Page 46 of Summer of Salt

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Harrison said, picking the ice cream up again, taking a thoughtful bite. “And I think it’s because we’re the newbies.”

The wordnewbiescoming out of Harrison Lowry’s mouth made me laugh out loud. He smirked in response.

“I just mean,” he continued, “that of all the birdheads here, I’m the most removed. I’ve never been to By-the-Sea, I’ve never met you or your sister before this summer. I don’t have a real attachment to you yet. No offense.”

“None taken.” The ice cream was exchanged from Harrison’s hand to mine. A symbiotic ice cream relationship in a graveyard. One could do worse.

“There’s a lot of emotion running around. The birdheads just want to blame somebody and get it over with.And with all the rumors floating around about your family already, I think it makes sense they’ve chosen Mary as their scapegoat.”

“Not rumors,” I said. I suddenly didn’t care much about the Fernweh family secrecy. It hadn’t gotten us anywhere but suspicious looks and whispered accusations.

“Not rumors,” Harrison repeated.

“If you’re referring to the general spookiness of the Fernweh women then no, not rumors,” I clarified.

“Spookiness.”

“You know. Boil and bubble and all that.”

“Ah. Well, I guess that changes things a little.”

“Oh?”

“Back to the drawing board. No telling what you may or may not have done.”

But he was smiling. And there was also an earnestness there, like he was taking my magicky revelation at face value. That was sort of nice.

“Have you ever heard that poem?” he asked, suddenly distant, looking past me.

“What poem?”

The ice cream was almost gone.

“‘In her tomb by the sounding sea,’” Harrison said.

“Ah. Of course I’ve heard that poem. Poe was quite taken with the theme of death.”

“Of women in particular. Sort of morbid, no?”

“What about it?”

“Hmm? Well, it’s been in my head since I stepped off the ferry. I never considered myself much of a poetry person.”

“Well. Islands. The sea. Rain. Graveyards. Dead things. It’s hard not to feel poetic here.”

“I think you have a point.”

“Harrison—will you take a walk with me?” I asked.

That declaration on the widow’s walk buzzed around in my head, loud and angry,I will find who did this.Even if that person might be my sister.

“Where?” Harrison asked.

“To somewhere unpleasant.”

“Ah,” he said. “I am at your disposal.”

And we began to walk.