“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’m not mad. They have every right to be angry at me. I screwed up.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine. I’m just gonna stay with Melanie. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe you should be with me.”
“What happened to 11:30?” she asks. “You said so yourself—I’m not in danger until tomorrow, and tomorrow doesn’t start until midnight.”
I glance down at my watch. It’s just after nine. “Okay, maybe we could both use a little break, but I’ll be back at 11:30, not a minute later.”
“Sounds perfect-o,” she says, with a giggle.
I ignore her peculiar enthusiasm, reminding her that if she needs me I’ll be right next door in Jacob’s room. I take a couple steps down the hallway and knock on his door.
“Hey,” he says. “Did you find Clara?” He peers over my shoulder to look for her.
“I’m alone.” I shut the door behind me. “But as of 11:30 tonight, I’m surgically attaching her to my hip.”
“Oh yeah?” he says. “And what are the chances that I could I get surgically attached to your other hip?”
“Jacob—” I laugh.
But his face is completely serious, the corners of his lips turned downward.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’d just feel better if I could be with you, if I could help you.”
“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”
He shakes his head and looks away, avoiding eye contact. “What is it, Jacob?” I press.
“Just let me help you,” he says, staring down at his fingers.
“You know something.”
“Yeah,” he says, finally looking back at me. “I do. I know that if I were in trouble, you’d want to be there to help me, both emotionally and physically.”
“Wait, who says I’m in trouble?”
“Nobody.” He sighs. “But why risk it by working alone?”
“Who says I’m alone?” I ask him. “Of course I want your help. We’re a team.”
“Good,” he says, with another sigh.
I lean against his chest, allowing him to cozy me up in his embrace. It feels so good to be held like this, by him—sometimes I forget how much.
“Have I mentioned yet how lucky I am?” I ask.
“Nope.” He smiles.
“Well, I am,” I say, nuzzling a bit deeper into his T-shirt. He smells scrumptious—like sea salt and lemongrass. “So, now what?” I whisper.
Instead of answering, he just kisses me—a warm, delicious kiss that sends goosebumps down my arms and makes my head feel all dizzy. Jacob takes my hand and ushers me inside the room. There’s a eucalyptus candle sitting on his night table, the flame flickering up, the melted wax skirting out at the base. He grabs the blankets off his bed, spreading them out on the floor, picnic style. “We still have a couple hours—let’s make the most of our time.”
I look at him, into his slate-blue eyes, and feel my heart beat fast, my blood start to boil up. “I guess we haven’t exactly been the happiest couple lately.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“I guess it’s both our faults. I just don’t want to fight anymore.”
“Then let’s not.” He takes my hands and faces me. “At least not tonight. Let’s take a break from secrets, from being jealous—”
“From being bitchy?” I add, thinking about some of the things I’ve said lately, how I got angry at him yesterday for not being jealous. “What did you have in mind?”
“I thought we might do a union spell to focus on breaking down barriers, burning away the power that secrets hold.”
I nod, hoping that such a spell can work, wondering if it’s a barrier that keeps me from telling Jacob how I truly feel about him. Or maybe I’m using Jacob’s secrecy as an excuse to keep that barrier up. Whatever the reason for all this negative energy, it can’t be healthy, so I’m more than happy to burn it away.
Jacob squeezes my hands, his cheeks turning slightly pink, like what he’s feeling is emanating right through his skin. “Are you ready?” he asks, swallowing hard.
I swallow, too. And look away, hating myself for doing so. For not being able to wrap myself around him completely and whisper into his ear how much I love him—how much I head-over-heels, two-swans-forever love him.
“I love you,” he says, doing this exact thing to me. He wraps me up like a favorite gift and whispers these three gigantic words into my ear, and all I can do is say them back inside my head, and kiss his cheek, and hope he doesn’t mind the silence.
We sit down on the covers, and Jacob reaches up to pull a bottle from the night table. He shows it to me.
“Ylang-ylang oil?” I say, reading the label.
“Have you ever used it before?”
I shake my head, knowing of its sensual qualities, how it has the ability to open the senses and ease the nerves.
“Neither have I,” he says. “I picked it up at the herbal shop downtown. I’ve been saving it for a while, but maybe now might be a good time to give it a try.”
I nod, wondering what he means, what he plans to do with it. He pulls another bottle from the table—almond oil—and pours a couple tablespoons into a ceramic bowl, followed by a few droplets of the ylang-ylang. The spicy exotic scent overpowers the sweet smell of almonds and makes my head spin slightly.
Jacob dips his finger into the mixture, swirling the two liquids together until they become one pale yellow color. He faces me, his eyes almost watery.
“Are the fumes too strong?” I ask.
He shakes his head and looks away.
“Then why do you look so sad?”
“I’m not,” he says, looking back at me, the wells of his eyes about to overflow. “I just want everything to be okay.”
“It will be,” I assure him. I take his hand, his oily fingers so soft and warm against my skin. “We’re working together now. Everything will be fine.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
“I guess I just want to be close to you.” And with that, the tiniest tear strays from the corner of his eye.
I lean in to kiss it, to kiss him, to run my fingers down the length of his arms, hoping he knows that it’s him I want to hold me always.
Jacob responds by running his oiled fingers along my neck and up my chin. “I thought we might try a little aromatic massage,” he whispers. His lips are so close, his eyes zooming right into mine, making me feel all off-balance, but in a good way—a way that feels oddly stabilizing.
“That sounds good.”
He pulls off his T-shirt, revealing his tanned upper body and the smooth, velvety skin, but there are scratches, too—claw marks, like from a cat, all across his chest.
“What happened?” I ask, running my fingers over them.
“A bad dream.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
He nods. “I want to tell you everything—just not now. Tomorrow, I promise.”
I nod, confident in his reply, that he will tell me everything—when he’s ready. Jacob watches me watch him—his toned upper body and the ripples of muscle down his abdomen. It makes me want to crawl beneath his skin and wrap myself up in him, to lose myself in his spicy scent.
I pull off my T-shirt as well, revealing my tankini top with its crisscross straps. I tug at the hem, working it over the extra inch of snacking around my waistline, but Jacob interrupts me, as though reading my mind. He kisses me again, whispering into my ear how beautiful he thinks I am, how much I mean to him, how he’ll be with me always.
He reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out a silver candle. Tall and thin, the wax almost twinkles beneath his fingertips. He sets it in a holder, rubbing more of the almond oil down the length and around the circumference to consecrate it. “As above,” he whispers. “And so below.”
“It’s beautiful,??
? I say, referring to the shimmering color.
“It’s for secrets,” he says. “To help burn away the strength they’ve held over us. To help us remember what’s really important.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Jacob lights the candle and we sit and watch the flickering for several moments, reveling in the warmth of the room, the combination of soothing scents. I concentrate on the hint of eucalyptus tied with the ylang-ylang, noticing how completely at ease I feel, how unbelievably at peace.
“I’ll start.” I dip my fingers into the oil mixture and position myself behind him. I begin at his shoulders, working the oils into his skin, noticing how warm it feels beneath my fingertips.
“That feels amazing,” he says, his voice all moist and dewy, like the room.
I kneed my fingers into his muscles, noticing where his shoulder blades meet his ribs, how the back of his neck has freckled a bit from the sun. I move myself in front of him and glide my fingertips down his chest and over his stomach, loving the way his skin feels—so slippery and smooth.
“Are you okay?” Jacob asks, probably noticing the heat I feel is visible on my face.
I nod, feeling his breath at my forehead. I look up and he kisses me—a kiss that softens, like velvet and warm honey.
He swirls his fingers into the oil and begins at my shoulders, working his way down to my hands. I close my eyes, feeling him massage tiny spirals inside my palms and down my wrists. He moves around to my back and threads his fingers around the straps of my tankini—instant jolt material. Not just my heart. My whole body.
“Still okay?” he asks.
Okay? I feel amazingly perfect. For the first time in my life, I want more than anything to be one with someone—to be one with him—completely.
I glide the straps down my arms to free up my shoulders, and then we sink down into the blankets, illuminated only by the soft glow of the silver candle.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod. “I love you,” I say, the words flowing out my mouth as naturally as my own breath.
With that, Jacob drapes himself over me with kisses and love.
The sun is so bright I can barely see. It sits alone in the sky, a perfect golden circle that reflects its rays down over the ocean. I move out onto the beach, the powdery sand warm and gritty beneath my feet, and I stare out at the ocean. The tide is coming in, bringing with it the sun’s golden ripples—more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.
The ocean breeze flies through my fingertips and combs back my hair; it rustles the bamboo wind chimes, bonging somewhere in the near distance. I feel awake—more awake than I’ve ever known. And yet I’m asleep. I know this is a dream. A trickle of blood rolls down my cheek, like a tear. But I have no idea why I’m crying.
A few moments later, I see it—him. The man from my dream. The one carrying the bouquet of death lilies. He rolls in with the sun and waves, treading through the water to get to the beach. I squint to try and make out his face and, as he gets closer, I can see it.
It’s Jacob.
He approaches me, his eyes full of tears, the bouquet of death lilies pressed against his chest—like it’s his, like it’s a part of him.
“No!” I yell out.
But Jacob just shakes his head and looks down.
“No,” I say, wiping the blood-tears from my eyes so I can see. “Those lilies aren’t for you. It’s not your time.”
Jacob gets about two feet away from me. I reach out to touch his face, but my fingers end up passing through him.
And then he disappears.
“No!” I scream, dropping to the ground, rocking back and forth on my knees. “You can’t leave me. Not now. Not ever.”
thirty-seven
I wake up alone and look at the clock. It’s 11:28.
Where’s Jacob?
I throw on a T-shirt and pull on one sneaker, barely even getting the back on over my heel, all the while telling myself that he’s just in the bathroom or getting some air. I look around for the other shoe. There’s a mound of blankets on the floor. I yank them up, revealing my other sneaker and, beside it, a folded-up piece of paper.
I grab the paper, eager for it to be a note from Jacob telling me where he went off to. I unfold it and look down at the handwritten words:WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT STACEY.
MEET ME ON THE MAIN DECK AT 11:15
TONIGHT. COME ALONE AND DON’T
TELL ANYONE. STACEY’S LIFE
DEPENDS ON IT.
My mind whirls with questions. What does this mean? When did Jacob get this note? Why didn’t he say anything about it?
I press my fingers into the paper’s grain, trying to sense something. Death—it crawls up my arms and around my neck, like a million hungry ants.
I drop the note and whip the door open, the sound of bamboo wind chimes all around me. Someone has hung several sets along the hallway, probably to promote the whole Hawaiian theme.
I bang on Clara’s door.
“Yeah?” One of her roommates pokes her head out through the door crack.
“Clara,” I manage, all out of breath. “Where is she? Where’s Jacob?”
“Who?”
“Clara,” I repeat.
“Wait—are you Tracey?”
“No . . . Stacey.”
“Right,” the girl nods. “She said she’d meet you on the main deck.” She goes to close the door, but I wedge my foot into the door crack to keep it open.
“Excuse me?” I wipe at my nose, a dribble of blood smearing against my finger.
“Are you deaf?” The girl rolls her eyes at me. “The main deck. She said something about meeting her boyfriend.”
I whirl around and run down the hallway, my mind scrambling with even more questions. What is she up to? Why didn’t Jacob wake me up? Is he okay?
Why did I have that dream about him?
I bolt up the stairs, two at a time. There are voices everywhere; people are still partying it up—the sounds of girls squealing, guys laughing, and bottles rolling across the wooden floor.
“Jacob,” I call out, my eyes tearing up, my heart about to explode inside my chest. I follow the voices up on the deck, but I don’t see him anywhere. Just groups of private parties—people in the hot tub and lounging on beach chairs. I move to the other side of the boat, a horrible twisting feeling in my gut.
I swallow hard; blood rushes down the back of my throat. Still, I keep moving forward, accidentally tripping over a cleaning bucket and barely catching myself. It’s just so dark, just a few sparse lights strategically placed around the deck.
“Have you seen Jacob?” I ask some faceless guy in my path, but I don’t even stop long enough for an answer.
Finally, I reach the other side of the deck. That’s when I see Clara. She’s standing in one of the spotlight beams, facing me, but she doesn’t say a word.
“Clara,” I say, almost startled by her. “Where’s Jacob?”
Her eyes bore right into me, almost haunted, so black against her pale white skin.
“What’s going on? Where’s Jacob?” I repeat.
“Taking a shower,” she whispers. “You just missed him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re a smart girl,” she says, gesturing toward the blanket that’s spread out on the deck. There’s a picnic basket on it, as well as dinner candles, a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a sprinkling of rose petals. “How does it feel to have someone you love taken from you?”
My jaw locks. “Nobody’s taken Jacob from me.”
“It didn’t take much for him to stray, you know. I just told him how I caught you and Chad kissing a bunch of times on the beach and how I promised you not to say anything. I also told him how you’re always complaining about how secretive he is and that you plan to break up with him as soon as the vacation ends.”
“Those things aren’t true,” I say, noticing how both the wineglasses are completely full, as though untouched.
“He believed me . . . was more than happy to wipe all memory of you away. That’s what the picnic was for. Of course, we never quite got around to picnicking.”
I shake my head, knowing in my heart that she’s lying about Jacob. I divert my eyes toward the ground, noticing a spattering of blood. I check my nose; it’s dry.
The blood trails across the deck, toward the bathroom. I look up to see if Clara’s noticed it too. That’s when I spot the knifelike letter opener clutched in her palm. Her other hand is clutching her middle. There’s a giant patch of blood there, sopped into her T-shirt. Some of it has worked its way down her waist, trickling down her thigh, and pooling at her feet.
“Oh my god, Clara, what happened?” I move toward her, almost tripping over a long metal pipe that rolls across the deck.
“I’m fine,” she whispers. “Just leave me alone.” Her voice is weak. Her body wavers to keep a solid stance.
“What happened?” I repeat.
“I said leave me alone.”
“No—let’s get you some help; you’re bleeding.”
Instead of responding, she leans over the railing, breathing the night air in like she can’t get enough, like it’s helping her stay alert.
I move toward her anyway.
“Stay back,” she says, snapping to attention. She whirls around to meet my gaze, her eyes wide like a cat’s.
“Who did this?” I ask, just a few feet from her now.
“You did,” she whispers. “You cut me. You stabbed me in the back.” She sways a bit, stumbling against the railing, taking a couple steps from side to side to gain her footing.
“No,” I say, taking another step toward her, keeping my eye on the letter opener in her hand. “I didn’t.”
“Donovan was the only boy I ever loved,” she says, looking away, her eyes all teary. “You took him away from me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe he didn’t love me then,” she whispers, “because of Drea—because he thought he was in love with her at the time. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have fallen in love with me eventually.”