“So when Mrs. Chen said Olive had sent for her stuff…”
“That was a lie,” Tristan said frankly. “Krista messed up. It happens. Rarely, but it does. Of course, usually there’s no one checking up on the visitors so…you made things a little more complex.”
No one checking up. That’s why Darcy forgot her. Why Aaron forgot her. Why the locals remembered her. It made it simpler. But then, why did I remember?
“She was still there that day, when you came by with Aaron,” he said. “Joaquin went over there with her, and they were almost done cleaning out her stuff when you got there, but Krista was still in the room. She told me she hid in the closet until you left.”
I knew it. I knew someone was in there.
I turned in the sand to face him, and he turned to face me. I crossed my legs just like his, and our knees touched.
“I need you to say it, Tristan,” I said, my voice cracking. “Just tell me. Just say it out loud. Is this what I think it is? Am I…?”
I couldn’t make myself utter the word that clung to the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t force it out. It was too unbelievable. Too surreal. Too wrong.
Tristan reached for one hand, then the other. He held them both between us, his fingers warm like the sun that was now bursting forth from the horizon.
“I’m so sorry, Rory, but yes, it’s exactly what you think,” he said. “You, your sister, your father…all of us here on the island…we’re all dead.”
This book would not have come to fruition without the endless hard work and patience of the dream team: Lanie Davis, Emily Meehan, Sara Shandler, Josh Bank, and Sarah Burnes. It’s been a crazy ride, and it’s only just begun!