Free The Drowning House by Elizabeth Black Page A

wear again.”
    “But the local people?”
    “Officially, the city has no vices. Unless you count the careless beach development.”
    “You disapprove.”
    “It’s probably inevitable.”
    “But you don’t like it.”
    “No,” I said, “I don’t.”
    “And what about unofficially?”
    “Is there bad behavior? Of course. And I’m sure the Islanders know about it because they know everything. That’s the way it is here. Which is not to say they’ll discuss it in front of outsiders. They tend to close ranks.” I gestured toward the terrace, where a small group had gathered. “Look around you. If they aren’t related by blood, they’re intermarried or doing business together. Or hoping to buy their way in.”
    “Sounds sort of incestuous.”
    “Absolutely.” I smiled, signaling my detachment.
    “You grew up here.”
    “Right over there.” I pointed toward the oleander hedge. “But I’ve lived away a long time.”
    Ty looked up from under dark brows. “Did you miss it?”
    I felt a quick pinch of anxiety and straightened in my chair. “I didn’t want to come back, if that’s what you’re asking. I have a career I could never have had in Galveston.”
    “But you thought about it.”
    “Occasionally.”
    “It’s a seductive place,” he said. “The colors. The weather.”
    I swung my bare leg and nodded. I wondered when he would discover what all Islanders know—that the air and water are often so close to body temperature you sometimes feel, if it weren’t for the accident of your skin, you could melt into either one.
    It was agreeable being the object of Ty’s interest. But I was thinking about Patrick. Where was he? I had dressed with him in mind. As the party progressed, I’d thought about how I wanted to look when he made his appearance. I wanted to seem relaxed, like someone who went out often and had a good time. Who ate and slept like other people and did not cry unexpectedly.
    My skirt was blue, a sheer layer over a darker lining. I rearranged its folds. “The Island has always drawn people,” I said. “Even when it was run-down. Before they started fixing things up. Rehabilitating the city and its past. Making it all into copy for a vacation flyer.”
    “You think it was different?”
    “The reality? Well, you heard what Charlotte said.”
    He thought for a minute. “That the past wasn’t always nice.” He paused. “But isn’t that what we all do? Rework our history? Most of us keep to the basic facts. But we improve on them, cast them in a better light. We back off just enough to be comfortable. I mean, who would want to remember what it was like to be an adolescent? The awful details. To live with that knowledge on a daily basis.”
    I wondered how long he’d been in Galveston. If he’d heard about the fire. About Patrick and me.
    Ty glanced over toward the house. Had he seen me look that way? Or had I gone on too long about the Island? I had no sense anymore of how people talked in social situations. I felt deflated, the way I always did when I described Galveston that way. Everything I’d told Ty was true. And yet I’d done exactly what I’d complained about—presented the information in a way I knew would be amusing.
    At the other end of the garden, the buffet tables had been quietly cleared away. Waiters were circulating with coffee and chocolates. Under the tent, a band began to play.
    This was what it meant to have things done. I thought it might be the most appealing thing about being really rich—this ability to orchestrate what was going on around you for everyone’s benefit, and to do it without apparent effort. I could understand how hard it might be to restrain that impulse, once it had become a habit. And that it might be misunderstood as interference. To my surprise, I realized I was expressing Will’s point of view.
    The group on the terrace had grown. I recognized several guests Will had introduced me to earlier. The president of an insurance