Page 38 of Dead of Summer

ORLA

Now Orla is happy to see that David looks miserable up on the gazebo next to his father.

She sips her drink, entertained as she watches him shuffle.

She had debated all week about coming to the party at all, laying out the pros and cons.

She’d planned to leave the island first thing.

But this moment makes it worthwhile it for her, watching him being paraded onstage like Geoffrey’s little puppet.

A cold breeze ripples across the lawn, unsettling the air.

Orla stands awkwardly at the edge of the party.

At the bar she orders another gin and tonic.

It’s her third and she is starting to feel the effects of them, making her limbs feel loose and heavy.

Her mind feels clearer than it has all week.

She’s been sick with anxiety, jumping in fear at every rabbit crossing the lawn, every gust of wind and shifting branch.

She hasn’t been able to go back upstairs and look at the closet.

She’d accomplished this by avoiding the upstairs altogether.

Orla looks behind her at the crowd of rapt faces.

She recognizes more than a few of them from her childhood.

A couple of them have made uneasy eye contact with her.

Her outsider status is enough to keep them to themselves.

Even if they hate the Clarkes, which she assumes most of them do, there is enough theater in this whole thing, enough wealth on display, to keep anyone from missing out on it.

The Fourth of July had arrived that summer despite her and Alice’s falling-out.

Orla had ordered a new dress in shimmery green silk that caught the curves of her body under the right light.

She’d hoped it would be intoxicating to David.

He’d mentioned once that he liked her green shirt, and she’d read online somewhere that green is the color of commitment.

She did her hair long and straight, working for hours taming it with a blow-dryer and round brush to make it smooth.

Then she went downstairs to wait for David at the living room window.

The house was quiet. Her parents were at dinner. She looked out at the road.

There was a flash of something silver on the street.

Orla held her breath and looked out as Alice walked by, watching her through the slit of the curtain.

She was wearing a dress covered in silver sequins.

It was such a beautiful dress it made Orla instantly feel badly about herself.

Alice had the kind of determined expression on her face reserved for when she was enacting a plan.

Orla raised her hand to rap at the glass and stopped herself.

If she was going to the Clarkes’ she’d end up having to invite Alice to come with her, and she couldn’t have that.

She’d been waiting far too long for a moment alone with David.

She watched Alice’s lithe body swish down Harbor Street instead.

It took another hour for Orla to finally hear a honk coming from the far side of the house.

It was followed by the sound of a boat engine.

Orla ran out to the back porch. David had arrived by water in a small skiff.

He stood in the bow, bracing against the steering wheel as the boat idled, his fitted jacket catching in the wind.

“You coming?” he shouted over the waves. Orla smiled, letting all her worry about Alice disappear for the moment.

“Yes, be right there.” She rushed back inside to grab her clutch and ran out to the dock as he pulled the boat in, swirling up a froth around it. He cut the engine and reached his hand out to her, looking like some sort of absurd billionaire Disney prince.

Orla sat just behind him on a little bench while he steered the boat out into the deeper water.

“I was thinking of taking us somewhere else first,” he’d said mischievously, glancing down at her thigh, which looked tan in the fading light. An electric charge shot through her. This was the night.

“Where to?” She smiled back at him, trying to look confident, though the idea of being alone-alone with him filled her with nerves.

David steered them out into the open water, where the Clarkes’ giant yacht sat moored in the harbor.

“What do you think? Wanna check it out?” He nodded at the yacht.

“Won’t someone see us?” Orla asked.

“Nah. Everyone will be at the party,” David said.

“Sure,” she said, the rush of being alone with David coursing through her.

He cut the engine again and they glided silently through the black water to the back of the yacht. Ophelia was spelled in gold along the back. He took Orla’s hand and she stepped up onto the deck.

“This way,” David said, leading her up a set of stairs to the next level. She heard music now, muffled laughter.

“I thought you said no one was here.” Orla laughed nervously.

“There shouldn’t be. It is probably just some of the crew.” But he went quietly and they crept around the deck, silently taking the stairs up to the third floor.

“There’s a bar in here.” Orla followed David down a narrow walkway along the side of the yacht. He was about to open a door when a loud guffaw came from the other side of it. He turned to her and pressed a finger to his lips. He dropped to his knees below a window, pulling her down with him.

Together they slowly raised their eyes to the window.

Orla gasped when she saw Alice in her sparkling gown surrounded by a group of older men.

Alice narrowed her eyes at one of the men, crossing her bare legs.

He moved to the bar and poured a drink. She watched him pick up a clear bottle and pour a lot of liquor into it.

It all made Orla feel childish and inconsequential.

“What are they doing?” Orla hissed at David, but he was no longer standing next to her.

He was backing away, his face stricken. Orla turned back to the window as the man’s shadow fell over Alice.

He handed her the drink and she reached for the glass with two hands, tilting it to her lips.

As she slurped it down her eyes dulled almost instantly.

Orla watched in fascination as her friend’s head lolled forward.

Off to the side Geoffrey Clarke smoked a cigar, watching it all.

“Come on,” David whispered, his breath hot and insistent on Orla’s neck. He pulled at her arm.

“But why?” Orla had started to protest, frustration bubbling up inside her.

“If Alice is here, why can’t we be too?” David’s hand clamped over her mouth, startling her.

He pulled her down with him to just below the window.

They were closer than they’d ever been. His arms out on either side of her pinning her to the deck.

“Orla. Now,” David hissed. His fingers found hers, interlacing, and she allowed herself to be pulled up away from the window.

They ducked down and ran back across the deck.

“This way.” She followed him in a low crouch to a set of stairs on the far side of the deck.

Downstairs he took Orla into a long dining area with tables and wide benches.

Out the wide glass window she watched the lights from the party.

The yacht swayed silently under her. She longed to be back on the island suddenly, in the crowd with the music playing or maybe at home in her living room listening to the sounds of her father cooking.

She wandered into the kitchen, where David was rummaging through cupboards looking for something.

“What’s going on with Alice?” she asked him.

“How should I know?” David said, without turning around.

“Has she been hanging out with your dad?” she asked, incredulous, remembering the Bentley pulling up on their street.

“Forget about her. Let’s have a drink,” David said, holding up a bottle victoriously.

“Happy Fourth,” he said tapping the side of her glass with his own.

She raised the glass to her lips as David watched, not caring that it burned her throat.

Orla had waited all summer for three years to spend time alone with David.

But it didn’t feel the way she hoped. When the glass was empty she let David pour her another.

She drank it faster this time, the buzz was helping her forget that Alice was there too.

She drank until the alcohol erased the image of the thick hand on her friend’s knee and the sick feeling that something was happening up there that shouldn’t be.

“Can I have your attention, please?” Geoffrey Clarke begins.

“I promise you this won’t take long. I want to begin by welcoming you to my home.

We may not be full-time residents like some of you lot, but Hadley has always been a special place for the Clarke family.

When my grandfather built this home, he imagined it being a place of leisure.

A place where the great men of the world would come to relax, to put their feet up and look out at the water.

Where they could be away from the prying eyes and gossip of Manhattan and spend time like normal people. ”

Normal people, ha. He means where no one will watch them , Orla thinks.

David puts a charming smile on his face, but it is easy for Orla to spot his discomfort.

His face is drawn, his eyes darting as if looking for an escape.

As if sensing David’s reluctance, Geoffrey’s hand comes down on his shoulder, pinning his son in place. Geoffrey clears his throat.

“I’ve been reflecting on that a bit more lately, perhaps because I am going to retire soon.

So, I’d like to take this moment to reintroduce my son, David,” Geoffrey says.

Orla looks at David, confused. “Most of you know him from when he was a boy. But he’s grown into quite an adult.

He is going to be taking over the business.

Oh, whoops, cat’s out of the bag! It seemed like as good a place as any, surrounded by our nearest and dearest. Now, instead of me stepping back, I like to think of it as David stepping forward. ”

He is interrupted by the sudden blast of a boat’s horn. People clutch at their chests and laugh, looking out at the water, where the yacht must have let out some sort of congratulatory honk. Geoffrey raises his glass and grins. Orla’s skin crawls.

“As I was saying, my son here—my pride and joy—has graciously agreed to take the helm as of next year,” Geoffrey says to a burst of obligatory applause.

David’s eyes find Orla’s. They go wide with surprise and then narrow at her as if to say, What are you doing here?

She raises her glass to him, in fake congratulations.

Is that true anger she sees on David’s face now?

It is gone in a flash as Geoffrey continues.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I will still be steering the ship. I’ll just be a backseat driver. Though it may be from the Ophelia II .”

The yacht’s horn toots again as though laughing at his bad joke.

Sycophantic chuckles float around her. David shifts back and forth onstage.

Orla can see, even from way down on the lawn, the sweat on his forehead starting.

So, he never got out from under his father’s thumb like he said he wanted to as a kid.

It should make Orla sad for him, but she has a flood of satisfaction wash through her.

Like it was all preordained. David was never going to do anything other than what he did, and Orla wasn’t ever going to be anything other than a failure. It makes her feel surprisingly calm.

“I’ll have another,” she calls out to the bartender, drawing a few glares from people around her. He doesn’t hear her.

“There is one more announcement before I leave you all to your oysters and champagne. Faith, where is Faith?” Geoffrey shields his eyes theatrically, squinting into the crowd. They begin to look, too, their curiosity piqued.

“Who doesn’t love the sound of that name? So innocent and hopeful. Faith: an old-fashioned girl with a heart of gold.”

A rush of servers fill the lawn holding trays of champagne glasses.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Orla says, taking a flute off a tray as it passes.

“Ah! There she is. She’s a sneaky one.” Geoffrey points to a place just in front and to the left of Orla.

Orla swivels her head along with the rest of the crowd, searching.

How could she not? She stands on her tiptoes trying to spot her, David’s chosen one.

Orla’s chest drops when she spots Faith in profile—glowing, flawless.

Her doe-shaped eyes wide. A stricken look takes over her delicate features and then a moment later is gone.

“Don’t be shy, Faith. Come on up here!” Geoffrey commands. He waves his hand impatiently.

Faith makes her way up the stairs. Her gown, a blue silk printed with an explosion of yellow flowers, ripples across her body as she takes her place next to David. They look so uncomfortable up there that Orla almost pities them.