Never Ever (13 page)

Phinn focused all his attention on the basket, holding the ball firmly in his hands.

“I've never even played before.”

“Tough. Now, don't mess up,” Wylie teased.

“This is a lot of pressure.” Phinn took a deep breath. “But here goes.” He popped a
parvaz
into his mouth, then flew straight up to the basket and tossed the ball in effortlessly.

“I made it! I'm taking Wylie Dalton to prom!” he shouted from the sky, flaunting his victory.

“That's not fair. You used performance-enhancing drugs!”

Wylie tossed a
parvaz
into her mouth. She grabbed the ball as it rolled down the court, then flew up in the air and dunked it like an NBA player. She gripped the rim of the basket and hung from it.

“This is amazing!” She whooped.

Phinn flew toward her and grabbed the other side of the rim, sticking his head through the basket.

“I did good?” he asked.

“You did good,” Wylie confirmed. She pulled him into a kiss, then proceeded to crush him in a game of
parvaz
-enhanced one-on-one.

By the end of the game, all she could think about was how lucky she was to be here. It was the happiest she'd ever been in her whole life, and no one could ruin it.

kings and queens

after
all this was over, Gregory told himself, he would buy a new couch for the living room. The one he'd been sleeping on was hell on his back. There had been a glorious period in his life when every joint in his body didn't hurt so much when he woke up in the mornings. How naive he'd been to think that would never change.

It didn't feel right leaving Maura alone in a house that used to be filled with teenagers. She'd told him he could sleep in their bed if the sofa was too uncomfortable, but he was afraid he would reach for her in the middle of the night and she would pull away from him. And there was no way he could sleep in any of his kids' beds. All the artifacts they'd left behind, still in disarray from the police search, seemed to taunt him. Besides, as long as he stayed in the living room, he would be able to see them as soon as they walked through the front door.

One month had passed since his kids had gone missing. The police had sifted through their drawers and snooped through their computers, but found no evidence of plans to run away or clues that anyone might have taken them. Gregory had discovered that Wylie used her spare time to teach other teenagers how to poach an egg or make fresh pasta from scratch, and had quite an Internet following. The birthday gift he had given her was still sitting by her bed, unopened. Joshua's computer was filled with instant-messaging chats between himself and Abigail that he'd saved. Maura had insisted they read through them for clues, but all they found were a string of sweet nothings and plans for the future. Abigail's parents said she was inconsolable since Joshua had disappeared, and that he hadn't responded to any of her texts or phone calls.

And then there were the items they'd found in Micah's room. Gregory was well aware that his youngest struggled with social anxiety and that the medication hadn't helped as much as they'd hoped. He knew Micah was a talented artist; his desk drawers were filled with sketches and storyboards for graphic novels he wanted to write. But Gregory didn't know about the drinking. The police had found several bottles of alcohol under Micah's bed. Gregory requested they dispose of them before Maura had a chance to see them.

The NYPD hadn't officially closed its investigation, but all signs pointed to three teenage runaways. Joshua was a fugitive, so the manhunt for him would be ongoing, but the search lacked the effort that would go into a kidnapping case. Maura and Gregory already had a website, a hotline, a volunteer center, and friends posting flyers all over the
city. They were also bombarding their Facebook feeds with photos, but no one had come forward with any tips on where their children might be, despite the handsome reward they'd offered. One month, and none of the kids had used their cards or cell phones. They had vanished without a trace.

Shannon had been relatively understanding about the distance Gregory had put between them. He had made her promises for the future, but ever since the kids had gone missing, Gregory couldn't bear to look at her or hear the sound of her voice. What if the affair was the reason they'd left? He didn't know for certain that Maura knew about his transgressions, but who else could have told Wylie? Though Maura had never mentioned it, he suspected she knew, from the way she looked at him like all of this was somehow his fault. Deep down, Gregory worried that she was right.

That was why he left the volunteer center early that day and waited outside Harper Academy until school got out. The other parents nodded at him politely; some even stopped to tell him they were praying that his kids would turn up soon. He didn't blame them for not knowing how to treat him. He was living out all of their worst nightmares, and nothing they could say would make him feel better.

Vanessa stumbled out of the building with a few friends Gregory recognized but didn't know by name. He felt his blood pressure rise when one of the girls said something and the rest of them, including Vanessa, collapsed with laughter. Wylie had been missing for barely thirty days, and Vanessa was her best friend. How could she be
laughing like nothing in her world had changed? He crossed the street toward them. When they saw him approaching, they immediately went silent.

“Hello, girls.” Gregory addressed them with all the parental warmth he could muster.

“Hi, Mr. Dalton,” they mumbled back.

“Vanessa, can I speak with you for a few minutes?”

Vanessa nodded at her friends and they walked off toward the subway station without her.

“Is there any news about Wylie?” Her voice trembled as she asked, and Gregory felt slightly vindicated. Gregory shook his head.

“The police are still searching for clues, but they seem convinced the kids ran away. Vanessa, is there anything you remember from that night?”

“I already told the police everything I know.”

Gregory couldn't get past the feeling that she was lying.

“You're absolutely certain?” he asked. “There was no one you saw them talking to? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“I wish I knew more. We were all hanging out at our apartment in Williamsburg, and then the three of them left to go home. And that was the last I saw of any of them.”

He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. He wanted to scream that her lies weren't protecting Wylie, they were only hurting her. The lengths kids would go to avoid getting their friends in trouble with their parents was infuriating.

“Nothing you tell me will get anyone in trouble. You understand that, right?”

Vanessa nodded.

“Did Wylie or either of her brothers ever mention running away? When they said good-bye to you that night, was there anything different about it? Did you get the sense that Wylie thought it was the last time she'd be seeing you for a while?”

“No. She seemed perfectly normal. I mean, we were all sad that Joshua was going to juvie the next day, but none of us really talked about it. We didn't want to ruin her birthday.”

Gregory felt ridiculous now, standing outside of the school like he thought he was some sort of private investigator. He had only hoped he could return to the brownstone with some piece of news for Maura that would give her an ounce of hope to hold on to.

“Thank you, Vanessa. If there's anything else you remember, or if they try to get in touch with you, will you give us a call?”

“I will. Mr. Dalton, don't take this the wrong way, but if Wylie wanted to come home, she would have found her way back by now.”

“It's not always easy to get home, Vanessa. You take care of yourself.”

As Gregory walked off, he pulled a stack of flyers out of his briefcase and headed for the nearest bus stop. The glass wall was already covered with missing posters for a young boy named Bandit. Gregory did his best to tape up the flyers of his own kids without covering up the boy's picture. He looked at the date Bandit had gone missing—more than two years before. He thought about the kid's family. Clearly, they hadn't given up hope, if they were still
posting flyers around the city, but after two years without their son, had they figured out a way to sleep at night? Did they still jump a mile like he did every time the phone rang or someone knocked on the door? He tore down one of the posters of Bandit, folded it, and placed it in his suit pocket. He would keep an eye out for him.

PHINN TUGGED AT HIS BOW TIE AND INTERLACED HIS fingers with Wylie's as they entered the dining room for prom night.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Great,” he said, still fumbling with his tie. “I just feel like I'm being strangled by this thing, that's all.”

Prom themes had been bandied about before Wylie and her brothers had even arrived on the island, but Phinn couldn't settle on one. Most had close ties to life on the mainland and didn't resonate with kids who'd spent their formative years here. So Phinn announced there was only one condition for their dress code: everyone had to look their most formal and elegant. That meant tuxedos for the guys and cocktail dresses for the girls. Nadia, Helen, and the other seamstresses spent months designing and sewing outfits that met Phinn's requirements. Tinka was normally in charge of the décor, but her stint in detox had slowed her down, and Bailey had taken over the responsibility this year.

Wylie's dress was originally intended for Charlotte, Lola's old roommate, but since she'd been exiled back to
the States, the gown was available. After a few small alterations, it fit perfectly. The fabric itself was simple black cotton, but the beaded detailing added a wow factor. Shiny pieces of abalone shell were draped across it, causing the entire dress to sparkle with any small movement. To finish off the look, Wylie tied her hair into a low bun and used beets to stain her lips a deep burgundy.

All eyes were on Wylie and Phinn when they made their entrance. Over the past month, she'd forged friendships with a lot of the locals, but from the way they were staring, it felt like the jury was still out on whether she was good enough for their precious Phinn. Perhaps the food tonight would help win them over. She and Lola had labored over the menu for days, and pulled an all-nighter in the kitchen getting all the dishes ready for the dance. They were taking a huge risk: all the recipes were their own invention, and none were anything Lola had ever served in the past. It was Wylie who'd suggested they go with small bites, so they wouldn't have to spend all evening tending to the food.

“This place looks amazing. Maybe Bailey should handle the decorations every year,” Phinn said.

“It's tropic,” Wylie added. She still felt silly using slang words from the island, but she hoped that with a little time and practice, it wouldn't feel like she was trying too hard every time she spoke. Lola was always happy to give her a vocabulary lesson. Wylie knew now that “arthritic” meant weak, “elder” meant asshole, “silver” meant arrogant, and “midlife” meant tragic. But she found “tropic” was the most overused adjective among the residents.

But the place did look tropic. Every inch of the ceiling
and walls were strung with streamers made out of leaves and wildflowers. Tealight candles in mason jars lit up the room. All the chairs and tables had been moved aside to make space for the dance floor. Wylie had helped style the buffet table with herbs and dandelions, but she was most proud of the platters of appetizers: deviled eggs with a yolk and woodmeg filling, tiny mugs of French apple flower soup, lettuce cups brimming with sweet peppers, avocado, and baby three-legs (an edible bug on the island that was considered a delicacy), and individual
parvaz
crème brûlées for dessert. Wylie held her breath as Nadia and Patrick each took a bite from a deviled egg. She exhaled as their faces lit up and they filled their plates with more food.

A self-serve champagne bar was stocked with various juices and berries to mix with sparkling wine, but Wylie planned to stick to her favorite sugar-root mocktails. It wasn't a shocker to find Micah and Tinka already standing at the bar, topping off their glasses. Apparently Tinka's detox stint was meant to wean her off
parvaz
and not alcohol. Wylie felt a pang of anxiety as she watched them clink a toast. Micah needed someone to discourage his drinking habit, not enable it, but she would try her best not to worry about that tonight.

“You want to dance?” Phinn asked.

Wylie shook her head. She felt like they were being watched by everyone at the party, and she didn't want people staring at them as they danced together.

“No. I want you to try the food first.”

“You know that's one of the things I like most about you.”

“My big appetite?”

“No,” Phinn said, laughing. “You're decisive. I can ask you what you want to do, and I know you're going to tell me.”

It was true. She'd never been one to shrug her shoulders and respond with “I don't know. What do
you
want to do?” But the qualities Phinn appreciated about her continued to take Wylie by surprise. Most guys just complimented her looks.