Mom protested at first, but Dad wore her down. “We need help,” he said. “They know how to handle crises.”
I lifted my head from where it was pressed against the freezing window. I was a crisis. I wanted to say something, to get Dad to stop dialing. Stu and Mellie would never let me come back to camp if they knew what I had done—or what IsaidI had done. But when I opened my mouth to speak no words came out. My throat was raw and worn. I had lost before I had a chance to fight.
Plus, we all knew the truth.
Stu and Mellie had power in this town.
Even if everyone in Roxwood rolled their eyes when talking about Camp Alpine Lake and even when the campers tipped like shit on nights off, no one could deny that Stu and Mellie ran the biggest business in town. Some even said camp was the only reason Roxwood was still standing, that people still had jobs.
I moved to the couch, under a flannel blanket, listening as Dad made the call.
“Stu,” he said, but then quickly shut his mouth. I could hear Stu on the other end speaking in that hushed, comforting tone he used with the homesick kids every summer.
“Uh-huh,” Dad said. “So, you’ve heard.” He glanced at me and then turned his back, walking toward the kitchen. “That’s what we were thinking, too,” he said. “Okay, see you soon.”
Dad faced me, holding his phone in his hand like it was about to explode. “Why don’t you get dressed and get in the car, sweets?” he said. “We’re going to Stu and Mellie’s.” His mouth turned into something resembling a smile, but I could see the worry in his brow, the distress in his eyes. His baby had done something awful, something no one could undo. But he was damn well going to try.
Within twenty minutes, we were in the car with a box of brownies from Café Cloud, heading south. The drive to their house in Connecticut took four hours and we didn’t stop once. Not even to pee. No one asked.
I had never been to their home before. Neither had Mom and Dad, and I don’t know if any of us expected what we saw when we turned off the main roads and followed the directions down a dirt path. There was a gate and a security guard, a half-mile-long driveway with statues dotting each side. It was a mansion. An estate. As I drove to the front door, I could spot a tennis court, a swimming pool, and a putting green. Grander than even Ava’s weekend house in the Hamptons, than Imogen’s home in New Jersey.
My stomach flipped as we walked to the door to ring the bell, but Mellie opened it before we even stepped foot on the welcome mat.
Mom thrust the box of brownies at her but Mellie ignored my parents and pulled me to her, pressing my head against her chunky white sweater. “Oh, sweetie,” she said softly.
I followed her inside and looked around. There was a spiral staircase and art made of glass. The ceiling extended to the heavens and the foyer was bigger than our living room.
I always assumed Mellie and Stu were onourside of things at camp. Hired to make the wealthy feel special. But that’s when I realized they had more in common with the families who sent their kids to Alpine Lake than people like my mom and dad or Christina, people who they employed.
Dad huddled with Stu in the kitchen and spoke in soft, hushed tones. I strained to hear them but gave up when Mellie led me to the living room and held me tighter, her sturdy grip keeping me upright.
“Come, dear, let’s sit.”
I followed her to the plush beige couch and watched Mom perch on the cushion’s edge, careful not to leave an imprint.
Stu came to join us, sitting in a mid-century armchair, his hands clasped in front of him. Suddenly I felt very young, as if I were a Rambler, not a counselor. As if I was about to be spoon-fed a diluted version of the truth.
Stu spoke first. “What happened last night was a mistake, darling,” he said tenderly, looking right at me with warm eyes. “An accident. You weren’t drinking and you were driving an unfamiliar car. Isn’t that right?”
A lie.
He cleared his throat and glanced at Mellie. “I hear you could be facing serious consequences,” he said carefully. “But we think we have a solution to this problem. One that might make this all... go away.”
A quizzical look passed between Mom and Dad, and I wondered if they were thinking what I was thinking.
Why would they help me?
But as he started talking, that thought was replaced by something else. A warm feeling bubbling up in my stomach, one that once you turned on was impossible to turn off. Hope.
CHAPTER 25
Now
The first week of camp is filled with so muchnew. New camper orientation, new kids to teach how to breaststroke, new girls who want their hair braided while they sit at my feet.
There are get-to-know-you games that feel stale by the second day, when most everyone has decided who their best friends will be, who they want to kiss. There are afternoon ice cream snacks, made-up chants perfect for dining room sing-alongs, and so many games of jacks to be played at rest hour. There are books of Mad Libs and thread for friendship bracelets, and motorboat rides with Ava and Imogen as we laugh at the girls bouncing behind us in the inflatable tube. There is nightly cookie patrol, where Levin picks a few lucky campers every evening to help him deliver bedtime snacks on his golf cart. There are leg-shaving parties on the lawn and secret tears, wept into the pillows of homesick girls. There are kids new to camp who are falling—havefallen—in love with this place and its power.
And yet, there is also me—trying to remember the way Heller smelled, the way he tasted. Trying to keep those memories lodged in my brain because now it has sunk in that the boy I loved, the boy who betrayed me, is dead.
