Summer felt relief so sweet that her feet moved with new energy; they were taking her to her mother, they must be. Instead of feeling her fifteen years, though, she felt like a kid—a small one, needy. All she wanted was to be held by her mother, her hair stroked, her back rubbed, Lorraine’s comforting words in her ear.

  But the procession started out slow and got even slower. There was no joy, no celebration, just the shuffle of feet as they walked through the empty hallways. When Summer was led into the cafeteria where everyone was usually gathered and waiting for the feast, the normally heavily laden food trays were empty except for the two coffee urns they used at breakfast.

  Summer had been sure something was wrong before, but now, glancing around at the furtive faces of Ama and Sara, at the identical smug expressions of the sisters, she was certain. And the most astonishing part: only Taured stood in the room, presumably waiting for her.

  “Where’s my mother?” she asked them one more time.

  “She’s in the chapel,” Ama said simply, looking her in the eyes. Taured motioned for her to step forward. She glanced behind her at the procession of women sent to collect her from hell, and they nodded encouragingly. Her discomfort stalled her feet; from behind, she felt one of the women give her a little shove forward. Was she more afraid or less afraid after being locked in that place? Summer considered that as she moved slowly toward him. He looked like an actor in a movie, but not a handsome actor like she used to think. He looked... She couldn’t find the word.

  You’re too tired and hungry to be scared, she thought. But she knew that wasn’t true.

  The word came to her as she came to stand sentinel in front of him: Small, she thought. He looks small. Or did I get taller?

  Taured didn’t say anything until she was right in front of him. He looked sick. His eyes, which were usually alert and dancing, now looked dry and red. She shifted her feet, fixing her gaze on his face. What she saw in the deadness of his stare made her so uneasy her bladder stung for release.

  “Congratulations and blessings on you, Summer, for the tremendous feat you have accomplished. You have shunned your flesh, defied it and risen above in triumph.”

  She’d heard all this before. Her mouth was dry, and swallowing made it worse. She flinched halfway through his speech as a result, and his eyes focused sharply on her face, his words becoming more clipped. She didn’t know what he was saying and she didn’t care.

  When he was finished, he nodded to the women behind Summer, who stepped forward at once to collect her. Their procession would now move to the chapel. She kept her eyes on him even as they steered her toward the doors, twisting her neck as far back as it would go, conveying her hate and her weakness all at once. He stared back unmoving, the cold of his eyes reaching for her, as well.

  She could hear singing as they turned down the hallway where the chapel was, the hypnotic hum of voices. It wasn’t so much singing as it was chanting, the men and the women holding hands, eyes closed, their mouths molding over the words holy, holy, holy.

  Sara had left the procession at some point and had gone ahead to the chapel, because when they entered through rear doors, she saw the back of her friend’s head in the last row. They’d snuck in here together many times, using the key they’d stolen. Now her back was to Summer, her shoulders pressed forward; Sara wouldn’t look at her.

  Look at me, look at me, Summer thought, focusing all her energy at Sara’s head. It was like Sara could sense her there, because she twisted her body away from Summer, toward the wall. And then they were past Sara, and she focused her attention ahead.

  It all happened in one ugly moment, the moment that would burn into her memory with a hot, shocking pain that throbbed through her already depleted body. The song, the flowers, the glossy box ahead. She didn’t believe it right away, or maybe she thought it was someone else—one of the elderly. But there was the photo, the name. She still looked through the faces frantically with every step forward they took; when she slowed down, she felt Dawn’s hands on her lower back, moving her forward.

  “Walk,” she said into Summer’s ear. Before they reached the front row, the row where they meant for her to sit, she started screaming. The wails of “Mama” shrill above the singing. She looked back at the faces behind them. Maybe she was sick, too, maybe she had what Taured had, and she was hallucinating. But then they were at the front of the church, near the place where Taured addressed them, and she could see it all.

  She was at her mother’s funeral.

  She didn’t stop screaming until they removed her from the chapel, Bob and Marshall hauling her down the hall, her feet dragging. Her breaths were ragged gasps. A boy—Ginger—was in the hallway. He looked to be exiting the bathroom; when he saw them coming, he flattened himself against a wall until they had passed. It was like the last time, just with a few different players, except now, she didn’t care what they did to her; in fact, she wanted them to kill her—she wanted to die.

  They took her to her mother’s room this time and locked the door. She curled up on her bed, on the quilt with the tiny, embroidered roses, and howled as loudly as her vocal cords would let her, the grief growing heavier by the second. Eventually, her voice gave out to a skinned, gravelly sound, and she was only able to sob. When she woke, she remembered, and the pain started again, fresh, a billowing wound that was all-encompassing. She lay in one spot, refusing food or drink until they sent Sara to comfort her. But she didn’t want to see Sara, who had betrayed her. In the end, they left her alone with her grief.

  On the third day, Taured came to see her. He was dressed in his nice clothes: black pants and a blue oxford rolled to the elbows. In his hands was a tray with what she assumed was breakfast. He set it down on the little table where Summer sometimes did her homework and turned toward her with a brilliant smile.

  “Good morning, Summertime. I’ve come to keep you company.”

  Her stomach clenched.

  “I’ve made you breakfast. Will you eat?”

  He motioned to the table and Summer froze. She had eaten very little, mostly drinking juice and eating pieces of bread rolled between her fingers into little balls. She’d pretended they were communion and she was eating her mother’s body and drinking her blood in remembrance. On the table was a plate, piled high with steaming yellow eggs and thick pieces of bacon. Her mouth was wet and her stomach groaned miserably. But then, out of her rolling stomach came a memory: another table covered in food...Taured leading her into his office...his smile as he closed the door. The vision ended as soon as it came, skirting something significant she couldn’t recall. When had that happened? Lifting her hands to her head, she cradled her own face. She was outside of herself, a coating on her own body like sweat.

  She was hungry, but she did not want to eat. Eating would be disrespectful to her mother, who would never eat again. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, keeping her eyes low, and walked over to the table. She sat, smashing her toes into the rug and staring down at her hands.

  “Eat,” Taured commanded. Still, she hesitated. He picked up the fork and placed it in her hand. Summer gripped the metal and scooped egg into her mouth. She chewed, staring straight ahead. The egg dropped into her stomach with a plop, she could feel it—all the while Taured watched.

  “I know you’re in deep pain, Summer. We are all grieving Lorraine. She was a very important member of our community and we loved her very much.”

  The eggs threatened to come back up. She held the back of her hand to her mouth and breathed in the scent of her own skin, closing her eyes. She didn’t want to listen to him talk about her mother. The fork clattered to the plate when she dropped it. Her hands moved to her eyes, palms open to cover them—a childish gesture, but what felt like the right one. A moment later, she heard the sound of a chair being moved. She dropped her hands to see him across from her. His knee brushed hers and she yanked it away, squeezing her thighs together.

  “Your mother was not well these last months.”

  “She was fine. She was the same as always.”

  She saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes at being interrupted. “Parents shield their children from the ugly truths to preserve their innocence, Summer. You were not privy to all of the things your mother was moving through emotionally.” That was true, though it hadn’t been her fault, because Taured kept her mother away on his mission trips, and they barely had time to communicate when she was at the compound.

  “And you were?”

  “Well, yes, I’m her mentor and spiritual leader, and she confided in me when she was having a hard time.”

  Summer shook her head; she didn’t believe a word he was saying. He went on speaking, anyway.

  “She never got over your father. You know that. She lost her will to live.” His voice was low, like he was telling her a secret, but it wasn’t true—her mother had been fine. At the airport, she’s seen the signs of her old mother again, and then...

  “What did you do to her in there?”

  Her balled fist hit the table, rattling the orange juice in its glass. She registered the look of surprise on his face, but this time there was no remnant of fear on hers; he had killed her mother, and she was angry. He didn’t answer.

  “I’m going to go to the police and tell them you killed her!”

  His face changed, grew angrier with each word she said, but she didn’t stop. “You put her in that room and she died!”

  The slap came like a whip, striking fast enough to bob her head and leaving a terrible sting.

  She touched her cheek with her palm, trying to draw out the pain, staring at Taured not in shock but in anger.

  “You can’t call the police, Summer, you can’t do anything. You belong here, to me. Especially now that your mother is dead. Where would you go? Do you know that her father molested her? That’s why she didn’t want to take you back. She knew that you were safe here.”

  “She would have told me—” But she knew her mother hadn’t liked to talk about her parents. Had it been for the reason Taured said? No. It was another of Taured’s lies.

  “Then why was she taking me to them?” Her voice was a wail, her mouth open; she knew how she looked. Standing up from the table, she took a step back, her fingers gripping the flesh of her cheeks in a panic. She molded the skin there as she thought, and an image flashed in her mind: eating food, spread out on a desk. Taured’s office. A desk? Was that real? She’d never eaten in Taured’s office, she’d never laughed as he touched her hair. Then she was back in her mother’s room, her shoulder blades pressing against the wardrobe.

  But Taured didn’t answer her question. Instead, he said, “She was taking drugs to deal with her grief. We tried to help her, but she wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Drugs? No, never. She tried to say so, but her voice was as wobbly as her legs. Her dad took drugs, and her mother hated them. Her mama would never.

  He opened the wardrobe, then pulled out one of its drawers, waiting for Summer to come over and look. Inside the drawer was a book she didn’t recognize, one her mother would never read. It was self-help: How to Live Well and Free. She stared from the book to Taured, not comprehending.

  “Open it,” he said.

  “Why?”

  The flash of anger in his eyes made her reach forward and flip open the cover. But there were no pages—the book was hollow. Inside were several needles, a glass orb and four foil-wrapped packages the size of quarters.

  “It’s not hers.” She looked him squarely in the eyes. “It’s. Not. Hers.”

  He hit her again, this time hard enough to move her whole body. Before she had time to recover, he left. Summer crawled onto her mother’s bed and wept. She would not believe that liar; she would not turn on her mother, not even to save herself. “Stubborn like your dad,” Lorraine used to say. “Stubborn to a fault.”

  She thought briefly of the memory before she fell asleep: the food, the feeling of being at the desk. Feelings she couldn’t identify with words. Then...nothing.

  * * *

  That night, Marshall and Dawn came to collect her. She’d been asleep when they opened the door and now, as they led her through the familiar halls, she was in a half daze. In the kitchen, they led her to one of the freezers.

  “In you go,” Marshall said.

  Taured was, of course, waiting for her, standing beside a table with his hands in his pockets. On the table was a lump covered by a light blue sheet. Before she could process the sight, Taured had pulled the sheet down. Beneath it was the bluish body of her mother, naked and still.

  There was nowhere to go. She could see Marshall’s head outside the small window in the freezer door. Taured lifted her mother’s arm and held it up for her to see.

  “These are track marks,” he said of the pinprick scabs that freckled the skin on the inside of her arm. He dropped her arm roughly and it landed with a thud on the table. Summer heard her own breath wheeze from her throat like she was being strangled.

  He walked to Lorraine’s feet and stood in front of them ceremoniously; then he pushed apart her big and second toes. Summer wanted to scratch his face off for touching her. She didn’t want his hands on her or her mother, ever—ever.

  There were marks between her toes, so tiny and hidden. While Taured spoke about her drug use, explaining how Lorraine had taken pains to hide it from everyone, Summer was thinking about how to kill him. How to make him lie dead on that table instead of her mama. The closest thing to her was a block of meat, so hard and frozen it was purple. While his head was still bent, her arm darted out to pluck it from the shelf. It was heavy but it felt good. Summer lifted it as Taured looked up. She threw it like Skye had thrown the baseball at her, a projectile of her anger. For a moment it sailed toward him, a strong line. Summer felt a pure pulse of adrenaline. And then the rock-hard meat hit the wall beside his head. He looked stunned, and then he smiled.

  Marshall dragged her out as she screamed, “I’ll kill you!” over and over.

  16

  Now

  The elevator doors were already open, so she stepped in, joining a middle-aged man in swim trunks who looked overly pleased with himself for some reason. He was dripping on the floor, his fleshy shoulders already showing a painful sunburn. He smiled at her, and Rainy felt nausea creeping in. She wished she’d thought to bring some aspirin. When the elevator doors opened, she rushed out, holding the back of her hand to her mouth. I will never drink again, she told herself.

  She could barely hear her own thoughts over the humming of people and machines. Sweat was swimming across her skin despite the air-conditioning. She’d written a long text to Grant before she got out of bed, detailing their night, but leaving out the parts that were uncomfortable to remember. She trotted through the lobby and saw Braithe just through the doors, walking quickly, her phone pressed to her ear like she was trying to escape the noise. Maybe she was talking to Stephen. Rainy tried Grant again as she kept walking toward signs for the pool. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t want to be in the mess of noise and lights. When she stepped into the sunshine, she felt a thousand times better than she had ten minutes ago. Lying by the pool was exactly what she needed to decompress from last night. The concrete around the pool was still wet from the previous day’s rain; hotel workers were sweeping up the dirt from a potted palm that had fallen over.

  “Wow, some storm, huh,” she said to Ursa as she tossed her bag on the lawn chair.

  “Apparently, the wind blew some bottles over in their little bar, so they don’t have vodka for my screwdriver. How cruel is the wind.” One long leg was tented up and swaying from side to side as Ursa watched the bar over the top of her glasses. “They’ve gone to get more,” she told Rainy.

  The thought of more alcohol made her stomach turn over, but Rainy nodded, pulling her cover-up over her head and tossing it on the chair. She sat down with her sunscreen in her hand, eyeing the twentysomething carefully. Last night, Mac had been tight-lipped for most of the cab ride back to the hotel. She’d reached across the seat to squeeze Rainy’s hand once, which made Rainy feel like she was apologizing for something. Ursa, on the other hand, didn’t apologize for anything, and had the type of blunt honesty that was shocking at times. If Ursa was in the mood, she’d tell Rainy what she wanted to know.

  “I saw Braithe as I was headed over. She was outside the lobby doors, talking on the phone. She looked upset.”

  Ursa’s leg stopped swaying and Rainy could see her blinking rapidly behind her oversize sunglasses. When Ursa didn’t say anything, Rainy swung her legs to the ground and stared her down.

  “Is something going on, Ursa? Because I am getting really weird vibes from you guys.” She must have sounded as desperate as she felt, because something broke in Ursa’s face. Her lips pinched together, making a tight little rosebud, and she blew air out of her nose. She took off her glasses and set them on the small table between their chairs, where a bottle of Tylenol stood sentinel. Rainy wanted two of those little pills, but she didn’t want to interrupt what was about to happen. When they were knee to knee, Ursa tilted her head, pushing her lips into a frown.

  “You’re right, things have gotten weird.” She tied her hair in a ponytail, avoiding eye contact with Rainy. “They planned that whole thing last night, Tara and Braithe. I don’t know why, but they wanted you to sit down with that psychic and they asked for our help getting you there. I feel really bad, I’m sorry.”

  Rainy was momentarily speechless; the confirmation that something weird was going on the night before felt like a victory. You’re not crazy.

  “Why?”

  Ursa shrugged. “I think they’re jealous, honestly. Not everything is what it seems with those two. All I know is that after this trip I am taking a Tiger Mountain break.” She slung her legs back up on the chair and put her sunglasses on.