightened with anticipation, I kept my attention on Bailey. Since we didn’t know who was coming, I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’m not trying to talk you out of it, boo. I just hate it for you, you know?”
“You want to hear something stupid?” she whispered back.
“Always.”
Posed at attention, she watched the walk. “I wish you could talk me out of it. Stop everything at the bonfire, and stay there forever.”
That was the last place I wanted to spend my eternity, but I kept that to myself. The wind kicked up; it made the forest shiver around us. A dark figure finally appeared on the walk. A woman in a Statey uniform approached us, her hips heavy under her gun belt. I knew what she was after, so I stood up.
“What the . . . ?” Bailey murmured.
When the deputy saw us, she moved a little faster. She put a hand on her holster too. I wanted to snort because Bailey and I, we looked real dangerous with our backpacks and school books.
“Hey, ladies,” she said. “Know where I can find Willa Dixon?”
“That’s me.”
Without too much discussion, she checked my ID, then gave me a thick envelope. Since I knew what was inside, I shoved it in my back pocket. Like an idiot, I thanked her—like I was thrilled to get served and couldn’t wait to go to court. But inside, I felt empty, kind of a relief. The struggle was gone. Maybe it was shock, or maybe I was past caring.
“It’s just court stuff,” I told Bailey as the deputy disappeared down the path again.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” Reaching past her, I picked up her pasta salad and stole a couple of bites. “You wanna go sugar Cait’s tank?”
Bailey made a funny sound, amused and resigned. Shaking her head, she leaned back on her elbows instead of reclaiming her lunch. “I don’t know. Ask me after we break up.”
With a look over my shoulder, I asked, “You wanna let the air out of Seth’s tires, then?”
“No, dummy.” She kicked my foot. “Neither do you.”
“Yeah I do. Let’s see him go driving around with Denny on four flats.”
“He’ll just put her on the handles of his ten-speed.”
The mental picture that conjured actually made me laugh. The sound surprised me; it felt strange the way it echoed in my chest. We settled back. Cool wind washed over us again, and we sighed at the same time. We had an expiration date too, but we weren’t gonna discuss it.
Instead, after a long stretch of quiet, I said, “We could steal her brakes for your tru—”
“Shut it,” Bailey said, and squeezed my hand.
After school, I swung by the house to get my worm-digging gear. I tossed my copy of the summons on the table so Mom would know I got it, then headed right back out.
That junk heap in Milbridge was still for sale. It was gonna need a lot of expensive work. Rebuilding an engine wasn’t cheap. Neither was buying a new one outright.
The fog had lifted and the tide receded. Hunched backs lined the horizon, other diggers already at work. The mud closest to the shore was already raked to bits.
I had to hike out a ways to find a fresh patch, the mire doing its damnedest to pull off my boots. The cold cut right through the rubber, sending a chilled ache through my bones.
The lighthouse seemed to hover at the edge of my sight, but I refused to raise my head. It was finally a clear day, and I didn’t want to see Grey standing on the cliffs. If he was there without any mist in the air, I couldn’t call him a hallucination. I’d have to admit he was real. Somehow, it was easier to believe I was losing my mind.
A white boat drifted in the distance, probably my dad. I couldn’t make out the details that far away. I just had a feeling.
Lots of boats were white, but this one idled near where I dropped our pots when I was out. Someone moved on its deck, then ducked inside. The boat sped a little ways, stopping again.
That had to be him, fishing alone. Slowly, he disappeared into the island’s shadow.
I rubbed the knot out of my throat, then got to raking. Icy flecks of mud spattered me, stinking with decay and dead fish. It was harder than usual. Like I didn’t have my usual strength or stamina. Sure, the mud was cold, but except for the dead of summer, it always was.
My rake cut smooth but uncovered nothing. Sandworms, some mussels, but that was about it. I picked up my gear and moved farther out. Just as I bent to work another row, a man called out. “Hey, Gingham!”
Glancing at my apron, I straightened. The guy yelling at me was thin and gangly, his chin so narrow, his blond goatee hung from it like moss. I didn’t recognize him at all. “What?”
“How about you move on? Some of us are working for a living.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
He pointed his rake at me. “You got a lobster license, dontcha?”
“Excuse me?”
“I seen you in the papers,” he said. Casually, like most people got their picture in the Bangor Daily. Holding a worm up to the light, he inspected its pale pink body before looking at me again. “Get real territorial when it comes to your money, am I right?”