Page 47 of Dead of Summer

HENRY

Henry finds Gemma first. She is holding Faith’s head above the water as best she can, bobbing and coughing as the two of them are bounced around by the swells.

He cuts the engine and reaches into the waves, bracing himself against the thin metal as the boat tilts precariously.

With all his might he pulls Faith from the water onto the floor of the little boat.

As he takes Gemma’s hands and helps her up over the side he glances up, halfway expecting a beam of light to expose him just like it did last time. But the yacht is far away from them now, speeding away from shore as though trying to escape what its inhabitants have done.

Faith coughs violently in the hull of the boat.

The force of the cold air and rocking boat assaults her at once.

Turning to the side, she throws up violently onto the hard metal hull of the boat.

Her eyes fly open. They go wide with fear when she sees him above her.

He can imagine what he looks like. Pale, slack-jawed, his wild hair catching the light.

She lets out a guttural scream and thrashes violently, kicking her bare feet out at him.

Henry dodges them, rocking onto his heels.

“It’s okay,” Gemma says from just behind him. “He helped us, Faith.”

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Henry’s voice is hoarse.

Faith looks down at herself and nods. She shakily pulls herself up on her arms in the bottom of the boat. The soaking fabric of her party dress wraps around her, curling at her feet.

They sway there, quietly. Henry watches as she assesses the situation, the tiny boat, surrounded by dark waves, and finally him, the strange man across from her.

“You’re Henry Wright, aren’t you?” Faith says. Her voice, wobbly and thin, startles him. When he turns to her, she is looking at him with curiosity.

He nods in affirmation.

“David told me about you.”

Henry clears his throat, feeling a hot buzz of shame travel through his body. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he says quietly. He begins to row again, heading into the shore.

“I would never. Not from that family.” Faith wraps her arms tighter around herself.

As though just now remembering what happened, her fingers grasp the side of the boat, and she turns herself frantically looking out over the water. “Where is it?”

“The yacht? It left.” He shakes his head.

“They meant to just let us drown out there,” Gemma says, shivering.

Henry squints at the shore. The lights from the harbor blur in front of him. “Margie, my wife, never trusted Geoffrey.”

“That vile man.” Faith looks down at the ring on her finger, her mouth twisting in disgust.

“I’m afraid that even if you did expose him, a man like Geoffrey would find a way to worm himself out of any sort of punishment,” Henry says bitterly.

“He nearly got away with it again,” Faith says. “He would have killed Gemma just like Alice.”

He looks at her in surprise. “Geoffrey Clarke didn’t kill Alice.”

“What do you mean?” Faith asks, staring at him with open surprise on her face. “Who did?”

But Henry’s jaw has dropped open. He is looking across the water at the Gallo house. The door on the front porch is flung wide open. And above, in the upstairs window, a light flickers, illuminating the waifish shape of a woman in a sparkling dress.