Chapter 3: Do you remember anything that happens last night
A raised voice cut through the din, sharp and familiar. Her head turned.
It was Conrad, standing too close to the guy from earlier—the one with the beer and the wandering hands. The guy shoved Conrad’s shoulder. “What’s your problem, man? It’s one beer, relax.”
Conrad didn’t budge. His voice was low, a gravelly threat that carried over the music.“No. Give me my beer back. I paid for this. Give me the beer back.”
The guy laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Ooh, a real big man.”
“Fuck you,” Conrad said, the words brittle and final.
Belly stood up, her legs unsteady. She took a step toward them, the sand sucking at her feet. “You guys,” she said, but her voice was lost in the noise.
“You’re not taking my fucking beer,” Conrad snarled, his hand snapping out to grab the red plastic cup.
The guy yanked it back. “Relax, it’s one beer!”
Then everything blurred into motion. The guy’s arm came up, a wide, drunken swing aimed at Conrad’s head. Conrad saw it coming and ducked, but Belly was already moving forward, trying to wedge herself between them. The swinging arm, meant for Conrad’s jaw, connected with the side of her face.
A white-hot burst of pain exploded in her cheekbone. She stumbled backward, a cry choking in her throat, and fell hard against the sand. The world tilted, the firelight streaking into blurred lines.
“Belly!” Conrad’s voice, raw and shredded, cut through the ringing in her ears.
He started toward her, but the guy, enraged, shoved him from behind. Conrad stumbled forward, then whipped around, his fist connecting with the guy’s mouth with a sickening crack. The guy reeled back, howling, and lunged.
“Hey, Belly, you okay?” Jeremiah was there suddenly, his hands under her arms, hauling her up. Her face throbbed, hot and tight.
She barely had time to nod before Conrad and the guy were a tangled mass of limbs, rolling in the sand, grunts and curses muffled by the pounding bass. Jeremiah dove between them, arms out. “Break it up! Jesus, break it up!”
But it was too late. The distinct, piercing wail of police sirens split the night, growing rapidly louder. Blue and red lights flashed against the dunes. The crowd erupted into chaos, a stampede of shadows fleeing the firelight toward the water and the dark paths home.
Jeremiah didn’t hesitate.“Car. Now,” he barked, pulling Belly by the wrist. Conrad broke free from the scrum, his lip split and bleeding, his breath coming in ragged gasps. They ran, their footsteps silent in the churned-up sand, toward the row of parked cars.
Belly waited by Jeremiah’s Wrangler, her body shaking. Jeremiah walked with Conrad, an arm around his waist, half-supporting him as he fumbled for the door handle. Belly got in the front passenger seat, the cold leather sticking to her legs. Jeremiah helped Conrad into the back.
“Fuck. Steven. Watch Conrad, I’ll be back,” Jeremiah said, slamming the back door shut. He sprinted toward the dispersing crowd, presumably to find belly’s brother.
The sudden silence in the car was heavy, broken only by Conrad’s harsh breathing. Belly stared straight ahead, watching the distant, swirling lights through the windshield. She could feel his gaze on the back of her head.
Then, a movement in the rearview mirror. He was leaning forward, his face pale and streaked with sand in the dim green light of the dashboard. His eyes found hers in the glass. Slowly, he reached a hand forward. He didn’t touch her face, Instead, his fingers, trembling slightly, picked up a stray strand of her hair that had fallen across the headrest.
“Your hair’s like a little kid’s,” he murmured, his voice rough. “The way it’s so messy.”
The words weren’t cruel. They were observational, almost wondering. A statement of fact that somehow felt more intimate than any apology. Belly looked at him in the mirror, her lips parted, the sting of the blow momentarily forgotten in the shock of his touch.
“Belly—” Conrad started, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t name.
A sharp tap on the window glass stopped him.
A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, blinding them. It swept across Belly’s flushed face, over Conrad’s bloody lip in the backseat, then landed on Jeremiah, who was just jogging up with Steven in tow, both looking winded. “Evening,” a bored voice said. The officer leaned down, his face a shadow under the brim of his hat. “Everybody step out of the vehicle, please.”
They stood in a ragged line on the cool sand, the flashing lights painting their faces in alternating red and blue. Belly could feel the grit of the sand in her shoes, the silk of Taylor’s dress suddenly feeling like a ridiculous, flammable flag. The second officer shone his light directly into Conrad’s eyes, then down to his scraped knuckles.
“Have you kids been drinking?” a cop said.
They looked at each other. A heavy silence stretched, filled only by the distant crash of waves.
“No, sir,” Jeremiah said, his voice overly bright, too confident. “Designated driver. I haven’t touched a thing.” He spread his hands, a picture of innocent cooperation.
The officer’s light moved to Belly. “You?”
She shook her head, her cheek throbbing with the motion. “No.” Her voice was a whisper.
“Him?” The light fixed on Conrad, who stared at a point over the officer’s shoulder, his jaw set. A thin trickle of blood had dried from the corner of his mouth down to his chin.
“I had one beer,” Conrad said, his voice flat and hollow. “Hours ago.”
The flashlight beam lingered on his bruised knuckles, The two officers exchanged a look. “Alright,” the first one sighed, the sound weighted with the tedium of a long night. “Party’s over. We’re giving you all a ride home. Now.”
The ride back to the summer house was a silent, shameful procession in the back of the squad car.
The front porch light was on, a glaring yellow eye in the night. Laurel stood silhouetted in the doorway, her robe pulled tight. The car doors creaked open, releasing them into the accusatory stillness of the front lawn.
“Officers, thank you. It won’t happen again, I can promise you that much,” Laurel said, her voice clipped and formal as the cops gave a brief, quiet explanation.
The cops nodded, tips of their hats. “Have a good night, officers,” Laurel said, closing the door behind them with a soft, definitive click.
She threw her hands in the air, looking at all of them. “How could you guys be so irresponsible?”
“Mom, it wasn’t a big deal, alright? Seriously, the cops were just looking to break up the bonfire,” Steven said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Not a big deal? I would say getting picked up by the cops is a pretty big deal, Steven,” Laurel said, her eyes blazing.
“Just so you know, Laurel, I didn’t drink tonight. I was the DD, I swear,” Jeremiah interjected, raising his palms.
She ignored him, her gaze landing like a weight on Conrad, who was leaning against the wall by the stairs, examining his split knuckles. “You’re the oldest. What the hell’s gotten into you?” Her voice was quieter now, laced with a disappointment that felt worse than shouting.
Conrad didn’t look up. He just shrugged, a minute, defeated motion of one shoulder.
Laurel’s attention snapped to Belly, taking in the pink silk, the tangled hair, the undeniable red mark on her face. Her eyes widened. “And when did you leave the house without telling anybody? And what in the world are you wearing?”
“It’s Taylor’s,” Belly muttered, the heat of humiliation rising up her neck. “And why am I the only one that’s not allowed to go out?”
“It’s not that you’re not allowed, it’s that you should’ve told us where you were going,” Laurel shot back, crossing her arms.
“Can you stop treating me like a kid!” Belly’s voice broke, echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer.
Laurel took a step forward, her own frustration meeting Belly’s head-on. “If you want to be treated like an adult, you need to act like one.”
Laurel’s words, precise as a surgical scalpel, cut through the last of Belly’s defiance.
Laurel turned her focus back to Jeremiah and Conrad, her exhaustion morphing into something colder. “I hope you realize this night could have ended differently if your family wasn’t your family,” she said, her gaze piercing.
“We’re sorry, Laurel,” Jeremiah said, his charm utterly absent, leaving only grim sincerity.
“Just go to bed, guys,” Laurel said, the fight draining from her voice.
They all got up and headed for the stairs, a defeated troop. Conrad moved past Laurel, eyes on the steps. “I don’t understand what is going on with you,” she said, looking directly at him.
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on,” he said, walking past her without breaking stride.
“What? Connie,” Laurel said, watching him walk away.
He didn’t turn back.
Belly sat on her bed, the braided rug a familiar blur beneath her feet. She held a bag of frozen peas to the side of her face, the numb cold a counterpoint to the hot, persistent throb. The pink dress was a heap on the floor, a testament to a failed experiment.
Sleep was a shallow, fractured thing. She woke just after dawn, the first gray light revealing the room. Her cheek felt stiff, tight. On her dresser, the creamy embossed invitation stood propped against her perfume bottle.
She got up, the floorboards cool under her feet. She picked up the card, ran a thumb over the raised script.
She found a pen. With a certainty that surprised her, she filled out the acceptance form, signing her name with a decisive stroke.
The beach at sunset was a different planet, stripped of color and sound. Conrad sat on the damp sand, his hands crossed over his knees, staring at the flat, metallic water. He didn’t turn as she approached, but his shoulders tensed slightly.
Belly sat down next to him, leaving a careful foot of space between them. The sand was cold, leaching through her sweatpants.
“Hi,” she said. “Last night was—” she began, searching for a word big enough to hold it all.
He looked at her, finishing it. “A shit show.” His eyes, bloodshot and weary, traced the purple bruise blossoming around her eye socket. “You know you’re gonna have a black eye tomorrow, right?”
“It’s already tomorrow,” she said.
A thin smile touched his lips, gone in a second. They watched a gull dip and rise over the foam.
“Hey,” she said, the question she’d carried all night finally breaking free. “Do you remember anything that happened last night?”
He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. He picked up a handful of sand, let it stream through his fingers.
“I always remember everything, I drink” he said, his voice so low it was almost part of the waves’ retreat.
She looked at the ocean, the vast, gray expanse of it, and felt the truth of those words settle deep in her bones.
The wind picked up, pulling strands of hair across her bruised cheek. She tucked them back, her fingers brushing the tender skin.
Conrad reached up and slowly took the cigarette from behind his ear. He put it between his lips, cupping his hands against the relentless coastal breeze. The lighter sparked, once, twice, but the flame died each time before it could touch the tobacco.
“Let me have a puff,” Belly said, watching his struggle.
“No,” Conrad said, focusing on the lighter, his brows knitted.
“Yes,” she insisted, her voice firm.
He finally looked at her, the unlit cigarette dangling. “No. Laurel would actually kill me.”
She held his gaze, the mention of her mother solidifying her resolve. “Okay, fine. Then if I can’t smoke, you can’t smoke.”
He looked at her for a long moment, the dawn light softening the sharp angles of his face. Then he smiled, a real one that reached his tired eyes, and pulled the cigarette from between his lips. “Same old Belly,” he said, the affection in his voice so sudden it made her breath catch.
He tucked it back behind his ear. She looked at him, then looked back at the water, her heart doing a slow, heavy roll in her chest.
“Does it hurt?” he asked after a while, nodding toward her eye.
“A little. It’s mostly stiff.” She paused. “Your lip looks worse.”
He touched the split skin, wincing. “He had a class ring on. Cheap shot.”
They lapsed into silence again, but it was different now. The air between them felt charged, like the moment after a lightning strike. She could smell the salt, the damp sand, and the faint, clean scent of his soap.