Page 29

Twenty-Nine

Before

September 2nd

Claire Heck is dead.

The gravity of my situation really starts to sink in. She was last seen at my party. Half the student body watched us brawl on the deck. And now she’s sinking to the bottom of the lake.

My mind flips through all that could happen next. The police will have to be called. They won’t necessarily go straight to murder—it’s believable that she could have died in the boat accident—but if they find out I was drinking when I drove into the sandbar, I’m fucked.

I’ll get kicked out of Waldorf for the drinking alone. My mom could even lose her job at the school. My dad could lose his judge nomination and, depending on how bad the press gets, maybe his spot at the firm too. The other partners won’t want to look complicit in a scandal. Nobody wants to be connected to someone whose daughter killed a classmate, no matter how justified.

If this gets out, we’ll be no better off than the Heck family.

I grip the back of the boat with shaking fingers as I spiral. The ice-cold lake slips away and all I can see are handcuffs and interrogation rooms. Headlines. Fallout. Ugly orange jumpsuits, or worse…khaki.

Oh god.

What did I do?

How do I fix this?

Do I hide the boat? Pretend it never happened?

I scan the shore. A couple vacation homes are lit up on the far, far side, and two more on the opposite end from our property. Nobody’s particularly close, but the boat will be easy to spot come morning. This lake isn’t that big. There’s no way to hide a whole boat without sinking it, and I have no idea how to do that.

And what about Claire? I look across at the empty expanse of water in front of me. The waves are dark and undisturbed. She hasn’t surfaced, but she will, and then there’ll be questions. Someone will come looking for her.

My injured arm throbs as I use it to help keep me above the surface. Shit, shit, shit.

Will Jena remember she got on the boat?

Will she remember I was on the boat?

Fuck, where is Jena?

I pull myself up the swim ladder and out of the water. My hands slip on the railing a few times, but I get on board and skirt around the motor. The bottom of my dress drips water down my legs but they’re so numb I don’t feel it. I peek over the back bench seat.

Jena’s not lying on it anymore.

Fuck.

I climb over the back of the seat and find her sprawled across the deck, half under the steering wheel and half under the other forward-facing chair.

I drop down beside her. “Jena?”

She doesn’t answer me. Her braids are twisted around her face and when I pull them back, there’s a huge lump forming on the side of her head, by her temple. But she’s breathing. The impact of the boat must have thrown her into the back of the captain’s chair when it pitched us into the water.

I tug her out into the middle of the open deck, and still she doesn’t wake. I check again that she’s breathing. She is. She’ll need a doctor if she doesn’t wake up soon though…and I can’t call for help without alerting everyone to the crash and bringing this whole night down around me.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to undo this.

I bring my knees up to my chest and hyperventilate into them.

And then, like a guardian angel, I hear my dad’s voice whispering through the panic: Damage control. Clean it up. Spin it. There’s no situation that can’t be made to benefit you. I’ve heard him say it countless times. It’s his most frequently used client mantra, and it works. Almost every time. He makes his living protecting people from the law. I’ve seen him get clients out of worse situations than this.

He can help me.

The potential for salvation has me leaping back to my feet and racing for the wheel. The engine is still idling around the sandbar. It takes a minute to reverse off it and into deeper water, but once we’re turned around, I gun it toward the lake house.

When we’re close to the dock, I cut the engine and let us drift the rest of the way. I leap off the side with one of the lines in my hand and hit the dock hard, but I don’t fall. I pull the boat up against the rubber bumpers still hanging over the sides and sloppily loop the rope around the dock tie. Once it’s secure, I run full speed toward the house.

The yard is quiet. The house is quiet. Even the lake seems to have calmed, like it’s accepted a sacrifice and gone to sleep. My heavy breaths sound like shouts in the night.

I take the deck stairs two at a time and rush inside, ripping open the drawer I stashed my phone in during the party with a loud crash of silverware. I scroll through my contacts but stop short of dialing.

Cell phone calls can be traced. I drop it on the counter and spin around.

From the island, Claire’s shiny silver phone glints at me. I snatch it up and quickly type in her birthday. The phone unlocks and I almost cheer. She hasn’t changed her passcode.

My dad answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” he barks.

“Dad.” My voice shakes, and I clear my throat.

“Brooke? Do you have any idea what time it is? I have interview prep in the morning.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I really need you. Something happened.”

There’s a rustling on the other side and I wonder if he’s getting out of bed. “Something like what? Aren’t you at Jena’s house? And whose number is this? Where’s your phone?”

The severity of his voice chills my insides more than these wet clothes ever could.

“I’m not at Jena’s. I’m at the lake house.”

“Why?”

I can picture his irritated face so clearly that I close my eyes against the imagined version of his disappointment. “I threw a party to celebrate the new school year.”

His silence is brutal. Then finally, “Tell me everything, right this second.”

I’m not sure exactly what I say to him. Something about Claire ruining the party. Her punching me. The boat. The threats. Truth or Shot. Something about the water. I’m pretty sure it’s all out of order. I panic-vomit pieces of the story at him as they come to mind. The only thing I clearly hear myself say aloud is “I hit the sandbar, she went under the water, and…”

He waits, fully silent for the rest, but I can’t bring myself to admit the full truth out loud. So instead, I say, “She didn’t come back up.”

He takes a slow, measured breath. “You were driving?”

“Yes.”

“And drinking?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking Christ, Brooke.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken the boat out. Now she’s dead, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t call the cops—”

“Stop. Stop talking right now.” I hear a door close on his end, and then, “Was anyone else on the boat? How far was it from shore? From the house?”

“Jena was on board, but she was passed out in the back. We were almost halfway across the lake and a ways from the shore.”

“What’s a ways ?”

“I don’t know. Like forty, fifty feet.”

Another pause. The silence is epically loud. Is he writing this down?

“Was anyone still at the house?” he asks.

“No. Dylan left with Felix, and then it was just Claire, Jena, and me. Jena’s still on the boat. She hit her head when I crashed.”

“Okay, here’s how this is going to go. From this moment on, you’ll never speak about what happened tonight. Ever again. If the truth comes to light, it will ruin our entire family. I have enough connections in this county to make this go away, but only if you do exactly as I tell you. We have to make it an easy story for the police, which means no mistakes. Do you understand?”

I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Yes, sir.”

“This is what happened: You threw a small get-together with a few friends, and Claire showed up drunk. So you ended the party and sent everyone home. Claire came back to apologize. You two made up and you drove home soon after, thinking everyone else had left. Jena and Claire must have doubled back to the house and thought a midnight boat ride sounded fun until Claire crashed. It’s unfortunate that their reckless decision cost Claire her life, but it was an accident. And one that we as a family had no part in. You did not drive that boat. You weren’t even at the house when it crashed. You were home with me. Got it?”

The new story solidifies by the second. Dylan was there when Claire came back to “apologize.” Who’s to say that didn’t actually happen after he left with Felix? That we didn’t part amicably? Maybe Claire apologized to Jena too. Maybe they thought it would be fun to sleep out on the boat and came back to steal the keys. A little harmless fun that went horribly wrong.

There’s only one hiccup.

“Someone’s bound to tell the police about our fight at the party,” I say. “There were a ton of people here, and I’m going to have at least one black eye by the morning. Will anyone really believe that I left the house and the girl who attacked me just happened to die that same night and I had nothing to do with it?”

“I promise you, when I tell the chief of police that you were home with me, he will believe it. A Goodwin’s word is basically law in this county. That’s not a concern. And there won’t be any way to tell exactly when she went in the water anyway, especially if it takes a few days to find the body, and you’re going to make damn sure it looked like she was alive and well long after you left the house.”

“How do I do that ?”

“You need to make an obnoxious amount of phone calls from this number. Dial me a few more times. Call a bunch of her contacts. Call random people. Make it look like she went on a drunken calling spree so the police don’t think twice about this call to me. Do not call yourself from her line. That’ll ping your location at the lake house. In fact, go turn off your phone until you get home. Do it now.”

I quickly walk to my phone and hold down the power button until the screen goes dark.

He keeps going. “When you’re done making calls, wipe your prints off her phone and toss it in the water. Then take the trash and any evidence of underage drinking in that house and stash it in your car. You’re going to drive it at least ten miles from the house and stick it in a dumpster at one of the campgrounds on the other side of the lake.”

I mentally pinpoint the one I’m going to stop at. It’s right by the road, and surrounded by trees. I put Claire’s phone on speaker and start pacing the length of the kitchen, envisioning my to-do list. I can’t fuck this up.

“Lastly, get back on that boat, and set it adrift in the middle of the lake. Chuck the keys, and swim back to shore as quietly as possible.”

I freeze midstep. “Wait, what about Jena? She hit her head. I can’t leave her out there.”

“You can and you will,” he snaps. “There’s no way to get her help tonight without revealing that you were there during the crash. They’ll find her tomorrow and we’ll meet her at the hospital. I’ll help you explain what must have happened. Between the alcohol and the head injury, she’ll be fuzzy at best. She’s a good friend. I’m sure she’ll remember things our way. Especially when I promise to get any potential charges against her dropped. She’ll have our protection. She won’t say anything, or risk losing that.”

I run my hand down my face. “Dad, we can’t.” It’s one thing to leave her down on the boat while I get my story straight. It’s another thing to leave her adrift on the lake overnight. I think of the lump on her head. “What if she has a concussion or something equally serious? She could die out there while we wait for someone else to find her.”

“Okay then, one less witness to manage.”

He can’t be serious…

“Pull it together, Brooke,” he says after a beat of silence. “You’re a Goodwin. You don’t get to fall apart. We will not let anyone stand in our way, not even a friend. Now are you or are you not prepared to do what’s best for this family?”

I close my eyes. I don’t have a choice. This is the only way to get out of this unscathed, and the alternative is losing every single thing I’ve worked for. Claire doesn’t get to take anything else from me. Jena will be fine. And our family will come out on top once again.

When I open my eyes, I catch my reflection in the dark window over the sink. It’s blank and calm. “I am. I’ve got this.”

“Good. Get it done and get home as fast as you can. The real work starts tomorrow. Stick to the plan. Do not deviate in any way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Brooke?” he adds. “You better hope to god she’s really dead, because if Claire Heck comes out of that lake with a story to tell, our family is fucked and it’ll all be your fault.”

The line goes dead.

I blink in surprise, the familiar ache of failure curling through my chest. I can’t mess this up. For him. For our family. I have to undo this mistake.

I cram the guilt way down and get to work calling half the contacts in Claire’s phone.

I leave dozens of voicemails. Some of music playing, some of my finger rustling over the receiver. The goal is to make it seem like it’s Claire, so I make sure they’re all her favorite songs. I leave four voicemails for my dad, and when I’m done, I take a second to save his number in her contacts so it won’t look like a red flag that “she” dialed his number from memory. I save the contact as “Mr. Dickwad” as I pad to the end of the boat dock. I wipe my fingerprints off the phone and hurl it into the lake.

Then, I relock the boat key box and use a loose paver from the fire pit to smash the door back open. It works. The plastic shreds under the concrete, but the door hangs loose on the hinge, looking like someone broke into it.

Now the hard part.

The wind is frigid on my arms and legs. Jena still hasn’t moved from her spot on the deck of the boat. I watch her chest rise and fall and tell myself that she’s fine. She’ll wake up and be confused, but the police will find her safe and sound, and my dad will be there to meet her at the hospital.

She’ll be fine. And I have no choice.

I have to protect my family from my stupid, impulsive mistake.

Which means the boat has to go.

Without another thought, I detach the lone rope holding the boat in place and leap back on board. The boat engine makes sad, rumbling noises on the way out and I honestly wonder if it’s going to die before I get far enough from shore, but it doesn’t. I cut the engine and toss the keys as far as I can.

Jena groans behind me and I freeze. I slowly turn around and find her still face down in the bottom of the boat, but her hand is twitching in a way that makes me think she’s waking up.

Time to go.

The lake is eerily quiet without the noise of the engine. I climb up onto the bench seat and step on something hard. Jena’s phone is under my foot. I grab it, hesitate for a second, then toss that into the lake too.

It’s better if she can’t call for help right away.

Maybe the alcohol will leave her system and that’ll be one less charge when the police find her in the morning. It’s a simple kindness, and one she won’t understand when she wakes up stranded and alone in a boat. But I’ll know, in this moment, I had her back.

I smile to myself. As long as I stick to the plan, it’ll be like none of this ever happened. The do-over that I so desperately deserve after everything I’ve been through tonight.

I slip into the icy black water and swim back to the shore, reciting the new narrative in my head the entire way. I have to get it right. It has to be perfect. This is my new truth.

I threw a small get-together. Claire showed up drunk, so I broke up the party. Claire came back to apologize, and I went home. I thought everyone else had left.

An owl hoots somewhere, echoing across the water.

I had no idea Claire would convince Jena to go back to the lake house and start drinking. If only they’d stayed onshore. Maybe they wouldn’t have crashed the boat. Maybe Claire would still be alive.

My feet touch the bottom of the lake, and I stand, trudging through the last stretch of water toward the shore.

What a tragedy.