In Nightfall, page 13
I step back, and as I take him in, I’m worried. His skin is gray, his eyes rimmed in red.
“Well,” I tell him. “Whatever you drank last night, I suggest you never try it again.”
“To be honest,” he says, “I can barely remember last night. Even before I started drinking. I remember getting to the beach with you. Literally arriving at the beach. All the rest? Fuzzy as fuck.”
“That’s concerning,” I say.
The story that Elijah and Felix told me is stuck in my brain. They said there are others who don’t remember their time in Nightfall. Could that be true? Once again, I’m worried that maybe there was something in the alcohol, but I remind myself that they were all drinking it. So what happened? Could the others at the party have built up a tolerance? If they do this every night, it makes sense that they might. Still…. Marco trying to impress someone sounds way more likely.
“I was thinking about it while I was dying this morning,” Marco continues. “Trying to piece together the night. But all I have are these flashes. Wait, who drove us home?”
“Parrish,” I tell him.
“That the guy with the sad eyes?”
I sniff a laugh because it’s a weirdly accurate description of him. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Marco blows out a steadying breath. “Good,” he says. “I was worried you got behind the wheel and that this is the Bad Place.” He tries to smile at me, but winces. “Ouch,” he says, hand over his forehead. “Being hilarious hurts my brain.”
“Hurts mine too,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And you know,” I add, pushing his shoulder gently, “Minnow was worried about you last night. She came back with us to make sure you got home okay.”
“That was nice of her,” he replies. He lowers his arm, his expression a mix of confusion and admiration. “Wait, I think I talked with her today. I was half-asleep. Her voice—was she in the window?” he asks, his brows pulled together.
I snort a laugh. “The third-floor attic window?” I reply. “Probably not. But she did call you, and you gave her my number. She invited me out tonight.”
“That’s right,” Marco replies. “It was on the phone. She’s really cool,” he says, glancing at me. “I like her.” He breaks into a smile and I can’t help but match it.
“Yeah, I like her too,” I tell him. There’s a weight lifted by the happiness shining in my brother’s eyes. And it feels good. It feels like our lives are moving on. “So don’t mess this up,” I add, making him laugh.
“Deal,” Marco says as if he’s hyping himself up. “Now I’m ready to go downstairs.”
“Wonderful,” I tell him. I wait for him to go first and he leads the way, a little slow, but seemingly all right.
We go into the kitchen, where I immediately check the fridge for options. There’s some shredded pork to make chilaquiles, Marco’s preferred hangover food from Mom’s restaurant, but Nonna doesn’t have any tortillas or chips. Grilled cheese it is. Marco still looks pretty horrible, so eating is going to be dicey either way.
I make us both sandwiches and grab a couple of sodas. While Marco takes a few tentative bites of the grilled cheese, I tell him about my afternoon with the podcast boys.
“Drowning people?” he says after hearing the story. “Seriously, Theo? You believed them? They run a horror podcast.” He laughs. “I bet they had you going for a while.”
“Don’t judge me,” I say, embarrassed. It does sound completely ridiculous when I repeat the stories. “Besides,” I tell Marco, “you’re the one who first told me about their podcast last year, remember? And some of their story is true.”
“I promise you,” Marco says, hand over his heart, “the locals are not sacrificing girls to appease the sea gods or whatever reason you think they’re doing it for. In the age of the internet, do you really think we wouldn’t have heard about it?”
“Fair point,” I say, giving in.
“It’s just a story for their show,” he says. “And one to scare the tourists. Which, of course, will make more come here. Increase their ratings. What’s the alternative pitch? Nightfall, Oregon—the rainiest town in the Pacific Northwest. Sounds like a blast to visit.”
I think it over. “I’m not saying I believe them,” I tell Marco. “But you have to admit, you forgot some of last night. The memory thing? They said it’s happened to several people.”
“Sure,” Marco says. “But it’s summer. We all overindulge, right? Truth is…I probably did drink too much, even though I hate to admit it. But you’re smarter than me, so you won’t make the same mistake.” He grins at me and I nod emphatically.
“I really am smarter,” I tell him.
He sits back in the chair, folding his hands on top of his head. “So you’re going out with Minnow and her friends?” he asks.
“I planned on it,” I say. “You think I should, right?”
“Why not?” he asks. “What else are you going to do? Watch CSI with Nonna?”
I pause, about to tell him what Nonna said this morning about not wanting us to come to Nightfall, but I hold back. Truth is, Marco is more sensitive than I am in a lot of ways. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I don’t really think Nonna meant it the way it came out, either—even if I’m still mad she said it.
“I’m going tonight,” I say decisively. “And while I’m out having my exciting, summer-defining experience with the coolest girls in town, maybe you and Dad can go mini-golfing or something.”
“Fuck off,” Marco says with a laugh.
“Bring Nonna,” I add. “I bet she gets a hole in one. She seems the type who could sink the shot.”
“Wait,” Marco says, looking around. “Where is Dad? I swear, I feel like I haven’t seen that man since we got here.”
“That’s right,” I say, snapping my fingers, and I lean in. “Marco…Dad has a girlfriend.”
* * *
—
MARCO’S HAPPY FOR OUR FATHER and the famous author, but the boost of energy he got from the news and the grilled cheese doesn’t last long and his hangover starts to settle back in. He deals with it, though, choking down aspirin and some gummy vitamins for old people I found in a cabinet.
An hour later, my grandmother gets home with a van full of groceries. Marco and I go out to help her carry in the bags, the rain clouds still threatening the day. Marco grabs an armful and heads in first, while I hang back with my grandmother.
I loop my arms around several grocery bags, while Nonna reaches past me to grab an oversized package of paper towels. She’s so tiny, the paper towel package looks comically huge in her arms. She backs away enough to close the trunk and we head toward the house.
As we walk, I look sideways at her. “Where’s my dad?” I ask. “He wasn’t here when I got back from lunch.”
“Your father’s out,” she says.
“Is he with Olivia?” I ask, and then lean in like a conspirator. “Have you met her? Do you like her?”
“You’ll have to ask him about Olivia Miles,” she says curtly. “I’m not a gossip.”
“Seriously?” I ask, coming to a stop while she continues up the porch steps. Well, that was disappointing.
Marco comes out of the house and Nonna immediately passes him the roll of paper towels. Then she walks pasts him, slapping her hands together as if her work is done. Marco glances at me and we both smile. Slick move, Nonna. She didn’t have to carry a thing.
In the kitchen I help my grandmother unpack the groceries as Marco drops into a chair and rests his head on his folded arms. He’s sweating, his hair damp. He should probably drink some water.
“By the way, Nonna,” I say, taking out a box of crackers and putting them in a cabinet, “if Dad tells me it’s all right, I’m going out tonight with some girls from town. I wanted to let you know because I know it’s breaking your rules. I don’t want you to worry, though. I’ll be careful.”
“I’m not worried about you so much,” she says, removing cans of crushed tomatoes and lining them up. “Your brain seems to work. But with the state of things, perhaps Marco should stay home.”
“My brain works,” Marco says, sounding offended as he lifts his head.
Nonna turns back to him, assessing him as if trying to decide whether that’s true. He straightens up with effort. “Then act like it,” Nonna mutters, and begins to empty another bag.
“Actually, Nonna,” I say, curious, “do you know a girl named Minnow? She wanted me to tell you hello last night.”
Nonna goes very still, and then she rolls up the empty bags and stuffs them into a drawer. “No,” she says simply. “No, I don’t know any person named that.”
Why do I get the sense she’s lying? “You sure?” I ask. “I thought maybe she knew you.”
“Of course I’m sure,” she says, turning to me, her dark eyes narrowed. “Now stop asking questions that I’ve already answered.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. When I look at Marco, he widens his eyes to confirm that she overreacted. I finish putting away the groceries and then drag Marco with me to the living room, where we both drop onto the couch.
I find Minnow’s number in my phone. I’m sure my father will be fine with me going out with her tonight. In fact, he’ll probably be happy I made a friend.
I’d love to go out tonight, I write.
After a moment, she responds. Perfect. Pick you up after sunset.
With my plans made, I put my phone aside and glance over at my brother. He’s rubbing his temples, his coloring off, skin waxy and pale.
“Still not feeling better?” I ask.
He slowly turns to me, his eyes kind of glazed, his lips really pale. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about me. I probably just need some protein.” He forces a smile and turns back to the television. But I watch him a moment longer.
Then, without saying much else, we binge-watch some reruns of The Office on Nonna’s streaming channel. And I wait for the sun to go down.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I have no idea what to wear and my options are severely limited. I’m also having a tragically bad hair day. I consider calling Willa, but she’s out with her girlfriend. I could call one of the other girls on the team, but really, I don’t trust their opinions in the same way. Hannah or Jackie will just tell me to contour.
I end up in black T-shirt, one that I tie in the back to make it fit a little better, and faded jeans. To tame my frizz, I slick down my curls, leaving the ends a bit crunchy with gel. All in all, it’s not too bad.
It’s nearly ten when I head downstairs. I grab my zip-up hoodie and glance out the entryway window. The sun has just set, casting the horizon in a beautiful orange glow.
I look into the living room and my dad is on the sofa with Nonna, while Marco is in the recliner, his head heavy against its back. They are watching CSI.
“You look nice, Theo,” my father says with a smile. I appreciate that he noticed.
My dad didn’t get back home today until close to dinnertime. No explanation. He was quiet, introspective, so neither Marco nor I asked any questions. However, he did tell Marco about Olivia Miles on his own and my brother pretended like it was the first time he’d heard of her.
Marco picks up his head to peek over at me from the recliner. He nods that I look fine and then lies back down. He’s been lying around all day. It’s like his hangover has gotten worse instead of better. But he’s said, repeatedly, that he’s fine.
“Shouldn’t be out too late,” I tell my dad. “And thanks for letting me go.”
“I want you to like it here,” he says earnestly. “There’s a lot to love about Nightfall. You’ll see.”
Nonna huffs and then picks up the remote and turns up the volume on her show. I stare at the back of her head, frustrated. She’s so mean sometimes. I’m trying to understand her perspective, but it’s not like she’s trying to explain.
I walk out into the entryway. Just as I pull on my sneakers, a horn beeps outside. There’s a little jolt of anticipation in my stomach.
“I’ll text you when I find out where we’re going,” I call to my dad. “Bye.”
I open the front door, a cool wind blowing around me when I do. Although the rain has been holding off all day, I’m slightly worried that it might finally start while we’re out.
In the driveway, the girls are waiting in a flashy black convertible with the top down. Beatrice is driving, her blond hair styled in an impossibly high bun, and Annemarie is in the passenger seat, her gorgeous curls wild around her face. Minnow sits on top of the backseat, half out of the car, and waves for me to hurry up.
“Come on,” she calls, smiling. “We’re going to be late.”
I dash toward the car and wait to be let in, but Beatrice doesn’t move, an amused grin on her face.
“Jump in,” Minnow says, tapping the side of the car. “You’ve got this.”
I awkwardly climb into the back, trying not to let my shoes touch the seat. I nearly eat shit but make it without too much drama. Starting off cool.
I look up at Minnow, who’s still perched on top of the seat.
“Late for what?” I ask her, settling myself in the backseat. “I still don’t know where we’re going.”
Minnow flashes me a smile. “We’re going to meet the others. They’re waiting on us.”
“What others?” I ask.
“Everyone,” she replies, wiggling her fingers. “It’s the week of the Dive. We have so much to plan.”
Then Minnow drops down next to me and she smells wonderful. She’s wearing bright yellow eye shadow, expertly applied, hoop earrings, and a choker. Her off-the-shoulder top matches her eye shadow. I really need her to take me shopping.
“Hold on,” Beatrice says, and steps on the gas, shooting us back out of the driveway and into the street at full speed without checking traffic. A car skids to a stop before nearly T-boning us and blares its horn. I scream, ducking down.
Beatrice laughs, shifts into gear, and takes off down the road.
My heart is in my throat, but when I look at Minnow, she’s still smiling. “Bea is an absolute psycho,” she tells me, “but you’re going to have a blast.”
“Yeah, if I survive,” I murmur, icy wind whipping my hair against my face.
Beatrice’s driving doesn’t improve, and I find myself huddled in the back while she speeds through the residential streets, music blasting.
Minnow holds out a flask. “Take a sip,” she says. “It’ll help.”
I hesitate. “What is it?” I ask, worried. I definitely don’t want to end up like my brother.
“What do you mean?” Minnow asks, looking at the flask. “It’s sambuca—can’t you smell it?”
I’m surprised that they’re drinking my father’s favorite liqueur. It smells like black licorice, and the scent stings my eyes when I take the flask.
I’m not my brother—I know my limits. I decide to start off with a little sip to help calm my nerves. I take a drink and the liquid slides down my throat, coating it in sweet warmth. Annemarie reaches back to pluck the flask from my hand and takes a drink.
As I smack my lips, I’m immediately calmed. But it doesn’t last long. Beatrice takes a sharp turn onto Main Street, knocking me into Minnow, who laughs like this is just the best time ever. I feel a lot more like an unwitting accomplice in a high-speed car chase, and I grip the back of the front seat and hold on.
Downtown is relatively quiet—it is after dark. Beatrice races up the hill, sending us airborne with each rise and dip of the street. I’m about to ask her to slow down when she swings the car into an alleyway, the tires crunching on gravel. We slip between two candy-colored buildings into a parking lot you can’t see from the street.
Beatrice slams on the brakes, launching me forward before Minnow reaches effortlessly to grab my shirt and pull me back.
“First stop—ice cream sundaes,” Beatrice announces. She and Annemarie grin at each other before they climb out of the car. “Then, the beach,” she adds.
“Are we going to Sunrise Beach again?” I ask.
Minnow laughs. “Of course. Every night until the Dive. It’s tradition. But it’s going to be a chill night. Just locals. Well, locals and you.” She grins.
Although I know what Elijah and Felix told me are just stories, the intrusive thoughts slide in. Tradition? Like drowning people? I almost bring it up, but then Minnow hops out from the backseat, chatting with the other girls and waving for me to hurry.
I’m not going to let a podcast ruin my night, so I follow them, glad when Minnow throws her arm over my shoulders and pulls me into the group. It feels incredible to be one of them. And to prove it, the back door of the ice cream shop swings open as we walk up, followed by a gleeful shout.
“The girls are here,” Sparrow calls. “What took you so long?” she asks Annemarie.
“Sorry,” Annemarie says, giving Sparrow a quick kiss on the cheek as she passes her in the doorway. “We were picking up a new recruit.”
Annemarie surprises me by grabbing my hand to tug me forward and Sparrow closes the door behind us.
“I’m so happy you’re with us tonight,” Annemarie tells me. “We’re making plans for the parade this weekend. It’s going to be the best one yet.”
She keeps hold of my hand and I follow her down the long hallway, heading into the main lobby of the ice cream shop. Melodic piano music is playing, and the sweet smell of vanilla and caramel hangs in the air. I’m suddenly very much craving a sundae.
Erika the cashier is in the lobby. She holds up her hand in hello when she notices me. But like the first time I was here, she’s a bit distracted. I’m going to ask Minnow about her later.
“What can we get you?” Annemarie asks, walking behind the counter as Erika watches. “Chocolate?” she asks. “Something more daring?”
