Wrecked (24 page)

Christian nodded. “Have you talked to him about me?”

Miranda shook her head.

“Why not?” Christian asked.

“Because that was mostly before . . . now it’s like no one knows what I’ve been through, so I don’t really talk about it. I don’t want to burden someone, you know?” Miranda sucked in her breath. She didn’t want to turn the conversation into something about her
again.
“What about you? Who do you talk to?”

Christian shrugged. “I don’t like to talk. Present company excluded. I have a brother, too. Valentine. He’s two years older, and thinks he knows everything.” Christian smiled, as if sharing a private joke. “But he’s a good listener. Of course, sometimes we don’t agree.”

“Does he not agree about me?” Miranda asked.

“I didn’t talk about you,” Christian smiled. “I have to keep some secrets. Mostly, he doesn’t agree on where I see my future. He sees me doing the same thing as him. I want to try something new.”

Miranda nodded. “I feel the same way. Sometimes I feel like my whole life has been planned for me, forever. I’m going
to go to Stanford, I’m going to play soccer, I’ll probably get an MBA or something wildly uncreative. . . .” She trailed off. “What’s your supposed plan? And how old are you, anyway?” she asked. The more they talked, the more she realized that he knew almost everything about her, and she knew almost nothing about him.

“Eighteen. It was just my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” Miranda said. It was so weird, the way their conversations constantly jumped all over the map. It was like when the radio played on the boat. Sometimes, there’d be crystal clear reception, only to be interrupted by static. Then, seconds later, clear reception again.

“Thanks,” Christian smiled.

“Did you get everything you wanted?” Miranda leaned in toward him, aware that she was acting supremely out of character. But that was okay. She didn’t want to act like herself anymore. “Or did you want this?” she asked, heart pounding against her chest as she kissed him.

Christian kissed her back, and Miranda pulled the blanket over their heads. If this was wrong, then maybe this was what she needed.

When she woke up again, the sun was high in the sky and she was sweating in the blanket. A foghorn blew.

“Christian!” She poked him. “What time is it?”

“Time?” He asked sleepily.

“Never mind. Shit, shit, shit,” Miranda cursed as she crawled
out from the blanket and gathered her stuff from the sand. She slid her feet into her black flats. “I have to go. See you tonight?” She asked, not waiting for an answer as she raced to the car. Maybe it was just really bright out. Maybe she’d have time to get back to the house, shower, and change before anyone noticed. But she knew that was about as likely as Gray inviting her to co-chair the Ferry Remembrance Dance next week.

She slid into the car and turned on the ignition. The green light flashed 10:32.
Fuck!
Miranda pounded the dashboard in frustration. She was supposed to have freaking
insomnia.
Couldn’t that have helped her out in this instance?

Not having anything else to lose, she drove toward the dock. Hopefully Teddy and Louisa had been able to cover for her. Or maybe she could call Eleanor and tell her that she’d slept over at the hospital to see Fletch . . . Miranda’s mind was working overtime as she came over the crest of Faunterloy Avenue. The ferry was still in the harbor and cars were still slowly streaming on. Maybe . . . Miranda floored the accelerator. The orange gate was coming down, the signal that no more cars were allowed on board and the ferry was about to leave.

Miranda gritted her teeth.
Come on,
she thought as tears of frustration began to fall, willing the gate to stay open for just a few more seconds. She passed the Lilly Pulitzer store, Edie’s Pie Shack, the parking lot . . . and just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the ferry belched out its low whistle and the gate came down.

“Sorry!” The orange-vested ticket taker shrugged in a
what can you do
gesture.

There wouldn’t be another ferry for an hour. At this point, she might as well cut her losses and head home to beg forgiveness from Eleanor. Sighing, she turned in the parking lot and headed back to the house. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Eleanor had never forbidden her to sleep on the beach. She didn’t even have a curfew. And she doubted Eleanor would even notice, anyway.

Miranda parked in the garage and tiptoed around the back, catching a glimpse of herself in the windows. It wasn’t pretty. Her long dark hair was hanging in tangled vines down her back, her school uniform blouse was damp and wrinkled, and her face was red and puffy from crying. Maybe it was better that she was home. She couldn’t have gone to school like this.

She slid the French doors open.

“Hello?” It was a voice. Eleanor’s voice.

“Just forgot something, running late!” Miranda called, dashing to the stairs that led to her wing. She changed into her uniform, and, not bothering to brush her hair, rushed back down to the parlor. The low-slung cherrywood table was set with tea cups and scones, and Eleanor wasn’t alone. Instead, Coral was perched on the green velvet daybed, wearing a red dress and drinking a cup of tea.

“Miranda?” Eleanor asked curiously, taking in her disheveled
appearance. “Teddy told me you were at the hospital with Fletch. So why . . .”

Miranda closed her eyes in silent gratitude for Teddy.

“I was, but then I didn’t have a change of clothes, and I thought I’d forgotten my books, so I came back,” Miranda said vaguely, peering down at the coffee table. What was Eleanor doing?

“Of course,” Eleanor interrupted, her pinched expression making it clear that she didn’t want Miranda to get into detail about anything. One of Eleanor’s cardinal rules was to never let a guest see any family dysfunction. “This is my granddaughter, Miranda. Miranda, this is . . .”

“Coral,” Coral stepped in and held out her elegantly manicured hand. “If you can believe it, we’ve met several times. She’s lovely,” Coral breathed.

“Oh,” Eleanor said, clearly confused. “Well then, I’m glad you’ve met. Sephie stopped by to drop off an invitation for the Remember the Ferries benefit she’s cohosting.”

“The
boat
is
Sephie
. I’m Coral,” Coral interjected firmly.

Eleanor, not used to being corrected, looked momentarily perplexed. “Ah, of course. I’m so sorry,” she said slowly, as if in a trance.

“Benefit?” Miranda repeated, her mind whirling. Was this Gray’s benefit?

“Yes, and of course I jumped at the chance to meet your grandmother. I’d heard so much about her from almost the
whole island, that I felt like I knew her,” Coral explained, taking a sip of tea. “I want to help out the island. I know that sounds silly, but I’ve never really had a home, so, . . .” Coral sighed. “Anyway. Consider it an open invitation to come on my boat anytime. Please.”

“That’s very nice, Coral, but don’t feel you need to do that. Miranda’s doing well,” Eleanor said, as if Miranda wasn’t really in the room.

“Thanks,” Miranda said. Maybe it was the way the light was streaming through the picture window but so much of Coral—from her slightly formal way of speaking to the way she sat with her back ramrod straight, as though she
knew
people were staring at her, to the dusting of freckles on her upturned nose, the only feature that made her look anything less than elegant—reminded Miranda of her mother. Maybe that’s what Eleanor thought, too.

“Do you need my help?” Miranda asked Coral shyly.

“Maybe,” Coral said as though she were considering it. “You know, I think that might be great. Gray has so many ideas, but I’d love your input. Coffee?” Coral asked.

Eleanor shook her head. “Don’t be silly. All you need to do is come. It’s this Saturday. I think it’ll be healing for you. And for us.”

Coral caught Miranda’s eye and gave her a sympathetic frown. Miranda gave a half smile, code for
You have no idea what you’re getting into when it comes to Eleanor.

“Okay, well then,” Eleanor said, clearly wanting to get back to speaking with Coral. “Enjoy school.”

“Actually, Eleanor, would you mind terribly if Miranda gives me a ride?” Coral asked in her smooth voice, already standing up. “My driver is doing some errands.” She winked at Miranda, as if to show her
this is how you escape from Eleanor.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Eleanor said slowly. “Miranda would love to do that.”

I would?
She hadn’t been intending to go to school at all. But at this point, she couldn’t very well say no.

“Of course. ’Bye, Grandma,” Miranda said, planting a kiss on Eleanor’s cheek, more for show than anything. They didn’t normally kiss. She walked out the door, surprised Coral, with all her fancy European airs, would deign to take a ride from her.

“How are you?” Coral asked as she slid into the car. “You don’t have to answer. I can imagine you must hate that question.”

“Not so good,” Miranda admitted, a sense of disloyalty tugging at her. Eleanor would have wanted her to say that everything was fine. Even though it was so far from the truth, it was laughable.

“I can imagine,” Coral said. “Growing up on this island. It must have been stifling. And now . . .”

“Now everyone I care about is dead.”

“Have you thought about leaving?” Coral asked.

“Like moving? I mean, I guess there’s college next year . . .”
Miranda trailed off. After more than a decade of having every move in her future planned out for her, now everything was one big question mark.
Did
she have college? She’d been thinking of e-mailing the Stanford assistant coach, but what could she say?
Dear Coach, I’m out this season because I faked a more severe injury than I actually sustained during a boating accident where I was at the wheel and killed four of my friends. My boyfriend is in a coma, my soccer coach thinks I’m a bad influence, and I’m typing this from my phone, while I’m skipping school in favor of hanging out with a guy who most likely lives on the beach?
No.

“No, not college. . . .” Coral trailed off. “Anyway, I know how hard it is.”

Miranda nodded politely. The truth was,
no one
knew how hard it was. Especially not a woman who looked like she should be sailing her ship somewhere elegant and exotic, like the Maldives or the Mediterranean Sea. “Why are you here?” Miranda asked finally.

“I like it. It’s rustic and quiet, and it’s not too proud of itself. And I feel I can make a difference here. Plus, I had some things to take care of . . . but I don’t think I’ll be here for long,” Coral said.

“Why not?” Miranda asked, driving up to the slip, where the
Sephie
was rocking majestically on the calm blue water.

“No need.” Coral smiled.

Miranda nodded as she pulled into the parking lot, feeling vaguely sad that Coral was already planning on moving on.
Talking with Coral was nice. She was someone who didn’t know about Miranda’s parents, didn’t consider her either an orphan or a killer, and who seemed genuinely interested in who she was, instead of focusing on how to fix her so she’d be normal. It reminded her of her conversations with Christian. Maybe it was a sign it was time for
Miranda
to move on, to get out of her element and away from people who’d known her forever.

“Thank you for the ride. It was lovely chatting with you. I was thinking about you a lot these past few weeks,” Coral said.

“I think everyone is,” Miranda admitted with a wry laugh.

Coral nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I’m sure,” she said.

An uneasy silence hung in the air. “Listen, would you like to have a cup of tea? Of course, if you’re heading to school . . .”

“That’d be great.” Miranda said, pleased. “So, there’s the Ugly Mug or the Pie Shack, . . .” Miranda paused, trying to think of a place on Whym they could grab tea without too many people talking.

Coral smiled. “Let’s just go aboard the
Sephie
,” she said.

“Good,” Miranda said, feeling a wave of relief. She didn’t want the stares—and she realized Coral wouldn’t either.

Miranda gasped as she followed Coral up the gangway to the vessel. The deck floor was polished and gleaming, and eerily quiet, as if no one else was on board. The entire super yacht seemed larger than life, as if it were a set for a movie. The
deck seemed to stretch on and on, and Miranda couldn’t imagine that
anyone
would actually own and sail a yacht like this.

“This is beautiful,” Miranda breathed.

“Thank you,” Coral said. “And welcome to my home. Or at least, my home away from home. I like being able to come out here. It’s so private. You can choose only who you want aboard.”

“Sounds nice,” Miranda said, settling on one of the deck chairs set up facing the stern of the boat and tilted her face to the sun. The air was warm, the boat was rocking gently, and Miranda wished she could stay aboard and never, ever get off.