Silver Is for Secrets

  I look back and forth at the two guys—brownish hair, dark eyes, round faces, same slender build with long, wiry legs.

  “Isn’t that the coolest?” she gleams.

  Absolutely thrilling, I think to myself. I nod and fake a smile in an effort to feign enthusiasm.

  “There’s an overnight cruise Thursday night. One of their frat brother’s fathers owns a party-cruise company.”

  “It’s a fundraiser,” Sully explains. “The boat will leave at night, anchor for a few hours, and then we’ll be back by morning.”

  “And it’s only a hundred bucks per room,” she continues. “If we all pool our money . . .”

  “We’ve capped it off at four per room.”

  Amber arches her eyebrows, probably doing the math, probably picturing herself finding alternative sleeping arrangements. But since I hardly feel like arguing with her about some overnight frat-boy drink-fest, I nod a few more seconds, waiting for the moment to pass. “So have any of you seen that Clara girl around here?” I ask.

  “Clara?” Casey perks up.

  “Yeah, you know her?” I ask.

  “Not really,” he says. “Why are you looking for her?”

  “Because I want to talk to her.” I can hear a twinge of irritation in my voice.

  “Why?”

  Why? Try none of your freaking business. I stifle the thought with yet another plastic smile.

  “She was around here a little while ago, but then she took off.” Casey looks back out toward the beach.

  “He made her go,” Sully says.

  “I didn’t make anyone go anywhere.”

  “Telling her to get lost is a funny way to show it.”

  “Whatever,” Casey says, taking another sip from his cozy. “I’m just sick of her always trying to hang on us.”

  Okay, more confusion. Cute Girl who likes to hang on obviously Dateless Guy equals irritation to the point where Dateless Guy makes Cute Girl leave? What’s wrong with this equation?

  Casey gets up and goes into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “What’s with him?” Amber asks, letting Sully down off her back. She stumbles around on the porch like the Hunch-back of Notre Dame, though I’m not so sure she’s kidding.

  “He’s just got his panties caught in a wedge.”

  “I hate it when that happens.” Amber picks at her own wedge.

  “No,” Sully says. “I mean, his girlfriend broke up with him a few days ago.”

  “So what does that have to do with Clara?” I ask.

  “Oh wow,” Amber says. “That’s really sad—his girlfriend broke up with him right in the middle of swimsuit season . . .” She shakes her head and purses her lips, feigning the picture of grief. “So I take it you’re both without girlfriends?”

  Oh so subtle.

  Sully doesn’t reply. He just looks out at the beach, toward Drea, now rubbing tanning oil onto her mist-on-tanned legs. “I should go talk to Casey,” Sully says.

  “And I should go talk to Clara,” I say.

  “Who am I gonna talk to?” Amber pouts.

  “Try the Clam Stripper,” Sully says to me. He points down the length of the beach. “I think Clara sometimes hangs out there.”

  “Wait,” I say, “you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “What does Casey’s breakup have to do with Clara?”

  “Look, I’m not saying anything, all right?”

  “Well, you sort of already did,” I volley back.

  “Look, I just think she’s the kind of girl who can start problems.”

  “Because she’s a flirt?”

  “Because she likes to take other girls’ guys.”

  “Well, I guess we’re okay then,” Amber says, “ ’cause we don’t have other girls’ guys to take.”

  I turn to look at her—her face completely serious despite her mishmash of logic. “I’m leaving,” I say, already halfway down the stairs.

  “Wait,” Amber calls after me. “Can I come? I could so eat.”

  “Only if you promise not to talk. I just really need to think right now.”

  “This is a vacation, Stacey. You’re not supposed to think.

  Save it for September.”

  “Right,” I say. “Because that’s your motto.”

  “No way. Thinking is way overrated. I prefer to just feel.”

  “And what are you feeling right now?”

  “Sheer and utter elation,” she says. “I just scored myself a date with a set of twins.”

  “Yeah, but do they know that?”

  “Not yet,” she says. “But they will.”

  eight

  Drea, ticked off at Chad for some unknown reason, sees Amber and me hiking it down to the Clam Stripper and decides to join us.

  “So what did he do?” Amber asks her. “Forget to compliment you on your tan?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Because I’m right?”

  “Because I refuse to discuss my grown-up relationship with someone who still hasn’t outgrown comic-book heroes.” Drea pauses to gaze at Amber’s Superwoman swim shorts and at the enormous gold S spandexed across her chest.

  “This from a girl who still pouts to get what she wants,” Amber says.

  “Can you guys just stop?” I ask. “I’m sort of having a bad day and your negative energy is funking me up even more.”

  “Why?” Drea asks. “What happened?”

  “I really don’t feel like getting into it right now. Later, okay?”

  “Somebody’s PMSing,” Amber says.

  “A little compassion, please?” I ask.

  “I meant me,” Amber says.

  “Look,” I say, taking a big breath. “All I’m saying is that this is my field trip to the Clam Stripper, and I expect you both to behave, or you’ll have to wait inside the bus.”

  “I wish we had taken a bus.” Amber starts trudging along the beach like she’s got weights strapped to her ankles. “I mean, could this sand be any heavier? It’s way too much of a workout on the legs.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have piggybacked Frat Boy,” I say.

  “Those pipe-cleaner legs supported a two-hundred-pound college boy?” Drea asks.

  “Maybe you should stop worrying about my lack of muscle and focus on your abundance of jiggle,” Amber says, glancing down at Drea’s thighs.

  “Excuse me?” Drea asks.

  “You heard me.”

  Drea stops mid-step and starts shimmying her hips from side to side. “I dare you to find even one ounce of jiggle.”

  “Drea,” I say, blocking the view of some grandpa who’s taking a serious liking to her rump. He reaches over into his beach bag for a pair of eyeglasses. “Be serious. You know she’s just joking.”

  “Are you?” Drea asks, her lips budding up in a scowl.

  Amber shrugs, takes one last jabbing peek in the direction of Drea’s butt, and raises an eyebrow.

  “You guys are so rude to each other,” I say. “Sometimes I don’t even know how you two stay friends.”

  “Oh, come on, Stace,” Amber says. “We’re rude to you, too. I hope you don’t feel left out.”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “But you know my verbal stingers are only poisoned with love,” she continues.

  “Love?”

  “Yeah, you know it’s all harmless.” Amber smacks a big fat kiss on my cheek, then turns and does the same to Drea. “I mean, I love you guys. It’s how I show it.”

  “Yeah, but do you have to show it so well?” Drea asks.

  The Clam Stripper is just up ahead. It’s basically this grilled-food place with an adjoining deck where people eat and lots of picnic tables that are set up on the sand. There’s a sexified giant plastic clam that stands high atop the roof of the place. One shell is clutched at her front like a towel; the other is swung high above her head as though she’s about to toss it out to the crowd.

&n
bsp; “So why do you want to talk to Clara?” Amber asks.

  “Who?” Drea pauses to look at me.

  “Clara,” I say. “The girl who stopped by yesterday morning.”

  “The sarong?” Drea takes a moment to straighten out the straps on her bikini, to run a finger over her lipgloss, and to push her hair forward on her shoulders.

  “Exactly,” I say.

  “So why do you want to talk to her?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Um, yeah,” Drea says, still checking herself over, “that’s why I asked.”

  “I had a nightmare about her.”

  “Excuse me?” Drea gasps.

  “Not a-freakin’-gain,” Amber says.

  “It’s true.”

  “How do you know?” Drea stops us, turning me around to face her.

  “The blood,” Amber shouts. She takes a step back and covers her mouth. “I knew it . . . the blood bath yesterday morning. It’s a clue, right?”

  “What is wrong with you?” Drea asks her.

  I look around at the attention Amber’s caused; one woman pulls her toddler close, a look of horror stamped on her face, as though we might hurt him.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “No way,” Amber says. “We need to talk about it now. We need a strategy.”

  “What you need is to keep quiet for five minutes.” I take a deep breath and resume our walk, mentally cursing myself for thinking I could tell them outside the confines of our room.

  “I’m actually surprised we didn’t think of it sooner,” Drea says. “I mean, it’s not exactly normal for your nose to bleed . . . especially like that.”

  “Yeah, but why would you think of it?” I say. “I mean, noses do bleed, especially in dry weather. And it has been nine whole months since I’ve had side effects from nightmares.”

  “Plus,” Amber says, “what are we supposed to think? That every time you get the runs or have extra-bad period cramps that something bad is going to happen?”

  “Wait,” Drea says, as though it’s just dawned on her. She tugs at my arm to stop us again. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that some random girl shows up at our place and now you’re having nightmares about her? That’s completely messed.”

  “No,” I say, “what’s messed is that you don’t believe me.

  After everything.”

  “I’m just asking questions here, Stacey. I mean, don’t you think it’s a little convenient? The girl you happened to be dreaming about shows up at our door?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything; I’m just trying to understand.”

  “Okay, fine.” I take another full breath. “I know it sounds crazy, but yesterday, when I shook her hand, I sensed right away that she was in danger.”

  “So it wasn’t a nightmare,” Amber says.

  “No,” I say, “it was. It was both. I had both.”

  Drea studies my face for a few moments. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m serious. How could I joke about something like this?”

  “You couldn’t,” she says. “That’s why I believe you.” She rubs my forearm. “Just tell me how I can help.”

  “Me too,” Amber says, picking her wedge for the umpteenth time today.

  “Just be there for me—when I need to de-stress.”

  “No stressing out allowed,” Amber says.

  “At least not without friends like Ben & Jerry.” Drea wraps her arm around me.

  “Um, excuse me,” Amber says, “but last I checked our names were Drea and Amber.”

  “Hopeless,” Drea says, rolling her eyes.

  I can’t help but giggle in agreement.

  When we get to the restaurant, I look up toward the deck area and see Clara right away. She’s sitting alone at a table, nursing a frappe. We climb the steps to the food counter area and she notices us right away. She pauses from frappe-sipping and waves us over.

  “Do you want us to come?” Drea asks.

  “Of course she does,” Amber says, scoping out the trays full of food that collect at the pick-up window beside us.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe I should go alone.”

  “You’re actually going to tell her?” Drea asks. “Just like that? I mean, how are you even going to say it?”

  “Easy,” Amber says, nabbing a fry off someone’s plate.

  “‘Excuse me, Clara,’” she mimics, “‘but I had this incredibly horrible nightmare about you and, well, I have reason to believe that you’re going to die.’ Stace, do we have any time frame on the death?”

  I shake my head.

  “I think we should come,” Drea says. “At least me.” She pauses to evil-eye Amber. “I’ve been through this before. I know what it’s like to be the victim. I might be able to help ease her.”

  “Oh, and I can’t?” Amber pipes. She snatches a fried clam strip off somebody’s tray and pops it into her mouth. “I’m the queen of ease.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they say.”

  “Time out,” I say, clutching Jacob’s crystal, still in my pocket. I close my eyes for just a moment to breathe the sun’s energy in—focusing on its ability to enlighten and empower. “Let’s all go.”

  nine

  Clara seems absolutely thrilled to have us join her at the table. I don’t think her smile could get any wider or more contagious. She’s sitting on the edge of the bench, practically bouncing up and down in pure delight.

  So how am I supposed to tell her what I have to say? “I’m so excited to see you guys,” she beams. “Are you eating? Can I treat you to a frappe or some French fries?”

  “Free food?” Amber says, peering up at the menu board. “I’m so in. I’ll take a super-sized Chocolicious and a mega-bucket of onion rings, please.”

  “Get it yourself,” Drea says.

  “Who died and made you Queen B?” Amber asks. “No wonder you and Chad are fighting.”

  “I didn’t say we were fighting,” Drea says. “We just got into a little argument.”

  “Oh, really?” Clara’s eyes widen. “The blond guy, right? He’s super cute.”

  “Um . . . thanks,” Drea says, furrowing her eyebrows at the compliment. “I’m sure he’ll be ready to apologize by the time I get back.”

  “Anyway—” I begin.

  “Anyway,” Clara interrupts. “I know what it’s like to have boy problems. I was seeing this guy who was really, really nice at first. We went to all these fun places together—out to eat, to the movies, downtown. But then all this stuff happened, and he told me that he didn’t want to see me anymore.”

  “Sounds like a weenie,” Amber says, eyeing the hotdog traveling by on somebody’s tray. “Okay, I seriously need to snack. Anybody want anything?”

  We shake our heads, and Amber heads over to the order window.

  “So,” I say, in an effort to steer the conversation back to where I want it. “I think there’s something we really need to talk about.”

  “Oh my god,” Clara says, looking toward the order window. “There she is.”

  “Who?” Drea turns to look. There’s a girl standing behind Amber in line. She’s got jet-black hair with thick auburn highlights and deeply tan skin, like melted cocoa.

  “That guy I was talking about, the one I was seeing . . . that’s his ex.”

  “So . . .” Drea says, eyeing the girl’s style, maybe—the way she’s completely color-coordinated. Her tangerine-colored flip-flops match her bathing suit, sunglasses, and the watch around her wrist.

  “So she’s the reason we’re not together,” Clara says. “He never told me he had a girlfriend, so then when she found us out, she got all wacko and went completely ballistic.”

  “Ballistic how?” I ask, looking back at the girl, wondering if she might be the real threat.

  “Totally nuts,” Clara explains. “She freaked at him, at me . . . I mea
n, she totally blew things out of proportion.”

  “I don’t know,” Drea says. “God help the poor boy who cheats on me. Your guy sounds like a jerk.”

  “I guess,” Clara says, sipping her frappe. “But I miss him.

  We’re supposed be going on a cruise together in a couple days.”

  “His name wouldn’t happen to be Casey?” I ask, realizing how familiar all of this sounds.

  “Yeah,” Clara nods. “You know him? Did he say anything about me?”

  Clara’s eyes are all wide and concerned, like this is really important to her. I concentrate on her face a moment, at her trembling lips—like she could lose it at any moment—and the ashen tone that seems to hover all around her.

  “Not really,” I say, remembering how angry Casey got over the mere mention of Clara.

  “Look at how she’s staring at me,” Clara says, looking back at Casey’s ex. “Like it’s all my fault.”

  “Clara,” I demand, nabbing her attention back. “You need to listen to me. What I’m about to say is going to sound a little crazy.”

  “But Stacey can help you,” Drea says. “I mean, she helped me.”

  “Oh my god,” Clara says. “Is it something Casey said? Something he told you?”

  “It’s not about Casey,” I say, feeling a chill pass over my shoulders. “At least I don’t think it is.”

  Clara cocks her head like I’ve confused her even more.

  “It’s about you,” I say, taking a giant breath. “I had a nightmare about you.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyebrows arch as though I’ve caught her off guard—as though she’s stuck somewhere between surprised and confused.

  “You need to trust Stacey,” Drea says. “I know this sounds crazy, but she sees things in her dreams—her nightmares—and the stuff comes true. It happened a couple years ago with me. Stacey was having nightmares that some guy was going to try and kill me. And the nightmares came true.”

  “But you’re still sitting here.”

  “Because of Stacey,” Drea continues. “Because she was able to predict the future before it happened—so we could stop it.”

  “Right,” Clara says. She’s nodding her head, looking back and forth at the two of us, probably wondering who’s more crazy.