Page 27 of Dead of Summer

FAITH

Faith wakes up with the sheets twisted around her legs.

Her heart races as she pulls herself free.

She’s been having the same nightmare she’s had ever since she was a kid.

Sometimes in the dream she is naked, standing up in front of everyone she knows, exposed.

Other times she is on trial, up on a stand suspended above a faceless jury of strangers as they murmur her guilt, begging them for understanding.

The details vary but the feeling is always the same.

She is caught out, unprepared, and the people she thought she could trust have turned against her.

This time Faith is tied up, her arms bound behind her as someone familiar but unnamed holds a knife to her throat and yells at her to confess.

Even as she is having it, Faith knows it’s just a dream, the circumstances are so familiar.

But it doesn’t lessen the urgency. The voices come from all around her, low murmurs that promise her that if she confesses, she will be freed.

But she doesn’t believe them. She can’t.

No matter the circumstances of the dream, the theme stays the same.

She is caught. And she never comes out unscathed. She is exposed to everyone as a fraud.

Faith’s eyes fly all the way open.

She won’t sleep until she knows where he is. She gets out of bed. One of David’s sweatshirts is draped over the back of a chair, and she takes it and pulls it on over her lacy shorts and tank before she slips out into the dark hallway.

Faith starts down the stairs but stops in her tracks at the sound of a door opening below.

She ducks down and looks past the banister out over the landing.

A pale beam of light momentarily shoots across the floor and someone steps inside, shutting the door behind them.

He leans heavily against the wall and pulls out a phone.

Faith exhales, relieved, taking in David’s familiar shoulders, the cut of his favorite T-shirt.

She moves to the edge of the step and opens her mouth to call out to him but there is something in his face, now lit above his cell phone, the grim set of his jaw and downturn of his lips that makes Faith crouch farther into the shadows of the stairs.

She watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest. It’s exaggerated like when he comes back from a run.

He folds his body toward the wall, pressing a number into a security system that makes a green light flash.

There is a low beep, and Faith watches, holding her breath, as he turns back again.

He runs his hands over his face and his shoulders sag as though he’s exhausted.

He drops his arms and lifts his head, gazing up into the stairwell.

Faith ducks back onto the landing. There is something about his demeanor that feels private, and she doesn’t want him to see her there. Below, his footsteps echo on the tile of the foyer.

She turns and quickly tiptoes back up the stairs and into their bedroom.

Dashing across the room, she yanks the sweatshirt over her head and climbs back into bed, rolling onto her side just as she hears the click of the door opening again.

David slips into the bedroom moments later, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Her ears roar in the dark. She wants to turn the light on, to ask him what he was doing outside at three in the morning fully dressed, but something in the image of his face grimacing over the glow of his phone stops her.

Instead, she lies there as still as she can while she hears the soft rustle of his shirt being removed.

She focuses on keeping her breathing steady.

He will tell her in the morning. He’ll have to.

She listens to the swish of fabric as he undresses in the dark. When he finally lies down, pushing his legs under the crisp white sheet next to her, Faith can smell something on him, sharp and acrid and then, on the back of it, a waft of the sea.

In the morning, David’s body meets Faith’s under the sheets.

Barely awake, she lets him pull her closer, enjoying the warmth of his skin on hers.

She feels his lips on her shoulder blade just as the memory of the night comes back to her.

“David,” she begins, her heart racing as she thinks of the empty bed, the foreign way he held himself against the door, as though he were trying to hide from something.

“Yeah?” David mumbles, kissing the back of her neck.

But the words dissolve in her mouth as he pulls her toward him.

The sex is rougher than usual. She might have enjoyed it, the way he pulls at her, grabbing her hips as though he can’t get enough of her, but this time she feels detached.

His face moves above her, nearly unfamiliar. She looks up at him again. Who are you?

She replays the words she overheard outside Geoffrey’s office. There was a scraping sound after he spoke, wasn’t there? A drawer closing. And then, perhaps, the metallic twist of a key in a lock?

While Faith waits for David to shower, she gets a text from Elena.

How is everything on your island paradise? You are so lucky, Fay! It is boiling in the city. And the smell. My god. I need to get out of here.

Faith can picture Elena swishing self-importantly along Sixth Avenue, tanned legs flashing, tapping on her phone as she walks to work. The thought of her best friend and of the city with its buzzing energy fills Faith with unexpected longing.

She texts her back. It’s been interesting .

Oh? I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Interesting how?

Faith begins to type. Have you heard of Orla O’Connor? Apparently, she’s some sort of artist in NYC. Faith’s finger hovers over the send button. She knows that telling Elena anything has its risks. Behind her in the bathroom the water goes off.

In the end her curiosity wins, and she presses send. Elena’s text bubble appears immediately then disappears.

“Who are you texting?”

Faith quickly turns the screen off, tucking the phone against her palm.

“Oh god, you startled me.” Faith’s chest is still tight as she turns to look at David in his towel.

“It’s just Elena. Apparently, there’s a heat wave in the city and it’s miserable there.

” Can he hear the strain in her voice? He stares at her a beat and then comes to her, puts a hand on the nape of her neck, and leans in close.

Faith’s skin tingles, her heart pumping frantically.

For a split second she thinks he is going to say something.

But he kisses her instead on the temple and goes to the closet. “Well, tell Elena hi for me.”

“Will do,” she squeaks out, not sure why she is feeling so anxious.

Her heart is still pounding when she looks back down at her phone. Elena has texted back.

Never heard of her. She can’t be that important.

David’s muffled voice calls from the dressing room. “Should we go have breakfast on the veranda?”

Faith is surprised by this. “Are you sure? Aren’t you going to go off and do some mysterious financial work somewhere with your father?”

“Well, I may have to do that later, but I was hoping to spend the time with you first.” Faith hesitates.

Their plates are filled with poached eggs and bowls of sliced exotic fruits flown in from some other, far more tropical island.

An assortment of French pastries sits on a marble tray on the center of the table; the shine on their perfect lamination suggests that they too were imported recently, perhaps flown in this morning. Faith takes a bite of a croissant.

“Good?” David asks, watching her.

“Yes.” She almost hates to admit that somehow it’s even better than the ones she tried in the cafés of Paris when she went with Elena several years ago.

David seems nearly relaxed now, more so than he’s been since they arrived.

He’s uncharacteristically chipper for someone who was up in the middle of the night.

He takes another piece of bread from the tray on the table and slathers it with butter.

His appetite is certainly intact, she notes.

A massive white yacht is pulling into view just offshore. Faith counts five decks, angled aerodynamically on top of one another. On board she can make out the smudges of white-uniformed staff rushing around on the decks.

“What is that?” She drops her napkin on the table and leaps up from her chair, going straight to the railing to look at the massive white yacht that’s pulled into the harbor.

Behind her, David reluctantly rises from his breakfast and goes to stand next to her. “This must be Dad’s new toy,” David says. Faith lowers her sunglasses.

“His toy?”

“Yes, it’s been his hobby the last few years.”

“It’s huge.”

“Dad never is half-assed about his interests,” he says, amused. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing. I think that’s what he always says.”

David folds his arms on the railing and leans out. Faith has been waiting for him to tell her what he was doing out so late, but she is starting to realize that is not going to happen unless she presses him.

“Are you okay?” she asks him.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” He says it too quickly. The yacht is reflected in his sunglasses. So this is how it’s going to be.

“Well, there was the thing on the beach—” she starts, her stomach sinking.

“Fay, I told you she was just a friend, are we going to keep talking about this?” David says, cutting her off, the same irritation creeping into his voice as was there before.

“There was something else I wanted to ask you about.”

He turns, his eyes obscured by his glasses. “Go on?”

“Son!”

David stands up straight as Geoffrey comes out to the veranda, ignoring the two of them as he goes to the railing and looks out at the yacht. His father’s skin looks pale and vaguely unhealthy in the bright sunlight.

There is a small flicker of a smile on his face, Faith notices. One she hasn’t seen before. Perhaps Geoffrey Clarke is capable of joy after all.