Page 24

I’m seething during my entire shift at the beach as the sun shines and the salty waves roll, and the guests lounge and swim and gossip.

I seethe through lunch as I load up a plate at the salad bar and wolf it down to lessen my chance of running into Daniel before I have a plan.

And then I keep on seething during my afternoon shift at the lap pool.

It’s exhausting to seethe for so long. Then again, this isn’t something I can just bounce back from.

That gut instinct I have about people? It’s usually right.

But this time, somehow, it was one thousand per cent wrong.

As I sit in the high white lifeguard’s chair with the pool laid out beneath me, so organized with its neat, bobbing lane-dividers, I snap my elastic against my wrist once, twice, thrice.

‘Don’t you people clean this pool?’ comes a voice to my lower left, startling me out of my reverie. Craig Lancaster, holding a dripping wet leaf between his fingers, his face twisted with disgust, water streaming down his lean body.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Lancaster,’ I say, automatically slipping into my best customer service voice. ‘We do clean the pools, but sometimes—’

‘Whatever. Don’t want to hear it.’ He flicks the leaf away and stomps off, but I still hear him mutter, ‘Thirty fucking thousand dollars and I’m swimming in filth.’

Anger bunches in my throat. You’re the filth, you toxic asshole , I want to scream, and you know what, maybe I just will—

No. I force my hands to release their sudden death grip on the chair’s arms.

What’s happening to me this year? My emotions have been stronger. Less predictable. And now I’m having unpremeditated sex with men who write articles like the diatribe I just read in Fit Life ? What the fucking hell, Lily?

I watch a slim woman cut through the water with a perfect breaststroke, her feet whipping together and propelling her body in a beautiful glide.

When she turns in the pool, I recognize her– Skylar’s mom.

My eyes quickly find her daughter, reading a graphic novel on a lounge chair, pale legs extended and a bucket hat drawn deep over her eyes. Focused– like I need to be.

OK, Lily. Here’s what we’re going to do. Daniel is now on the list. Yes, killing him jumped into my mind earlier, but that was kneejerk. This is me– yes, seething, but also very much logical and in control, adding his name to my official mental roster in an official capacity.

A traitorous voice wheedles, Well, I probably won’t have to kill him…

surely there will be someone more toxic .

Ugh, how am I already trying to find an exit door for the man?

He deserves the same consideration as anyone.

This isn’t about the way he made me feel seen for the first time in years, or the way he set me on fire like he’d known my body for years instead of minutes.

Nope. This is a matter of fucking principle . This is for Jessica.

A couple more guests slip into the pool’s open lanes.

A sloppy crawl, a choppy backstroke. Skylar’s mom leaves the water shortly after they begin, her lithe body dripping as she saunters over to where her daughter is, chooses a lounge chair and promptly goes to sleep.

Skylar catches me watching and gives me a little wave.

I wave back, then make a heart sign with my hands.

She makes a heart sign back. I return my eyes to the swimmers.

Skylar’s mother has problems. It’s not like I’ve forgotten her comments about Skylar’s body.

But in the end, her toxicity levels would have to be exponential to justify me taking away someone’s mother.

Not an impossible standard– I did it once.

I still think about Jade– the daughter in question.

She was older than Skylar at the time– eighteen– but still so young, which did give me pause.

But at the end of the day, I figured that processing the sudden death of her mother would be less damaging than hearing that woman scream things like, No one will ever love you if you look like this– you get that, don’t you?

Was I right? I guess I’ll never know. But I’d like to think I gave Jade a chance at the best possible future. What she does with it is up to her.

But back to the matter at hand. Tomorrow is the official start of week two. The week that I consider my shortlist.

Daniel. Serena. Craig. Three names; right on track.

Next step? To let them co-exist for a while in my mind as I consider how I might kill each of them.

Week two is about sketching out plans. By the end of the week, it’ll be one name and one name only.

Week three, I finetune and execute my plan.

Week four is about making sure I get away with it before going back to Cincinnati.

Experience has taught me that I don’t have to rush to make a decision between the top three.

The decision always happens naturally, if not scientifically.

If I’ve done the prep work, let the observations settle like sediment, put in the active thought-time, one name will organically rise to the top.

There will be a moment this week– like that evening with Carli Elle in the sauna– when something sparks and the decision is made for me.

Because that’s how it feels. That a light flips on all by itself, illuminating the way forward. It’s not a denial of my agency– I don’t want Mr Sartre to turn in his grave on my behalf, God rest his existentialist soul. It’s more an acceptance of the kismet involved.

At the end of my shift, my roommate River relieves me. As I sign out on the clipboard, she says, ‘Hey, a bunch of us lifeguards are having a Euchre tournament. We might take over our room tomorrow, if that’s OK.’

I freeze my smile into place. Tomorrow is my day off, and I was going to hole up in the room with my laptop, log into the Guest Services Portal using Vic’s username and password, and start piecing things together.

But… you know what? It might do me some good to get out of Dodge.

Get a little space, a little perspective.

I’ll rent one of the Riovan bikes and head to Brisebleue– pronounced Briz-bloo– Saint Lisieux’s only town.

There are legendary daiquiris at Island Vibes, the only bar in Saint Lisieux’s only town, and you can always overhear some Riovan gossip since a lot of the local staff drink there.

‘Sounds great,’ I say.

‘You’re welcome to join!’ says River. ‘Do you know how to play Euchre? It’s supposed be a Midwestern game. Hannah taught us. It’s really fun, once you get the hang of it!’

‘Nah,’ I lie. ‘I never understood it.’

In fact, Euchre was the card game of choice in Calumet Heights. I could whip everyone’s ass, no questions asked… if I were here to play games.

But I’m not.