“Eddie’s inside sleeping it off. And to think I’m usually the one who can’t handle the alcohol.” She laughed.

They reminisced about their partying days, and for a moment it felt like old times, how easily they had reverted to their teenage selves just by being together under the hot summer sun by the lake.

But after a few minutes of idle chitchat, the underwater recovery team’s watercraft pulled alongside the floating pier and silenced them. Kevin became keenly aware of a distance that spread between them—the space that never seemed to have closed after Billy had died. In ways, his death bound them to each other, and at the same time tore them apart. The little girl’s drowning, the recovery team on the lake—both were reminders you could never go back.

Sheila drank from her coffee cup, keeping her eyes over the rim and on the watercraft. Kevin sensed she wanted something from him. He wiped his palms on his shorts.

“You know,” she said, “Sheriff Borg stopped by to see me. He told me they confirmed the bones are Billy’s.”

He didn’t say anything, only nodded. So the DNA results were in.

“He asked if I knew how Billy might’ve hurt his arm.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I didn’t know.”

Sheila had never asked him any questions about his version of what had happened the night Billy had drowned. She believed the story he had given to Sheriff Borg back then. Although he suspected she had known he and Jo had been sneaking around behind Billy’s back. He wondered if she also assumed like the sheriff had that there had been a fight between them that night. If she did, he wasn’t going to admit to anything. Not now. Not ever.

“I don’t know anything about it either,” he said, and stood. “I hope Eddie feels better.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed toward the dock in the direction of Hawkes’ cabin, where Patricia had stopped and was now standing outside the front door.

*   *   *

Kevin lingered on the pier by the fishing boats, waiting for Patricia’s next move but pretending to look over the boats as though he were thinking about renting one for the afternoon. There was a time when he had enjoyed fishing, or rather he had acted like he did. Everything he did at the lake, every summer, had been centered on Billy. Billy loved to fish. To be fair, so did Eddie. Two of his best friends enjoyed the sport, so Kevin figured he should too.

But he didn’t.

It wasn’t that he got motion sickness from rocking on the water or that he wasn’t good at casting a line. He just didn’t see the point in spending hours on a boat to catch a fish, only to turn around and toss it back again. He’d have rather played his guitar, written his own songs, and hung out on the beach with Jo while she had tanned in her red bikini.

There had been countless times when he had watched her stretch her body on the towel, her flat stomach practically concave, leaving a gap in her bikini bottoms. He had imagined sliding his hand inside that gap, running his palm over her silky hair, slipping his fingers between her legs. And once, he’d had to pick up his guitar and put it in his lap to hide the erection in his shorts.

But like so many of his fantasies back then, even that one had been interrupted. A shadow had cut across her torso. Billy had dropped down on top of her and started doing pushups. His back was slick with sweat. His muscles bulged. Jo had laughed and pushed him away, pretending to be angry he had blocked the sun.

“Let’s head out on the boat,” Billy said to Kevin. “And leave the girls to their tanning.”

Kevin had forgotten Sheila was lying on the beach towel on the other side of Jo. He placed his fingers on the guitar strings, thinking about a song to play and the shrinking erection in his shorts. “I think I’ll stick around here for awhile.”

“What for? Come on,” Billy said. “Let’s go fishing.” He grabbed Kevin’s arm to pull him up.

Kevin shook his arm free. “Nah, that’s okay. I don’t feel like it.”

“Don’t be such a girl,” Billy said.

A familiar rush of anger shot through Kevin, reaching as far as his toes. Billy had a way of making him look like a sissy, like less of a man in Jo’s eyes. Sometimes he hated him. “No thanks,” he said.

“You’re killing me.” Billy placed his hand over his heart. “Please. Eddie’s got the boat ready. I have the gear packed. All you have to do is show up.”

Kevin played a couple of chords. “I don’t think so,” he said.

Jo leaned on her elbows, watching them.

“You’re breaking my heart,” Billy said in such a sincere way, the girls took pity on him.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Sheila said.

“He wants to hang out with his best friend,” Jo said to Kevin. “Look at him. He’s begging you. How can you say no?”

Kevin looked at Billy. In his eyes he could see that Billy’s sincerity was real. Damn him. How did he do it? How did he make Kevin feel like the bad guy every single time?

“Fine.” He put the guitar down next to Jo, stealing one last look at her in the bikini, his erection long gone. He followed Billy to the docks, where Eddie and the boat awaited them. Eddie was shirtless and wearing cut-off jean shorts. A cigarette was pinched between his lips. He wiped his hands on a towel. “She’s ready to go. All I need is someone to run up to the cabin and grab the tackle box.”

“Great.” Billy turned to Kevin and poked him in the chest. “That means you. Oh hey, while you’re there, grab some sandwiches and some cold ones.”

“I thought all I had to do was show up?” Kevin didn’t wait for Billy to reply. Instead he turned and marched back the way he came, arms pumping at his sides. He overheard Eddie ask Billy, “What’s wrong with him?”

Eddie’s cabin was only a few feet away. It wasn’t like he had to walk miles. But still. Still. He stomped inside and yanked open the refrigerator door. He pulled out cold cuts and a couple of beers. Fuck it, if Eddie’s dad noticed he was missing a few cans. He threw the sandwiches together and tossed everything into a small cooler. On his way out the door, he grabbed Eddie’s tackle box and an extra fishing pole. Maybe he was overreacting, but Billy had a way of making him do things he didn’t want to do. Billy made him feel every bit the chump.

He returned to the boat, stashed the gear, and untied the lines from the dock. When they were well on their way to the far end of the lake and miles from the beach, for a moment, a fraction of a second, he thought about pushing Billy overboard and drowning him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Caroline walked out of the Pavilion and into the lot where the tents were being constructed. She took two or three steps before she noticed Adam and his mother approaching. His mother had her hand gripped tightly around Adam’s arm, dragging him through the crowd of men and women blocking their path.

Caroline stopped and waited for whatever was coming. By the look on Adam’s face, it wasn’t good.

“I suppose this was your harebrained idea,” his mother said.

Caroline glared at Adam. He kept his eyes on his dried muddy sneakers. “She figured it out. What was I supposed to do?” he mumbled.

His mother continued. “Sneaking out and releasing those snappers.”

“Yes, ma’am. It was all my idea,” Caroline said, and Adam’s head snapped up. He stared at her.

“Do your parents know about this?” his mother asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sheriff’s vehicle rolled to a stop a few feet from where they were standing.

“Well,” his mother said, “here comes Sheriff Borg now. Do you want to tell him or shall I?”

“I’d rather if neither one of us said anything,” Caroline said.

“I’m sure you would, but I’m not the only one who’s going to pay a fine because you two knuckleheads did something stupid.”

The sheriff stepped from his car. After placing his hat on his head, he walked toward them. He tipped his hat at Adam’s mother and said to Caroline, “How’s your grandmother doing?”