“My mom likes brown and red together,” Kammi says.
Blood and earth, I’m thinking. That’s what those colors mean. Not chocolates and cherries.
On the ride back, Kammi holds the pottery package close on her lap. Mother doesn’t speak, and neither do I. The air between us feels so heavy, not even Kammi speaks again, and the taxi driver turns up the jazz station on the radio as if to stir the air inside the car.
June 23 comes and goes, with no answers. Aside from the quiet moments in the boathouse, we didn’t talk about the anniversary. We stalked the topic all day, never closing in. Mother and I were just like the lizards that circle each other sometimes on the wall of the house.
After Mother retreats upstairs and Kammi goes to her room, I open the French doors and sit on the deck. I almost believe that if I walked out onto the beach, I’d see the bonfires they lit that night, brighter than those from the Bindases’ cookout. The sea beyond the white curve of phosphorescence along the shore is solid darkness.
The door to the widow’s walk creaks open. That’s all I hear, but I know Mother is there above me, alone in the dark. After I go inside, I close the door to my room, which is nestled against the back wall of the house, farthest from the sea. From here I can’t even hear the waves.
A year, and I’m still hoping for clues.
What can Mayur know?
Chapter Twenty-Two
EXACTLY at seven on Saturday morning, Dr. and Mrs. Bindas arrive to pick up Kammi and me. Martia gives us each a backpack stuffed with snacks and a bottle of water. “Just in case,” she says. Kammi struggles to fit in a portable watercolor board and her small case of paints.
The sun is already glaring at us when we step outside. The air smells dry and hot, as if we’re not close to the sea.
Mother follows us to the SUV. She glances at my feet. I’m wearing the sports sandals, though I was tempted not to. I stashed a pair of flip-flops in my backpack for later.
Mrs. Bindas sits in the passenger seat. She presses the button to lower the window. From the driver’s seat, Dr. Bindas holds his hand up to greet Mother. Very formal. “Good morning, Mrs. Walters,” he says clearly, without emotion. Like he was at the beach party, he’s proper, distant. Is that a trait of doctors in general or only of this doctor, because of who he is—or because of whom he declared dead on the beach? Whenever he sees Mother, he must see himself standing on the beach, still dressed in his fine clothes from a party, touching the white, white skin of a dead man he’d invited for cocktails or a dip in the pool that same week.
“No worries,” he says as he unlocks the back, and I open the door. Kammi pulls herself in, lugging her pack behind her. I swing in after her and slam the door shut.
“The girls, they will be very safe,” Mrs. Bindas says.
Mother looks past Mrs. Bindas to her husband, perhaps to confirm. Mother must have visions of Kammi sliding off a steep trail and landing in a ravine, where no one can reach her. She must worry that Howard will think she’s been negligent and killed his only daughter. Maybe he’ll think she’s a dangerous widow, a woman who kills those closest to her. Maybe he’ll break of the engagement.
“I’ve been on the trail many times before. At all times it is well marked,” Dr. Bindas says.
“Where are the others?” Kammi asks. She means the boys—one boy, especially.
“The boys are still getting organized. They stayed up very late.” Dr. Bindas frowns.
Mrs. Bindas turns in her seat and smiles at us, a big swept-up smile, just like her hair, though today she has tucked her hair under a red and gold scarf. She looks like a bright bird. “You will see. They are very interested to be going. After breakfast, I’ll leave them to hike with Dr. Bindas.”
Kammi smiles.
Kammi and I wave at Mother as we pull out. That is what families do.
Dr. Bindas swings the car wide into the shell driveway at their house, spewing shells onto the green lawn for the gardeners to pick out. Mayur and the other boys spill from the house, jostling each other, racing to see who will be last out. Mayur, since it’s his parents’ vehicle, steps to the SUV first, then flips the seat so that the others—Saco and Loco and Roberto—can climb into the far back. Mayur claims his spot by the window, slams the heavy door. The houseboy closes the gate behind the SUV, but he continues to stare after us. I look back at him until he sees me and turns away.
“Kammi, Cyan, you remember Saco?” Mrs. Bindas twists in her seat, waves toward the back of the SUV. Kammi smiles and flashes a glance backwards, too, then faces the front again. She barely seems to have looked, but I see from her face that she knows exactly where Saco’s sitting. If she looks in the rearview mirror, she’ll be able to stare right into Saco’s eyes. Mayur isn’t paying attention, not even to Kammi. He unknots and reties a climbing rope, even though no one mentioned climbing. We’re supposed to be hiking only. Mayur is just showing off, as usual.