I managed to get the bulk of it out in one breath, then leaned against the wall. The world was starting to go prickly, and I had to bend over to keep from passing out.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, steadying my shoulder in his strong grip.
“Yes! But my father—”
“I’m on it,” he said, turning toward the door on the far side of the foyer. I took a staggering step to go with him, but he placed his hand on my shoulder again. “You should wait out here. The mayor can be sort of…” He paused as I looked up at him through my sweaty bangs. “Just wait here,” he said with an apologetic, grim smile.
“Okay. Just hurry. Please,” I told him. Then I fell onto an antique bench against one of the front windows, leaning my head back against the cool pane. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was the determination in my father’s face. If Tristan didn’t automatically have an answer for this, then it was not good. I heard a door open and jumped up.
A tall woman in a cream-colored suit and matching heels strode out of the office, her long, tapered fingers clasped in front of her. Her makeup looked professionally applied, and there wasn’t a single stray hair slipping out from her blond chignon. Diamond earrings dangled from her earlobes, and she wore a strand of pearls around her imperious neck. When she smiled at me, I ran my tongue over my own slightly crooked front teeth.
“Rory Miller,” she said in a welcoming tone, her hand stretching out in front of her. “It is a distinct pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Um, you, too,” I said, shaking her cool, dry hand with my hot, clammy one. I glanced past her at Tristan. He raised his shoulders, as confused as I was. He’d made it seem like she’d be annoyed by my intrusion, but instead I was a “distinct pleasure”?
“Tell me…what is your father up to?” she asked, lifting her hand to her chin and tilting her head like a politician listening to a laid-off worker.
“He’s trying to get off the island,” I told her. “I didn’t know what to do. What’ll happen to him if he—”
“Interesting, interesting,” she said, narrowing her clear blue eyes. “Well, I don’t want you to worry about that for one more minute,” she said, clasping her hands together again. “I will take care of it.”
She smiled down at me, then at Tristan, like she was some kind of magician and we were two rapt kindergartners.
“Okay, but what—”
Tristan shot me a look that said to stop, so I did, and the mayor turned and strode back into her office. The door closed with a click, and two seconds later I could hear her talking in a low voice. Tristan stepped over to me, watching the door the entire time, as if expecting it to open again.
“What’s she going to do?” I whispered.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “If the mayor says she’s going to take care of something, it gets taken care of.”
“But what happens to people when they try to leave the island?” I asked, my heart racing.
Tristan’s face was a blank. “I’m not sure anyone has ever tried before.”
A door down the hallway behind Tristan suddenly closed. My heart skipped a beat.
“What?” Tristan asked, noticing my change in demeanor. “What’s wrong?”
I walked past him and pushed the door open. In front of me was a wide, modern kitchen with every amenity from a microwave to a stainless-steel oven to a double refrigerator—the complete opposite of our quaint nineteen-fifties throwback. But the important detail was, it was empty. Not a soul was there, and not a dish was out of place.
“What is it?” Tristan asked again, coming up behind me and pushing the door even wider.
“Nothing,” I said. “I could have sworn someone was back here. I saw the door move.”
Tristan glanced around but saw the same thing I did. An empty kitchen.
“The house is drafty sometimes,” he said. “I’m sure it was just the wind.”
“Oh,” I replied. “I guess.”
But as I turned to go, I heard footsteps overhead, followed by a soft, keening giggle. And just like that I knew: Someone had be
en watching me. Because on this island, someone always was.
My father never came home. I spent the entire day on the front porch pretending to read on my iPad, but I was really watching the road. Aside from a few bicyclists, a skateboarder, and one happy strolling couple, I saw no one all day. By the time the sun had started to dip behind the gray house across the street, I had about a dozen theories as to what the mayor had meant when she’d said, “I will take care of it,” and none of them were good.
I looked up at the ceiling of the porch, leaning my head against the hard edge of the back of the swing. From the corner of my eye, I saw that one of the potted marigolds on the porch railing had withered and drooped, its formerly bright yellow bloom gone brown. I sat up fast. I could have sworn that a few hours ago, that flower had been alive and well, its stem curving toward the sun.