5. Halo Island

FIVE

HALO ISLAND

H alo Island is fifteen miles out from Gullhaven. I don't know how fast this clunker of a ferry is traveling, but we're docking on the island about forty minutes after we left the mainland.

Cottonwood Harbor is at least a century old. The dock that Mulligan idles his boat in front of is brand spanking new. It looks a lot sturdier, too, wide and welcoming. Just beyond it, I see a wooden sign with gleaming white block letters painted in the center:

WELCOME TO

HALO ISLAND

My heart jolts as I read it. Halo Island. I swore I'd never go back—and here I am.

It's not a very large island. About twenty-five square miles, total, what makes the island so unique is its shape. Almost a perfect circle when seen from above, there's another circle of water about two and a half, three miles inland. Technically, it's fed from the Pacific Ocean surrounding the island, but the mainland locals all call it a lake since that's what it looks like from the edge of the circle. It makes the whole island itself seem like the shape of a narrow donut—or a halo.

You'd think that its holy name would mean it was a good omen. For most of my life, it was. I came to summer camp on this island. We threw a couple of ragers whenever Clay's parents wouldn't notice the obscene rental charge on one of their cards. And, of course, Gullhaven High hosted its annual senior celebration here.

Now, as I face the haunting beauty of the dark sand, the angry autumn waves, and the looming leaves on the evergreen trees that cover nearly every inch of the island, all I feel is a sense of dread.

Tommy could tell. Instead of trying to psych me up, telling me how much fun this weekend is going to be, he just kissed my neck, squeezed my fingers, and told me he'd start unloading our luggage onto the end of the dock.

He knew I needed a few minutes alone to prepare myself to face the ghosts of my past.

One ghost in particular.

Caroline Preston.

Except for Tommy, my mom was my best friend. She was only twenty-three when she had me, and barely forty when she drowned. Grief is strange. It's a terrible thing because, just when you think you can live without the person you lost, something tiny will remind you that you no longer have them. A song. A scent.

An island.

Moving away from California helped me deal with my mom being gone. After Clay disappeared, it was leaving New Jersey and the memories we made there behind that allowed me to bury some of that overwhelming pain. I thought it would get easier with time, and it has. I won't say that it hasn't. I can go days without thinking about my mom now, and though Clay is still constantly on mine—especially in October—I do my best to think of the good times we had.

If I didn't, I think I'd go insane.

Sometimes, when I swear I catch a glimpse of someone watching me out of the corner of my eye, I'm pretty sure I already have.

You know what's an excellent motivator? Spite. When the last thing I want to do is give Summer fucking Kaye more ammunition to lob against me, I'll keep my head up high and walk down the dock as if it isn't costing me with every step I take.

For Tommy, I tell myself, pushing away from the railing. I'm doing this for Tommy.

All of our luggage is gone. Summer and Madison's, too. They must've unloaded the whole pile while I was staring at the island because all that's left is Mulligan standing by the gangplank, worrying his frayed hat in his hands, waiting for me to disembark the ferry.

"Oh. Sorry. I'm coming."

"No need to be, lass. It's good for an old man to wait sometimes."

Not when that old man looks like he's about to keel over any second now. "Thanks for the ride over." Shit. Am I supposed to tip him? Considering my wallet is in my backpack—same as my phone, just in case—I don't have any money to give the old ferryman. I only hope Tommy already thought of that. "I'll see you bright and early Monday."

"Monday?" he echoes. "Beg your pardon, miss, but I'm not scheduled to ride back until next Friday. November 1st, that's what it says on my calendar. Eight for Halloween. One Friday until the next."

Right. That's what Tommy initially scheduled. Then Aaron backed out, so we're seven, and I only agreed to come at all if we left no later than the morning of the 28th.

"That's true for most of the group," I tell him. "But there are two of us who need to cut our trip a little short. I was told it would be okay if we got a ferry ride out on Monday instead."

"Sure, sure. That's fine with me. I'll make a note of it before I start heading on back."

"Thank you."

As I start to descend onto the gangplank, Mulligan whistles. "Good thing you told me. I'm the only way on and off the island. You'd have been stuck until next Friday otherwise."

Right. Because there's no way to contact the mainland from Halo Island once the ferry's gone.

Only one problem: I told him.

Why didn't Tommy?

By the time I exit the gangplank and take my first steps on the island in more than a decade, I'm not even thinking about that. Maybe it slipped his mind. Maybe he forgot to tell Mulligan. It doesn't matter. Mulligan promised he'd pick the two of us up at the island's small dock first thing Monday morning.

Besides, as I look around for Tommy, I see his head bowed toward Summer, listening to something she's saying to him. Her hand is resting on his bicep, tugging him closer so he can hear her.

Over the waves lapping at the shore, I can't.

Damn it. I know how handsy Tommy is. He's just a friendly guy, and he thinks all of his friends are the same. Summer and Madison touching him, grabbing him, pulling him along… that's just how they are.

I know better.

I like to think I'm not the jealous type. Tommy gives me a lot of grace about our history, and I try to do the same for him. The biggest difference is that Tommy and Summer didn't have their fling until after I broke up with him. I can't say the same for how my relationship with Clay began.

It was only a couple of months when they were both seventeen. Tyler was a year ahead of us in school. He'd already graduated, so had Vee, and the only reason they were on Halo Island for the seniors' trip was because we were all still close and they found their own ferry ride over so they didn't miss out. We had chaperones, but not as many as we should've, and a couple of locals joined us that weekend.

My relationship with Tommy wasn't the only casualty of my mother's death. By the time I ended things with him, admitting I was with Clay, Summer and Tyler broke up for the countless time. Only instead of them getting right back together, Summer and Tommy started going out.

It didn't last. By the time Christmas rolled around, Summer was back with Tyler, and I refused Tommy's offer to spend the holidays with his family. Me and Clay had our own mini celebration in his dorm room that year, and until his parents' funeral, we never went back to California.

I shouldn't be jealous. Summer married Tyler when she was twenty-three—they just celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary last May—and, for the most part, they seem happy enough.

So why can't I shake the feeling that she's trying to steal Tommy from me?

Even worse, that old haunting sensation that someone's eyes are on me has the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as my sneakers sink into the damp sand. I slap my hand there, trying to quiet the unsettling nerves as they take root in my belly. Glancing around, all I see are the trees rising up from where the sand turns to dirt and grass.

To my right, a path is cut through them, leading to the area where the campgrounds and narrow cabins used to be. According to Tommy, they're more like mini apartments instead of wooden shacks with bunk beds like they used to be, but I won't know until I follow that dirt strait to where they are.

To my left, an area is cleared for the bonfire pit that Tommy mentioned. It's made up of burnt logs and ashes from the last visitors to the island, plus a fresh stack that I saw Mulligan unload himself before setting back off for Cottonwood Harbor to wait for the rest of our group.

And, right in front of them, Summer is still murmuring to Tommy. His duffel bag is strapped to the front of his chest, my flowery pink and peach-colored backpack slung over his arm, while my rolling suitcase and the cooler are by his boot. Summer's mound of luggage is gone. Knowing her, she probably sent Madison on ahead with it so she could have a few stolen moments alone with my boyfriend before her husband arrives.

I trudge my way toward them, kicking up the compact sand in a tiny hint of rebellion as I go.

Whether it's the plopping of the sand falling or my shadow stretching out to them that catches her attention, I'm not sure, but Summer's head pops up. Her lips thin when she sees me. She pats Tommy's arm before stepping away and turning her back on me. By the time I'm within reach of him, she's halfway into the woods.

I jerk my thumb in her direction. "What was that about?"

"Just Summer trying to smooth things over. She's so used to you being the bigger person and not rising to her bait, I think it freaked her out when I lost my temper on the ferry."

I love how Tommy calls that losing his temper. He's usually so laid back and chill that, for him, that was losing his temper.

"It's Summer," I tell him, like that explains everything. And, well, it does . "Once Tyler gets here, she'll be too busy trying to show us all how happy they are together that she won't have time to needle me."

Tommy gives me his crooked grin. "Do we need to put on an act so everyone knows that I'm head over heels for you?"

My heart melts whenever he shoots that smile my way. Though I rarely have anything to smile about when the cloud of grief hanging over my head becomes so thick, I'm nearly choking on it, somehow Tommy manages to eke a tiny returning one from me.

I squeeze his bicep, erasing Summer's touch from the fabric of his hoodie. "If they didn't know how crazy I am about you before this trip, they sure will by the end of it."

Something flashes across his face, darkening his deep blue eyes. His smile doesn't waver, but I know what I saw. I just… I can't read it, and that's not like Tommy at all. I almost get a hint of anticipation. Like he's looking forward to this weekend in ways I can't understand just yet, and as his eyelids droops, his gaze going heavy, I remember my suspicion from a couple of weeks ago…

"Ah, Cyn. You have no idea how fucking happy it makes me to hear you say that."

Well. If he has an engagement ring tucked in his duffel bag, I think I have a pretty good idea, after all.

Letting go of Tommy's arm, I reach for the handle of my luggage. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, but while he is as gallant as he is kind, and he likes to pamper me like a princess whenever he can, I do have some limits. I'm not about to walk up to our cabin empty-handed while Tommy lugs the cooler, my suitcase, my backpack, and his duffel bag.

Jesus Christ, can you imagine the kind of snotty comment Summer and Madison would have for me then?

"The cabins are that way, right? I can't wait to see where we'll be staying for the weekend."

"I saw pictures. The owners told me they don't do the modern cabins justice, but I thought it looked great already. I'm sure you're going to love it, too.." I'm glad one of us is. "Trust me, love. You're going to have the best weekend of your life. I promise."

On Halo Island? I doubt it.

Three days, I tell myself as I fall into step alongside Tommy. Friday night, all of Saturday, all of Sunday, and a ferry ride out at sun-up on Monday.

How bad can it possibly be?