The Bone House

Tresa stuttered. 'I don't know. I heard what happened last night. I'm so glad you guys are OK. It made me feel like — I mean, I just needed to see you, you know? With everything going on.'

'I know.'

'I told the police in Florida they were wrong. I said you could never, ever hurt Glory. Not you.'

'Thanks.'

'I'm not sure they believed me. It's like last year. No one believes me.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'You must really hate me,' Tresa said.

'I don't hate you. You shouldn't ever think that, because it's not true.' His instinct was to reach out and touch her, but he didn't. He added, 'How are you? This must be a terrible time. I'm sorry.'

'Yeah, Mom's a wreck. Me, I don't know. Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I get pissed off at Glory.' She ducked her head and changed the subject, as if she couldn't bear to talk about her sister. 'I like coming out to the lighthouse. It's cool when there's nobody around.'

'Me, too.'

'Do you ever wonder what it was like?' Tresa pointed at the home attached to the lighthouse tower. 'The keeper and his wife and their kids all alone out here. I think I would have liked it.'

'It was a hard life.'

'Yeah, but you always said alone could be a good thing.'

'Sometimes, sure.'

'It would have been romantic. Sort of like you and Hilary on the island.'

She was still an idealistic teenager, and Mark liked that about Tresa. He didn't want to tell her the truth. Reality had a way of eroding romance day by day, and if you wanted to keep it, you had to cling to it with your fingernails and put on blinders to the tragedy of life.

'I really need to go,' he said.

Tresa reached out and covered his hand. Her skin was warm. 'Please, not yet.'

He gently took his hand away. 'Tresa.'

'I know.' She twisted strands of her red hair between her fingers and pulled them through her lips. She pointed at his painting. 'I like that one.'

'Thanks.'

'One of the angels, the one near the tower, she looks really, really sad.'

'I think you're right,' he said.

'I wish I could paint like that.'

'You're a writer. I wish I could write like you.'

Her face brightened. 'Really?'

'Yes. You're very talented. You have a great future.'

'Wow. That's really nice.' She stared at the bench and murmured, 'But those things I wrote about us.'

'Let's not talk about it.'

Tresa nodded and didn't look at him. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.'

'You never slept with Glory, did you?'

Mark recoiled. 'No.'

'Good,' she said, looking satisfied. 'I didn't think you would, but I know how she could be. Glory had a way of getting what she wanted. She read my diary, and I thought she'd want you just because I wanted you. I'm glad you didn't.'

He wanted to steer her far away from the subject of her diary. The explicit descriptions were still vivid, erotic, and horrifying in his mind. 'Why did you never tell me about the fire?' he asked.

Tresa cringed. 'The fire? I don't know. I wanted to forget it. We all acted as if it never happened.'

'You can't forget things like that.'

'You can try,' Tresa said. 'Sometimes you just have to put on blinders, you know? Everybody lost things that day, but nobody ever cared what I lost. I know that sounds selfish.'

'What did you lose?' Mark asked.

'You name it. Glory was never the same. Mom kept trying to rescue her, so she forgot about me. Mr Hoffman shipped Jen out to live with his daughter in Minneapolis, so I lost my best friend. I never really had anybody again. Not until you and Hilary showed up here. Then I went and screwed that up too.' Tresa blinked and wiped tears away from her eyes.

'I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault.'

'It must have been a bad night,' he said.

'Oh, yeah. We didn't know Glory was there until Sheriff Reich came and told us. Mom freaked. Glory was just — well, in the hospital, she was all confused, thinking it was our house that had burned down, wanting to make sure we were all OK. She blocked it out, but my mom never forgot.'

'And your friend Jen lost her family.'

Tresa looked away, as if the pain was fresh. 'Yeah.'

'Did she hate her father?'

'Jen? I think it was harder to lose Mr Bone the way she did. She loved him. I know that sounds crazy, but the boys sided with their mom, and she always sided with her dad.'

'Except if she'd been home, she would have been killed too,' Mark reminded her.

'No, Mr Bone would never hurt Jen,' Tresa insisted. 'He knew she was staying with us that night. He talked to my mom.'

'Harris talked to Delia?' Mark asked.

'Yes, he was over at our place all the time. I think he wanted to get away from home. You don't know what that family was like. You don't know how bad it was in their house.'

'It sounds like you knew him pretty well,' Mark said.

'Yeah, I guess.'

'Did Glory?'

'Sure.'

Mark hesitated. 'Do you think she'd know Harris if she saw him today?'

Tresa cocked her head in confusion. 'What are you saying?' Then she almost leaped across the bench, taking Mark's shoulders. He winced at the pressure. 'Oh, my God, do you think he could have been there?'

Mark watched her hopeful blue eyes. It was as if she was looking for an answer, an explanation, anything to replace the doubt in her brain. He understood. Even Tresa wondered if he'd killed her sister. No matter how much she loved him, or how much she defended him, her heart of hearts told her that he was guilty.

'What would Glory have done if she'd seen him?' he asked.

Tresa bit her lip. 'I'm not sure. Wow, I don't know.'

'Did you see anyone in Florida who might have been Harris Bone?'

'No, no, I would have said something. I hung out by myself a lot. I'm not sure I would have seen anybody at all.' 'OK.'

'I'm going to tell my mom. She's got it in her head that it was you, but you're right. Maybe it was Harris. Maybe he was there.'

'Don't tell Delia you saw me,' Mark advised her. 'That won't help either one of us.'

The girl nodded. 'I understand.'

'You should go, Tresa.'

'Yeah. OK.'

As if swept up by an impulse she couldn't resist, Tresa wrapped her skinny arms around Mark's chest. Her cheek and red hair rested against his face, and her body pressed against him. She held him there longer than she should have, and he had to push her away. Her face glowed with passion.

'I can still taste your lips,' she whispered to him. 'Even after all this time.'