Twin tides, p.22
Twin Tides, page 22
But this is not the time before, and something strikes Caliste about the letter’s date. It’s the anniversary of Emory’s parents’ divorce.
At the phrase “different generations,” only two faces claw their way into her mind’s eye.
“Did you find anything else? Anything more concrete?” Caliste asks, her voice wavering with anticipation. She scoots close to Philip and the letters, following his fingers as he outlines his notes on the pages. Aria tenses next to her.
“I searched and tried to see if anything exists online that matches these letters. You know, weird turns of phrase or the writing style.”
“And?” Aria asks, wearing a pensive expression as she stares at the papers.
Philip pauses, and there’s a second when Caliste catches his eyes flickering to Aria. He wants to lie.
“Yes…actually. An op-ed posted in a high school newspaper.”
Philip takes out another paper deep in the stack of letters. It’s a printout from a website. Advertisements and the URL bar border the text.
www.brixleyhampton.edu/chronicle/opinions/06728
The Brixley-Hampton Chronicle
The Case Against Affirmative Action—
the Devaluation of Merit
By Emory Hane
After scanning the article, which is filled with a dense and tedious accusation of schools being filled with allegedly underperforming students, Caliste feels vindicated. She feels sick.
“And I found this…” Philip says. His voice softens as he lays a final piece of paper between them. It’s a scanned copy of a handwritten letter. The contents appear innocuous and seem to be Eric Hane writing well wishes to the citizens of Les Eaux for the Christmas holidays. (Caliste can’t quite wrap her head around the fact that Eric is important enough for his holiday letter to be included in the local newspaper.) In it is a list of congratulations for some Les Eaux–born citizens and their accomplishments.
Congratulations to Jonathan Ariat for his debut performance with the New York City Ballet!
Quietly, Philip slides one of the envelopes containing Aria’s letters across the table.
Jonathan Ariat
Ariadne Nguyen
In many of the letters, only Aria’s full name is handwritten. The script is the same.
“What does this mean?” Aria asks, her voice shaking.
“It means that our dear friend Emory and his dad are the ones who have been writing you letters,” Caliste says.
“Aren’t you going to dinner at their house tonight? Do you think that’s wise given all this?” Philip asks.
“Probably not,” Caliste says. She’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic or sincere.
“I’m sorry, but what are you trying to figure out by going there?” Philip asks.
His concern is palpable, and Aria can’t blame him. The smart decision would be to heed Paul’s warning and respect Aunt Thu’s authority. But there are too many coincidences and missing pieces of information between the two families to let this go.
“That family killed our mom or played a role in Mom dying. We’ve been waiting for her for so long. I can’t walk away after seeing those bruises on her neck. Someone took her from us and is now paying off the police department to say she unalived herself.”
She and Aria lock eyes, and Aria nods.
“If there are answers to find, they’re in that house,” Aria says, exhaling sharply.
Today might be the longest day of them all.
* * *
There’s too much tied to the Hanes…
One: the Hane family’s influence is somehow woven all throughout Les Eaux, the town where their family lived, and the town where their mother died.
Two: there were many details that Paul kept Caliste in the dark about, including the Hanes sponsoring of Paul’s family, their investment in Paul’s first business, and the apparent long-standing history between Paul and Eric.
Three: Tyler died within walking distance of Aria and Caliste, and his necklace was in Emory’s car.
Four: Emory is enrolled at Georgetown, where Aria just so happens to go to school, and he also coincidentally was considering Berkeley and USC, two schools Caliste had applied to.
“Remember to text me the second—” Philip starts to say, but Aria cuts him off.
“We know. Nothing bad will happen if you’re here…” From the back seat, Caliste spots Aria reaching toward Philip and placing her hand on his forearm. Since Philip’s arrival, the two of them have been dancing around their obvious feelings for each other.
The SUV rattles down a single-lane road leading into woods. It’s dark now, and the beams of the car waver as they get closer to the Hane estate, which is located on the outskirts of town and farther south along the river. The address Emory provided didn’t even show up on Caliste’s maps application like a normal address would. All it picked up on was the forest. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was pranking them.
Caliste counts the trees they pass and reaches fifty before a sign with the house number etched in gold appears. There’s a dip in the road, where they drive over a short wooden bridge, and Caliste realizes they’ve crossed a creek. It’s uncannily straight and flows directly in the direction of the house.
Once he drops them off, Philip is going to wait at the nearest cross street to be their getaway driver. Aria will distract while Caliste does her best to snoop. It’s reckless…and there’s plenty of room for mistakes. But there must be something in the home that explains what actually happened to their mom.
The house that emerges after a final bend in the road is like nothing Caliste could’ve imagined. Aria gasps in the passenger seat as the behemoth gray stone mansion gets bigger before them. The Hane estate makes the inn look puny. There’s even an iron cross woven with dried climbing ivy on the peak of the home.
A central tower is the building’s focal point, with sharply arching ebony windows along each of the tower’s five visible sides. Perfectly trimmed hedges are thinned from the cold weather and speckled with snow. There’s a balcony on the upper level looking out at them. A porch on the ground floor has the same ornate walnut banisters. Each post is topped with a metal figure of a bird that Caliste can’t identify.
It’s beautiful, Gothic, and terrifying.
The engine quiets, and Caliste takes another second to gather herself before opening the door. As she exits, she catches Philip walking from the driver’s side to get Aria’s door.
“Be careful, Ari. Please?” he says after helping her out of the car.
“We will,” Aria replies. The glass-paneled black front door swings open, the light inside scattering over the porch. Seeing Eric Hane approach, Philip returns to the car and waves before he leaves.
“Girls! Welcome! Is your friend not coming in?” Eric asks, hobbling down the steps of his porch with his arm pointed in the direction of their departing SUV.
“Ah…No. He has some work to do,” Aria says, her arms folded close to her body as she leans away from Eric’s touch. Who said our driver was our friend?
“Oh, that’s a pity. Is he Korean?”
Caliste is taken aback by the question, but Aria isn’t.
“He was born here, but yes. He lives near me in Virginia. He’s a family friend.”
“I’m usually right about this sort of thing!” Eric enthuses, as if he’s playing a game of guessing weights at a carnival. “There is quite a large Korean population in Virginia, along with the Vietnamese population. Did you know that you can track the flow of immigrants if you look at enrollment in DC-area schools? It’s quite fascinating!”
Fascinating. Aria smiles politely while Caliste rolls her eyes. Eric doesn’t seem to notice.
“Thank you for inviting us. I’m sorry my father couldn’t make it,” Caliste says.
“It’s perfectly fine! Paul was always too busy for me,” Eric says. There’s an attempt at lightheartedness. But underneath his jovial tone lurks something Caliste is well equipped in spotting: jealousy.
“What’s that noise?” Aria asks, and Caliste registers the faint sound of trickling water.
“We are near a little creek. It’s very nice. I also built this artificial moat around the house. Isn’t it splendid?”
“Yes…it is…” Caliste replies.
When they enter the foyer, the house’s immense yet suffocating presence only gets stronger. The walls are a deep mossy green, and all the wood surfaces are as dark as the night outside.
“Your house is lovely. I assume it hasn’t lost its character?”
“Good God, no! An old Minnesota senator built this back in the day. He replicated all the Gothic houses in Washington. My father bought it when I was young. History must not be forgotten, wouldn’t you agree?”
“You are very right,” Caliste says, taking off her coat to hand over to Eric. Aria follows suit, her eyes darting around.
“We’ve done some maintenance, of course. My ex-wife hated this house…but it’s a beauty to me. Why would I touch it?”
Caliste nods.
Eric’s architectural lecture fills the silence. Caliste follows behind him, only half paying attention to his effusive tour. Contrary to Eric’s claim that he hasn’t touched the house, there’s a spot in the wall that’s been filled with plaster, the white contrasting sharply with the green paint. In the corner is a window that’s been taped over with plastic, and Caliste wonders how much maintenance an old house like this needs. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a frame she can’t make out. When she moves closer, she realizes it’s a floating glass frame ensconcing a single pearl button. A familiar face in the picture frame next to it stops her.
“Is that…my father?”
“Oh yes!” Eric says brightly.
It’s a large print of Dartmouth’s male tennis team. The boys are dressed in crisp white polo shirts and shorts, and their hands hold rackets over the front of the net. In the center is Paul Hà…decades younger…and the only non-white face among them.
“Your dad was very talented! Did he ever tell you?”
“No, he never mentioned playing tennis,” Caliste mutters. Aria carefully looks at the photo. Caliste can sense how tense her sister is even inches away.
“I could never keep up with him!” Eric exclaims, but once again, it makes Caliste feel more anxious than proud. “Anyway, Emory and Carter are helping set the table. There are plenty of appetizers. I hope you girls came with empty stomachs!”
“I—I…” Caliste stutters, certain she’s heard wrong. “I wasn’t aware you had another guest.”
“Carter is a good boy, my older brother’s son. A bright young man! I hope you don’t mind that I invited him.”
Aria squeezes Caliste’s hand. They’ve entered this house outnumbered.
Chapter Twenty-One
Caliste
When Caliste and Aria walk into the lavish dining room of Casa de Hane, Carter appears equally surprised to see them. Thankfully, Emory is nowhere in sight.
“C-Caliste? Aria?” Carter stammers, putting a small silver dish onto the place setting closest to him. He’s wearing something much less somber than his lakeside outfit, when they first met: an emerald cable-knit sweater and tan herringbone pants.
“Hi, Carter. How…have you been?” Caliste asks, strolling toward the elongated black walnut table and ostentatious decor. The lakeside bonfire is such a blur, and Caliste only remembers a hurried goodbye before she and Aria returned to the police station. Aside from coordinating their stories, she and Carter never finished their conversation from the pier and certainly didn’t exchange numbers. Although that was only a few days ago, it already feels like a different era.
“I’ve been better. But okay. And you, Aria?”
Carter walks toward them, his brow creasing as he eyes Aria with concern. Caliste wants to believe Carter is a good guy. She recalls her father’s recent confession. His wife had told him that Eric assaulted her, and Paul chose not to believe her. But Carter, even after seeing his friend’s literal corpse, hadn’t breathed a word of disbelief toward Aria.
Thinking about what Tyler could’ve done resurrects Caliste’s anger.
“I’m better, I think,” Aria says with a small nod and a smile. “I cried it off. No biggie!”
Caliste hates the fact that Aria is trying to laugh it off.
“We had no idea that your extended family in the area is Emory,” Caliste says, lowering her voice in case that devil is lurking somewhere like a rat.
“Yes. He’s my cousin. It’s more legal than biological, but yes. Eric’s brother is…was…my stepdad.”
“Ah…” Caliste says. Having Carter here could very well mess up their already fragile plan to snoop around the Hane mansion.
“Uncle Eric told me an old friend was coming. Grace?”
Caliste casts a sidelong glance at Aria before explaining the present situation to Carter.
“I see. That would make sense. He’s been…rather lucid lately, but he occasionally slips into the past.”
“Not to pry, but how long has his dementia been progressing?” Aria asks.
“Pretty sure it’s been for the past several years. He’s undergoing some experimental treatment, which I think has slowed symptoms of the disease,” Carter replies with a hint of apprehension. “Why?”
“I’m curious is all,” Aria replies, offering a half smile.
Caliste brings her fingers to her lips, picking at the dry flakes of peeling skin. How the hell are they going to pull this off with multiple sets of eyes on them?
“Where’s Emory?” Caliste asks, painting on a bright smile in case either Emory or his father decide to walk in at that moment.
“Emory went to his room to grab something. He’ll be back soon.”
Caliste studies Carter’s body language when he answers her. He’s antsy, his eyes darting around to avoid making eye contact and his hands fidgeting with his pockets. Carter is so tense she’s sure he might make a run for it at any moment.
“Are you scared of him? Your cousin?”
“Wh-what?” Carter stammers, the anxiety evident on his face.
“I’m only teasing you,” Caliste says. She’s not. “And where is Emory’s room? Will it take long for him to get down here?”
She does her best to convey the necessity of this information through a very intense stare aimed at Carter. His dark eyes squint for a moment before nodding.
“Second floor, past the portrait of his great-grandmother.”
Thank you, Caliste mouths, which is right on time, because she spots the devil over Carter’s shoulder.
“Ladies, it’s lovely to see you,” Emory says, emerging from the doorway that leads back to the foyer. “And what a coincidence. I suppose great minds think alike?”
Caliste glances down at her outfit and back to Emory. Her teal jumpsuit is the exact same shade as Emory’s sport coat. She plasters on a smile and pretends she’s pleased and not royally creeped out.
* * *
Dinner starts off smoothly, mostly because Eric is quite happy to yap away at his captive audience of teenagers. If Caliste weren’t aware of this man quite possibly being the reason their mom went missing, she might feel a little more sympathy for him.
Carter was being generous with his characterization. Eric talks in a near-constant stream of consciousness, which regularly loops from past to present. He addresses both Caliste and Aria as “Grace” before being politely corrected (and politely apologizes afterward). Emory seems well versed in communicating with his father in this state. Carter, on the other hand, looks like he’s having dinner in a den with hyenas. Caliste thought she and Aria were on edge, but Carter is as rigid as a brick in his seat.
“By the way, Carter, are you still seeing that lovely little ginger girl?” Eric asks, leaning forward in his seat in anticipation. “What was her name? Riley?”
Caliste coughs on her mouthful of salad at the same time Aria chokes on her water. Riley. The girl who drowned?
Carter’s utensils make a shrill dinging noise as he puts them down and considers how to answer Eric.
“No, not anymore, Uncle Eric.”
“That’s a pity. She’s quite intelligent, and her family has always been our good friends. I’d hoped she might be interested in my Emory, but I suppose we can’t all have what we want,” Eric says with a delighted chuckle.
I know Riley didn’t drown. Someone hurt her. And I think I know who did it.
That is what Carter confessed at Lake Agatha. When Caliste glances at him, he’s staring down at his plate with an ambiguous expression. Riley wasn’t just a fellow camp counselor. Riley and Carter were dating.
“I’m sorry. Something must have upset my stomach. Where’s the bathroom?” Caliste asks, standing and flashing a weak smile toward the elder Hane.
“Of course! The closest one is right up the stairs.”
“Thank you! Please, continue without me.”
Caliste breathes deep. If she doesn’t take the plunge now, she’s going to lose her nerve. This is her only chance.
Aria
Aria wishes she was braver. She stares down at her plate and moves the roasted vegetables to and fro. Caliste is brave. That’s why she mustered the strength to bolt headfirst into the metaphorical mouth of a serpent. Meanwhile, Aria is here, staring at the Hane patriarch and doing nothing but sweating.
After a long discussion of his time at Dartmouth (Eric wanted to study classics but ultimately studied philosophy instead), Eric launches into an impassioned monologue about his youth with Paul. From Eric’s portrayal, he and Paul were the best of friends. But the stories he tells all have the same quality to them: Eric is the star, and Paul is on the periphery.
