But then I suddenly remember the ride home from the ferry, the car I could not afford, the grumpy old driver who mumbled the whole time about kids these days thinking they’re so special, kids these days getting away with murder, as we twisted around the dark corners of the island, as I opened the window in hopes that the cool breeze would keep me from barfing, the way the sky turned a shocking orange as we approached my road and I feared for a brief moment that the forest was on fire. But then I noticed the cars parked along Olympic Road far into the distance, I heard the bass of the music and the sound of drunken laughter, and I realized the light was coming from behind the wall of trees that were not on fire at all.
There was a party at Ivy Avila’s house last night, and I was not invited.
“I trust you, Fern,” Papa says now, and I cringe at the sound of my own name.
* * *
• • •
I heard you had fun after you left, Tami texts.
Worst hangover ever, I write back. She’s probably fine this morning. She’s always been able to drink everyone under the table and wake up perfect the next day. I wonder what exactly she knows. I wonder if she told Ash.
I wonder what happened at the condo after I left, if she woke up in Vaughn’s arms this morning, if his face is bruised from her punch, how he’s going to explain that to his wife.
When Daddy gets home, I help him weed in the garden. He doesn’t mention my coming home late or throwing up this morning. We work silently together in the late afternoon shade, the birds chattering around us, a soft breeze rustling the trees. My head is still cloudy and my stomach is not in prime condition, but I feel something like peace settle over me. After the madness of last night, this is the most opposite of places—all this order, all this wholesome life. I inhale a deep breath of pine needles and warm soil and a whiff of salt water, and I am starting to feel like myself again.
“Psst,” Daddy says, and I look up to see two identical does staring right at us. As many times as I’ve seen deer in our garden, I still catch my breath. There’s something about their big dark eyes that makes me feel seen in some brand-new way. They tilt their heads in tandem, considering us, then walk off as if having decided we’re not worth their time.
After dinner, I video-call Lily in Taiwan, where it’s mid-morning. I give her all the details about last night and then tune her out as she goes off on her tirade about “those people,” just like I expected. She’s like a voice in the back of my head, constantly giving her opinions about whatever I do. I know she does this because she cares. In some weird way, it comforts me.
“Don’t you get it?” she finally says. “You’re better than them. You’re better than all of them. You’re one of the few honest people I know.”
But that’s only because I’ve never had anything I’ve needed to lie about.
* * *
• • •
Tomorrow morning I’ll be back at work, fully recovered from my hangover. The sun will be shining, and it will still be the sweet spot of summer when it’s not too hot. I can find comfort in knowing last night was an anomaly. A onetime experience. My one wild summer night that I never have to do again. I’ll spend the rest of these weeks until college starts going to work, maybe drop by a couple parties where I’ll have one or two drinks, weekend outings with the family, a few trips into the city. My life back. My boring, safe, island life. This is what I know I should do.
I imagine going to work tomorrow and overhearing what the gossip has morphed into over twenty-four hours. A woman of indeterminate age with unfortunate plastic surgery will put a fake antique watering can on the counter. She will say with an interrogating tone, “I read online that Ivy Avila had a party.”
“That’s the rumor,” I will say, scanning the watering can’s barcode.
“I heard people came in by helicopter,” she will say. “Celebrities. Seattle socialites. People came by boat.”
“Is that so?” I’ll say, scanning the potted orchid that she will throw away as soon as it stops flowering.
“Were you invited?” she will say, eyes squinting, her Botoxed forehead unmoving.
When I tell her no, she will look me up and down, from my unremarkable face to my messy ponytail to my dirt-stained smock, and say, “Yes, well, I guess you wouldn’t be,” and then hand me her credit card.
11
“Why didn’t you come to my party last weekend?” a voice says.
I have been here before. In this exact place. This same voice in my ears. The same darkness opening up to a halo around Ivy’s face as I blink my eyes open, as I feel my waking body sway in this hammock. Why does she appear like this, in this space between sleep and awake?
“You didn’t invite me,” I say.
“I didn’t invite any of those people.” She laughs. “There were even a few that didn’t leave until Tuesday. My mom found one in the hallway closet. So will you come? To the next one? I don’t want to be there unless you are.”
“Okay.” I have a vague feeling like I’m supposed to be hurt, or mad at her, but it is just a small nagging compared to the warmth spreading through my body.
She wants me.
“We should go walking sometime,” Ivy says.
“There are trails all around the forest,” I say. “The nature preserve starts right behind my house.”
“Don’t you get scared in there?”
“In the forest? No.”
I don’t tell her I feel safer there than I feel anywhere. Because no one can see me.
“I guess I’m a city girl,” she says.
No, I think. You are someone who likes being seen.
“I went hiking in rehab. They had this whole thing about getting in touch with nature. They made us camp overnight once.”
“Did you like it?”
“I wanted to.”
“Did you get in touch with nature?”
“I got in touch with some mosquitos and poison oak.”
She smiles. I smile. I am her mirror.
“Is that a vegetable garden over there?” she says. “Can I see it?”
“Okay.” I manage to get out of the hammock without falling on my face. I try to match her footsteps as we walk over to Daddy’s garden together.
We stand at the edge of the garden, looking over the deer fence at the tidy rows, the perfectly spaced plantings, all the nurtured things growing.
“We had a garden at my treatment center,” Ivy says. “We all had chores taking care of it. We called it weeding therapy. I learned as much about plants there as I learned about recovery.”