Excerpt from Saint X by Alexis Schaitkin, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The mother opens her eyes and yawns.

"Where's your sister?"

"Bathroom?" Claire says, though her sister has by now been gone a long time. When she finally returns, their mother asks her where she has been.

"Just went for a walk. It's really beautiful down at that end." She points to where Indigo Bay ends at a barrier of black rocks. "Hey, Clairey, I'm going on a treasure hunt and I'm bringing a lime."

Her sister has told a lie. On her breath, as she says lime, Claire smells smoke. It's her turn, but she can't think of a word.

* * *

"I'LL BE back," Alison says the next day. It's the in-between time after the beach and before dinner, and Claire is coloring at the coffee table in their room. After her sister leaves, Claire counts to ten, then follows.

She keeps her distance. Her sister walks back to the beach. She moves along the water's edge, skimming her toes in the froth. Claire takes big steps, planting her feet in her sister's melted footprints. Alison does not go to the pool, or to the bar. She walks past the water-sports cabana, the kayaks and Sunfish lined up tidily on the sand. She walks to the end of the beach and continues onto a narrow path, then disappears into the sea grape.

When Claire reaches the path, she hesitates. It is getting dark. What if their parents open the door that connects their rooms and find that they are gone? She takes a deep breath and steps onto the path. After a minute or so, it ends abruptly at an asphalt parking lot full of small shabby cars, their windshields covered with accordions of silver foil.

She hears laughter, a man's, and follows the sound. The asphalt burns her feet, but she stays quiet. There, next to an eggplant-colored car, her sister stands between the fat one and the skinny one. The skinny one digs into his pocket. He pulls out a small box and, from it, a cigarette. Her sister leans toward him and he slides it between her lips.

* * *

HUSBANDS AND wives have lost track of time. It is Tuesday or Wednesday, but perhaps it is only Monday. They have been on the island four days, no—five, possibly six. Within these lost days are lost moments, hours, mornings. Minutes diffuse like perfume into the air. The passage of time is of consequence only for the spectacles it reveals: The sea transforms to liquid silver as the day draws to a close. Sunset yields to the lavender fleece of twilight. Stars blink awake.

* * *

NIGHT. AT the hotel bar, couples drink elaborate cocktails as the lilting cadences of reggae float through the speakers. An elderly widow steps into the pool for her nightly swim. (She doesn't swim during the day. The pool is too busy then with the splashes and laughter of people together with their people.) A security guard with a corona of white hair plucks an empty chip bag from a bed of portulaca and deposits it in the trash.

In their room, the sisters lie together on Claire's bed. Alison weaves her sister's hair into a loose braid, unspools it with her fingertips, then braids it again.

"I'm going on a treasure hunt and I'm bringing a pearl," Alison says.

"I'm going on a treasure hunt and I'm bringing a pearl and a pizza."

"I'm going on a treasure hunt and I'm bringing a pearl, a pizza, and the stars."

"You can't bring the stars."

"Why not?"

"You can't carry them."

"I'll bring whatever I want."

* * *

A RAINY day. Guests flip fruitlessly through the television channels. They sit on balconies and watch the rain. They order room service. They doze and make love, make love and doze. Some perceive the rain as a personal slight from the universe, a tax on their happiness. Others are secretly grateful. The rain absolves them from the burden of spending the day well; they hole up in their rooms with peculiar relief.

Excerpted from Saint X by Alexis Schaitkin. Copyright © 2020 by Alexis Schaitkin. Excerpted by permission of Celadon. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.