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“Mm-hmm.”
After steeling herself with a deep breath, Lexie greeted Darcy with the polite, awkward air of a long-soured relationship in which neither party could accurately remember the specifics of their parting. Then she led her to the back alley where Darcy took a seat in one of the plastic chairs they kept out here for staff.
She didn’t speak right away, just dug around her purse for a pack of cigarettes, then proceeded to light one with shaking hands. After a long drag, she looked up at Lexie.
“You look good. How long has it been?”
“A while.” Lexie folded and unfolded her arms, put her hands in her pockets, and took them out again. The toe of her boot began incessantly digging around the loose stones at her feet. Eventually, she sat in the chair next to Darcy’s because it was the only thing that made her feel less fidgety. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “About Isabelle.”
“We were going to get out of here next winter,” Darcy replied, smoke wafting around her on a sad laugh. “Go someplace tropical and warm. Get tanned. Find jobs. Have an adventure.”
Lexie’s smile was sympathetic. “That sounds nice.”
“Yeah.” They fell into an uncomfortable silence, until Darcy hesitantly said, “I’m sorry I didn’t go to your dad’s funeral.” She stomped her cigarette out. “Just wasn’t sure you’d want me there.”
It had been almost two years, but still the thought of her father brought tears welling up to Lexie’s eyes and she had to make a conscious effort to pull herself together. “It’s okay,” she said.
“All this”—Darcy gestured to nothing in particular—“has got me thinking of old times, you know?”
Feeling a wave of discomfort and denial wash over her, Lexie leaned ever so slightly away.
“You remember how much fun we used to have?” Darcy asked. “How much trouble we all used to get into?” She laughed again, then started to sob.
Lexie couldn’t stand it. Shifting her chair closer, she put her arms around Darcy and gave her as much comfort as she could—which wasn’t much. She shushed and stroked her hair and told her it would all be okay. Eventually, the crying stopped, and the two of them sat quietly while Darcy’s breathing returned to normal.
“Do you ever think about Sara?” she asked suddenly.
Lexie tensed, swallowed. “Sometimes.”
“Do you ever think maybe it’s our fault, what happened to her?”
This time, Lexie’s answer came slower, but it was firm. “No.”
Darcy pulled herself free of Lexie’s embrace to regard her. “Never?”
Lexie sighed. “Sara hated her life here. She wanted out. She would have run away on her own eventually.”
“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”
Lexie felt it then. The guilt that squatted in the distant corners of her mind stirred and looked up, like it knew it was feeding time.
“We were the ones who put the idea in her head, weren’t we?” Darcy said. “We’re the ones who took her to the mainland. She came to that party with us.”
“It’s not like we forced her to go,” Lexie said. “And it was only supposed to be for the night. She’s the one who decided not to come back. We begged her to get in the car, but she wouldn’t. What else were we supposed to do?”
“We could have tried harder.”
Lexie stood and paced away before coming back around. “What are you doing here, Darcy? What do you want?”
Darcy searched her face. “You remember how she died?”
“Of course I remember,” Lexie snapped.
“Right. So . . . ”
“So what?”
“Stop playing dumb, Lex. I know you’ve thought about it, same as me.”
