“Okay,” I say to Gemma. “Let’s do it. Let’s go see your site.”
Gemma grins. “Great. Shall we drive you? Or you can follow us? It’s kind of hard to find, but it’s just a few miles from here.”
“We’ll follow you,” I say.
It takes me a few minutes to get organized and get my father inthe car, but before long, we are caravanning behind Anthony and Gemma. Anthony drives fast, and we bump along after him in our station wagon, swerving around potholes that he blasts right through.
When we hit the main road, I expect them to turn right toward town, so I am surprised when they veer left and continue on the road that encircles Catwood Pond. Up ahead, there is a turn that would take us up to Baneberry Hill, a well-known lookout in the area, and I wonder if they will head that way. But again, they drive right past it.
As the road veers back into the woods, I am even more confused. But a moment later, they slow and turn onto a familiar dirt road, and it finally dawns on me: they are leading us to the Seavey camp.
Chapter 41
When we pull in, the house looms larger and more foreboding than ever. Whatever luster it once had has now become dusty and outdated. It has neither the charm of the historic camps nor the subtle style of the newer, more thoughtfully designed homes in the area. It’s just a behemoth, past its prime.
“What an atrocity,” my father says of the house, as if seeing it for the first time, but ever consistent in his distaste for it.
For a moment, I have the urge to turn around and speed away, but I’m also dying to know how, of all the properties in the world, Gemma ended up picking the Seavey camp as the site for her burgeoning vision. My father and I get out of the car and join Gemma and Anthony in the driveway.
“What do you think?” says Gemma, her eyes wide with excitement, seemingly unaware that I know the property well.
“Gemma, this camp is directly across the pond from ours. I’ve been here,” I say. “I mean, not for years. But I used to spend a lot of time here. I knew the family.”
“Seriously?” She looks delighted, and she turns to Anthony, and then back to me. “Then you know Greg!”
I furrow my brow. “Doyouknow Greg?”
Before she can answer, the front door opens and I hear a once-familiar voice say, “Cricket Campbell.”
It’s been ten years since I have seen Greg, and he looks the same but worse: a little older, a little oilier, and, somehow, a little shorter than I remember. He grins at me as if we share some kind of salacious secret.
I had heard that he had made his way to New York to work in finance, and I had always feared I would run into him during my time there. But given that the Seaveys had vacated this property years ago, it hadn’t occurred to me that I would run into himhere.
“So fun that you two know each other!” Gemma lights up.
“We grew up together,” I say, suddenly feeling cold.
“Well, wesummeredtogether,” says Greg, then turns his attention to my father. “I didn’t realize there would be an oracle among us. Nice to see you, Mr. Campbell.”
My father looks at Greg as if trying to place him and says, “And you. Beautiful day we’re having.”
“But how do you all…” I say, trying to triangulate between Greg, Gemma, and Anthony.
“I used to work with Anthony,” says Greg.
“For,”Anthony says under his breath, as he scrolls on his phone. “Used to workforAnthony.”
“When Anthony invested in Actualize, and I heard Gemma had recently fallen in love with the Adirondacks, it felt like fate,” Greg explains.
My brain is trying to keep pace with these developments, but I have a feeling that Greg is the only one among us who understands the full picture. I didn’t know he was entangled in Gemma’s business plans, and she certainly doesn’t seem to know about his history with me.
“Such a small world,” says Gemma, turning to me. “Isn’t it perfect?”
“It would be,” I say, “but you know there’s no commercial activity allowed on Catwood Pond. That’s kind of what makes it unique in this area.”
Gemma smiles. “Oh, we’re on top of that. Greg is working on having it rezoned.” Of course he is. The Seaveys had never hesitated to try to remake the world to suit their whims. “Can I walk you through how we plan to use the space?”
Greg holds the front door open, and Anthony, Gemma, my father, and I enter the house. The last time I walked through this door was on New Year’s Eve—the night Seth died. Now, it’s mostly empty, with just a few pieces of furniture scattered in corners of the great room.There’s a moose head mounted above the fireplace, but otherwise the walls are bare. I’m in such a state of disbelief that I feel numb, and I approach the tour as if I’m just a sightseer. We move through the rooms at a slow pace to accommodate my father and, as Gemma narrates—“So the great room, as the heart of the property, would serve as reception. But through here, I want to create a sanctuary for sound baths and other ritualistic…”—I feel my consciousness split in two. I am able to follow Gemma’s words while simultaneously traveling back in time. It’s as if I am watching two distinct chapters of my life collide; and I wonder what Greg is up to.
