wrapped her arms around herself. “I hate this place. I want to get out of here.”
“Just text when you’re ready to come home,” Kate said.
Sam gave her a sharp glance. “It’s not really home,” she said. “Where I live, lived, with Mom. That’s home.”
“I know,” Kate said.
Sam headed down School Lane to meet Rebecca, and Pete got into his black Mercedes S560. Kate hung back while he drove out of the parking lot. Then she put her car in gear. She stayed a quarter mile behind Pete’s car as he headed north along the river.
Kate didn’t know where he planned to go, but she was going to follow him and find out.
10
Sam slouched in the front seat of Rebecca Dwyer’s rust-pocked VW Bug as they headed toward Hubbard’s Point, the most magical beach in Connecticut. Driving along the main road, you’d never even know it existed—there were no signs. But once you went under the train trestle, everything changed: the real world slipped away. The security guard leaned toward the car window to ask whom Rebecca and Sam were visiting.
“The Waterstons,” Rebecca said.
“Isabel!” Sam said, leaning across Rebecca. “And her sister Julie, too, that cute little unicorn. You know her, right? We’re all going to build sandcastles and live happily ever after.”
The guard smiled and shrugged and made a notation on his clipboard. He waved them in, and Rebecca drove down the narrow beach road.
“Why did you act like that?” Rebecca asked.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, sarcastic. Kind of rude,” Rebecca said.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, her throat tight. Coming to Hubbard’s Point, no matter what was going on in her life, had always made her feel happy and safe. But right now, entering this haven of sun and sea, she felt as horrible and dead inside as she had since Kate had given her the news.
“It’s okay,” Rebecca said, giving her a concerned look.
“You know what that funeral jerk said? That they had a place reserved . Her spot in the ground. Like at a death hotel.”
“That’s horrible,” Rebecca said.
“It is,” Sam said, closing her eyes. She had the feeling she might fall off the world. Everything felt dangerous; she wasn’t sure her skin could hold her bones and blood and heart inside.
“Do you want to go home?” Rebecca asked.
Sam shook her head. Hubbard’s Point and the Waterston family were her second home. “I just really, really hope Isabel has some weed.”
“Sam,” Rebecca said, sounding helpless. “I know this is a terrible time. But you got weird last year, and, well, your mom hadn’t even . . .”
“Been murdered yet,” Sam said. It was true. Rebecca was a very straight arrow and didn’t smoke or drink, but she was right. Sam didn’t used to do those things either. She used to take honors classes. She had been chosen as one of only ten students in Connecticut to take a special Saturday seminar in stage design at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center in Waterford. Her mother had been so proud—a subspecialty of the gallery were paintings of opera sets by Dr. Elemer Nagy, artistic director at Hartford’s Hartt School of Music decades ago. They were perfect, delicate watercolors of productions such as The Princess and the Vagabond , and Sam had loved them since she was a little girl.
But things in her family were going downhill fast, and so was Sam. She had stomachaches too many Saturdays, so she dropped out of the O’Neill seminar. Her straight As plunged to B minus, then dropped more, and it was clear she had to leave the honors program.
Her family pretended they didn’t know what was wrong, but she couldn’t believe they hadn’t figured it out. Her mother took her first to Dr. Alonzo, her pediatrician, then to a gastroenterologist at Yale-New Haven—but all her tests came back showing she was totally healthy.
Sam wanted to tell them to skip the tests. Her parents had tried protecting her from the truth for months, but try hiding a
“Just text when you’re ready to come home,” Kate said.
Sam gave her a sharp glance. “It’s not really home,” she said. “Where I live, lived, with Mom. That’s home.”
“I know,” Kate said.
Sam headed down School Lane to meet Rebecca, and Pete got into his black Mercedes S560. Kate hung back while he drove out of the parking lot. Then she put her car in gear. She stayed a quarter mile behind Pete’s car as he headed north along the river.
Kate didn’t know where he planned to go, but she was going to follow him and find out.
10
Sam slouched in the front seat of Rebecca Dwyer’s rust-pocked VW Bug as they headed toward Hubbard’s Point, the most magical beach in Connecticut. Driving along the main road, you’d never even know it existed—there were no signs. But once you went under the train trestle, everything changed: the real world slipped away. The security guard leaned toward the car window to ask whom Rebecca and Sam were visiting.
“The Waterstons,” Rebecca said.
“Isabel!” Sam said, leaning across Rebecca. “And her sister Julie, too, that cute little unicorn. You know her, right? We’re all going to build sandcastles and live happily ever after.”
The guard smiled and shrugged and made a notation on his clipboard. He waved them in, and Rebecca drove down the narrow beach road.
“Why did you act like that?” Rebecca asked.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, sarcastic. Kind of rude,” Rebecca said.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, her throat tight. Coming to Hubbard’s Point, no matter what was going on in her life, had always made her feel happy and safe. But right now, entering this haven of sun and sea, she felt as horrible and dead inside as she had since Kate had given her the news.
“It’s okay,” Rebecca said, giving her a concerned look.
“You know what that funeral jerk said? That they had a place reserved . Her spot in the ground. Like at a death hotel.”
“That’s horrible,” Rebecca said.
“It is,” Sam said, closing her eyes. She had the feeling she might fall off the world. Everything felt dangerous; she wasn’t sure her skin could hold her bones and blood and heart inside.
“Do you want to go home?” Rebecca asked.
Sam shook her head. Hubbard’s Point and the Waterston family were her second home. “I just really, really hope Isabel has some weed.”
“Sam,” Rebecca said, sounding helpless. “I know this is a terrible time. But you got weird last year, and, well, your mom hadn’t even . . .”
“Been murdered yet,” Sam said. It was true. Rebecca was a very straight arrow and didn’t smoke or drink, but she was right. Sam didn’t used to do those things either. She used to take honors classes. She had been chosen as one of only ten students in Connecticut to take a special Saturday seminar in stage design at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center in Waterford. Her mother had been so proud—a subspecialty of the gallery were paintings of opera sets by Dr. Elemer Nagy, artistic director at Hartford’s Hartt School of Music decades ago. They were perfect, delicate watercolors of productions such as The Princess and the Vagabond , and Sam had loved them since she was a little girl.
But things in her family were going downhill fast, and so was Sam. She had stomachaches too many Saturdays, so she dropped out of the O’Neill seminar. Her straight As plunged to B minus, then dropped more, and it was clear she had to leave the honors program.
Her family pretended they didn’t know what was wrong, but she couldn’t believe they hadn’t figured it out. Her mother took her first to Dr. Alonzo, her pediatrician, then to a gastroenterologist at Yale-New Haven—but all her tests came back showing she was totally healthy.
Sam wanted to tell them to skip the tests. Her parents had tried protecting her from the truth for months, but try hiding a
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