Leo loves Savannah and he’s glad she’s here but he can’t stay awake another second.
“I have to go upstairs,” he says. “I have to sleep. My head is pounding.”
“You drank Mom’s tequila,” Carson says.
“You go to bed, Bear,” Savannah says to Leo as she gives him a squeeze. “Frankly, I could use a shot of Vivi’s tequila. I wonder where she hid it.”
Leo climbs the stairs feeling eighty years old instead of eighteen. His mother is dead. That feels like a big nut he’s expected to swallow even though it’s physically impossible.
His bedroom is dark with just an outline of fire pink around his window shade. The sun is going down. His mother woke up today. Today was the last day she was ever alive.
He reaches for his phone, and wow—there are a lot of messages. He suspects most of them are from Marissa.
Leo broke up with Marissa Lopresti, his girlfriend of nearly two years, last night during a bonfire at Fortieth Pole. Most of the just-graduated senior class was there and although it wasn’t a graduation party per se—those had ended a couple of weeks earlier—it still had a nostalgic feel to it, like, We only have so long before we go our separate ways and things will never be the same so we’d better enjoy this now.
Leo was having a beer a few yards away from the lip of the firepit and talking to Cruz. Because Dartmouth was on the quarter system, Cruz would have a week free in November when he could come out to Boulder and they could ski Loveland Pass.
Marissa had overheard the conversation. “I can’t believe you’re making plans with Cruz and not me,” she said. Then she smirked at Cruz. “Black people don’t even ski.”
Cruz had laughed the comment off. “This one does.”
Leo finished his beer and crumpled the can. He was sick of Marissa’s jealousy and her insecurity and the casually racist remarks she tossed at Cruz.
He said to Marissa, “Apologize to the man, please.”
“I was joking,” Marissa said, and she hugged Cruz. “He knows I’m joking. I obviously realize that Cruz skis. He went with you to Stowe last year.”
“Then why say it?” Leo asked.
“It’s cool, bruh,” Cruz said. He held up his palms. “I’m impossible to offend, Marissa. I thought you’d learned that.”
But Leo couldn’t shake it off this time. “Marissa, come with me for a second.” Leo led Marissa down the beach away from the raging fire and the bass line of Lil Uzi Vert, and she reached for his hand, maybe thinking he wanted to fool around in the dunes. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets, and once they were at the waterline, well out of earshot of everyone, he said—simply, so there could be no misunderstanding—“I want to break up.”
She laughed. “What? Because of that? He knew I was kidding, Leo.”
“I’m tired of your jabs and your cute little comments. It’s like you can’t help yourself, you have to find a way to throw shade at Cruz.”
“He hogs your attention, you have to admit—”
“He’s my best friend. I’ve known him way longer than I’ve known you.” Leo shook his head. “But that’s not the point. The point is I think we’ll both be happier if we spend the summer apart and then go our own ways without any emotional entanglements.”
“You sound like your mother,” Marissa said. “She hates me, you know. She never wanted us to get this serious.”
“She thinks we’re too young.”
“What about Willa and Rip? They’re married.” Marissa wrapped her arms around Leo. “And we’re getting married. You even said so.”
Leo knew he was guilty of indulging Marissa’s fantasy of the two of them getting married after they graduated from college. For most of their relationship, Leo had been content to go along with whatever Marissa wanted just to keep the peace. But those days were over.
“Sorry, Marissa. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’ve had one beer. I know what I’m saying. I know what I’m doing.” He sighed. “I just want to be free.”
There had been more discussion, Marissa trying to persuade him to take it back, Marissa telling him he’d be sorry, Marissa apologizing for the times she’d been cruel—she couldn’t help it, she said; she had father issues—Marissa getting angry and calling Leo names, Marissa crying, and, finally, Marissa storming off, which came as a relief. Leo pulled another beer out of the ice-filled trash can and found Cruz, who was sitting by the fire talking to his girlfriend, Jasmine Kelly, who was going to Vanderbilt in the fall.
“That’s done,” Leo said. “I broke up with her.”
Jasmine made a noise of disbelief with her lips and Leo said, “I’m serious. It’s over. No turning back.”
“Whoa,” Cruz said. “Are we staying or going?”
“Staying,” Leo said. “But I need something stronger than this beer.”
There are at least a dozen missed calls from Marissa in the midnight hour while Leo was still at the party. The last missed call was at 1:27, and then they dropped off; she must have fallen asleep.
There’s one text from her, sent at noon today. It says: Alexis told me what happened to your mom. I’m so sorry. Alexis says Cruz is a suspect.
Cruz is not a suspect, Leo thinks. Cruz was the one who found Vivi.
There’s a string of texts from Cruz:
The police impounded my car. Forensics has to check it. My dad came and got me. I’m home.
I’m not sure when you’ll get this, but you need to clean your phone.
There’s gonna be a text from Peter Bridgeman, a photo. Delete it.
I’m home. Call me.
She was my mom too.
Delete that photo, man. Please. We can talk about it later. Or not.
Leo scrolls back to a time he now thinks of not as “morning” or “last night” but “when Mom was alive.”
Sure enough, a text from Maybe: Peter. Attachment: 1 image.
Leo clicks on it and immediately leans over to dry-heave.
No! he thinks. He breaks out in a sweat. Peter Bridgeman took this? Leo races for the bathroom and dry-heaves into the toilet, then realizes he has left the photo open on his bed where anyone could see it.
He runs back out, snaps up his phone, deletes the photo, then deletes it from his deleted file.
Should he call Peter? He has never liked the kid and they had that fight last fall when Peter got in Leo’s face. Leo had wanted to whip him so badly but there were people around to break it up and Leo supposed he was grateful for that. Peter is sort of family; Willa’s husband, Rip, is Peter’s uncle.
Who else did Peter send this picture to other than Cruz? Leo could call and threaten Peter—but by now, Peter would have heard about Vivi, and even lowlife Peter Bridgeman would feel bad for Leo, so hopefully he’ll delete the picture and that will be the end of that.
But Leo fears it’s just the beginning.
Nantucket
When the news breaks that the writer Vivian Howe has been killed in a hit-and-run off the Madaket Road, everyone has something to say.