A picture of Hope?
Caro leans closer. It looks like Hope, but younger. She can’t be sure—
“Caro?” Ash says, and before she can think about what she’s doing, Caro swiftly tugs the photo down and sticks it into the pocket of her absolutely filthy hiking pants.
“Have you been able to reach Colby?” she asks Page.
“No,” Page says. Ash stands up from the couch and Caro folds her arms, but before either of them can do anything, Page comes to a decision. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll let you in.”
“This breaks my heart,” Ash says as they stand on the threshold of Hope’s trailer. It’s furnished much like the tents—striped wool rug, king-sized bed, leather sling chair, small sofa, two end tables, and a kitchenette (sink, microwave, mini fridge). Caro is immediately struck by how tidy Hope is—everything is hung or folded or placed neatly, her luggage zipped up and standing in a corner. Even the dishtowel has been threaded carefully through the chrome hand towel holder affixed to the cabinet.
“Has housekeeping been in here?” Ash asks.
“I don’t know, actually,” Page says. “I can check.”
“What about the police?” Caro asks.
Page seems unsurprised by the question. “Not as far as I know,” she says. “But I can check on that, too.” She seems to have made up her mind to help them. Caro isn’t sure why. Has Page figured out who Hope is? Or is it a general voyeuristic interest about a guest who’s missing, that age-old desire to be part of something instead of on the edges?
“Thanks.” Ash holds out her hand and says, “I’ll take the key.” Caro is fascinated by this Ash—the one on the screen and in texts and in person up until the flood was so cheery and funny and breezy. This one is like a heat-guided missile, honed-in and single-purposed. Caro has had only glimpses of her before.
“I can’t give you the key,” Page says. “In fact, I should probably stay here until you’ve finished looking around.”
“If you don’t have time for that,” Caro says diplomatically, “we could text you when we’re done and you could come back and lock up.”
Page considers this. Then her walkie-talkie crackles, Gareth’s voice saying, “Page? Where are you? We need you here. I still can’t get ahold of Colby—”
That seems to convince her. “Okay,” Page says. “Once you find your phones, text me, alright?” She starts off at a jog back to the main tent.
Ash is the first to step into the room.
“Wait,” Caro says, a foreign, fatigued uncertainty coming over her. “Do you think we should be going through Hope’s things? What if we mess up some kind of—evidence?”
Ash halts. “What kind of evidence would there be?” she asks. “I mean, I get what you’re saying, but we both saw what happened, right?” She’s right. TheysawHope fall. Caro closes her eyes against the memory, but it’s there, burned into the back of her eyelids.
Ash crosses the room in a few quick strides, heading for Hope’s bed. “Do you think she hid it under the mattress?” She lifts a corner of it.
Caro glances over at Hope’s neatly zipped luggage and decides to try there. Across the trailer, Ash has moved the mattress and is rummaging around underneath.
Caro kneels on the rug, her body aching, and rifles through the weekender bag sitting on top of the suitcase. Nothing in there but a jacket of Hope’s, the book she was reading (We Never Liked Him Anyway, their most recent book club pick), a makeup bag, and a bottle of water.
The minute Caro tips the suitcase on its side, she knows she’s found it. There’s a heaviness, the feel of shifting, inside. She unzips the case.There.A few items of Hope’s clothing have been wrapped around a heavy rectangular object. “Ash,” she calls out. Feeling invasive, she unwinds Hope’s clothes and sure enough, there it is, the lockbox. When Caro lifts it out, she feels theclunk-clunkof what has to be their phones inside.
Was it really less than three days ago that they sat by the fire, locking their phones away? Agreeing to disappear?
And now Hope has done it. Completely.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Ash sinks to her knees on the rug next to Caro. She reaches for the lockbox and clutches it to her chest. She looks up at Caro, her face worried. “Do you really think we should tell our families where we are? And what’s going on?”
“What?” Caro’s shocked by the question. Has Ash lost her mind? Wasn’t she pushing to get back the phones so theycouldcall their families?
Ash rubs the sutures on her cheekbone. Caro resists the urge to tell herto stop. “We know our families are okay,” Ash says. “But we’ve got to look out for Hope.”
“So youdon’twant to tell your family that wealmost died?” Caro raises her eyebrows. “That one of us is missing?”
“I’m worried,” Ash says. “It feels like if word gets out about where we are—or, more specifically, that Hope Hanover is missing—I feel like everything will go off the rails.” She looks at Caro with wide and urgent eyes. “Of coursesearch and rescue and everyone should be out looking for Hope. And they are. But maybe we shouldn’t let theworldknow that she’s missing, yet. Is that what Hope would want?”
Caro folds her arms, listening. Her stomach growls.
