And when I look at her, an ache forms inside me, a nagging itch I try to ignore. I should tell her the truth: that I remember just enough from that night to know that she’s right to be afraid. That nothing good happened that night, in the cemetery, beside the lake. That there are lost memories buried inside me that frighten me—that I never want to see.

I should tell her these things, but I also want to stay—more than anything—I want to stay here with her. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want the crack inside me to widen, for the ocean of loneliness to creep in. I don’t want to drown.

And I don’t want her to drown either. To suffocate on the same thing: the hurt we both keep stuffed deep inside.

So I keep my mouth shut.

I close the door, and the curtains settle back against the wall; her hair falls back to her shoulders. My hands tremble just a little, and I step toward her. My breathing hitches, claws, scrapes against my ribs. My fingers want to reach out for her, touch the palm of her hand, the long line of her forearm, the curve of her collarbone, where her skin is pink and flushed. I want to disobey the beating of my own heart, telling me to leave.

I want to let myself feel this thing I don’t understand. The wings in my throat and the itch at my fingertips.

I don’t want to be the villain.

But then the front door swings open and someone brushes past me into the house, smelling of booze and rose perfume.

NORA

Suzy strides into the living room, coat zipped up to her chin, snowflakes dusting her shoulders and hair.

“It’s so damn cold,” she proclaims, slamming the door shut and brushing past Oliver to the woodstove. Her cheeks and nose are red, and she holds out her hands, warming them over the fire.

I look to Oliver, but his expression is slack.

“What happened?” I ask Suzy. “I thought you were staying at the camp?”

“Rhett’s a jerk,” she says, brushing the hair from her forehead with a flick of her hand, and I can tell she’s been drinking. Maybe they found another bottle of alcohol in the camp kitchen, and they’ve been taking shots back at the boys’ cabin. “He said I shouldn’t trust you.” Her eyes tick to mine, bloodshot and watery. “He said we’ll get in trouble because of you, because you know too much.”

The room feels suddenly airless, vibrating along my periphery. I glance at Oliver again, but he’s taken a step back. He barely even looks my way—like his own thoughts are clouding his vision.

“I don’t know anything,” I tell Suzy, facing her again.