The Islanders Read Online Free PDF

listening to the stereo. He’d just broken up with a girl from the mainland and was a little bummed.
    I guess Lucas and I made out for a while in the woods. I guess we eventually came back and collected Wade and drove back toward town. I say I guess because I don’t remember exactly. I’ve tried, and sometimes in a dream, or in one of thosestrange moments of clarity that come when you see a certain picture, smell a certain fragrance that triggers memory, I’ll . . . but then it’s gone.
    I do know what happened later. I know they took me to the hospital with a concussion and a broken wrist. I know that Wade died. And I know that my heart broke when Lucas admitted that he had been the one driving.
    Jake came to see me in the hospital. His eyes were empty, his voice barely audible. I told him how guilty I felt. He told me, No, Claire. Lucas was driving the car. Lucas had rammed that tree. Lucas had killed his brother. Lucas was guilty.
    And what was I? Just another one of his victims.

THREE
    THE CURTAINS WERE OPEN AND the light was on in Jake’s room. Zoey stepped onto the patio and pressed her face against the sliding glass door, searching the room for him. Not on the Soloflex machine. Not sitting at his computer. Not watching his TV.
    She tried the door, but it was locked. He was probably upstairs with his parents. Zoey shrugged philosophically. She didn’t really want to walk in on the whole family at this late hour, but she felt she needed to see Jake. It had been several hours since they had seen Lucas from her family room window, time enough for Jake to calm down a little, to mellow, as he sometimes did, from anger to his own brand of silent grief and remorse.
    She walked up and around the house, arriving at the front door. She knocked, and in seconds Mrs. McRoyan opened the door and squealed her usual enthusiastic welcome.
    â€œIs Jake home?” Zoey asked. “I didn’t see him downstairs.”
    Mrs. McRoyan made a puzzled face, wrinkling her blue eyes. “Should be. I can’t imagine he’d go out this late.”
    A sudden worry flashed through Zoey’s mind. Had Jake gone off looking for trouble with Lucas?
    â€œI know it’s late, but do you mind if I go see if he’s down there?” Zoey asked.
    â€œWhat late?” Mrs. McRoyan protested. “I only wish you’d been here earlier. I had out the trusty Betty Crocker cookbook and was working on the apple tarte tatin, only this time I was making my own puff pastry. Would you like a piece?”
    â€œSounds great—like everything you make, Mrs. McRoyan. But I’m kind of full.”
    â€œWhen are you going to start calling me Daisy?” She ushered Zoey inside.
    â€œOh, probably not till I’m at least thirty,” Zoey said. “I think I’ll just run on down—”
    â€œWell, you know the way. But if you have time, stop back up here. No one around here appreciates the labor that goes into puff pastry. Sure, they’ll eat it, but my husband and Jake and Holly don’t understand.”
    Zoey trotted down the stairs. The rec room light was off, but the door to Jake’s room was open. With a sense of foreboding, Zoey hurried forward.
    Just then, the door to Jake’s bathroom opened wide. Steambillowed out. She turned and saw him facing the mirror over the sink, his face covered in shaving cream.
    His face was the only thing covered.
    He turned and saw her. His eyes opened wide.
    â€œ Oh oh oh , I . . . I . . .” she replied.
    He slammed the door shut.
    She dived toward his room. “Sorry!” she yelled.
    â€œI just shaved my right cheek down to the bone!” he complained, his voice muffled by the door.
    â€œI said I was sorry.” She chewed on her thumb. “I . . . I didn’t see anything.”
    â€œWhat is that, an insult?”
    â€œThat’s not funny, Jake,” she chided. She heard him laughing softly.
    â€œLook, all