Free Tighter by Adele Griffin Page A

medieval but cozy, hung with bracketed lamps. A cookstove and a copper sink were tucked under a back window, and a circular staircase led up to the bell.
    I took the stairs cautiously. When I got all the way to the top, the wavy glass offered a warped but breathtaking view of the sea, as well as of Skylark. It was hard to pick out too many details, but I could glimpse all the way through the drawn curtains into the canopy bedroom. Had I left that lamp on? I must have. Except that I knew I hadn’t, and remembering Isa’s story from the other day, about how she used to watch Jessie and Peter from this exact vantage point, I had to answer to that unrelenting tug of thought. They were still here. Of course they were, both of them, I knew it, had known it on some level almost from the moment I’d arrived at Skylark. The unrest of their death was defiant, it beckoned from the corners, from all of their favorite places all their old haunts taunting my peace of mind pat her and prick her and mark her with a J and put her in the ocean and if I stayed here they would
    “Jamie?”
    I turned with a jump. Isa had followed me, but at my sudden movement, she backed off. “Sorry.” Her eyes, watchful as spiders. “Are you all right?”
    “Of course. I just … I have a splinter in my toe. It hurts. C’mon, let’s get back to the house.”
    “You don’t like it here, do you?”
    “What do you mean?” I swallowed. “Of course I do. It’s beautiful. And the beach … it’s all just so … great.”
    “Sometimes you look sad.” Then, quietly, but with a sudden fervor in her voice, “Don’t leave me, Jamie, please? I didn’t mean it the other day, when I said that you were driving the car crazy like Jess. You’re way different. I feel like you understand things about me but you’re not trying to cure me, either, like Dr. Hugh.”
    “Isa. Chill your drama, girl. I’m not going anywhere.”
    “Promise?”
    I went to her. Pressed my damp, cold hands against the sides of her face. “Promise, cross my heart. I am not leaving you.”
    But it was as if Isa knew precisely where my mind was. That I’d never wanted to leave Little Bly so much as right that moment, and despite the firm conviction of my touch and my promise, I couldn’t help but resent her need, and all that I knew it would force from me.

TEN
    Hours passed with no sign of Milo.
    “Can I wait up for him?” Isa had been bugging me with this question all evening.
    “Didn’t he say he was spending the night with some friend?” I asked.
    “Uh-uh.” Isa shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll show up sooner or later. Miley’s got a million friends, but he always comes home to his family.”
    It struck me how my dislike of that kid had been crawling up on me lately. Happy as Isa had been to see him that first day, Milo seemed to do her—and me—more harm than good, what with his snobbery and wisecracks and all his subtle undermining. He was just too snide for me to get comfortable with.
    And yet he wasn’t going anywhere, either. Each time I’d tentatively suggested other things Milo might do to occupy himself this summer, like maybe visit his friends in Beacon Hill, or possibly even see about tickets to Hong Kong to visit his father, Isa and Milo had both wheeled on me. They were more bonded together than I’d have imagined; it was a longtime alliance. Any attempt to separate them proved to be almost immediately frustrating.
    Tonight, though, Isa seemed especially tired and needy, so I put Milo out of my mind and focused on her. Against Connie’s wishes, she wanted dinner in bed, and so I ignored all the usual Funsicle grumblings as I cobbled together a tray of all my own comfort faves. Peanut butter and jelly toasties, cocoa, and a peach for dessert.
    I worked to keep busy as Connie sighed about all she’d have to do to secure the house if the storm was upgraded to a hurricane, while doing not much else than fixing herself cup upon