Dead Silence
Page 59

When Violet pulled off the pavement and the sound of gravel replaced the glaring silence, Jay finally spoke. “Why here?” he asked.
But Violet still wasn’t ready to answer him. She stopped the car, putting it in park and turning off the ignition. She pocketed the key, and without looking his way, ordered, “Get out.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the faintest hint of a smile. “I have my own set, you know?”
Her stomach dropped, heavy like it was filled with lead. She hadn’t considered that. Of course she didn’t have the only key . . . she had the spare.
She squared her shoulders and got out anyway, slamming the door behind her, deciding to play this through anyway. He wouldn’t just leave her out here, would he?
Without the headlights, it was darker. The only light came from the bridge about a quarter of a mile away. And it was too high up to be all that effective.
Violet stood there, waiting, straining to hear above the rushing water of the river for the other sound she so desperately wanted to hear—the passenger side door. It took far too long for it to come, but when it eventually did, her heart swelled with relief, like a balloon filling with helium. The sound of his footsteps, coming closer, made her feel like she could soar.
“Violet,” he said, this time sounding more determined than before. “Why are we here?”
His voice wasn’t soft or apologetic, or even filled with the kind of lustful desire that would give Violet the impression he might actually rip his shirt off at any second, but he didn’t sound angry either. She turned to face him, looking at him in the pale light that shone down on him from the bridge. The sound from the water, just steps away, was alternately trickling and gushing, as the river pushed and splashed and parted for both smooth and jagged rocks in its path. At the edge, where it was shallow, the water was cool and almost tranquil. But farther out, it could be treacherous; the perilous currents had been known to pull full-grown men beneath them, trapping them. Drowning them.
Yet it didn’t stop people from fishing, swimming, rafting, and tubing this very same river. The shore where she and Jay stood now stretched into a long sandy beach along the water’s edge, and still had the charred remnants of summer bonfires.
“Beer Bottle Beach . . . don’t you remember? Your mom used to drop us off here? We used to go inner tubing in the summer.” The beach probably had an official name given to it by the county or the parks department, but everyone called it Beer Bottle Beach . . . a name it had had for as long as Violet could remember.
His voice was low and husky. “Of course I remember. What I meant was, why are we here?”
Her feet sunk into the sand as she faced him, tears stinging her eyes. “Jay.” She hated that she sounded like she was pleading now, and she wished that she could be tougher . . . stronger. “I told Chelsea everything.” She wanted to tell him the rest, to explain what she meant by that, but already her voice was wobbling, on the verge of breaking. She took a breath, trying to collect herself.
A soft breeze spilled over her skin, and above them headlights shone down on them as a car crossed the bridge. Just for a moment, she could see him clearer, and she knew that he could see her too as the tears she’d fought against spilled onto her cheeks.
He looked stupefied. “What . . . what do you mean, you told Chelsea?” His voice no longer sounded husky or quiet. “What are you talking about, Violet? You didn’t tell her what you could do? Not about . . .” He frowned, as if just saying it, even here, while they were all alone, was too much to share. “Not about the bodies?”
But already she was nodding, and even in the faded lights, she knew he understood. He raked his hand through his hair. “Are you crazy? That’s not what I wanted. That was never what I wanted. I want you to be honest with me. With me, Vi. Not to put yourself in danger by telling other people.”
He took a single step away from her, and then seemed to think better of it and came back, positioning himself directly in front of her. If he’d had any notions about being aloof and cool, they were gone now, vanished with the admission of what she’d done.
“Dammit,” he cursed.
“Jay . . .” She closed the distance as she reached for him. When her fingertips brushed the coarse hairs on his arm, heat flushed her face, rushing all the way to her belly. Suddenly she wanted to rip his shirt off, regardless of how inappropriate the timing seemed. “It’s just Chelsea. I trust her.” She let her fingers move down, feeling their way along the sinewy muscles of his forearm, letting her thumb trace a circle around his wrist bone, moving until her hand was beneath his, their palms touching. “We can trust her.”
He moved then too, his fingers snapping closed around her hand in a sudden, swift movement that startled her, making her breath catch. Her pulse hammered against the base of her throat. “It’s not that you told Chelsea that bothers me,” he said warningly. “It’s that the more people who know—no matter who they are, no matter how trustworthy they are—the more likely it is to get out. Don’t you get it?” His grip lessened as he tugged her, so softly she didn’t even realize at first that she was being tugged. She was standing so close to him that she could practically feel his heartbeat across the distance. His eyes, normally playful and gentle and ready to smile, were on hers, brimming now with something intense and urgent as he willed her to understand.
Violet held her breath as she frowned. “I didn’t want to lie anymore,” she tried again.