Chapter 23

Back on the boat,my gaze pinned to the waves, I try hard not to hope for a glimpse of whatever it is Liam might become when he returns to the sea—because, as crazy as it sounds, I'm beginning to suspect he might not be entirely human. There's got to be a reason Wade and company call him Fish Boy, right?

This island is a poker player, expertly bluffing and holding back its true hand. Too bad Liam doesn't trust or care enough about me to come clean. To admit everything.

I dock the boat, stash the remaining bundle inside some old crates in the boat shed, pray it's safe, and after a slog along the beach, finally reach Dad's cottage. The house is empty, so I hurry up the balcony steps. I find him at the table, passed out, his head resting on a tsunami of papers, snoring.

"Dad," I say softly.

He wakes with a start, papers flying everywhere. "Rosalie! Where have you been? Lila told me you were visiting her to check on Aurora, but I was nervous. Especially since Wade Lambert seems to have gone missing."

"Has he? That's weird," I say, turning away. Liam and I are responsible. After all, we were the ones who left him for dead.

Dad tracks my gaze to the empty vodka bottle, tipped on its side and buried under a pile of papers. "Dad. Why?" My jaw clenches. "Listen. We have to talk."

"There's no excuse, honey. I slipped, I guess. This place—I don't know. It makes me restless for what I can't have. And also… I'll stop. I swear. No more." He tosses the empty bottle over the rail, where it lands in the bushes beyond his vegetable garden.

Did the Patron Saint of Climate Justice seriously just litter? The dark angry part of myself—the part I stifle with the fervor of a zealot—wishes I still believed he was dead. Maybe it was better to have good memories to cling to instead of the reality of this wreck of a human being, who Liam seems to believe is falling apart.

Then it hits me. My memories. How many of those are even real?

Worse still, how much have I been made to forget? When I first met Randy in the cemetery, and he seemed familiar, was that because I'd met him before?

I stand and pound on the table. "Strange things are happening to me, Dad. You told me this island is located at a convergence of energies—and that the people on it have lived here for many generations. How are they connected to our family? I know they are, somehow. Tell me what the hell is going on or I'm going to confront Mom myself!"

Dad looks up, eyes wet. "Don't blame your mother. She did what she felt she had to do to keep you safe. And I went along with it."

"You what?" Heat rushes to my face. "Are you saying she concocted this insane plan to get me here herself? Why? Did she kill Tyler? And why does Randy seem so familiar? Did you ever introduce him to me?"

"Of course not." He meets my gaze, and despite myself, I believe him. "I'd never risk upsetting your mother that way. But when I realized your friend Tyler was from Salttain, Randy convinced me that maybe you could travel here with him. The coincidences are odd, now that I think of it, but—" His voice hitches, then trails off. "When the papers said I'd died, I-I really had tried to kill myself. Randy befriended me before my breakdown. Dragged me out of my burning house. Brought me here to recover from my injuries, which were severe. He convinced me to play dead. Your mother didn't learn the truth until a few years ago."

I gape at him, then sink to the floor, unable to respond. After a few moments, Dad's footsteps recede as he leaves me alone. Abandoning me, yet again. My untrustworthy thoughts whir, revolving around one central figure.

Randy Lambert.

He's known Dad for a long, long time.

Does my mother know him, too? Is that what she made me forget?

* * *

The Lady Skirtsglimmer in the awakening day. I hurry down to the beach, peering out at the ocean, unsure what I expect to see. A seal surfing in on the next wave? Liam emerging from the water, clad only in his seaweed Speedo? I pace the sand and let the cold water froth against my bare feet. I need to see Evan, need to try the salttain healing on him, yet I dread it.

What if I fail? If I'm too late? Or worse yet, I'm a total fraud?

The growl of an engine startles me. A figure emerges from the brush, long black hair blowing wild in the ocean breeze. Liam's sister Aurora reaches me, breathless, the lurid purple bruises on her face and neck faded.

"Aurora! How are you feeling?"

Aurora O'Donnell fidgets with her hands, as if she has no idea what to do with them and can't seem to find anything to say.

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

There's a slight tremor in her right leg and she shifts her weight to her left. "I wanted to thank you…for what you did…and to tell you that…that I'm doing well and that..."

Without warning, her leg gives way and she's down on the sand. Waving away my help, she manages to get back on her feet, but she won't meet my gaze. "Please," she says, "don't tell Liam. He—he doesn't know about this."

"The healing didn't take completely. Is that what you came to tell me?"

"No! I came to tell you to stop wasting your time. You're only giving him false hope."

"Who? Evan?"

"Not Evan. Liam!" she says. "Life on this island is hell. But at least things were bearable for both of us before you came along."

So much for extending an olive branch. "Getting your ass kicked by the island pervert while the whole town watches is your idea of bearable?"

"That's none of your business. If you so much as mention to Liam that I fell, I swear I'll—I'll tell him how you feel about him."

"What?"

"It's obvious to anyone with eyes. Do you understand what you're doing to him?"

"No," I say, "I don't know what you're talking about." I know what being around him is doing to me—but that's not what she asked.

"You and your science and your money and your dark doe eyes and pretty copper hair," she sneers, her mood shifting. "And if that's not enough—now you're magic! If you want to show off your special powers, just help the rich boy and leave Liam and me alone."

"But Liam is the one who asked me to help."

Her voice softens. "I know you mean well, Rosalie, but there's no hope for our situation. And it's cruel to make my brother think there is." Her fierce tone returns. "Hasn't he told you?"

My head pounds. Fear spikes through me. Secrets upon secrets and I can't even trust my own memories. "Told me what?"

She considers me for a long moment. "There's no cure for what's wrong with Liam and me," she says at last. "We're stuck like this. Forever."

"Stuck like what?"

"Let him be the one to tell you." She turns, as if to storm across the sand toward the dunes.

"Wait. Who am I?" I raise my palms. "Don't I deserve to know? What does this mean?"

Aurora hesitates, then steps toward me, hands lifted. On the flesh of her palms are two matching symbols. She presses her skin to mine, sending a sharp jolt up my arms.

"It means, Landsider," she says, the fury in her voice subdued to a growl, "that the past is a noose around our necks. And that if you know what's good for you, you'll hurry back to California and pray these marks fade and never show themselves again."

* * *

I stare after Aurora,her words echoing in my head. Do you understand what you're doing to him? Is she saying that Liam's as drawn to me as I am to him? That I haven't been imagining the attraction between us? But if that's the case, why does he keep pushing me away?

And what does she mean, they're stuck like this forever? An idea teases at the edge of my mind, refusing to bloom. Or maybe I'm unwilling to look at it too closely, for fear of what I might find. Maybe I already know, but have been made to forget that, too.

But ultimately, one true thing about me remains. I'm a scientist. Unanswered questions are my enemies. So, even though Dad warned me to stay away, I head to town and duck into the General Store, where the elfin girl with dark skin and bright green eyes still works the counter. She studies me coolly as I pay for my internet, turn on my Wi-Fi calling, bite my lip, and dial Mom. The call goes straight to voicemail. I sign onto my email and find a single message from her.

Darling,

By now, perhaps, you've realized I've not been entirely truthful about many things. Like your father's survival.

I was the one who identified his body the day he died. At least what I was told was his body. And then, years later, I learned he was alive.

I knew in time, I'd have to tell you the truth.

I hope the many things I've tried to teach you serve you well. You are strong, brave, and smart. Use your wits, your instincts, your brains.

Remember, I love you always,

Mom

I readthe note over and over, my stomach in knots. It sounds like a goodbye note.

She'd been so tired lately, and even more paranoid than usual. Is that why she's letting me stay here? To protect me from whatever's out there? Not that it's safe here.

There's no way to know her true intentions. I trade in facts. But on this bizarre island the truth is like sand, always slipping through my fingers.

I call her phone repeatedly. No answer, just her voice urging callers to leave a message. Finally, I hang up and write a response.

Dear Mom,

I appreciate your attempts to protect me. Can you please tell me what's going on? Do you know Randy Lambert? Tell me about Millicent. Is she your sister? Just come clean.

Love always,

Rosalie

I hit send,and my heart leaps when I get an immediate response. But it's only an automatic Out of Office reply.

Thank you for contacting Alicia Bouchard Gatell, CEO. I am away attending to an emergency situation and will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you for your understanding.

I scratch my head. What emergency can she mean? As far as I know she's at the Institute's annual conference in Switzerland, the same one she attends every year. Then she jets off to a glitzy spa in the Alps and meets with old friends. At least that's no secret. I've been with her every year except this one.

Then it dawns on me. What if those memories are false? Stick a scientist in an environment that defies the laws of logic and watch them go slowly insane. I'm still staring at the computer screen, my mind going in circles, when the door to the café jangles. It's one of Evan's burly attendants.

"Hello, Ms. Gatell," he says. "Mrs. Bailey sent me to look for you. Your father suggested we might find you here."

My heart begins to pound violently. "Evan?"

The man's face twitches. He looks down. "He's been begging his mother to send for you. She asks that you please come at once."

* * *

Evan isas pale as the sheets he lies on, his hands swathed in a thick wrapping of gauze. His feet and lower leg, also bandaged, are propped on pillows. Beside him is a drip bag. A tube is inserted into the skin above the bend in his elbow.

His eyes blink open, a smile forming on his colorless lips when he sees me. "Hey," he says.

"Hi." I edge closer, stunned by his precipitous decline.

Evan manages a smile. He nods toward the large canvas propped on an easel near the window, his voice thready. "Despite how it seems, I did make some progress—a little each day. Take a look."

A hard lump forms in my throat. If only I'd gotten to him faster, maybe it wouldn't be this bad. I turn the canvas around and see myself looking back, everything finished but the eyes.

"It's beautiful," I say, flooded with emotion. "How did you…"

"Your father rigged a contraption for me, for when I couldn't hold a brush anymore. I guess…well, the good news is, it works."

"My father?"

Evan nods. "He's a good man. He's been helping my mother and me for ages."

Tears burn my eyes. I was supposed to keep his hands working. Worse, I hate my father for being here for Evan all these years, when I thought he was dead. And I hate myself for thinking that, too.

Evan glances out the window. "I hope you don't mind an unfinished masterpiece, but this is yours."

"I'm going to make sure you get to finish it."

Evan closes his eyes for a long while before they flash open, large and glassy. "It was a nice fantasy. But there's no point in wasting any more of your time. It's speeding up. Now it's—it's gotten to my legs."

"You don't understand the power of the salttain. I found more. And I learned how to use it. You need to convince your mother to let me help you."

Evan leans back on his pillow and shakes his head. "Mother is a firm believer in Western medicine. She'll never go for it. Especially after what happened to Father. She believes the plant made him worse. And that he was robbed and murdered for his stash of it."

My voice falters. I draw in a breath, desperate, searching for an angle. I can't let this happen. Can't lose him when I'm so sure, despite my confusion about everything else, that I can help.

"Even if you don't believe in the plant, is this the way you want to live? If I can figure out a way to get you outside, will you work with me?"

"Sure," he says. "But you'd better make it a rush job." He turns his head to the side and I huff out an involuntary gasp. A thick rind of scales creeps up past the neckline of his t-shirt, thin tendrils coiling over his jawline like vines on rock. Is this what happened to Millicent? Again, I recall what Liam said about it affecting Landsiders and wonder about its level of contagion. Is there any way this illness can be a strange manifestation of climate compromise? But if so, why is there nothing Western medicine can do?

Time is running out for Evan. I have no clue if the salttain weed can restore damaged nerves, because it seems like the scales aren't just destroying his skin but eating away at him from the inside out.

And time is also running out for me to get answers from him. Without thinking, I blurt, "Have you ever heard of the People of the Hand, Evan? Who are they? What are they?"

"I…Rosalie…"

His face contorts into a grimace. A violent spasm arches his chest off the bed, his head and neck bent backward.

"Evan," I say in horror. "I'm sorry. Please hang on. I'll figure out something. I promise."

But he can't answer. I scream for the attendant, who rushes in to refill the drip bag, then hurries me into the hall. I find my own way out.

I don't allow the tears to come until I've run all the way back to the cottage, where I collapse onto the front lawn and tear up handfuls of grass with both fists. Maybe by saving Evan, I thought I could make up for Tyler's death.

But maybe Tyler wanted me here not only to unravel his truth, but my own.